Precious Rain

I love the rain.  I love it in the Northwest where it falls so gently and so frequently that everything is green and verdant.  I love it in the Philippines where it drenches in an instant but is so warm and friendly.  I love it in the Midwest, where it is so dangerous and rowdy.  But, most of all I love it here in the desert where it is so rare.

Yesterday's rain was so long coming.  It fell in torrents that sounded like applause and then returned a couple of hours later for an encore.  All over town the audience rejoiced.  The reviews were rave.

"Wasn't that a wonderful rain!"

"Look how fresh and clean everything looks!"

"That rain sure cooled things off nicely."

"My lawn and garden sure needed that!"

"Wasn't that thunder thrilling!"

Gutters and hearts overflowed.  Smiles all around.  Even farmers with their hay down couldn't help but stand under the porch and watch with pleasure.  Desert rain puts a grin in chagrin.  The Indians used to say that this was good weather and so it is.  A reminder that God still loves us.  All of us.  And from the windows of His heaven blessings still flow, in abundance.

The timing was perfect.  The coolness shut off air conditioners and opened closed doors and windows as we reached from our confinement into the freshness.  Then at gloaming, the freshened world wafted upon us like the breath of Heaven.  Celestial aroma to bless our sleep and fertilize our dreams.

Stepping Off Cliffs

I've got friend coming out of addiction.  I was up way into the night helping with it.  He clearly wants my help.  But he also struggles with fear and often resists that help.  It is a terrifying thing to consider giving up the things that have, however falsely, comforted you for all these years.

I think he believes there will be other, more healthy, ways to deal with the pain and that eventually, Christ will actually heal the wound.  But it's still a little intimidating.

I remember the first time I rappelled off a cliff.  I saw others do it successfully.  I'd been trained in the technique.  I was on belay and promised that if anything went wrong my belayer would catch me.  I was armored with helmet, gloves and adequate clothing.  I knew that all I had to do is pull my braking arm, the one holding the slack side of the rope, across my chest and my slide down the rope would stop.  This is because the friction on the rope would increase to a point at which it would no longer slide through the apparatus that attached me to the rope. It all made sense and I'd seen it work.  What I lacked was experience.  I had no idea how hard it would be to pull my arm across my chest.

I think my friend is experiencing something similar.  He's seen others go into recovery and it looks real good.  He's learned the methods of doing so and is a rigged for success.  I promise him that God has him on belay and will catch him if he faints or gets hung up.  Still he doesn't know how it feels and how hard it will be so actually backing off the cliff is quite a challenge.  He's gone to the edge before and chickened out.  I encourage him all I can.  I try to get him to make a commitment to just do it this time, but he chokes.  He thinks I'm bullying him when he's not ready.

It's hard to be patient.  On this side of addiction its hard to imagine what he's going through, even though I once stood right where he is.  The memory of that fear is fading and I stop a second and smile, gratefully, at the realization.  It's hard to see him missing out on all the fun.  Its hard to see him suffering so; wanting it so bad, but afraid to take it.

This morning I pray he'll just do it.  If not, maybe next time.  I know he wants it.  I can see it in his eyes.  One day he'll want it bad enough to trust the means and methods and step over the edge.  As in rappelling, it's all down hill from there.  That is in easiness.  The first step back's the hardest, because it's all about choice.  Once he decides he's going to do it, no matter what, I'll breathe a heavy sigh of relief.  And once he has faith enough and steps over the edge and then senses what is transpiring in his new exhilarating life, so will he.

Note:  Technology and methods have greatly changed since the rappelling method I described.

The Kid's Canal

Less than a mile from our home, practically right in town, is an irrigation canal that flows along a moderately busy street.  It is affectionately known as The Kid's Canal.  I suppose it's the oldest canal in the valley.  It is lined with trees, with grassy banks here and there.  Some years ago the City developed a nice paved walkway along much of it.  There are three bridges to funnel walking traffic back to the street side where private homes occupy the bank.  There is no side walk along the street side.  Hardly room for one as the bank plunges steeply into the stream from the curb.  So, its nice to have the walkway, for safety's sake.

My grandkids, Jeff, 8 and Megan 6, live right through my back gate and are getting old enough for some high adventure.  They both are accomplished swimmers and, with a membership, spend a lot of time at the Recreation Center.  It is a nice indoor facility with state of the art pools, exercise equipment and even a rock climbing wall.  This summer though, we've been spending our time at the Kid's canal.

One day they asked where I went swimming when I was a boy.  "In the canal," I told them.  That captured their imaginations, so we grabbed a couple of inner tubes and headed down there.  The stream averages two and half feet deep and is about 12 feet wide.  They loved sailing down the stream, sometimes capsizing and screaming as they surfaced from the cold, exhilarating water.  Well, kind of screaming, in that breathless sort of way you do, when the shock of cold hasn't quite relinquished it's grip on you.  Funny how it's not quite so bad the next time around and pretty quick you're in there for good, letting the cool refreshing liquid cancel the effects of a long hot summer day.

Last week while floating the canal we stumbled upon one of their five year old cousins fishing there with his grandpa.  Jaren had caught a nice one and was so proud to show it to us.  He was also fascinated with the prospect of sailing down the canal so Megan offered him a ride in exchange for a good look at his fish.  We two grandfathers exchanged contented glances, for it doesn't get any better than this.

Last year Megan's kindergarten class was visited by a representative of the Fish and Game department.  He brought some trout eggs and set them up in a tank in their room.  They watched the eggs hatch, become tiny fish and grow to about an inch in length.  They loved learning about Rainbow Trout.  At the end of the year they walked the quarter mile from the school to the canal and released them into the stream.  This captured their imaginations too.  Part of the charm of the Kids Canal is that it has long been reserved for the fishing pleasure of children.  They can fish there without a license, with a limit of one fish each per trip.  Jeff and Megan's Dad bought them a couple of nice, small, manageable poles and for a few of weeks now we've gone to the canal to just to fish.  The first time we got skunked.  My favorite lure in for fishing Jones Hole didn't get a single bite.
Then one day while swimming there we noticed a young fellow using a different lure.  He was quite successful.    So the next time we used that and Jeff caught two!  Megs, the competitive one, hasn't rested since.  So last night we went down after supper to fish.  She thought, though, that we should take a tube just in case the fish weren't biting.  I guess she wanted to make sure there was some consolation fun built into the excursion.

This time it was Megan's turn and she caught her first Rainbow Trout.  I'd like to capture her excitement and enthusiasm in a bottle.  It'd make me a fortune!  We floated and fished and floated some more.  When Jeff caught his fish last week he was content to Catch and Release; having no interest in eating such a thing and raising hopes of catching them again when they're bigger.  Not so with his sister.  She was intent on casting, tempting, hooking, landing, keeping, examining, adoring, surprising, showing off, photographing, cleaning, dissecting, filleting, seasoning, frying, eating and sharing hers!  Which she did with gusto!  She wanted the complete experience and relished every step of the process.  I couldn't help admiring her.  For her, her first fish must have the quintessential celebration, nothing less would do.  Do I enjoy life at that level?  Not normally.  But today I did.  Thanks to a six year old child whose sense of wonder and joy knows no bounds!

As I sit here remembering a sweet evening I can't express enough, my gratitude for a simple little canal so convenient and close, and for a community that loves its children and grandpas enough to make it safe and shady and stock it with fish and memories, summer after precious summer.

Book Review - Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton

Booklogged introduced me to G. K. Chesterton while she was reading a Dean Koontz novel.  Dean has become a fan of Chesterton and many of his novels contain some pretty cool G. K. quotes.  Sweetie told me that he was C. S. Lewis' spiritual father and that he was a funny, frumpy philosopher.  Sounded good to me.

So, I thought I'd be smart and sophisticated and read his book, Orthodoxy.  Way over my head.  There were some fun stories, great quotes and good ideas and then the introduction by Philip Yancey ended and the book began.

I think I'd have to have a Master's Degree in philosophy to even begin to understand where Chesterton was going with half of this stuff.  Mostly I don't have a frame of reference for his examples, so I'd have to have a degree in late 19th Century England as well.  When I occasionally thought I actually understood what he was getting at I came down on his side only about half the time.  That's better than H. G. Wells and T. S. Elliot who I hardly ever agree with.  But not like C. S. Lewis, who I can actually understand and would give about 80% ratification.  What's up with all the initials?  Anyway, half way, I'm pulling the Book Darts and book mark and taking my brain some where else, thanks.

I suggest that if you want to understand G. K. Chesterton, read Philip Yancey.  He seems to understand him far better than Chesterton understands himself.  Chesterton wrote some novels as well.  I'll probably take a look at one of them and give him another chance.  I've always felt that novelists were better observers of the human condition than scholars are so maybe that'll work.

I will end on a positive note by including a cute little Chesterton poem.

Here dies another day

During which I have had eyes, ears, hands,

And the great world around me;

And with tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?

If Chesterton is anything he is grateful.

This book gets two stars.