The Wild Side

OK, I'm going to try to make this my second-to-last Aruba post. (I may get desperate in an icy April and have to revisit but for now...Savvy and I are moving forward. That said, I still have to remember to get my thoughts down on the Natural Bridge.)

On our last day in Aruba, we went to the wild side of the island. Most of it is a national park, parched and laden with cacti and caves. Some of it is like I've already posted...rocky shoreline and crashing waves.

The northeast corner of the island has the same crashing waves but with long, empty beaches. There are no resorts here, I think, because there are reefs and rocks that make bathing fairly dangerous.

On the longest of these beaches, reachable only by jeep, Steve and I came upon some windsurfers. It's a wild sport here because the wind is jet speed. Just getting the kite-like sail from the sand into the water requires strength, persistence, and some luck. We followed on of these windsurfers through the whole process of harnessing, lifting the sail, and getting through the surf and into the water. It took some doing, and made me sad that I'm far too old and bad-bone-ridden to do it.

He finally got into the water. I got some good shots but this one captures the spirit of it. Strength and skill combined with raw Creation power is breath-taking. And it's yet another reminder of how God's wonder found off the beaten path.

The closest we got to this wonder was our Jeep. We got to watch, and be blessed.

If only I could have ridden the wind.

No Disguising It

Take a look. Doesn't she look great? Savvy's almost full-grown, and is as graceful and lovely as her breeding predicted.

So cute when she's playing in the snow, isn't she? Know what she's doing?

She's digging for poops.

OK, all dogs eat poop. Cat poops are their favorites but the horse manure left on the trail, or the cow flaps that are distributed when the bovines across the street get out--yeah, these are good.

The dumb dog used to dig for Maddie's poops. Oh, I suppose I get it, given Maddie is her role model. But once she ran out of Maddie's droppings, she began digging for her own. She pries the lump out, tosses it around, and when I challenge her...gulp.

Her behavior is incestuous cannibalism, if you ask me. And I am in NO mood for her kisses, no siree.

There's a massive spiritual analogy in this one. But I'm not going there. No way.

I report. You apply.

A Rising Tide Lifts All...Dogs?

I am not going to presume to be an expert on Aruba. But my sister tells me that everyone--unless they're infirm--has a job in Aruba. There is no welfare. Certainly observation shows that the Arubans are busy, and pleasant. The 'friendly-island' slogan definitely applies.

Not having been here for six years or so, Steve and I noticed many new houses. Housing in Aruba is modest and simple but it looked like the bad economy has not reached the island. Given I'm not a demographer or economist, I have only one way to truly judge.

The dogs.

On our previous visits to Aruba, dog sightings were few, more toward the "country" side of the island, and those dogs seemed mangy. Life in a dry, equatorial island is not accomodating to canines.

Every neighborhood we drove through now has dogs. And the boys (our term for friendly dogs that hang out, regardless of gender) are looking good. Sleek and secure in their properties. Out in the early and late part of the days, sheltering in the midday heat.

Who needs statistics when you've got dogs to tell you life is good.

Adventuring

So you've got your pool-sitters. They get out early, save lounge chairs for friends, establish themselves at the tables, nice people who are content to go no further than 100 feet from their rooms. And that's okay. Many are elderly and have earned their rest.

It's just not for me.

Then you've got the beach sitters. At the big hotels, you've got to get out early to save a spot under the grass umbrellas (the name of which I never came remember). One of the biggest hotels requires people to line up at 6 AM to receive a "flag". If they leave their beach chairs unattended for more than two hours, they will lose possession of their location.

My sister and her husband are too practical for all that. They buy beach chairs, go to the open-air beaches (where the waves are better) and happily share shade with everyone.

Steve and I...well, we're known for adventuring. Or, as my sisters used to put it, risking everyone's lives so we can inherit.

The most famous natural landmark in Aruba is the "natural bridge". (I'll post about that another time...the natural bridge is its own spiritual reminder of mortality.) The natural bridge is on the wild side of the island, requiring a ride over bumpy dusty roads. All the tour busses go there, unloading people into the parking lot. They take their pictures, buy expensive souvenirs, then get back on the bus.

We take a ride and I spot sand way beyond the natural bridge...and beyond any road...unless you're riding a 4-wheeler to go over volcanic rock.


So I say to Steve, "let's hike there."


Aruba isn't the best place for hiking. We're near the equator, and noontime sun is brutal, even for natives. However, the wind on the wild side of the island blows steadily off the water, with nothing to block it. There's the illusion of bearable, and sunscreen does the rest.


So we hike. And it's not bad, and not long. I trip once, fall and don't break anything, thank you, Jesus. We come to a private beach, water too violent to enter but gorgeous just the same. We go in to our ankles and just savor God's glory.


And then, I spot more sand.


"Let's hike there," I say and because Steve is the right guy for me, he says, "Sure."


So we hike some more, discover a hidden little river and a bigger beach. And such blessed privacy and beauty.

All this to say...God's glory is worth hiking for. Look beyond, and take the risk.

I'll remember my sister's kindness and the lovely company she and my brother-in-law Peter provide. These are special moments that bless us.

I will, however, forget all the hotels and restaurants and even the nice pool we enjoy.

But this...this private beach where God's glory pounds with every crashing wave. This I will never forget.

Lifted Up!

The seas have lifted up, O LORD,
the seas have lifted up their voice;
the seas have lifted up their pounding waves.
Mightier than the thunder of the great waters,
mightier than the breakers of the sea--
the LORD on high is mighty.
Psalm 93: 3-4

Paradise Found?

So I'm sitting here, 8 in the morning, the wind sweet on my face, the temperature a bearable high 70s, the birds flitting overhead, and the wind again, like a constant chorus of rejoicing as it ruffles the palms. The waves on the sand are like God's heartbeat.

I wonder, is this was Eden was like?

How amazing to step out the door and know I won't be assaulted by icy rain or heavy snow or sullen skies. Could I live like this? Easy answer, one perhaps my Canadian and Coloradan friends might agree with (though maybe not this day, in January.)

No.

I can love the warmth and the wind, the easy ocean, the lovely people (Aruba IS the friendly island). But those of us who have been blessed with variety will not give up our snow easily, even when it's April and good grief, we've had another foot of it! And given Aruba or New Hampshire in flaming October, I suspect I'd choose New Hampshire.

I wonder about the people of Aruba, folks who grow up here and have every day sun-filled and wind-kissed. How could they see this as stunning beauty, when never having experienced those twenty-below days, when I have to slime my face with Vaseline to keep my skin from frost-bite. Surely my dog would chose not to live here--the Aruba dogs move slowly, and wisely. They do not bound or soar, like Savvy does.

Did it snow in Eden, I wonder? Did the leaves turn blazing colors, then drift on cool winds to blanket the ground? Or was it days of sun and sweet air and the Lord drifting through, blessing all He had done.

And did Adam and Eve take it all for granted? Did they want more variety?

Did they know they would bring snow and ice to the world?

A Rose By Any Other Name

So Steve and I are here in Aruba, a guest of my sister and brother-in-law. I was going to post about missing my dog; or the stretching Janice does with us every morning; or how the waves crash in and then crash out (how does THAT happen?).

So I pull up Blogspot and discover everything is written in Dutch! Aruba is a Dutch protectorate, so that explains the Dutch, I suppose.

Somehow, my physical location prompts the appropriate language to be displayed.

And isn't that just like the Holy Spirit? Catching us right where we are.

Hope?

Today is election day here in Massachusetts. I've been working the phones all month, started when Scott Brown was down 30 points. This past weekend polls point to a Brown victory.

Even to get close is unthinkable in this state. Being out among voters, it's startling to see the hope in their eyes. This was the same hope we saw in Obama supporters a year-and-a-half ago. It's an odd phenomenon, this hope for a red victory in the bluest of states. People resent the surge of government, and the helplessness of not having their voice heard.


The nation hears us now. Massachusetts has become the twilight zone of hope.


And then there's Haiti, a brutal contrast to the privilege we have. A country in unimaginable ruins, in desperate need of hope.


God, the world seems too big at times like this.

Mackel for President?

Not gonna happen. Good grief, I couldn't take the rejection.

For the first time in 30 years, when my toddlers and I passed out Reagan brochures, I have gotten involved in the political process. I am volunteering at a call center for a senate candidate for the upcoming special election to fill Ted Kennedy's seat. Our job is to phone independent voters, remind them of the special election, ask them for their support.

The first time I did this, I was wounded whenever someone hung up on me or told me coldly, "I am on the other side." It's only just treatment, since I rush telemarketers off the phone like this. I used to just hang up but then I saw Slumdog Millionaire and was convicted of my rudeness. So now I apologize before I hang up.

After a couple of weeks, I'm no longer bothered by rejection. I've had some great conversations, even had the opportunity to say "God bless you" to strangers who are brethren. The thing is...it's all about numbers. Getting the Scott Brown name and message out, understanding that there will be a number of people we can't possibly reach.

It's a wonderful thing that God doesn't work from a database, nor does He do numbers. His only numerical criteria is "as numerous as the sands on the seashore or the stars in the sky." He doesn't keep proclaiming His glory in the heavens--or through our voices raised in worship--and hope to gain a certain percentage of supporters.

He doesn't need our votes. But He so longs for our hearts.

Jesus Christ for Savior. Yeah, that's a campaign I can support.

We All Need a Safe Place to Rest, Eh?

Psalm 91:4

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Ho Ho Ho. No No No

Savvy's been sick. She's on her second antibiotic for a urinary tract infection. The first bill was $140, including antibiotic, pain med, office visit, "pill pockets" and urinalysis. I had to go back for the second antibiotic and pay out another $70. She's still shows no improvment and my heart breaks when I see her squat and try to pee. Yesterday on her walk, she must have squatted 3o times. When we're in the yard, I need to wave a cookie under her nose to get her to come back in. She's trying to rid herself of the waste, poor thing.

Speaking of waste...

I just read that the last Democrat hold-out on the Health Care Reform bill has caved and will vote yes. Senator Nelson is self-proclaimed pro-life and now has cover to pretend that this bill will allow states to refuse abortion funding. Right...and I've got an ocean liner to sell Sen. Nelson of Nebraska.

When I paid all that money for Savvy's care this week, I couldn't help but think of people without health insurance. I remember the old days when doctor's visits and medications weren't covered. Things were cheaper back then because we KNEW what the cost of most visits and procedures were.

I have to get a molar crowned shortly. The cost is $1300. I know I paid $800 just a few years ago. Phew.

So I do worry about people without health insurance, especially with so much unemployment. We have a massive entitlement culture in this country, both for people on government dole and those of us who have sailed through the last ten years. I worry especially about people caught in the middle, the working people whose jobs are disappearing rapidly. The first worry is usually 'how to I pay my mortgage?' The second is 'what do I do about health care?' Dear ones who travel through this blog have faced this worry.

But I hate that I don't trust our government. I hate that I have no voice. (I live in Massachusetts, after all.)

I hate that I think they're all idiots. And I hate that I can't trust any media outlets to help me see what the real truth is.

And what I really hate is that I fear we've brought this on ourselves.

I've been guilty of spend-spend-spend in my own life. To see it on the national stage is frightening. And I worry that, with a massive bill created in darkness, no one will be served but the ruling class of this nation.

Bah humbug.

God is good. I know this. Fix your eyes...come on, Kathy. Fix your eyes on...

Hard to do when I'm fixing my eyes on Savvy's back end, to see if the poor thing is getting out any urine. Hard to do when I'm fixing my eyes on Washington and shrieking, "when was the last time you guys climbed under your car in December to change the oil; or picked through the discount bin at the supermarket; or struggled to keep a business going so you don't have to lay off your one employee; or bought your own groceries or pumped your own gas or drove to work in a snowstorm so you wouldn't lose a days pay or...lived like us?"

Big things and small. God is good. Fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of my faith.

Oh man, still so much work for Him to do!

Merry Christmas, Christ is born, Christ will come again.

Ho ho ho. Proverbs 31: 25

Love

I fell in love with my husband the day I heard him speaking baby-talk to my two cats.

That was 36 years ago.

Clearly, I have chosen well.

The Sweet Smell of Snow

It's snowing again. The forecast say this should turn to rain but I don't see it on the weather map. Just a blob of blue. And it's beautiful snow, hard flakes that make powder and oh--how they cleanse the air!

I'm in my upstairs office, Savvy sleeping under Ryan's bed as I work. This is our schedule, and we're both a trifle disoriented if we don't keep to it. In another hour, we'll be out in the snow, wearing orange so the hunters don't mistake us for a buck. Breathing in the sweet smell of this snow.

And wondering...why? Why does calamity seem to come in clumps?

In the past month or so, three people in our church had health crises. These are the stalwarts, my brother and sisters I have known for almost 20 years, the wise and faithful among us whom we take for granted. Nancy and Diane were struck with breast cancer and, given it was Diane's second, she chose a dramatic surgery. Dana--who not only helps gird our church but the whole community--suffered heart problems that led to a bypass.

I forget we're all going older. I hate--oh, how I hate--to see loved ones suffer. Especially when it's all sudden and in a clump and the rock we think we've built our church home on takes a hit. But praise God, they know THE ROCK, and God is bringing them through healing. Still--I'd wish their illnesses on serial killers or rapists. Not our dear ones who are so giving. They shame me because I'm not as generous with my time and surely don't have their wisdom and faithfulness.

And then...Dave, one of my oldest writing pals, is diagnosed with a terrible cancer. He's in good hands and has had some observedly miraculous progress (thank you, Jesus!) but it will be a long and perilous road back to health. My writer's group are all touched and worried.

And now...Stephanie, the wife of another writing brother. has cancer. Her brother-in-law is the pastor of a large and wonderful church, so she will have a lot of prayer support.

But still. All these beloved have to walk hard paths. I sit here in a comfortable office, my puppy stretched out under the bed, heaven's snow falling. And think. And pray. Because I know what it's like to think about life going on around you when you are suffering. You sometimes want to scream, "Hey! Stop shopping or watching movies or whatever and look at MY life, stalled here in pain." I remember thinking that at my father's funeral, listening to the minister and watching the cars go by outside and how, in the midst of sorrow, life goes on.

I worry about my sisters, Mary and Janice. I love them very much and I always worry about them getting sick. If Nancy, the picture of health and beauty, can get sick, anyone can. Funny--I don't worry about Steve because we've been through two drastic illnesses in our marriage.

I don't like this clump of illnesses. It scares me.

Lord, I pray this day that you raise to health: Nancy. Diane. Dana. Dave. Stephanie. Amd I pray that they see Your blessing, and give You glory. I ask that I be faithful.

That I be faithful...and not fear life's clumps.

Faith Is Being Sure Of What You Hope For...

Whiter than Snow?

So much for training Savvy to pee on demand with an offer of a "cookie." Steve informed me that this weekend's snow has provided a revealing insight.

Savvy fakes it.

She is known for multiple stops...squatting, allegedly peeing, then grabbing her morsel, then repeating the process. As responsible dog owners, we do want that bladder empty before she comes back in the house.

Saturday Steve caught her cheating. Squat, pee, cookie. Squat, pee, cookie. Squat...wait a minute, that snow is still white and unbroken!

Hm.

Savvy Does Her Job

Every dog owner knows he or she needs to "name" the dog's necessary but indelicate functions. There's going wee-wee or doing your business. My mother called going poop doing your load. I loved my mother but I always hated that term, though if you've got a large dog, that's exactly what it is. Steve has been taking pride lately in the size of Savvy's poops. In his mind, a big poop means big dog.

Our term for performing the necessary functions is do your job. It's a multi-functional term that, combined with a dog biscuit, pretty much now can instruct Savvy to pee on demand. We have done the whole training thing--choose a term, apply it with a bunch of praise and a snippet of treat when the pee or poop happens, and teach the dog to then go on demand. Or invitation.

Like all Labs, Savvy is a fruitcake when it comes to treats. She so lusts for that taste of biscuit that when she's told to do her job, she'll go...get the biscuit...then scurry off six feet and go again, expecting more biscuit. She has, after all, done her job.

There's an unfortunate consequence to this multi-stage performance. She has been so eager to be rewarded for doing her job that she'll turn and look for the treat before she's quite finished. That has left us back where we started pre-housebreaking--with a stinky dog. I now make sure to stay in her line-of-sight so she doesn't turn and look for me while she's fulfilling her responsibility.

When I lose sight of God, I too often do the same thing--soil what He's called me to do. He calls us to fix our eyes on Jesus and don't go chasing the biscuit.

I'm off now--to do my job.

Uh-Oh, They Caught Us

What The Cold Revealed

I ashamedly remember my first year singing with the choir. I must have been a spry 40 years old or so. We had an elder soprano named Frances who had horrible arthritis. Her top knuckles were so eroded that her finger tips twisted sideways until they were perpendicular to the rest of her fingers.


Every once in awhile I'd glance at her fingers and think (now, shamefully): I'll never let that happen to my fingers. I figured you could tape your fingers or maybe splint them so they would stay straight. That's what I would have done, I thought all those years back.

What an ignorant fool I was.

Now I have severe "erosive" osteoarthritis. That means that the cartilage in the joints of my fingers and thumb have been eaten away, leaving the bones to grind against each other. An X-ray would reveal a haze where my joints are supposed to be.

This "bone dust" is a wonderful metaphor for fallen creation. As Paul says in Romans 7:

For in my inner being I delight in God's law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!

How many times I've repented of my stupid thoughts about dear Frances! Beyond her near century of service to our church and community, two things stand out to me. She sang with choir into her eighties, and though her voice grew faint, she always sang in key. (In my spry 50s, I'm finding it hard now to not go flat.) And, though the year she died she was into her nineties, she still managed to knit something like 50 scarves, hats, and/or mittens for the children in her extended family. Twisted fingers, failing eyesight and all.

Were I only to have a portion of Frances' spirit!

I have a blessing Frances did not. About five years ago, I had two joints on my left hand fused against pain. This was the only remedy at that time. Last year I had a joint replacement in my left hand, this year a joint replacement in my right hand. I lost the pain on "mousing" and typing, and gained the ability to open jars.

In August, I had the joints in two fingers on my right hand not fused--replaced. I continue to discover the extent of this blessing. Yesterday I picked up my flute for the first time in years and delighted in pushing the keys. I can make a fist. Today I sit in my office, typing and mousing happily away. Pain-free.

There's been another blessing associated with my hand restoration.

Last winter, we kept the thermostat at 68. This was far too cold for my hands, so I wore two pairs of pants, a tee-shirt, turtleneck, and sweater to get my body temperature high enough to bring comfort to my eroded fingers.

Today the temperature in my office is 62. I wear yoga pants, a tee-shirt, and a light long-sleeve shirt. My fingers are warm and happy because Dr. Stefan Strapko of Nashua, NH restored what was eaten away.

Frances May of Dunstable, Massachusetts blessed so many with her twisted fingers. Without complaint. With conviction.

With a quiet and enduring faith.

Thank you, Jesus. Frances deserved these pain-free and functional fingers far more than I.

The Older Women Teach the Younger...

Daisy O., a two-year-old beagle, visited last Sunday and took 2 hours to teach Savvy how to play. Savvy rolled continuously for almost an hour, trying to "submit" to her elder. Daisy persisted, hopping around, on, and over Savvy until Savvy finally figured out what to do.

She was more than ready for Sadie when she visited today.

The elder hath taught the younger.

The Heart of the Matter

We had powerful rains last night and this morning. It's hard to believe that we got pounded at 9:30 this morning, greeted by blue skies and bright sunshine by 10. Perfect for Savvy's morning walk.

One of the by-products of the forester's mess is that the woods have many deep ruts where the path used to be. In the spring and after hard rains, these ruts fill up with water. I have hated these ruts--they're nearly unpassable when wet and treacherous when iced over.

Amazing how a puppy can change one's perspective. I now do not leave the house without boots because if it's not dewy (or frosty) grass, it's mucky, wet woods. When it was just me and the forester, I hated having to wear boots because of his mess.

But here's the untended consequence of that mess -- water for my dog,.

Savvy discovered water her first day with us, stepping into her water bowl and overturning it. Gone are the days we used to have to bend down and hold the bowl when she drank. Now she's a lady (relatively), drinking nicely from her bowl. And the jacuzzi. And the toilet bowl...not yet but she's trying to figure that out.

Savvy is a Labrador Retriever, bred to run through swamps and bogs to retrieve water fowl. That breeding is fully on display on a day like today when the ruts are filled with water and she can leap and dive and splash and frolic to her literal heart's content.

I love the ruts because my dog loves them. I'm blessed by watching this joyful emergence of her basic nature.

And isn't this what God expects of me? Joyful frolicking in whatever mess He allows in my path?