My Old Pear Tree

Back in 1988, shortly after we married, G and I decided we wanted to build a house. So we started looking for some land. One day, about a year later, when L and I were out for a walk, we noticed a "for sale" sign on a horse pasture we had walked by hundreds of times in our four years of living in our little town. So we checked into it straightaway. It was a little over an acre (85 feet wide and two blocks deep) and the sellers were asking $16,500 for it. We had looked at single lots for nearly $20,000 and this was a whole acre for less than that! We jumped on it. You know the story Jesus tells of the man who finds a treasure buried in a field and he goes out and sells all he has and buys the field? That was us. We spent all we had and a lot we didn't have to make the downpayment for the land. The sellers had offered it to the neighbor first, and the story goes that he said, "Why would I spend 16 thousand dollars for a horse pasture?" --Oh what happy words for us!! (I'm pretty sure he can answer his own question now--"So you don't have neighbors in your back yard!")

Long ago, this property and most of the adjoining properties were probably all part of the same donation land claim, and most were orchards; apple, pear and cherry trees still remain. But the trees are ancient and are in their sunset years. After we had owned this land for 12 years, about 7 years ago, the pear tree had cumulatively produced about 12 pears. Yup, one or two each year, if that. A friend of mine came out one spring and helped me prune the ancient apple and pear trees and that year I had a dozen pears. The following year I had double that. And every year since it has outdone itself. Of course, for the past 3 years it has been pruned by the horses, and we have picked as many pears as we could, often with a manure fork! And they have been much enjoyed and appreciated by both human and equine.

I am reminded of Jesus' talk to his disciples in John 15. (Thank you, Dr. Root, for requiring us to memorize this, decades ago, it is still with me!!) "I am the true vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, so that it will be even more fruitful." Either way, bearing fruit or not, we are gonna get shaped...either cut off completely or trimmed back! He continues, "You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. "

That pear tree was just a tree--barely a shade producer--but now that it bears fruit, it is treasured by me, and it's fruit enjoyed by my family and my horses. I want to be more than just a shade tree.

Where is Beauty?

Gracie is our dalmatian. She came to us the year we had lost two of our beloved dogs to cars on the road--Kara, our beloved beagle, and Cami, our best beloved aussie/lab mix. Two of the best dogs God ever created. We had to have Cami put down the day after Christmas, after a month-long effort at recovery. Our remaining dog, Rosie, was rather psychotic without her two buddies, and we needed another dog too.

We had always wanted a dalmatian, so we bought Gracie from a local pet store. Two days later, when she was clearly not well, with bloody diarrhea and vomiting everything--even water, then no appetite at all, and the pet store assuring us that it was just "adjusting", we took her to the vet only to have the diagnosis of parvo. We were devastated. The rational thing to do would have been to have her put down, or allow the store to replace her with another dog. But having lost two dogs in the last 9 months, we were not rational. We decided to keep her and treat her. She lived in a kennel at the vet's for a while, fed by IVs and treated with whatever they treat parvo with, but she still was anorexic. There was nothing more they could do.

We force fed her nutritious mash, one thing after another, trying to find something she would like, trying to find something she would keep down. Every three or four hours we fed her. This on top of working full time and having a toddler and a teenager. At three months, she still only weighed six pounds (as much as a small cat) and she was skin draped over skeleton.

Finally, as a last resort, after a month of round-the-clock force feedings (which took two people), the vet had us try one more last-ditch effort, barium. We force fed her a huge syringeful of barium. The next day her poop was white. The next day, she ate fried chicken we were having for dinner, and there was no shortage of happy people volunteering to share their meal with her. The next day she ate pork, and for a while, we bought and cooked pork steak just for her, as that was all she would eat.

Eventually, she began to eat a normal diet...and then everything. She got to be a fat, over-60-pound dalmatian. And she was very attached to the family, so much so that we feared for other people when she was with us. We could not walk her on a leash as she would hang from her collar, and she was so afraid of and aggressive towards strangers, that we hated taking her out.

About a year ago, she suddenly started to lose weight. The dianosis: diabetes. So she gets shots twice a day, whcih she takes like a trooper. But her vision is very bad. One day K was swinging in the back yard and Gracie barked at him, ran a few feet closer, barked at him some more, ran a few feet closer, etc. Finally, when she was about six feet from him, she recognized him and all was well. I have seen her do the same with our cats, who won't run from her.

Laura told us about a contraption called a "gentle leader" and it has made walks with Gracie possible again, but still I worry about her around other dogs and people. Recently, we have had a friend's dog staying with us and there have been a few horrid fights, of which Gracie comes out the worse, and so she has scars on various limbs and her face. She is dirty from all the mud lately, and she is skinny. She is also quite black--for a dalmatian.

Today, K and I took Gracie for a walk. K wanted to look at some construction going on in town, and we love to be with Gracie. But there were dogs and people everywhere. At one point a dog came running over to her and I covered her as best as I could with my body, not so much to protect her, but to protect the other dog, as Gracie might fight. The owners assured me their dog was friendly.....and I'm sure it looked to them like I was protecting Gracie (not their dog).

But everywhere we went, people commented on what a beautiful dog she was. I of course would say "thank you", but I wondered what they were seeing? She is very skinny, her eyes are cloudy with cataracts, even though she is fairly young, and her head is practically all brown where it should be white from rolling in the mud and playing outside....What did they see?

I'm thinking they probably were seeing with their hearts. Perhaps it shows that Gracie is a very loved dog. Can they see that she was fed for a month against her will as a puppy? Can they see that she gets shots twice a day for her diabetes? Probably not. Do they see the happiness in her eyes that she is out with her people? Her whole body expresses her delight when she is with us. She adores us. It's probably her happiness and enthusiasm that make her beautiful despite her physical appearance.

We have a wall of pictures in our office and we realized that Mom and Dad aren't represented. In choosing a picture of them to print, I picked one where they were both smiling really big and I told G that I chose that one because whenever I see Dad, he is smiling like that at me. And to be honest, Gracie always smiles at me too, if a dog can smile...with a wag of the tail and a dance of the feet and a lift of the head and perk of the ears.

Yes, I think that is where beauty is after all.





"Who? Us? We weren't doing nuthing, honest!!"

Wishes Granted

When I was an elementary student, I used to spend my summers in Hazel Dell, which at that time consisted of a general store and post office on the corner, but otherwise was just farms and country houses on small acreages (think Apine, Oregon). --That description of Hazel Dell should date me, for anyone who has been there recently!!

Anyway, while the younger kids were having naps, I would often be sent to the post office for the mail, which consisted of walking down the steep gravel driveway and then down the gravel road, which was maybe a quarter of a mile long. I remember walking back one day, barefoot, choosing that strip of greenery down the center of the lane, seeing all the wildflowers (Queen Anne's lace, chicory, dandelions, buttercups) that were growing along the side of the road, apple orchard on one side, pasture on the other, and thinking, "When I grow up, I want to live down a gravel road just like this."

A few years ago, as I was walking back up my driveway, from getting the mail, choosing the softer strip down the middle to walk on, I noticed the Chicory and Queen Anne's lace, chest high, lining both sides of my driveway, and I realized that God had granted that wish, made decades earlier by a 9-year-old enjoying the freedom and rest and beauty of a summer day. I had almost forgotten that wish, but God never did.

Boy Germs

We survived another Scandinavian Festival. What a treat that the kids get to participate in this every year. They don't know how lucky they are, really.

My son was in the 1st to 3rd grade group this year, and even at this young, innocent age, the girls (who usually outnumber the boys in these groups) are starting to be repulsed by sweaty, grimy boy hands--cooties, as they were known in my day. And I realize that for the next five years or so, it will only get worse (before it gets better--or perhaps, when the girls decide K is cute and fun and smart, I will longingly wish for the days of cooties).

But in the meantime, how sad to be rejected because you are exactly what God made you. Earlier this summer, I looked at the strawberry lovingly being offered to me, served up on a muddy hand, and I tried not to let my mind imagine where all that hand had been before I smiled and savored the gift. One day, a few years back, I came in from the pasture and took note of all the Tonkas strewn about the back yard and sand box--as if the lunch whistle blew and the crew abandoned the equipment for refreshement. It might as well have been a neon sign that read, "A Boy Lives Here". I stopped and I savored that vision and locked that feeling and memory deep inside my heart. I pull it up now and then to look at it.

A boy lives here. My life is complete. Perfectly good computer fans get their wires cut off to become the bases of rockets. Pens get taken apart just to see how they work. Words of ownership get written on bathroom walls. The garden becomes a forest for the bike/wagon train hauling lovely composted dirt from here to there, to repair a break in the tracks. The born foreman hollers instructions to imaginary workers. A boy lives here.

And someday, some girl is going to notice him and treasure him. And I hope that when she trips over his shoes in the middle of the night or finds his underwear anywhere but in the hamper, her heart will be warmed and she will think, "A man lives here."

Monkey in the Middle

We were in church Sunday and Gordon said something that prompted G and I to look at each other and ask, simultaneously, "Which one of us needed to learn patience, that God gave us K?" But seriously, I am learning SO much by walking through life with K. He stretches me almost every day in new ways. And I find that the things I am teaching him, I also need to apply to my own life.

For example, in swimming a week or so ago, the kids had some free time after practice and some of the older kids were throwing a football back and forth, and K asked if he could play too, but they wouldn't share. (Previously, when he has pushed them, they have reluctantly agreed and will play "Monkey in the Middle"--which my generation called "keep away"--until K is frustrated to tears.) This hurt K. He wants SO much to be a part of the group, to play sports, especially. On the trip home, we talked about how sharing would have been the right thing for those boys to do, and probably what God would have wanted them to do; but we can't force people to do the right thing, we can't force them to do what God wants. I told K that if that were to happen again, he either needed to be content to play by himself or to find someone who WOULD play with him. I also told him to remember how it felt to be excluded, and when someone asked him to share and he didn't want to, to remember this.

But those words are speaking into my own life as well. There are situations where I am frustrated by the choices other people make--choices that hurt my feelings, that exclude me, choices that I think are wrong (whether they are or not, God only knows). But I have to take my own advice--go find someone else who WILL play, and remember not to exclude anyone.

Wasn't there a book once called something like "All I Ever Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten"? Well, MY life lessons are coming to me through a 2nd grader. I must have missed that year!! And as hard as it is to be repeating this grade, and to see this precious, tender little boy get hurt, I could not be more thankful for him being a part of my life. During the more difficult years, G and I started this habit every morning of hugging K when he first got up and telling him how happy we are that God made him a part of our family. We have continued this, and I think it has changed our hearts--or at least kept us focused and truly thankful. And I hope that it gets so deep into K's psyche that in later years, when difficult times come for him, he will not question that he is wanted and loved and valued by the people who know him best--even though the world is telling him the opposite.

There is a line from a song that has gotten me through a lot of hard times, and when the world plays "Monkey in the Middle" with you I hope this comforts you. "The One who knows me best loves me most."

And that's the truth!

Inside and Out

I have been a walker for nearly 15 years now. The town I live in is roughly a mile square. Almost every block has an alley through it, running north/south. To vary my route, I have often walked these alleys, and it is always interesting to me how the back yards and private areas compare to the front yards, the public areas. Sometimes they are as neat in the back as in the front. Sometimes they are messy front and back. But the ones that interest me are the ones that are neat on the front and messy in the back. I wonder if the house represents the character of the people who live there. I wonder if the people who live there put on one face for society and another in private.

Back in the Carter era, there used to be this joke, based on a Snickers tag line, "How is Jimmy Carter like a Snickers bar? No matter how you slice him, he comes up peanuts." I know that was really meant as a put down, but I kinda liked it. I always hoped that people would say that about me. I don't want to be one way in public and another way in private. Perhaps this adds to my gruffness and my lack of tact; but I want to be "what you see is what you get". I'm always disappointed when I think a person is one way or thinks one way, and then they turn out to be another, or think something else. Whether messy or well-groomed, I want my back yard to look like my front yard. I want the person you meet in church on Sunday to be the same person you see in the park on Monday or in the store on Tuesday.

I suspect this is how we are supposed to be. That's how God is..."no shadow of turning". So, do you come up peanuts no matter how you are sliced?

The Mind of the Maker

There is nothing new under the sun. You know how you are just hanging out with God and He shows you something and you go, "Wow, that is so cool. I have never seen that before!"? But you have seen it before, probably, just a little different facet of it....Or even if you haven't, you might think, "Wow, no one has ever thought this before!" Well, doggone it!! There is nothing new under the sun!!

When K and I were visiting Gma and Gpa earlier this summer and we were picking up rocks and shells on the beach, I found it interesting what he saw as "beautiful" versus what I picked out. You know how we see the world anew through our children's eyes? I realized that God delights in us delighting in His creation. The mere fact of K picking up a rock and thinking some aspect of it is beautiful allows God to see His creation anew, through K's eyes. And the same with you and me. When we appreciate something, or think some thought, we take what God has made and give it back to Him, as seen through our eyes, and He is seeing it anew.

I was thinking one day, not all that long ago, as Gordon was speaking, how similar what he was saying was to the things God had shown me recently. And I thought, even if he were uttering ideas I had written, it would still be different, having gone through the filter of Gordon, and would be colored by his experiences and his personality, and it would be new.

What a concept!!! But it's not new....

I was reading Dorothy Sayers "The Mind of the Maker" last night (yeah, by the end of the year I will have read 3 books --write THAT one on the calendar!). Anyway, she writes "When the writer's Idea is revealed or incarnate by his Energy, then, and only then, can his Power work on the world. More briefly and obviously, a book has no influence till somebody can read it.

"Before the Energy was revealed or incarnate it was ... already present in Power within the creator's mind, but now that Power is released for communication to other men, and returns from their minds to his with a new response. It dwells in them and works upon them with creative energy, producing in them fresh manifestations of Power."

.....and returns from their mind to his with a new response... This is worth pondering.