I'm living in a new house...

OK - the blog has a new house...

www.CalOlson.org. 

New things (like even into 2016!) are over there. Y'all come!

Gotcha Day, 2015

 Here's a rather gushy tribute to the 3rd member of our tribe. Written for Gotcha Day 2014, and updated for Gotcha Day 2015. Updates are in red for no real reason at all.

'cause I'm fancy like that.

This...

Came into our lives 3 years ago today, June 16, 2012.

And this...

Pretty much stole our hearts the minute she walked through the door.

This...

Began leaving puppyhood behind far faster than we might have liked.

But, this...

Was fast becoming the friend, packmate, and companion we were hoping for.

And so this...

Was her one year anniversary. Gotcha day, 2013. She'd grown tall and beautiful, but still...

This...

Is the apple of her daddy's eye.

Just like this...

Will always be.

Yeah, even that.

This...

Has her daddy wrapped around her back paw, and has from day one.

Happy Gotcha Day, Beka Valentine Olson. We love you.

Hugs and doggie bacon strips, Momma & Daddy

Re-Post: From Good Friday, 2014

Written a year ago, these are all my thoughts about Good Friday wrapped up in one post. And even with all these words, I have no words...


"He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet He did not open his mouth;

He was led like a lamb to the slaughter,

and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,

so He did not open his mouth."

- Isaiah 53:7, TNIV

Wha'?

If I'm oppressed and afflicted, I run the gamut from heavy sighs to outright yelling...

Unless it's a spider. Then I scream like a little girl. Or a little boy. Or whoever screams like that. Yup. Right. That.

So, silent in affliction? Not so much.

Lots of us are familiar with Isaiah 53 - the chapter about the Suffering Servant. Or at least know these words:

"But he was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed."

- Isaiah 53:5, ASV

But last time through this passage on the Daily Audio Bible, the words that rang like a bell for me were about His silence in affliction. 

"He was oppressed and afflicted,

yet He did not open his mouth."

Silent? Ok - maybe if someone obnoxious were getting in my face someplace in the grind of daily life. Getting snitty as we stand in line at the store. Taking umbrage to something I unknowingly did, my appearance, or my general presence in the world. 

Silent, after another driver engages in a display of boneheadery that proclaims to all the world just what the riders of the clue bus look like? No... 

(Although I do try to do some ventriloquism, as I mutter about their habits, their intelligence, their heritage, and their general existence while trying not to move my lips, lest they see that I'm yelling... to NOBODY.)

Silent? In affliction? Nope. Can't pull that one off.

My beloved carries on arguments with technology. She holds debates with databases, takes umbrage to unruly laptops, and tells off the GPS in kind but firm tones.

Silent? Nope. Much quieter than me? Good gravy bones, yes. 

"He was beaten, He was tortured, but He didn't say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, He took it all in silence."

- Isaiah 53:7, MSG

I not only can't pull that off, I can't even imagine how to comprehend how anyone could do that. I can't at all understand how someone, anyone could be that afflicted, punished, humiliated, tormented, tortured...

killed...

And NOT say anything.

Now, I know - He DID say things. We have them recorded in the Gospels. I'm sure there were gasps and groans and cries. 

But did He pitch a fit? The kind of which I would have fully indulged in? The kind that would have made my voice go hoarse a couple minutes in?

No.

"Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, He took it all in silence."

One more twist, kiddos...

The one word that He could have uttered, that I, in all of my yelling, screaming, writhing, and general pitchy-fitting might have uttered without doing any good... 

The ONE word that He could have uttered, that would in fact have changed everything...

The ONE WORD that was His to utter, with all rights, with all authority, with all of Heaven ready to respond the very second it was upon His lips...

"Stop."

Of any of the sounds, cries, gasps, or words that He said, all through that awful ordeal, He never said the one word that would have ended it all.

And that made all the difference.

I could not endure in silence, yet I'm left with nothing BUT silence in response. I have no way to process this, so I close my mouth, hang my head, and am overwhelmed. Gratitude doesn't even begin to express it, no other words I could write will help, so as He accepted the pain in silence, I receive the gift...

in silence.

"What language shall I borrow, to thank Thee, dearest friend? 
For this, Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?

Oh make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be, 
Lord, let me never, never, outlive my love for Thee."

- O Sacred Head Now Wounded

The Rob and The 2,000 Year Old Letters

Ok - let me be clear about something - I have no issues with Rob Bell. 

I think he may have "jumped the shark," but that's just a private conviction...

Between me and you, that is.

Recently, being fabulous and "all that" with Oprah, he responded like this when asked about the church accepting gay marriage, in a quote from the article on Mlive.com...

"We're moments away," Rob Bell said. "I think culture is already there and the church will continue to be even more irrelevant when it quotes letters from 2,000 years ago as their best defense, when you have in front of you flesh-and-blood people who are your brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and co-workers and neighbors and they love each other and just want to go through life with someone."

This statement didn't shock me - I have personal thoughts about issues like this, and the place to air those is in very private, between my Father and me.

But the bit that DID make me wince a bit?

"...the church will continue to be even more irrelevant when it quotes letters from 2,000 years ago as their best defense..."

Um.

Wow.

Gee, Mr. The Rob, what other defense do I have? When most everything I know about God is what I read revealed in His word - those "2,000 year old letters."

Oi to da Vey.

Now, lest you accuse me of taking him totally out of context, and that he was just referring to the bits of those 2,000 year old letters that he deems culturally irrelevant while still having a profound respect for other bits...

Re-read what you're accusing me of, and consider the lack of logic therein.

Now, I admit to a certain amount of bias - after all...

I'm in love with a certain book. 

And I love the whole of that certain book, including those "2,000 year old letters," and the ones that are much older. The letters that, oddly enough, Rob himself can be heard quoting in his Nooma videos, or teaching from in his sermons.

Sorry - that almost crossed the line into "snarky," and I don't want to go that way...

Ain't nobody got time for that.

Instead, to show how much I love that book, let me refer to one of the foundational phrases of the denomination I'm a part of - the Evangelical Covenant Church - that describes how we view our lives as people of faith:

Where is it written?

That phrase reveals one of the main reasons I love our church - the encouragement, yea expectation, to "search the scriptures and see if these things are so." There is both a danger and a great freedom in belonging to a church where people are allowed, yea encouraged, to search the Word and decide for themselves what these things are saying. To bear the personal responsibility of answering a question from Jesus: "How do you read it?"

Can you actually point to scripture that supports your position, or do you find yourself simply dismissing the Word as culturally irrelevant?

Now, I'm the first one to admit that one has to interpret the Bible within the context of their time, their culture, while applying it to our time and our culture. Do we follow the letter of the Levitical law, for example? So if one lifestyle is prohibited, then so are tattoos. Or you can cast your wife aside as easily as a beast of burden. And let's not forget offering up your children as human sacrifices...

(For the record, sacrificing children [or any humans for that matter] is abhorrent to God - He says so numerous times, mentioning that practice as one of those detestable things that show how far His people had fallen.

Abraham and Isaac? Nope - special circumstance, unique lesson, never repeated again. One time thing, for a specific purpose. Context, baby - context.)

Anyway, so go the various arguments toward how out of step the Bible is with our current world.

And that's pretty poor scholarship, to tell the truth. Baby, meet bathwater. You'll both be thrown out now.

There, saddlepals, is the danger of not taking the Word as a whole, but grabbing one example here and another there, and using this quote and that quote to prove your point of how absurd the whole thing is. Once you add in context, history, and looking at the whole picture, it becomes obvious just how silly those arguments can be.

Consider tattoos, for example - this was a slave race, recently come from Egypt, wandering in the wilderness, so marking themselves up with tattoos wouldn't be very sanitary. (What - you think all those references to "rashes of the skin" or "when mold appears in a house" or "emissions" *shudder* are there just to be silly? Nope - it's hygiene 101 for a bunch of former slaves who have no clue how to take care of themselves.)

That's all a side note, by the way... 

The major point about "no tattoos" is the associations hooked to the tattoos - the connections to worshiping the gods of Egypt or other aspects of their lives under slavery. Those would bring back connections to a life that needed to be left behind, as God remade these slaves into His chosen people, a new nation.

If you look at a lot of the prohibitions in Leviticus through that lens, all of a sudden the argument about "cultural irrevelance" becomes a little silly. In that time, in that place, in that culture, it makes sense, as God taught them to be a unique people after generations of living as slaves.

Here and now? We aren't likely to associate a tattoo with our former lives in slavery, which could lead to a return to that oppressed life. Granted, some of my generation and older still see tattoos as a mark of rebellion or something, but give us some slack - we're learning. I actually have seen some that were quite beautiful.

If you think that this line of thinking and interpretation of the Word is a whole load of Calbert-flavored hooey, well, you are certainly entitled to go that route. But, you might not understand something called a "trigger," which might be helpful. I shall elucidate...

A trigger, especially for someone who deals with mental or behavioral issues, is something that can trip you into a place you left behind. I have a number of those, both for food addiction and for dealing with depression and bipolar disorder. And sometimes, another one pops up out of the blue and ambushes me.

(Want an example? We had to put my gigantic recliner out on the curb after I lost 240 pounds - I'd sit down in it, and my behavior would revert to when I spent 6-8 hours in it at a stretch. Couldn't work through it, couldn't re-wire around it, so it had to go.)

So I totally get this picture of restrictions designed to help you leave a former life behind.

And, that connects to something else from the newer 2,000 year old letters, where the discussion of not eating food sacrificed to idols comes up. Irrelevant? No - idol worship with its rituals (both seen and obscene) is where some of those early Jesus followers had come from.

That food, offered to an idol, would snap them back to dark behavior and a hopeless life - In other words, a trigger.

Thus, stronger believers are told to set their freedom aside to help weaker brothers and sisters. Just like my dear ones wouldn't encourage me to eat an entire pizza in one sitting, or try to get me so emotionally worked up that I have a major mood swing and then plummet afterward, the ones who know me best help me avoid those traps - they lay some of their freedom aside to help their weaker brother.

Hmmm... Seems pretty relevant to me.

The Bible IS relevant, if we'll take the time and discipline to consider the whole Word, instead of treating it as a buffet and grabbing out the stuff we really like or pointing out the nastiness of the stuff we don't. Context is a beautiful thing.

- Depart to Bunny Trail... -

Bible believing peeps, don't be thumping your desktop or doing a fist pump whilst shouting, "Yesssss!" to what I just said. We're as guilty of doing the snatch and grab thing with scripture. 

For example, have you ever really read Jeremiah 29? The whole chapter?

Did you know that the much-beloved verse 11 doesn't promise relief from a tough situation or trial? It gave hope to Israel that beyond the suffering, beyond the exile, there was a future. The tough stuff was coming, the exile would happen, and things were going to get ugly, but Israel would live on - there was hope and a future in store. It's not a "get out of suffering free" card, but an assurance that God's got this. Maybe not in our lifetime, maybe not in the here and now to relieve our suffering, but ultimately?

He's got this.

It's still a great verse, and a great encouragement. But maybe not quite what we thought it was. Agree? Disagree? How do you read it?

- Return from Bunny Trail... -

So, what about the whole Gay marriage thing that The Rob was commenting on? Where he declared the 2,000 year old letters culturally irrelevant?

Nope - you're gonna have to do your own homework on that. I do have an opinion about it, and I have cuddled up with the Word - both Old and New Testaments, well within the framework of context - and I have a position that seems to be in harmony with what I see in the Bible. And there I leave it.

What I do know, in my 55+ years of wandering around this here mudball, is that I've yet to find a question or situation in my life that the Bible doesn't speak to, directly and eloquently. 

Sometimes, it's in a single verse that speaks to me in a private, moving way. (I wouldn't use a single verse that speaks to me in the quiet to try and hammer home a point to someone else - first of all, that's not my job, because the Word can speak for itself; and second, there's a difference between a verse reaching me in private, and studying to teach others from the Word.)

Sometimes, it's a number of passages, connected in history or context, or perhaps connected through the overarching story of God in His word, that shed light on Him, His character, His heart, and how much He cares about us.

But you can't see it that way if you're just grabbing a piece here, a chunk there, and never see the Word as a whole story. You see, it all connects to show us the Father's heart.

Irrelevant 2,000 year old letters? Nope - not even once.

Sorry, Mr. The Rob, but I calls 'em like I sees 'em. I may be taking your comment out of context, but the fact that you uttered that phrase says that there's something underneath worth noting and pondering. I may be one of those fools that culture loves to label intolerant, weak-minded, incapable of rational thought, or using a bunch of fairy tales to base my existence upon...

But those 2,000 year old letters haven't let me down yet. They form the only reality that allows me to make sense of these days and this culture. And they give me a way to live and love others in these days and in this culture. Irrelevant? No - not to me.

As for you?

How do YOU read it?

"Holy words long preserved
For our walk in this world
They resound with God's own heart
Oh let the ancient words impart"

"Ancient Words" - Michael W. Smith

Realignment

In the course of listening through the Bible in a year, thanks to the Daily Audio Bible, one will come eventually to a romp through the book of Isaiah.

(Truthfully, we're nowhere near that book now... These writey-bloggy-thingies sometimes sit and bake for a month or two or six before they see the light of day...)

You know, I'm not sure if anybody has ever used the phrase "romping through the book of Isaiah." Most people wouldn't use the word "romp" to describe a trip through any book of the Bible.

(But, as all the world knows, I ain't "most people." Nor "some people." I are a "people," but that's about it.

"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." *toot toot*

Now hand me that can opener - I gots me some spinach to eat.)

So - romping through the Bible. Not usually thought of as a "romp."

Though... there IS the Song of Songs...

Never mind. Not gonna go there. Nope.

Anyway, some verses from Isaiah 30 caught my attention:

GOD, the Master, The Holy of Israel, has this solemn counsel: “Your salvation requires you to turn back to me and stop your silly efforts to save yourselves. Your strength will come from settling down in complete dependence on me— The very thing you've been unwilling to do.
Isaiah 30:15 (MSG)

Usually when something like this catches my attention, the Lord is having a word with me. In this instance, the phrases "turn back to Me," "settling down in complete dependence," and, the one that really hits me - "The very thing you've been unwilling to do."

Yeah... that. 

Ok - I'm finally getting the "settling down" part. I've learned that my life works a whole lot better at a slower, mindful pace. If I don't take the time to stop, to contemplate, to mindfully approach every day, then I get lost in many ways.

-But-

Settle down in complete dependence?

Nah - I'd rather squirm and cry and weep and moan and smack my hand against a wall - all of which are really, really bad for my emotional balance.

"A troubled mind and a doubter's heart.
You wonder how you ever got this far.
Just leave it to Me - I'll lead you home."
- Michael W. Smith

So, "settle down" = very good. "In complete dependence" = very good, though I'm not even close yet.

Settle down in complete dependence? I know that it's good - in fact, the best way to go about living... And yet, it's "the very thing I've been unwilling to do."

Yikes-a-roni.

How stubborn am I? How unwilling can I be? Read on, kids...

You've said, ‘Nothing doing! We'll rush off on horseback!' You'll rush off, all right! Just not far enough! You've said, ‘We'll ride off on fast horses!' Do you think your pursuers ride old nags? Think again: A thousand of you will scatter before one attacker. Before a mere five you'll all run off. There'll be nothing left of you— a flagpole on a hill with no flag, a signpost on a roadside with the sign torn off.”
Isaiah 30:16-17 (MSG)

Yup - very stubborn. Slow to learn, slow to listen, slow to trust.

What do you think of those last two pictures - "A flagpole on a hill with no flag, a signpost on a roadside with the sign torn off?"

Oi to da Vey...

What do I think of those last two pictures?

I don't like them. Not at all.

They scream futility to me - as the Teacher would put it, "a chasing of the wind." All of my running, all of my flailing, and all of my refusal to just settle down and depend is pointless, useless, and a waste. It leaves behind an empty flagpole and a signless sign.

If it ended here, if this were the last word, the door slamming, then hope would be gone, and I'd be lost.

-But-

As God, who is rich in love and mercy, does so often, He holds out hope. Emptiness doesn't have to be the final word...

Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over. Cry for help and you'll find it's grace and more grace. The moment he hears, he'll answer. Just as the Master kept you alive during the hard times, he'll keep your teacher alive and present among you. Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job, urging you on whenever you wander left or right: “This is the right road. Walk down this road.” You'll scrap your expensive and fashionable god-images. You'll throw them in the trash as so much garbage, saying, “Good riddance!”
Isaiah 30:19-22 (MSG)

I probably should break those verses into chunks, to allow us all to take them in piece by piece... But I just can't. There's such a wall of amazing there that I just can't bring myself to split it up.

Tears are over, grace is abundant, and the Master is keeping us safe, guiding us and helping us - "Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job, urging you on whenever you wander left or right."

Awesome upon awesome upon awesome.

And, in a quote from a DC Talk song ("Jesus Is Still Alright"), "Now we come to the payoff." -

Our response to all of this...

In the light of all this wonder, we look at all the garbage we've surrounded ourselves with - all of our toys, doo-dads, stuff to impress, attitudes, assumptions - any and all of the crap we make into a cheap blanket fort, trying to keep the Master from getting too close.

Get the picture? No? Ok - work with me here, kids...

Imagine every little corner of your world - external AND internal - suddenly being thrown into the full and glorious light of God's reality, letting you see just exactly what you've accepted as "real" life... Take a look at all that refuse, see how small your reality is, and before the shock and shame can overwhelm you, know that the Master is already wiping away the tears of His little child and taking you into His arms.

And we respond in the only way possible when confronted with the loving, intimate presence of God our Father:

We immediately throw all our idols, all our junk, all our stuff that was trying to take His place (and failing miserably...) in the dumpster.

When the light of the Master fills your eyes, everything else can be seen for what it really is - trash. Nothing else compares. Absofragginlutely nothing.

"So let it go and turn it over to
The One who chose to give His life for you.
Just leave it to Me -
I'll lead you home."
- Michael w. Smith

I Wonder Why I Wander

Nomadic career path.

That's perhaps the most eloquent summary of my journey thus far.

It certainly beats the heck out of "Aimlessly searching for purpose," "Futilely looking for something he'll never find," or "Has no idea what he wants to be when he grows up, and shows no signs of ever growing up."

Yup - nomadic career path. Much nicer.

 Nobody likes to live an unsettled life... At least, nobody I know.

Ok - there are those who really like change, new challenges, new situations, and new cars. Or obscenely tum-tum upsetting roller coasters like my neffypooh, who really has issues.

Not so much the Calbert. Especially the roller coasters.

We (Most of us, many of us, some of us, the old personages among us - of whom I am chief...) like things familiar, comfortable, and sort-of-predictable. At least, as predictable as life gets for we humanpersons...

Which is pretty unpredictable, actually.

Maybe we like the predictable because it give us some reassurance that when things are unpredictable, there's some predictable to help calm down the unpredictable. Kind of like drinking milk after biting into some sort of mind-numbingly hot pepper, like the Ghost Pepper - reputedly the hottest pepper humanpersons can possibly endure, with a lot of agony. Or so I've heard - I wouldn't go near one of those boogers with a ten foot... um... something that's ten feet long.

Why someone would choose to consume something that turns your innards into a seething cauldron of pain remains a mystery I will never comprehend. *shudder* Yet one of my good friends chooses those incendiary culinary options on a regular basis. He bewilders me. I love him - but he bewilders me.

So predictable ain't bad, except for those who thrive on unpredictable, spontaneous, roller coasters, and Ghost Peppers. The Master have mercy on your amped-up souls, cast iron digestion, and burned-out taste buds.

Amen.

So - nomadic career path? Certainly something I wouldn't have chosen. Not really one of my aspirations for my future. Not really on any list of anything I would have checked a big ol' YES to.

And yet, my Father seems to take delight in making sure "predictable" isn't really part of my daily existence. For certain things, yeah - He gives me a few. Daily Audio Bible? Yup - part of my day. Eating, sleeping, etc. Yup - got those covered.

Sense of purpose? Of calling or passion or direction? Not so much.

Career? Goals? Upwardly mobile status? Nope.

Interests? Hobbies? Which musical instrument to play? Which instruments to not play?

Um...

Nomadic is more how I roll.

"I see me rollin', I hatin'..."

(Ok - hatin' might be too strong of a term, even if it is a song quote. But "strongly dislikin'" or "finding moderately objectionable" don't really flow. 

I didn't choose the thug life - the thug life chose me.

Right.)

And for the first time in my constantly wandering path, I may actually be close to somewhat of a revelation of a possibility of perhaps an understanding of why I wander...

Maybe.

I'm never supposed to look at the world the same way twice.

Huh? 

Yeah - that was my reaction too.

Let me put it this way - if you've read more than a couple of these meanderings known as The Whistler's Wonderings, (also known as the Fluffy Goodness...) you'll notice that I seem to have a unique view of the world, of faith, and of wonder.

There are other words one could use to describe it... like "skewed," "whacked," "semi-disturbing," or even "weird."

And no, I'm not offended by any of those. Truthfully, I think they all apply in some way or another.

Really.

Now, this may be a load of Calbert-flavored hooey... but in my slanted view of reality, (Oooh - "slanted." That's one I forgot...) this comes closer to helping me understand why I'm never allowed to "settle down" in one place than anything I've pondered my way through.

So here's the deal - Those few, short-lived times when I've had a regular job, I tend to settle into a routine, a groove...

A rut. I'm like a little wind-up toy on a track - wind me up, let me go, and I'll follow the track around, same direction, same steps, same same same.

A big ol' honkin' rut.

And I quickly lose sight of wonder, of beauty, of God's hand moving so gracefully in everything that passes through my day. I forget just how much I've been blessed, the gifts I've been given in all their diversity and wonder (and strangeness...), and I start seeing the world the same way, every day, same ol' same ol'...

And I'm not supposed to do that.

If the scenery never changes, I don't look at life from different angles, seeing different views of God at work in so many ways. If I'm buried deep in a rut, I never look around to consider how this thing of faith continues to work as everyday life, with all its challenges, doubts, and struggles.

If I get settled in one place, I don't see the wonder of God at work right here, right now. I lose the view of my Father's gentle hand, nudging me in so many different ways.

And I forget how much He loves it when I make refrigerator art for Him. In fact, I sometimes get so deep in a rut that I don't make art at all.

So, He keeps me moving, knowing all the while how uncomfortable it is.

He doesn't let me put down roots, even though He knows how much I long for some little space that I can call "mine," because He'd rather have me see all of creation as "His."

He keeps me unsettled, continuing my nomadic path, because if I don't wander, I lose sight of His wonder.

What He has given me is a purpose... a vision... a dream... (For the first time in my life, perhaps?)

I want to spend my time telling His stories, pointing to Him from all the different twists, turns, angles, and strange viewpoints that He leads me through.

I want to communicate His wonder, His mercy, His goodness, His grace... And show how He is so very active, so very involved in it all - right here, right now.

I have no idea what that vision will look like, or if it even is valid. I have no clue how it could become reality. I simply know that it is my passion - using all the diverse gifts that He's given me, from that unique viewpoint He's brought me to ("strange," "slanted," "unusual," "weird..."), and with all the childlike delight and wonder He's put in me.

I want to tell His story.

I want to share His wonder...

As I wander.

Mara ("Bitter")

A friend of mine was preaching a sermon from the book of Ruth, and asked her friends in the social-media-interweb-internet-thingies which character they identify with most from the book...

Now, being a guy of the manly male persuasion, my options are a little limited. After all, there's only one really manly man character in Ruth - that would be Boaz, the kinsman redeemer.

(Unless you want to be the dude who was more closely related, who had first right to buy the field, and take responsibility for Ruth, but decided that he didn't want to, so Boaz was able to buy the field and be the kinsman redeemer, and everybody lived happily ever after...)

(I really should have looked up his name, since that would have taken way less time than writing out that whole thingie above, but as all the world knows, that ain't how I roll...)

(HAH! I did look it up, and we don't even know his name! He's just called "the kinsman" or "the family redeemer." I RULE!!!)

(This time, anyway...)

So for a manly man of the male persuasion, there's Boaz. Or "Kinsman Redeemer #2" as they would put in the final credits.

But if I'm honest, I identify with Naomi.

Specifically, I identify with her when she says:

“Don't call me Naomi,” she told them. “Instead, call me Mara, for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. I went away full, but the LORD has brought me home empty. Why should you call me Naomi when the LORD has caused me to suffer and the Almighty has sent such tragedy?”
Ruth 1:20-21 (NLT)

Mara - Bitter. 

Unfortunately, that's been me for a long time now. Perhaps far too long. And perhaps I've finally come along enough to look at it, write through it, and at least attempt to deal with it. At the very least, I'll have put a face on it. Sometimes, that's the toughest step.

It seems to me, in my limited but yet extensive career in Maraology, that when bitter invades our lives, we have some choices...

We can live in it, like Naomi "call me Mara" seems to be doing here. And perhaps we come to believe it defines us.

Who could blame you? I mean, look at Naomi - the circumstances, the losses, the pain, the frustration. "And the award for Best Mara in a Tragedy goes to..."

When someone we know is crying Mara, we can totally understand it. Usually. Sometimes. Maybe. But as time goes on, as they seem to live in it, we may find ourselves backing away, shaking our heads, or quietly muttering amongst ourselves.

We can defy it. We can get in people's faces, we can wear our Mara like a badge of honor, we can make the world rue the day it dumped in our Froot Loops, and we can take the posture of "Kickin' Mara and takin' names."

And, in our defiance, perhaps we're putting Mara on steroids. Marazilla. *Rowr*

When someone we know is defying Mara, we can totally understand it. Usually. Sometimes. Maybe. But as time goes on, as they wield Mara like a club, reducing all the world around them to rubble in their defiance, we may find ourselves backing away or quietly muttering amongst ourselves.

We can let it pass over us. And this would seem to be the "ding ding ding" moment - the right answer that makes you today's Mara champion. Let the bitter pass over, don't let it settle and grow roots, just let it go.

(The first one of you who begins humming "Let It Go" will be immediately escorted out by security. And by "Security," I of course mean Beka wielding the Tongue of Slobberyness and the Flashing Ninja Paws of Destiny. *shudder*)

But bitter seems to have a way of launching sneak attacks. Even when we think we've allowed it to pass over, to "flow like water" (to quote various martial arts teachers, including my Tai Chi teacher), it has a way of creeping up on us and playing Whack-A-*Calbert.* (Insert your name *here* - or don't if you prefer the mental image of Calbert being on the receiving end of the Whack-A. I'm here for your entertainment.)

So we may *say* that we let it go (Watch it - I'm still listening and Beka is standing by...), only to have Mara lurking in the background, waiting for the right moment to strike. And the only person we're fooling with our "it passed right over me" attitude is ourselves. Others see the totality of our world, and as time goes on, they may find themselves backing away or quietly muttering amongst themselves.

Disclaimer: I'm more than aware that each of these scenarios have been played out by various and sundry folks, who then managed to either work through it or embrace it, find grace, and move on. I'm just not among them. At least, not in this zip code.

*** time passes ***

Sometimes, I find myself writing through something like this, and I hit a wall - the words flow, then just stop, slamming up against a brick wall. There's no more to be said at that moment. And I shake my head at myself and wonder why that happens - I seem to be making progress through something, only to run into a wall just when I'm in the fast lane toward clarity...

Perhaps not clarity. That'd be giving Steve (the Mental Hamster) too much credit. And he's NOT fancy that way.

Anyway, I hit one of those walls at this point, packed up the ol' iPad, and headed off to other things, wondering where all this bitterness was going... And as usual, my Father had a destination in mind. He just wanted me to listen a little more carefully.

There is another option, and at first glance, it's going to seem like the worst one of all:

We can accept the bitter.

("WHAT???????")

Told ya.

If you feel your indignation rising within you, ready to heave forth a mighty torrent of contention, disagreement, or at least mega-trolling, pause thou thy poison pen (keyboard, etc.) and hear my tale, ye lords and ladies.

Acceptance is NOT surrender.

Acceptance is NOT apathy.

Acceptance is NOT weakness.

"Alright, writey-boye, get to what the hork it is, that I might load my catapults of refutation and lob stones at thy ramparts."

Wow - I seem to be stuck in medieval mode. Sorry.

Acceptance is a simple acknowledgement that we were hurt, regardless of how, why or by whomever or whatever. And that there are wounds and scars from the hurt. And that we don't have to live damaged, bleeding, and crying.

It can be all three at the same time...

We can live in it - and accept the fact that there are scars. Every time we see those scars, there's a reminder of pain and bitterness. It's a part of our history, thus it's a part of us. To refuse that is to try and perform plastic surgery on our own bodies - trying to excise the scars and make everything purty. Doesn't really work, and can go horribly wrong.

So we accept the scars, the pain, the hurt.

We can defy it - and accept the truth that there's no need to drag the bitterness around like a little kid with a wooden ducky toy trailing along behind them. Just because there's bitterness in our history doesn't mean it needs to be in our present. (And yes, I'm so tempted to go for various quotes from Kung Fu Panda 2, so save me the effort and just go watch it, ok?)

So we learn from it, and realize there's no honor in wearing a badge of Mara.

We can let it pass over us - and accept the fact that our hands aren't big enough to carry all that weight, all that bitterness, all those hurts and scars.

The hurt happened. The bitter came. And I'm not strong enough to deal with it all alone. So that's where I have to climb in my Father's lap, cry on His shoulder, get angry, scream a bit, and learn what His comfort feels like in this confused, broken world, to His confused, broken child.

Apologies if this sounds like the point where someone just threw in a pithy churchy God-thing at the end to make it a neat little devotional, but in my world, this is the only way to put Mara to rest.

It's the only reality that gives me any hope of moving away from Mara-ville into Calbert Acres.

Call me Mara? Sometimes.

But thanks to my Father's grace, Mara isn't forever.

The 40 Year Long Way 'Round

I think I might start a series called "My Weekly Butt Kicking from Pastor Craig."


Nope - too wordy.

"Pastor Craig Kicks My Butt."

No - just doesn't seem right.

"Kickin' with Craig."

Aahhh - that's the ticket.

(If I was cool and hip and in the know, I'd put something like #kickinwithcraig, but I'm not, so I won't.

Although I might see if I can get my peeps from First Cov to use it. Hee hee hee...)

Let us proceed with the kickin'...

Craig has been working through a series in Exodus called "The Great Escape." (And you should really check it out... the link is right here, and you can find the whole series and more CraigAwesomeness at the First Cov website.) So on a Sunday past, we found ourselves headed out from Egypt, and smack dab at the Red Sea in a sermon titled "Freed To Follow."

We also found out that Craig has never seen "The Ten Commandments." Imagine - never seeing Charlton Heston saying "Let My People GO!" or Yul Brenner saying "Heck NO, NRA Boy!" or Edward G. Robinson being his usual gangster self, only in a tunic, sandals, and a head thingie.

Perish the thought. Craig got some watchin' to do.

Anyway, part one of the kickin' came in this little factoid:

If the Hebrews had went a direct route, they could have hit the Promised Land in just a few weeks.

-But-

God the Master knew that they weren't ready to deal with what that road would bring them, so He took them the long way 'round...

The 40 year long way 'round.

Wha??

Yeah. 40 years of mercy wrapped up in wandering, complaining, learning, and manna.

(Ba-MANNA BREAD!! Ah, Keith Green - we miss you!)

40 years teaching former slaves to be a free nation following God the Master.

Cal's takeaway kickin' from this: When God is refining us, training us, and shaping us, it'll take as long as it needs to take. Not a second more than necessary, but not a second before we're ready either.

Even if it takes 40 years...

Part two of the kickin' is...

God is NOT a travel agent. (I love this picture, Craig!) We don't come to Him, with our destination all picked out, all the things we'd like to see, and all the amenities we want included, so that He can make it all nice and smooth and hopefully cheap.

Rather...

He takes us along the route He decides, to the places He wants us to be. He makes the plan, not us.

I think of it this way: We are deployed. We're sent to where we're needed - either to be the agents of change for the Kingdom He needs us to be, or to places where our training continues.

We're sent - sometimes for short assignments, sometimes long. Sometimes relatively calm places, where we can rest and learn, and sometimes into the middle of conflict, where we face challenge and struggle on all sides.

For the record, this is the only reality that helps me make sense of my nomadic life path - never staying where I'd like to stay, never allowed to put down roots or feel like I'm in my "place." He keeps me moving, keeps me unsettled, and continues to deploy me where He wants me to go.

And, slowly, I'm finally accepting it. 

So far, it's been since 2006 - the 8 year (and counting) long way 'round. Truthfully, it's been much, much longer - the 32 year long way 'round since my best friend became my bride, and a longer long way 'round since leaving my home town and coming to Grand Rapids - I guess I'm really on the 55 year long way 'round, and there's no end in sight.

Which brings us to the third kickin'...

The cloud and the fire.

Every step of the 40 year long way 'round, God went before them.

Not behind, watching them hit struggle after struggle. Not above, sitting on a cloud in a long white robe watching the little ants go marching one by one...

But, before them.

Ahead of them.

Already knowing the way ahead, already knowing the challenges they would face, and already providing what they would need to keep going.

Oh, and hearing their muttering, complaining, and general crabbing all along the journey. Imagine a 40 year session of "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? AreWeThereYet?AreWeThereYet?AreWeThereYet?AreWeThereYet?AreWeThereYet?AreWeThereYet?AreWeThereYet?"

Every parent who read that just had a major shudder. I know you did.

"AreWeThereYet?HowAboutNow?WhatAboutNow?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?Now?"

Yeah. Whee.

Oh, and don't even get me started about the gold cow. Edward G., you're goin' DOWN...

(That won't make any sense to folks like Craig, who've committed the egregious sin of never having seen the movie. And yet, I still love you.)

God the Master plans the path we need. God the Master know just how long it will take to bring us through the lessons and assignments needed to have us end up just where He wants us.

And God the Master goes before us. Always.

Thanks, Lord. Message delivered by your servant Craig, and received by your kiddo Calbert.

#kickinwithcraig - a hashtag whose time has come.

Reconnection

One of the "gigs" I find myself in lately is working at the airport...

I pause to allow you, dear reader, to be a tiny bit envious. I don't blame you at all - Honestly, I do an internal happy dance every time I get to use the phrase, "I work at the airport."

**Woo hoo!!**

See? There I go again.

As someone who really does get geeked at the opportunity to hang around an airport, there are a number of sights that I don't think I'll ever grow tired of...

-- The glow of lights on the landing field - since I work nights, I get to see them every time I arrive.

-- Lights in the control tower as I walk toward the terminal. Again, I get to see them every night.

(I'd really really REALLY love to get into the tower sometime, but I don't think that'll ever happen - I don't even think the "I'm a newbie and got lost" excuse would work, let alone the "What do you mean this isn't the bathroom"? excuse. Either of those would probably lead to me getting an ever-so polite talking to by the fine and friendly folks in the blue uniforms with the shiny badges...

Ain't nobody got time for that.)

Back to the sights I see...

-- Looking at planes going up, coming down, and parking at the gates.

(Did I mention that I get geeked about being at airports? I did? Good...)

(I'm going to ask my boss if there's any chance I could also train to work on the ramp - I want to be one of the cool kids in the reflective vests with the magic glow sticks of authority that have the power to steer a big ol' plane nose onto a little mark on the concrete.

That'd be fun. Also might induce slight moisture in one's neither regions - this would, after all, be a big ol' plane nose, heading STRAIGHT FOR YOU. 

**Woo hoo!!**

But with great power comes great responsibility - no making the plane do donuts or something just to see if the crew would actually do it. Bad Calbert. Very VERY bad Calbert.

Besides, I think the pilots would just run my sorry hiney over, and rightfully so.)

(Did I mention that I get geeked about being at airports? I did? Oops - my bad.)

One more sight at the airport that I don't think I'll ever get tired of: Watching people. Watching passengers as they disembark - sure. Although at the hours I work, the look on their faces is usually something like, "FINALLY!!" It's still worth watching, but let's face it - by the time they pass by little ol' me, they're rung out and ready for their jammies.

But the folks I especially like to watch are the people who are waiting for someone to arrive. It's always changing, from men and women waiting to catch sight of their beloved coming around the curve of the exit, to groups of folks waiting for someone to return from far away. Sometimes they're a bit wrung out too, having been shoved into extra innings when the plane they're waiting for gets delayed for an hour... or two...

That all seems to melt away though, when whoever they're waiting for comes around the bend and into their line of sight.

(And don't even get me started about how teary I get when one of the amazing men or women of the armed forces comes home... *sniff sniff*)

They hold signs, they bring flowers, or they greet their loved one with the biggest hug imaginable. Children run to mom or dad, families wrap their arms around grandparents, and friends have long looks into each other's eyes as they measure the time since they last saw each other.

They reconnect.

And I ponder this:

When I'm apart from those I love, even for a short time, am I as overjoyed to see them as someone waiting for a passenger?

I often say, and yea verily I still say, that my beloved's smile lights up the room for me.

-But-

Do I remember to tell her that?

Or do I let the ho-hum routine of each day take that away from me? Do I fail to bask in the brightness of that smile, because the daily grind has ground me down?

Too often, all that passes between us when I see her is a simple "Hi." Then a "Hi" back. We get in the car, we drive home. We carry our stuff in from the car, the way we do almost every single day. We may chat a little, or talk about something we need to do. I might chatter about my day, or she might chatter about hers.

But, if I'm honest, far too often we don't reconnect - not like folks waiting at the airport. And I think I lose something along the way because I don't make the effort to show her my absolute joy at being with her once again.

So, am I the only one who might get ground down with the daily routine like this?

No?

I didn't think so - we all miss so many opportunities to reconnect.

There's another example of reconnecting in our own home - our beloved BekaV. And she never, ever gets bogged down in the daily grind. She doesn't even know what a "grind" is - all she knows is that she's a dog and she's totally geeked to be one.

(Did I mention that I get geeked about being at airports? Twice? Only twice? You got off easy...)

Every time we've been away and she's been in her pen, (It doesn't matter if it was an hour or all day...) she has her little ritual of reconnection... She comes out of the pen, usually to me first, and ducks her head, rubbing it along my legs, pressing into me with those ridonkulously strong legs hard enough to knock me over if I'm not careful. She wants me to touch her, to hug her and pet her.

Then she runs to my beloved for the same treatment.

Then back to me.

Then back to her.

Then back to me where I mention that she should go outside with momma, and she finally runs full-tilt to the door, where momma has been patiently waiting.

Now, if she didn't get enough affection, she'll sometimes run back to me for one more cuddle, and then I'll get her going toward the door. She finally goes out, and the ritual is completed.

- Except -

When she comes back in, she's not quite done with me. She'll run in, come find me, and do more head ducking until she's satisfied.

Thus endeth the ritual of reconnection. Amen. Woof woof.

So, let me add to my ponderable thingie:

When I'm apart from those I love, even for a short time, I should be as overjoyed to see them as someone waiting for a passenger coming in after a long flight.

OR as a certain fur-clad cuddleball, wanting to duck her head, get some lovin' and try to knock me over with her powerful legs.

Yeah. That.

So, the next time I've been away from my beloved, I'll run up to her, bump my head into her knees, and almost knock her over with my (not-so) powerful legs.

Wait - something about that doesn't seem right...

Iron Sharpens Iron

When a file meets metal, some beautiful things can result...

As iron sharpens iron, a friend sharpens a friend.
Proverbs 27:17 (NLT)

"Iron sharpens iron" can be the productive work of a file in the hands of a jeweler, or it can be the destructive work of two swords clashing, producing only sparks and damaged blades.

There is a signal that Vicki can give me when necessary - and it's likely that she could do it right in front of you and you'd totally not catch it.

(And no, it's not a swift kick under the table. You've watched too many old comedies.)

The signal is to let me know that I might be getting too excited, or too "into" something, and might be allowing my emotional balance to slip. It's not a slap, not a "Stop it!" or even a "Dude - dial it back!" It's simply a gentle encouragement to be aware, to assess, and to dial it back if I find that the balance is indeed off.

How do I know that's exactly what it means? Or that she's not saying something more forceful when she gives me The Signal?

Because we decided what the signal means when I gave her permission to assist me in that way.

(And don't confuse The Signal with The Look - bane of all husbands everywhere, capable of burning one right through their eye sockets all the way down to their shoes.
*shudder*)

There's another signal that I share with those that I trust and love, again giving them permission to assist me.

When and if I see The Signal, from those few I have trusted with it, I know that my response must be one of gratitude, as I take stock of my emotions and regain control.

And it takes a lot of love and trust to open yourself up that way, so that your reaction to even subtle correction isn't like a spoiled, tired toddler in the cereal aisle. 

*WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!*

Yeah. That.

As iron sharpens iron, a friend sharpens a friend.
Proverbs 27:17 (NLT)

I notice something here right away - It's not just any random person who gets to come along and start scraping along on me - it's a friend. 

In the over 4 years now since my surgery and my ReBirth, the support of so many people has mean more to us than we could ever express. The way they've joined us in giving praise to God for this amazing gift has carried us through all the tough stuff and straight into absolute gratitude. Their enthusiasm, care, concern, questions, astonishment and open-handed support have kept us on this new path with great joy.

- But -

With the best intentions, some folks turn into the Plate Police.

They don't mean to, I'm sure - they're excited about my new life, and they want to see me live into this and not go back. And they've probably either heard the stories or known someone who had "the surgery," and then regained all the weight or ended up heavier than they were before the surgery, and are now sicker than they ever were before.

So, because they know or have heard of those people, they intensely want to make sure their friend Calbert doesn't end up that way.

Enter the Plate Police.

And I enter the goldfish bowl - my intake, my existence, my choices become open to public scrutiny.

And that's hard to live with.

They do this with the best intentions, usually quietly, simply observing, but sometimes asking piercing little questions. ("Can you really eat that?" "Isn't that going to make you sick?" "I thought fat was bad for you... that really doesn't hurt you?") It's all intended to help, to remind me to stick to what I'm doing, but the problem is they haven't been given the green light to help in that way.

Those stories they know about others that have had "the surgery?" It could be one of a number of procedures - and each one has a different maintenance plan. What I'm eating at any moment? It's all a matter of the balance for the whole day, not just one meal. Quantity? It depends on what I've eaten so far that day, how far off or behind I am on my protein balance, and what I'm doing after the meal I'm eating - sometimes I overload on protein because it's going to be a long time before I can take more in, and this will help me get through.

And yes, there are procedures where one must live a low or non-fat diet for the rest of their life. But that's not the case for a DS patient - in fact, I have to have a certain amount of fat to keep my system functioning correctly. I have to practice moderation, just as everyone does, but a little handy fact helps: Of the fat I take in, about 80% of it passes straight through.

Yes, that does tick off some of my fellow surgery patients who have to live non-fat for the rest of their lives. It also ticks off some of the "non-altered" humans who know me. 

Let me state one more time how much I appreciate the support from friends and family. Vicki and I can't thank you enough.

But sometimes the only way iron can sharpen iron is when it's in the hands of a close friend. A friend whose been given "permission" to wield the file, polish the metal, and help to refine who and what I am. 

So saddlepals, consider this:

To be given permission to speak into someone's life, to help them see their blind spots or to challenge them in their walk is a gift - a gift that comes with great responsibility, that isn't given lightly, and that is earned way, way before it's given.

It's the result of walking together deeply, intimately, and with great love. It's a byproduct of loving one another, not a perk of being a Jesus follower. And it's not lightly given. To open yourself to that kind of input from someone else takes a lot of trust, knowing that their heart is one of love.

And it's usually a two-way street, knowing that as they speak into your life, they trust you to speak into theirs. After all...

As iron sharpens iron, a friend sharpens a friend.
Proverbs 27:17 (NLT)

Reassurance From Looking Back

Sometimes, when we're struggling to accept our own value and worth as bearers of Imago Dei and dearly loved children of our Father, a look back will change things.

Lemmie 'splain.

I'm a musician, so a big piece of my creative life is found in the pursuit of creating and performing music. 2 CDs of my own, playing on a number of others, part of the worship team at 1st Cov, as well as one of the organists - yeah, music is a big piece of my creative life.

A really big piece.

With fluffy topping.

But no sprinkles - that'd be silly. 

When someone close to us made a low-key, offhanded comment, they really didn't know how deep of a hit to my core that was. I don't know if they had inventoried just how few of my CDs had actually sold, or were basing this comment on the fact that I still didn't seem to be working, providing income, taking care of my family, or otherwise justifying my existence. Whatever - they were prompted to speak.

And thus they spake:

"So... I guess you're not going to be making any more CDs."

(And yes, the host would say at the point, "Ooh - sorry. That wasn't in the form of a question.")

So, with that one statement that they did spake, lo my Ship of Battle was struck broadside, and verily did sink.

"C (for Calbert) 32.5."  *pause for counting all the heck the way over to 32, then seeing that the little thing was indeed jammed onto the space between 32 and 33* "Hit." *sigh.*

I guess putting my train transport on P-9 3/4 was a dead giveaway...

No, I'm not blaming the total tailspin in my musical world (and losing a lot of my creative output) on this one little comment. Nothing in the world is as simple as that. It's just how gestalt** tends to work - a little something here, a little something there, a pile of CDs over here, no one coming to a coffeehouse gig there, etc. The whole weighs a lot more than the sum of the parts - it weighs enough to sink a battleship.

And slowly, things shut down. I stopped planning the new CDs (the hymn series), even thought I already had laid it out to four CDs, and had some arrangements slotted for each of them; I shelved the next Christmas album; and basically I walked away from creating my own music and finding places to perform it, just playing the occasional gig that shows up.

The biggie - at those few gigs I stumble across, I don't play many of the songs that I put on my first CD. In other words, I stopped playing my own music.

This, then, indicates a problem.

Forward by a couple of years...

As the music world continues to turn, the idea of digital single releases comes into reality - being able to release not only an album, but singles digitally, avoiding some of the expense involved in producing a entire CD at once, and having it printed.

That can result in being able to release new music frequently, instead of waiting years (and years) for a whole new project, thus helping build your audience and spread the word about your music.

Unfortunately, that can also result in the music sounding like it was made in your back room, without taking the time to be refined, polished, and generally made presentable for public consumption.

Ain't nobody got time for that...

It was always my intent to do a second Christmas album, called "Christmastide." My "WhistleWonder: The Carols of Christmas" album about Advent - the time leading up to Christmas, and "Christmastide" was intended to be more of a celebration of the day itself. So the other day, I listened through the cuts that exist for that project - either as sketches or as full songs, thinking about the possibility of releasing some singles for the Christmas season.

And, with all modesty intended, the following thought thunked its way through my head...

"Some of these thingies are pretty darn good."

If you know me at all, you understand how unusual it is for me to say something like that about my own music. If you don't know me at all, well...

First - Hi, I'm Cal.

Second - my attitude about my own giftedness can be summed up in my life statement:

Never Believe Your Own Press Releases.

So, for me to find good, yea even joy, in listening to something I created? Pretty astounding. Pretty darn astounding. Pretty darn honkin' astounding.

With sprinkles. Who cares if it's silly - it's worth it, dadgumit.

So this thought that thunked in my head opened a little window, let a little light into a dark place I had closed off, and reminded me that I am gifted, that God gave me these gifts for a purpose, and I really do love using those gifts to make refrigerator art for my Daddy.

If I'm able to polish some of those nuggets in time, I'll get them out through my connection with Loudr, and you better believe my 4.78 peeps that read the blog will not only know about it first, but get a little special somethin' before anybody else - because you guys ride this ride with me. And I loves ya more than my luggage. (That's a quote from the Pioneer Woman - by the way, Ree, I'm still looking for that invite sometime to come play for your peeps there in Oklahoma. A man's got to dream, right?)

So here's the thing we can all carry home:

We can sometimes find affirmation, reassurance, or at least some hope from looking back.

(This, by the way, is why you hear me say a lot about "raising stones" - putting up those reminders of where God has shown up in undeniable ways.)

We can (and should) raise stones of places or times where we were so in His arms that the world seemed to go away for a while...

Where we found such peace and delight that we were free to make refrigerator art without any inhibitions and bring them to our Daddy, saying "Look what I made for YOU!!", seeing His delighted smile when He takes our finger painting and sees a masterpiece...

Like a couple of CDs, for example - "Angelica's Waltz," an album about restoration right on the heels of being laid off and having the wrecking ball take everything out from under me; and "WhistleWonder: The Carols of Christmas," expressing a deep love of Advent, and the need to prepare for the King's arrival all year long. They're a couple examples of my finger painting, hung on His refrigerator with joy. Regardless of how many I've sold, or how many people know about me because of them, the main point is they are expressions of love for my Father, and that's all they need to be.

So, my dear ones...

Feeling like your ship got blown out of the water? Having trouble seeing yourself as the wondrous, gifted bearer of the Image that you are? Forgotten that our Father loves His kiddos, and He loves it when they make refrigerator art for Him?

Take a look over your shoulder. Look where your Daddy has moved. And look at those times where you held up something less-than-perfect but filled with love, and said "Look what I made for YOU!"

Remember His delighted smile. And go create.

** Gestalt - "The whole is greater than the sum of the parts." 

Beka Is SO Weird (A Humorous Interlude)

The following scenario plays out pretty much every time a certain furry critter in our house gets her hungry on. And it's something she's done since she became a part of our family...

So, here's the drill...

She wanders over to her pen, browses through the various things in there, like some sheets she can toss around or lay on, a couple of toys she can chew on, her water bowl (always an important part of her daily requirements), and then peruses the bowl o' kibble.

*hmmm...*

She'll sniff around the bowl, analyzing the kibbley fragrance therein, then gently reach in, pick up a few nuggets of kibble goodness...

And bring them out to the rug in front of my chair, munching them there.

If things are up to m'lady's usual standards, she'll head back into the pen and proceed with the rest of the meal.

If she's unsure, she'll head back into the pen, pick up a few more nuggets of kibble goodness, bring them back out to the rug in front of my chair, and once again sample the kibble du jour.

After the second tasting, the possible outcomes could include:

Another sampling o' kibble; A final decision to commit and munch down the bowl (and yes, I do mean that literally - she'll down the kibble, belch thunderously, and grab her bowl to fling around...); Or, she could decide that she's not really in the mood for kibble, whereupon she'll grab some of those sheets I mentioned and bury her bowl under them.

We've never had a dog who had such a complicated process in place to decide things in matters of the munchies. I'm not sure if it's the Ibizan Hound equivalent of casting lots, or the doggie version of the Urim and Thummim, or... um...

No clue. I got nuttin'.

But none of our previous dogs have engaged in such a complicated ritual...

Two of them were certified Hoovers - put the bowl down, doggie proceeds to suck up the kibbley goodness, hopefully taking time to chew at least a little.

(The second of those, Ezzie the Wonder Dog, had to have some help to slow her down - a bowl with obstructions she had to dig around, or a kibble ball she had to bat around to get the food out of. She still horfed the stuff down in an alarmingly rapid fashion. Ah well.)

The one between the Hoovers, Kira (our Husky, and absolutely momma's girl...) was a slow and dainty eater, totally on her terms and her schedule.

So no, we've never really had one like Beka. The whole "take a taste test, then consider what to do next" thing is all new to us.

And really weird.

Where did she learn this? What inner calling or instinct led her to pretend she's at Costco on a super Saturday sample day, "where kids eat free always?"

I'm sure that I'll never know.

(Don't laugh - I know someone whose idea of taking the kids out to eat was just that - hit the samples, hit 'em multiple times, and repeat until the kids are full. Really really REALLY embarrassing... and I wasn't even there. Just heard the tales afterward. *shudder*)

Although I don't think that dogs have immortal souls, I'd be delighted to be wrong about that and meet up with Beka someday where the lion and lamb lay down together.

And I'd be even more delighted if the Narnia model turned out to be true and we could talk with our furry friends.

And I'd ask her, "What the HECK was that all about??"

Now THAT would be heavenly.

I've been trying to think of a spiritual application for this whole bundle of fluffy... other than "Taste and see that the Lord is good," that is.

So far, nuttin'.

And maybe that's alright. Sometimes we can just observe the oddities around us that make us wonder, and leave it at that. We can ponder the quirks and craziness, the weird and wonderful, and simply sit back and smile. No deeper meaning needed - just enjoy the little things  reminding us that God has a really great sense of humor.

Oh - watch out for the kibble burp. It'll arrive about 30 seconds after the kibble goes bye bye. Yowza.

And if you value your sanity (And sense of smell - or so I've been told, since I'm incapable of experiencing the full impact...), DON'T be standing behind her when she goes into a full-length stretch. Trust me on this, my peeps. *shudder* Trust me.

Just stand back (Well away from the stern...), wonder, smile, and enjoy God's weird world.

Sometimes that's enough.

You - Follow Me

When I have nothing better to crab about, I'll mutter to my beloved that "I shouldn't bother with this writing crap, since nobody reads it anyway. Besides, everybody writes, everybody blogs, and everybody and their distant relatives is working on a book. So why bother?"

And I'm finally starting to get it through my thick noggin that all that negativity, spewed out with extreme prejudice, is harmful to my beloved. It may (or may not) provide me some relief, via "venting," but it's pretty much a soto voce stream of negative that gathers in her personage and festers.

So it's all well and good (or not) for me to launch that poopy out there, but it's not good (or extremely not) for her. And since I really do love my beloved more than myself (or at least am trying to), I need to head that stuff off before it blasts out my pie hole and smacks her.

All of this has nothing to do with anything I'm thinking about in this present post-thingie, but it's still true... Just not related to this.

And yet...

No. Not really.

On we go...

Turning his head, Peter noticed the disciple Jesus loved following right behind. When Peter noticed him, he asked Jesus, “Master, what's going to happen to him?”

Jesus said, “If I want him to live until I come again, what's that to you? You—follow Me.”
John 21:20-22 (MSG)

The last words of Jesus to Peter... "You - follow Me."

Calbert says, "Master, if I write all this stuff including fluffy silliness, weird humor, and occasional insights that You interject ('cause I sure can't take credit for the good stuff...), what good is it if nobody reads it? If nobody comments or Likes it or Shares it, or nuttin'?"

And the Master says, "What's that to you? You - follow Me."

Calbert says, "Master, why would you ask me to write? It brings no income to our household, it doesn't give me a good answer to the question, 'So, what do you do?', and it causes a bit of eye-rolling (granted, mostly internal eye-rolling) when I respond, 'I'm a writer.' Then comes the whole,'So, what do you write?', and I say, 'Um, fluffy goodness? But... I'm working on a book." (insert more eye-rolling) And then, 'Oh - what kind of book?', and I say, 'Well... it's kind of my story, about how I've been ReBorn.' (insert sound of crickets and silence), so... what about all that, huh? What about that, Master?"

And the Master says, "Dude - that was a run-on sentence the likes of which would have made Paul scratch his head and weep with confusion. Let's simplify...

You - follow Me."

And Calbert says, "Well, what about...?"

And the Master says, "Which part of 'You - follow Me' was unclear?..."

(insert sound of Calbert slapping his hand over his mouth)

"Better. By the way, just to tie something up from what you were thinking about back at the start of this thingie, spewing all those negative thoughts and comments not only messes with your beloved's head (who, by the way, is My dearly loved daughter, and I'm not really delighted when you do that to her...), but it's really bad for your head, and it takes your eyes off the one and only thing that matters... Which is?..."

And Calbert, removing his hand from over his mouth, mutters quietly, "Me - follow You."

"Bingo."

(For the record, I'm not one of those who imagine the Master with blonde hair and blue eyes, but I do imagine dialogue with Him sounds a lot like dialogue in my own voice and manner of speech. I'm fancy like that.)

So, my dears, can I ask you something?

How do you feel when nobody seems to see your hard work, but everybody fawns all over someone else's little effort?

"You - follow Me."

What commentary comes to your lips when some personage makes the "Bonehead of the Month" move right in front of you on the highway, causing you to slam on brakes, almost get crunched, and put every nerve in your body on edge? Especially when they continue on, oblivious to the chaos they just heaped on your plate?

"You - follow Me."

What about the loneliness that comes from feeling like everybody else is "in," and you're "out." You're not only a square peg, but the round hole has been filled in with concrete and is now used as a skate park. You're on the outside, and you can't look in - you can only imagine what wonderful things are going on in there, and you're not invited.

"You - follow Me."

You struggle - physical struggles, mental struggles, financial struggles, or just struggling to hold on to a little hope, a little light in a very dark world. And you seem to be surrounded by people who live totally perfect lives - no issues, no struggles, no darkness. Just light and hope and life.

"You - follow Me."

Is that easy? Is it too simplistic of an answer to our complicated brokenness? Are we trying to apply a gauze pad to a missing limb?

It can certainly seem that way.

- But -

The more you practice it, the more you press into it, the more you accept it as the only reality that makes sense, the more it becomes the only reality that makes sense.

It's freedom in three little words.

It takes off the chains, removes envy from the equation, reminds us all that we are all equally blessed and all equally broken. It becomes hope in the dark, love in our loneliness, and a lifeline when there doesn't seem to be one.

Three little life-changing words...

"You - follow Me."