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image by latimes.com
Shalom in Ferguson? According to Strong’s Dictionary, shalom goes beyond “peace” to encompass “completeness, wholeness, health, peace, welfare, safety, soundness, tranquility, prosperity, perfectness, fullness, rest, harmony, the absence of agitation or discord.” What chance do you think Ferguson has in the near future for any of those?
But let me suggest Ferguson is merely a metaphor for America, or even the world. Stress...
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Albert
I made a new friend last Saturday. Albert. Yeah, that’s his pic above. A squirrel. During a friend’s retirement party, standing under a tree, talking to another old friend, he gently mouthed, “Squirrel.” I slowly turned, about one foot from my face was who I later learned was Albert. Apparently he wanted some of the food so freely available, and I held a finger up for him to sniff. He promptly yet gently bit it, almost as if to say, “No, squirrel food. Please.” Quite used to humans, he never flinched when I reached down for my phone to snap some pics of him. He seemed to pose.
But another brief conversation with the wife of another old friend (get over all the “olds,” this WAS a retirement celebration) sparked this post. She mused, “Why does God need worship? Is his ego so fragile it needs stroking?”
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Pic by forum.androidcentral.com
In a lifetime of following Jesus, with a plethora of peaks and valleys, of feasts and feathers, I’ve learned that managing expectations determines the level of faith frustration or satisfaction. Unrealistic hopes, when birthed, tend to result in disappointment with God—a jaded been there, done that experience.
Here’s that lesson learned.
Only when riding east to work
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Image by Tim Riter
God shows up in unexpected times and places, if we look for the signs. Here’s one.
Each fall I journey to the Sierras. The trout are hungry, getting ready for winter, and bite gladly, unaware of the hidden hook. The cottonwood and aspen trees are changing colors, which is rare in most parts of CA. The people are scarce, even more rare in CA!
Last week’s trip featured
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Photo by Josh Garcia
Big Pine Creek in California’s Eastern Sierra Nevada certainly ranks among the prettiest streams I’ve ever fished--shaded by big pines (duh!) with large pools and abundant trout. I came around a bend, and found one of those signature holes.
A five-foot waterfall dropped into a green pool, a good eight feet deep. Shallow and slow water along the banks framed a strong current that went deep and swift through the center. Just where big trout feed.
I threw in ...
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Photo by Stephen Bay
In light of how relatively small events coupled with overconfidence can run us off the road, leading at least to embarrassment, I offer the following true confession. Just last June, our Gray Hogs group pulled into Las Vegas with the temp at 109 (this part of the story can be found in “450 Miles of Misery” from June 23 2014), needing food and gas. In & Out cared for the former, Chevron the latter.
Our next stop, Cedar City, lay 180 miles north, then another 130 would take us to Richfield UT to meet the rest of our group. With my ST1300’s tank holding 7.7 gallons and easily averaging 45 mpg, I felt confident I could go 350 miles, and we just had 310. So I passed on gassing up in Cedar...
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Photo by Houghs-The Tour
That day riding along the Oregon combined breath-taking scenery with bone-chilling cold. We’d headed west from Salem to the coast at Pacific City, then we turned north to Tillamook where we had lunch and sampled their world famous cheeses. Well, famous anyplace west of Wisconsin anyway. The beauty of one stretch forced me to shout for joy, with ocean flats on our left as trees formed a canopy over our two lane road. Clouds blocked the sun enough to give a gauzy sense of beauty, but with enough light to see it well.
In all the years of the Gray Hog touring, this road neared the top of the list. But when we turned south, the sun took a nap as the fog rolled in and the world turned gloomy and damp and cold...
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Josh, a few years after the story, on Rock Creek
Something unexpected happened when I first held my grandson, Joshua. He adjusted himself into my chest and his hug reached right into my heart. I’ve never been the same since we connected like that. I suppose it’s only natural he seemed to love fishing.
I started him out fishing with an empty line on a Colorado pond. He doesn’t remember it, but he had to fish “like grandpa.”
Later...
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