Category Archives: Outdoor world

Beaching it

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Today the mercury reached for the 100 degree mark on my kitchen thermometer as it did in much of the country. Without AC, my two best options were the basement or the beach. No contest.

Floating in the cool water looking back at the sand dune, I thought about Nate’s last beach visit. In the summer of 2009, just before we learned of his cancer but well into his back pain, Mary and I wondered if we should leave him to go to the beach that day. He was settled in his favorite chair at the cottage, his back resting on an ice pack, with his two favorites next to him: the newspaper and a mug of coffee. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

It was a coolish summer day, so Mary and I settled into our low beach chairs away from the water line at the base of the dune. Thirty minutes later, we were surprised to see Nate struggling down the sand, coffee and newspaper in hand. I was delighted and jumped up to get him a chair.

“You came!” I said, knowing the 10 minute uphill hike to the beach must have taken a toll.

He didn’t last long, but I admired the way he wanted to participate, despite substantial pain. Surely the cancer was secretly doing its damage by then, and his misery must have been extreme. Did he sense that day’s beach trip might be his last?

When life gets raw and options narrow, most of us cling to life’s ordinary things. If we suspect death might be coming, we adhere to our regular routine as if that might hold it back. A perfect example was the morning after Nate heard the words “terminal, pancreatic, stage 4, metastasized.” He got up and went to work…. as usual.

If we had even a blurry picture of what awaits us after cancer “wins”, we’d rush to our death beds. It may be psychologically healthy to hold onto our earthly lives, but heavenly-speaking, it’s absurd.

As Nate neared the end, he had one foot in each world. He held onto the commonplace, newspapers (unread), coffee (undrunk) but finally settled into his hospital bed like a beach-lover fits into a comfy beach chair. Peace enveloped him as he gradually curtailed his involvement with the ordinary and committed to the extraordinary.

Today as I looked at that little dune, I found the memory of Nate’s last visit to be sweet and felt deep satisfaction in knowing he’d been moved from the comfort of earth’s regular routine to the glories of eternity.

And it happened as smoothly as slipping into a cool lake on a hot summer day.

“Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.” (Isaiah 57:2)

Bump in the Night

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Normally my late night walk with Jack is a pleasure. We usually head out before midnight, but last night the clock got ahead of our intentions, and it was after 1:00 am. I looked at Jack, wondering if he could “hold it” till morning but couldn’t resist his pleading eyes and wagging tail.

“OK,” I said, “but just a short one.”

Since no one else would be out dog-walking at that hour, I left Jack’s leash at home so he could enjoy romping in the woods along our way. Plugging in my ear buds, I clicked on Michael Buble’s playlist, and we were off.

The lively “Haven’t Met You Yet” came on, causing me to pick up the pace to match the beat when without warning my foot smashed full force into something that sent me sailing parallel to the road. Before I hit the pavement, I knew what it was:

a speed bump.

Our neighborhood is nearly empty 9 months of the year but becomes a busy beach community in the summer. So in June, half-a-dozen portable speed bumps come out of storage to slow the increased traffic, and I’m usually tuned in to their familiar locations. Last night was the odd exception.

Although I’d forgotten a flashlight on a pitch black night, my ipod could have served the same purpose and prevented some painful road rash. Hitting the asphalt with one knee followed by the other, then both palms, the tops of my toes, and cheek, my first thought was, “I’ll bet I tore through my new capri’s.”

As is true for all of us after we’ve had an accident, I wish I had a video of the mishap, but I knew the next day would bring a body-summary of what actually occurred. This morning God guided me in how to properly take inventory:

  • Though my hands are skinned, I didn’t break a wrist.
  • Though my knee is cut, I didn’t break a knee cap.
  • Though my foot is twisted, I didn’t break the bones.
  • Though my toes feel rug-burned, I didn’t break a toe.
  • Though my back hurts, I didn’t break a vertebra.
  • Though my rib cage hurts, I didn’t break a rib.
  • Though my head aches, I didn’t get a concussion.

God began my day by highlighting 7 blessings. As I gingerly crawled out of bed wondering how I’d ever get all the blood out of my new capri’s (and pajama pants), I thought maybe God had let me take my spill just to give me a fresh opportunity to count blessings.

If so, it worked.

He even gave me an 8th. When I hit the ground, my ipod and Michael Buble’ flew out of my pocket and somersaulted down the road. And wouldn’t you know, as it hit, the screen lit up, nicely illuminating the speed bump.

Blessing #8:

  • Though my ipod took a hit, it didn’t break.

Actually, as I hooked it up again, Michael Buble’ was still singing the same song, completely unfazed by my bump in the night.

“My cup overflows with blessings.” (Psalm 23:5)

 

Light up my life.

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If June is the month for June bugs, July belongs to the lightning bugs.

Our 4th of July family get-together took place in a back yard that stretched for 30 acres and included lots of fun. As we played egg toss and had water balloon fights after a dinner of grilled burgers and brats, the sun began to set. While we tried to wiggle Oreo cookies from our foreheads to our mouths, lightning bugs dotted the landscape.

 

And by the time our fireworks were being lit, fireflies competed en masse for our attention. Thousands of them flashed like glitter in the field, God’s holiday backdrop to our not-as-remarkable manmade explosives.

Surely God had fun when he created the lightning bug with its on-and-off glow. He must have known children would delight in his beetle-idea by collecting them in jars and using them as summertime night lights.

Catching them takes special skill, though, since they light up only intermittently and keep flying between flashes. Younger children find them to be elusive, difficult to catch. But a 10 year old knows just what to do: watch for the light, then anticipate where he’ll fly next and where he’ll be when he lights up again. A quick grab and he’s caught.

The light of God’s Word comes to us much the same way. We see a flash of wisdom in one verse and crave another, reading further, hoping to be “in place” when God lights up the next bit. If we’ve been paying attention and are ready, we grab for it and it’s ours to keep.

This year the lightning bugs have been especially prolific. May the light of God’s truth be every bit as abundant.
“Send out your light and your truth; let them guide me.” (Psalm 43:3a)