Taking a Break

 

      I need to take a break from everything going on in my life. So, after today’s post, you probably won’t hear from me until after the first of October sometime. Yesterday’s news was the distraction I needed right now, so it’s question and answer time.

What was the first PG-rated movie I saw at the theatre? “The Sting” in 1973. My sister Pat wanted to see it for her 14th birthday, and I naturally wanted to tag along. So, Dad took both of us coz I was too young, and at that time, people seemed to care who was going to PG movies. I love that movie! It’s one of those stories where the first time you see it will always be the best. Just like “The Sixth Sense.”

What was the movie that changed my life? “The Electric Horseman” from 1979. I had just gotten back to Madison to sign up for spring classes at the UW. My other three roommates went to see “The Big Chill”, but I’d already seen it, so I stayed at the house. Flipping through channels on cable, I came across “The Electric Horseman”. I really kinda hated it. Just like “The Horse Whisperer”, I felt like no one was really looking out for the horse’s future.  

But why did it change my life? Sonny Steele felt compelled to set Rising Star free, and by the end of the movie, I was compelled to drop out of college. I was only two semesters away from graduating, but I had no idea what I was doing. Maybe I thought if I left school, I would be free to run wild on the Western plains. Right this second, this thought just hit me – eight months later, I moved to Colorado on a whim, not running wild, but still out West and still doing my own thing.

What is one of my top five all-time favorite movies? “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” from 1969. That should need no explanation; it just is one of the best movies ever, up near “The Princess Bride” and “Goonies”.

What is my favorite movie set in Africa? “Out of Africa,” of course. And once again, there is no need for an explanation. Even though I hate watching romance movies, with Meryl Streep describing Kenya in her remarkable accent and the scenes of the African plains from the plane, I could watch this movie over and over again.  

And it should require no explanation what all these movies have in common. Run free, Sundance Kid.

(I took the picture above when I was in Kenya in 2019. It was taken at the Karen Blixen house with the Ngong hills in the background.) 

Deer in the Yard

I’ve said it countless times over the past 35 years – I am so blessed to live on my four-acre plot with mighty trees just outside my window. Some mornings, a cacophony of bird voices greets me when I go out my back door. Squirrels, chipmunks, and two renegade rabbits roam my yard at will, much to the consternation of our cats and, most recently, our new dog. This summer, a toad has taken up residence on the front stoop. A few bears have even wandered through.

          But the most graceful and beautiful of the wildlife is the whitetail deer. Over the years, I’ve had different does with their precious, spotted fawns feeding on the grass. A few bucks have nobly joined them. Our old dog, Dino, mostly ignored them, and they saw him as no threat.

          For two years, a lame doe tried to join my loosely organized herd. I was able to get a close-up picture of her and could see where she had been shot in her shoulder, with that leg mainly hanging limp. Watching her hobble through the woods broke my heart.

          I was feeding the deer in my woods at the time, and she knew I was her only hope of survival. When I put the food out, the rest of the deer hung back twenty feet or so. I’d wait for Gimpy to approach first; the others would try to run her off, but not when I was standing my ground only ten feet away. She’d gratefully eat her share while I stood guard, quietly telling the others that it wasn’t their turn yet. By the start of the third winter, I never saw her again.

          But here we are many years later. We had to put Dino down two years ago, and this past winter, I couldn’t stand not having a dog any longer. So we brought home our adorable two-year-old corgi, Hannah. Since she joined the family, we haven’t seen as many deer coming through the yard. Only one morning, we watched a doe and her two fawns walk the path they usually took through the back yard and into the woods.

          On a different morning last week, though, a doe and her single fawn picked their way through the front yard. Her coat was grey from shedding her summer coat, and the fawn’s spots were beginning to fade. Yes, autumn has arrived. (And it's hard to get a decent picture through the screen in the window.)

          The week before, a fawn had met its end on the road about a half-mile from our house. It dawned on me that it must be the sibling to the fawn I was seeing now.

          Foremost in my mind was that it had been two weeks since my own baby had passed away.

          Was God trying to tell me something? That I still had another child to live for, to care for – even if he is nearly forty? Was God reminding me that life goes on, no matter what tragedy we are dealing with?

          I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it was more of a reminder that a mother’s love never ends, and I know it won’t for this mother.

          And also that I still have more to be thankful for than to be unthankful for.

Snowman

 

“Come now, let’s settle this,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them as white as snow. Though they are red like crimson, I will make them as white as wool.” (Isaiah 1:18, New Living Translation)      

I’ve had trouble sleeping for years. Some nights, I can curl up in bed and drift right off to sleep. Other nights, ping pong balls are bouncing all over in my head, and as much as I try to imagine them falling to the floor and rolling under a piece of furniture to never be heard from again, they don’t stop.

           A year or two ago, I added the app for Turning Point with Dr. David Jeremiah to my phone. He gives some good sermons. So after lying in bed getting more frustrated instead of relaxing, I’ll pull up one of his messages, and I usually drift off before it’s over. Perhaps not what any pastor wants to hear, but if it helps someone in any way, that should be a win.

          The last two weeks, as you can imagine, I haven’t been sleeping much. Sometimes a sleeping pill helps, sometimes it doesn’t. Several times, I’ve turned on David Jeremiah, and more times than not, I will fall asleep.

          On the first of September, he started a sermon series on Joseph, the one who had eleven brothers who were jealous of him and threw him into a well. The guy whose father gave him the multi-colored coat. He was also able to interpret dreams.

          The other night, I fell asleep to this opening message on Joseph. And I had a dream.

          In my dream, I was building a snowman. The snow on the ground all around me was melting and full of dirt, but somehow my snowman was white as - well, white as snow. I hadn’t finished giving it a face when my snowman tipped over onto the dirty ground. It didn’t fall apart, though, and it stayed pure white.

          I woke up wondering what that was all about.

          Then I remembered about Joseph being able to interpret dreams. And I heard God’s voice say to me, “You can interpret this dream.”

          So, in my dream, my sweet, precious daughter was the snowman. Even though the snow was pure and white, my daughter wasn’t always that way. She had a whole lot of impurities in her words and actions. Yet, there she was, pure and white but not completely finished.

          And then she fell over and left me. She didn’t break, and she didn’t get covered in dirt. She just left me, peacefully and wholly. Maybe even holy. Left to be with those angels all dressed in white. And with a finished face, one that was smiling.

Too Big for this World

 

Dear God

If I die tomorrow

Or a thousand tomorrows from now,

Will it matter?

Will I be changed

Or have changed the world?

Will another moment from eternity of existence

Cause the moon to fall

The oceans to weep

The trees to walk?

But if an extra heartbeat

Brings one smile to a teary eye

If all my heartbeats

Can make another soul sing

Another life less dull

Then my entire being has purpose

And eternity becomes an instant of joy.

By Pat Loehmer (1959-1999), written around 1977

My kids both loved their Aunt Patti, with all their precious, still-growing hearts. My baby girl was only three when Pat was diagnosed with cancer and nine when she died. Val never knew my sister when she wasn't fighting that insidious monster roaming her body.

And I never realized how much they were alike.

People think I'm bullheaded and independent, but that was nothing compared to my sister. When she started something, she would dig in her heels and get it done, never asking for help and never backing down. My son, Nick, is like that, too. Me? Not so much, if I start something and it causes me frustration, I'm more than willing to walk away and binge-watch episodes of "Friends". 

Val was just as independent and could dig in her heels just as deeply if she was working on something from her heart. And she was all heart. And so was her Aunt Patti. Both taken way too young - Pat at 39 and Val at 35. Sometimes, I think they were both too big for this world, too bold, too strong.

And looking back, now, I think they both knew they weren't born to grow old on this planet; they knew God had a plan that none of us left behind will ever understand.