Good Shepherd Sunday

On Sheep- Sheep are helpless. Their only defense is to run faster than their brothers, sister, offspring. Sheep cannot protect themselves. Despite that, and with no effort beyond how it was created, sheep give of themselves to an even more helpless being; Man- a being who is incapable of producing anything usable of itself. Sheep clothe and feed man, though effort is needed to create the result. The raw materials are replenished and repeated until mankind can perfect the gifts given by helpless sheep. We as Christians are like sheep. We have a renewable resource to offer the even more helpless through our faith and generosity- to feed and clothe those who cannot produce of themselves. The herd must move, must change. It can not stay in the same place or it will destroy that which feeds it. It will befoul the water. The flock will die if does not continue to seek out a way to healthy lands. The shepherd see the flock's destination through forethought, experience, and intellect. The flock is unable to see as far as the shepherd. A shepherd cannot hope to accomplish this task alone. Dogs of similar size and shape guide the sheep. They can not be expected to give exact directions. They can not anticipate every gopher hole, hidden cliffs. Sheep dogs suggest, they encourage a direction for the flock. The dogs protect the flock, standing between them and danger defending because it knows the sheep are indeed vulnerable. When the shepherd is unavailable, he trusts his dogs to do their job in his place. The Shepherd has faith the sheep will be kept safe until his return.

Body Talk

I suited up in my rapier armor for the first time in a very long time. It took a great deal of effort. A full time desk job has taken a huge toll on my body. I fit in want ever exercise I can, when I can. Sometimes. We had started P90-X, stuck with it for 3 straight weeks and I was starting to feel and see results, not only in how I looked, but in how powerful and in control of my own body I felt. It was easy to stop and hard to start again for one simple reason.
I hate all exercise videos. Using one is an unequal compromise. Videos (and gyms, for that matter) can't help me. Self image is the same as faith- the intent determines the outcome. It taints or tints it.
When I put in a video, there is no real goal to me. The movements feel purposeless. I focus on feel the burn and pain. I feel compared and unsuccessful. At the end of it, I have gone no where. My scenery hasn't changed. My body is tainted with the feeling that I have wasted my time. I can not perceive that I have actually done anything. And my efforts at fitness are only marginally successful.
When I ride my bike, I focus on reaching and pushing- make it to the top despite the burn and the pain. I have a tangible goal to focus on. When I climb up a boulder, or a waterfall, when I hit the target 10 times in a row, when I set out and I get there, achievement tints my self image. The body that follows shows that. I had always maintained that a muscles made from baling hay were far more sexy than the ones from a gym. The goal tints them. Makes them shine.
I am not a body builder. I know for some the reps and quantity are the goal. It plain old isn't so with me.
Climb every mountain
Swim every sea
I have conflict because my full time job means precious little time with family and even less to do things like mow the lawn. It is hard to walk away from my moments with them. There has got to be a way for a mom to find balance. And be forgiven for doing so.

I took the boys shopping for Arin's birthday tonight. I had one of those "we have to go home NOW" moments which is usually caused by just being at Walmart. I thought nothing of it and we headed home. I was getting ready to turn on our street, when I noticed a light blue car with its hazards on. Usually when I see that and are not in a position for helping a break down, I think "Sucks. Hope someone can help" but this time I slowed down. The train was coming near and the noise startled a huge and still young red tail hawk that was obviously wounded on the bike trail along Atlanta Road. I said "He's trying to help and we are too", pulled into the parking lot on the corner. I pulled out my phone and called Arin. Here's where we are. Here's what's going on. Call Hugh now and find out the best way to handle this. The hawk freaked out trying desperately to fly across the road. Traffic slammed on it's breaks and let it pass. The first young man and I planned. He called animal control. I told them I had Hugh on alert. Arin drove down with his CERT kit. Patch and I approached slow and low to discourage her going back into the street. More people stopped. Locals came from the doors. She scooted away from us into a vacant lot. Much better a vacant lot than so close to the busy road. First man went to get a plastic kennel at his house. An older couple gave us a fleece packing blanket for better protection than the old towels that we had, and all the phone numbers for Chattahoochee Nature center and the Dep't of Natural Resources. Another young couple stopped- she works with non raptor exotics. Patrick became nervous when he saw the beak and talons close up and opted out of the rescue. The boys walked to Jackie's house, I made a myriad of phone calls to find aid and rehab, while Arin and 7 strangers who never got around to introducing themselves waited for the bird to relax enough to tighten the ring, drape her, then corral her. I gave my cards to folks so we could give reports on this strange bonding of people we might not ever see again. We were able to take our momentary guest to the Cobb Emergency Veterinary Clinic on Cobb Parkway. They already had another hawk from earlier. I hope she can be returned to the wild. All of us strangers are from the same general area. We are all used to seeing the hawks fly above our homes. We do not know each other, but in her way, that bird knows us all. I'll miss her until she is better.

The boys got to stay up late tonight and go with us to the vet clinic. It's a unique opportunity and they go to see it through to the end of our ability. Arin told them to remember all those people who stopped to lend a hand. They saw there was need and took time out of their days to help when they didn't have to for the betterment of something other than themselves. That's the kind of thing heroes do.

You know what? We're that kind of people too.

Our Place- feminine voice dare

Had to get outside- snow on the edges of the yard, 40 degrees and dropping, but working in the mail room is not ok today. I don't belong in an office. I belong outside.
I put on my silk long john's, my cold weather under armor and headed out to rake the yard at 5:45 pm. I had started a new garden bed at the beginning of fall, and it needs much more work before spring.
Scratching scrape scratching scrape- heaped the pecan leaves into the garden. The boys will have a new chore of running back and forth a bit everyday to crush them up and speed composting. The soaker hose caught my attention. It kept getting stuck in the tines of the rake. I was getting annoyed by some issues between some friends and even more annoyed that I was dedicating more time to resolving that than tending to my own life. The soaker hose trapped again. And again.
There are two kinds of people, I decided. Those who pray for rain and those who use the talents and skills the creator gave them to over come the drought. It must be very insulting to give possibility only to have it ignored, or worse unnoticed. I know how it has felt at times in my life. I mulled over what my gifts, my talents and skills are. Seems silly to say I have forgotten, but the hard knocks and losses of the year made me forget. There has been unemployment, draining of all savings accounts to live, replacing cars, loosing loved ones- either from moving away or moving beyond. It's strangely difficult to remember.

There is a wonderful children's book called "I Am" by Mac. One every page are stick figures beside words that say things like "I am creative. I sing. I dance. I tell stories. I am creative.... I am strong...I am helpful...." The most important sentiment is "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not."

I was working by the street light that made the snow deep amber. I looked up, sifted through the airplanes and found the First Star.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I am keenly aware of the importance of vocabulary in these things. I had not made my new year's resolutions yet. I do this on the winter solstice. It makes sense to me that the longest night night should be the end of the old year with it's enveloping of light, and the beginning of the new one like an enormous egg with a tiny yolk of daylight that grows to something comparatively enormous. A resolution wish for me and only me- scratching scrape, scratching scrape. Last night I fell asleep thinking about a challenge tourney we were all in in May. When Erika could not decide who she should call out, I asked her "Who was the scariest one up there? Who could she learn the most from when the fight was over?"
My thoughts were like pop corn- soaker hose, drought, star, fight- me.....
I made the scariest wish, biggest leap of faith, the thing I could learn and remember the most of myself from to counter the drought.
"I wish to become everything the Maker has faith in me to be."

I can not longer lie in my later years. It's not that I am bad at it, I simply can't make myself do it. When I can say out loud "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not" then my wish will have come true.

Time for dinner. Arin and Jason are cooking. And I have to write something down so I don't forget it.

Femine Voice- week 12 Sweat

I cry at the drop of a hat- any hat. I cry at beauty and pain, pride and elation and times of passion. Salt holds my emotions and carries my energies out. Otherwise, I become laden down, heavy, nonoperational. It's too crowded inside me, like sand in a pipe. I can not think things through. I grind to a halt and shut down. To relieve the pressure, salt purifies. It must come out. Crying is not the only way. It's the bleeder valve, but not the switch. Exercise videos and "working out" are not a substitute- forced, useless sweat like a love token to a stranger, too easy to forget because I have gained nothing.

The sweat of hard work lightens my load. I can load a truck, climb a mountain, rearrange the woodpile, shovel snow- things like these are the best therapy. An hour or two of sweat filled productivity brings my wisdom, peace and cleanliness. I need a visual confirmation of my work, something accomplished, pile A is now pile B. I have succeeded and have proved my worth. Then I can sit down to write what I have learned.

Tears of my body- Salting the earth of my garden.

Phonetically speaking

I noticed this morning something about the character names I created for my book.
There are essentially 3 generations. The wise sages, the main characters(let's say mid-teen to 40ish), and the very young children.
Those in the eldest have names that sound distinctly different than other names.
Of the mean age group characters- The women have primary vowel sounds, specifically long E and short I. (the two are indeed similar)
The men all have double consonants at the exact center of their name. This is more a fact of spelling than sound.
The youngest have short A common.

An interesting subconscious trend-

Power and Control- Feminie Voice Dare- week 6

Rational says I'm reaching too high. In all truth, I know no other reason for reaching: on my toes, with one foot out to counter, stretching precariously off the side of the ladder for an invisible something just past my fingertips. There is a small part in me that says the rules count, as is, will be, what you know is not what you think. There is a greater part in me who wells up and call sit untrue. The small part says I dream unrealistic, wasting my hopes and harming those who depend on me for it. There is a greater part who does not want to listen. The small quotes the news, the rumors, the authority, the Raven. The greater part remembers differently.

In my garden, I teach my boys "Water a little at the base, but make a big circle too, so the roots will stretch. Life is not strong unless it has something reach for." I had said so to be life lesson to them. I will water my garden again today.

Yard Work

The most important safety precaution you can have when studying a martial art is knowing, understanding, and respecting that it is meant to hurt and kill people.

Automation made the work more important than the man doing it. Mankind as a whole has never recovered from the blow.

Joining a group, esp. a church, because you are angry at another one and hoping it make you happy will lead to disappointment.