Rebecca said she would be there at noon, but “don’t feel pressured about arriving at a certain time, Mom,” she said when I talked with her this morning. “Come when you want to. If you want to be there as we’re setting up, that’s fine, but you don’t have to,” she reassured me. “Everything is under control.”
So as I’m lounging around in a motel room here in San Diego, my four children are down at beautiful Balboa Park arranging a birthday party. The party is a picnic style, will be outside, starts at 4:30 and I believe we’re eating around 6:00, but I’m not sure of anything beyond that. The party is a little early, for my birthday is not until the 24th of July, but our schedules caused us to plan the party today, the 17th.
I’m turning 70.
I have absolutely no idea how this happened. How can I possibly be 70? Aren’t 70 year old females little ole ladies? Don’t they wear purple and scrunch over a bit? Huh, be honest, now, aren’t they? And is that I of whom you speak? Impossible, except for my birth certificate which reads July 24, 1938.
Jerry and I arrived here in San Diego yesterday, went to church at Steve’s last night. (He’s our oldest child, and he pastors a thriving church here in the area.) We slept fairly late this morning, had a bit of breakfast here in the hotel, then we’ve spent a few hours doing a little shopping.
Today is Shawnna’s birthday and I hadn’t bought her anything yet, but found her something really neat and I would tell you about it, but she reads here from time to time and I don’t want her reading about her present, but actually she better not be reading, she’d better be down at Balboa arranging my party.
Anyway I’ve got this nice gift and a great helium balloon to give her at my party…my shared party.
Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the festivities; next week on the 24th I’ll tell you how it feels to be 70, and unless things change drastically in the coming up days, it will be a delightful report.
Still can’t believe it. You know what just occurred to me: I think someone forged my birth certificate!
Not the yellow kind, although I certainly have nothing against those weedish flowers, and it’s a fact that a summer meadow flared golden with their mass is a splendid sight. But it’s not one of those dandelions with which I plan an engagement; it’s an aged one–one gone to seed.
You know the style, I’m sure. An ethereal orb, a wisp of fairy, a plaything, a seed; a nod to nature, a whisper to eternal plan.
I’m going to sit with one. I decided this morning.
Returning from Crestline to Lake Havasu, Jerry and I take the “backway,” choosing to travel a narrow two-lane road that is posted to warn of extreme switchbacks and quick elevation changes. It’s a magnificent drive that winds through the San Bernardino Forest past Lake Silverwood before reaching the 15 freeway. When we’ve had adequate rain, small waterfalls flash and creeks and rivulets run paths down the mountain side.
It was here I saw the dandelion beside which I plan to sit. I glimpsed him tall with his fellows in a particular slant of light, and knew right then I wanted to sit with that dandelion.
With a small chair and my camera I will go again to that spot. I may read and write a snip, but my first energy will be that of sitting by the dandelion. With my Nikon lens I will record the light as it plays over the ringlets of that dandelion, as its mood shows with a breeze or a flit of dragonfly or the brush of insect.
“Hi, I’m your daddy.” Those very words–or words quite similar–millions of times over, have surely been said around the world. But never has such a sentence been uttered in just this way. For while proud papa Michael Cintron was 6000 miles away in Iraq, his baby was born in Brooklyn, and it was through the latest technology that this dad could see and speak to his newborn son.
“Look your nose is squishy,” Daddy gushed…and “Look! He’s looking at me.”
Proud papa Marine Lance Cpl. Michael Cintron via Webcam watched as his son, by Cesarean section, was lifted from his mother’s body. Michael actually got a good look at baby Michael James before Jeannie Cintron did. Immediately after his birth, the enthusiastic and empathetic hospital staff turned the little tyke toward the camera so Daddy could have a superior view.
Every year after Christmas in newspapers around the globe are pictures of deserted Christmas tree lots, and residential shots of trees stripped of their glitter and dragged to curbside, where, forlornly, they await pickup by the local garbage truck. Oh, there may remain a whisper of glory–a flutter of tinsel or a hint of angel hair–but the precious ornaments have been boxed, the sparkling lights are disconnected, and the music boxes have been silenced. The Christmas tree is spent.
“Nothing more useless than a Christmas tree the day after Christmas,” someone has said.
Not so with the flag. Not so with the Red, White and Blue. Not so with the Stars and Stripes–the banner, the ensign–of the United States of America. Not so with that cherished piece of cloth that in itself has negligible value, but that becomes a storied tale of honor when pristine strength and gallant endurance is woven betwixt its threads.
Today, the 5th of July, within our enduring banner reposes all honor that reflected there at yesterday’s dawn and at dusk of evening. For our prized flag, today, the 5th of July, there is no place in the mud of gutter or in the decay of trash heap.
Today, the 5th of July, that amazing signal beats in the wind–an agent of hope and equity and freedom. Today, the 5th of July, with absolute assurance, flies the symbol of the greatest country on the planet. No stripping of agency, no negating of authority, no cowardice, no subjugation.
Today, the 5th of July, the day after our birthday celebration, where, across the land, we pull out all stops; where we march parades and mount long and loud speeches and grill our finest meats and launch our hottest firecrackers–today, the 5th of July, there is no cessation of flag waving, no poverty of spirit, no paucity of patriotism. The flag lives, the flag waves. There is none like it.
There is no place on earth like the United States of America, just no place. On this, the 5th of July, there are yet people who love this country and who willingly offer their lives for its hallowed truths.
Not far out of the Williams station, as I looked through the train window, I saw a long jackrabbit stretching rapidly over the field, his long ears loping. Later I saw two more rabbits–not jackrabbits–just plain ones, and once in a far meadow I caught sight of two deer who stood quiet and staring.
Printed prominently in material they handed out once we arrived at the Grand Canyon was the warning: Don’t feed the animals in the park. Once a wild animal is fed human food, it may become dependent on handouts and the balance of nature has been disrupted, and what seems a kind gesture can actually cost the lives of animals. The Canyon abounds with various kinds of squirrels, lizards, deer, elk, bighorn sheep, hawks, eagles, wild turkeys, coyotes and ringtails. In lesser numbers are bobcats, badgers and rattlesnakes.
Many of the squirrels in the area have completely lost their fear of people because of being fed so frequently. On a stone wall, I laid down my gear to snap a picture, and scrambling over my tripod and right up to me romped a lively squirrel, who looked boldly into my face, checking to see if I had brought lunch for the gang, I suppose–startled me so that I jumped.
People were feeding the tamed squirrels and I watched a couple of people pet this one. Amazing and dangerous. They can nip and often they carry diseases. Looks like this one might have been a nursing mama. I watched a couple of skittering lizards, and tiny adorable chipmunks who appeared to be playing games among the bolders.
A most remarkable success story is that of the Californai Condor who in the 1980s began dying from plunging into powerlines and from drinking spilled antifreeze and other modern-world challenges. By 1987 there appeared to be only 22 individual birds remaining and biologists decided that the species’ survival depended on capturing the remaining condors and intiating a captive breeding program.
By 1996 the program was deemed a success, the birds were released and in 2003 a pair hatched and raised its young to fleding. Four pairs appear to be actively nesting now; two in the park and two north of the park. It is not uncommon to see these magnificent birds in flight over the canyon
Condors have a wingspan of 9-feet and using thermal updrafts, condors can soar and glide up to 50 miles per hour and, in search of food, travel 100 miles or more per day. In the wild, they can live up to 60 years; they mate for life. Every other year the female lays an egg which measures about five inches in length and weighs around 10 ounces.
It was as we sat on the train for the return trip to Williams that I was able to snap this picture. I was certain it was a condor as I considered its size and noted its white breast feathers. In the afternoons these elegant birds ride the warm thermals that surge through the Canyon. It was a splendid sight.
From time to time we humans spend hours that in the earthly scheme of things can only be rated perfect. Such were our days–Jerry’s and mine–this past Friday and Saturday on the south rim of the Grand Canyon.
The signal for the trip was rare, and its lofty nature of such significance that within our minds spun an expectation of pleasure and harmony beginning with the earliest moment of planning. On Friday Jerry and I stepped over another milestone in our lives as we embarked on our 53rd year of marriage.
The Grand Canyon is surely one of the most spectacular places on earth. In 1893 it was established as a forest reserve by President Benjamin Harrison, and in 1919, by President Theodore Roosevelt, was designated a national monument. The park is 277 river-miles long, an average of ten miles wide, and to reach the canyon floor requires a plunge one mile deep. Snaking a thin line at the base of the cliffs is the thundering Colorado River, without which there would be no Grand Canyon. It’s cool waters lunge and roar exploding in spume and foam…and then, again, lie placid and in a soft meander.
We always have this conversation, Jerry and I: What do you suspose was the reaction of the first person or group who viewed such a stunning place? How in the world did they feel as they stood before this gaping chasm? We never have an answer, of course, and as overwhelming as it is to view after hearing of it and even at prior times seeing it, we shake our heads as we think of the staggering awe that must have settled on those early explorers as they stood before that bucolic shrine.
We had visited both the south and north rim of the Grand Canyon many years ago when our children were young, and we viewed it as not only beautiful and awe inspiring, but as educational both for them and for us. As was true then, so now remains my frustration when I reach to describe that world-wondering scene. I grapple with words–is it that I need new langugage?–to write the land lay, the pitch of bird caw and the beating of wings. The rustle in the wind-brushed pinions meld with squirrel scramper and the faint sizzle of green lizard on white boulder.
Ultimately, such grandeur could only be carved by Almighty. Doubtless, He used geological forces and wind-swept eons, but the sight and sound of such magnificence demands a Creator, One whose thought and ways are impossible to comprehend. Words to tell are shy and impaired.
Laid atop such undergirding were two days of sublime rest and celebration. We checked in and found perfection.
Within the past hour, the Supreme Court issued a clear constitutional interpretation of the second amendment, ruling that Americans have the right to own guns for self-defense and for hunting.
This was a historical ruling, being in U. S. history the first major pronouncement from the Supremes on gun rights. In a 5-4 ruling, the District of Columbia’s 32 year-old-ban was judged incompatible with gun rights under the Second Amendment.
Writing for the majority, Justice Antonin Scalia said that an individual right to bear arms is supported by “the historical narrative” both before and after the Second Amendment was adopted.
The Constitution does not permit “the absolute prohibition of handguns held and used for self-defense in the home,” Scalia said. The court also struck down Washington’s requirement that firearms be equipped with trigger locks or kept disassembled, but left intact the licensing of guns.
Yahoo News
While I personally dislike guns and am very uncomfortable with them, I believe one of American’s basic rights is to possess guns and to protect our homes and families by force if necessary. I sincerely pray to God that will never happen, but we must have the ability to be so prepared.
Around 3 million peopled have viewed Representative Ted Poe (R-Tex.) as he speaks about compact fluorescent light bulbs. He outlines the dangers of using these bulbs, while generously applying doses of friendly sarcasm.
Congress has declared that beginning in the year 2012 every American citizen must use this kind of light bulb. An interesting note: All these bulbs are made in China.
Take a look, educate yourself and have a cheery laugh.
In his famous book Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis makes this statement, “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on the level with a man who says he is a poached egg - or he would be the devil of hell. You must take your choice. Either this was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense.” about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us.”
The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life on Monday released the results of their latest poll which indicated that Christians, even those labeled evangelical, are not convinced their beliefs are the only way to Heaven. About 7 out of 10 of those surveyed said they believe that many religions can lead to eternal life and that there is more than one true interpretation of the teachings of their own religion
I was not totally surprised to hear these results, for though my own experiences are anecdotal, of course, over the past few years I have become more and more startled to see that people who call themselves Christians give little heed to what the Bible exactly says. Furthermore it’s astonishing to hear “Christians” speak glowingly of Heaven for their deceased friends and relatives who rarely attended church, and who made no claim at all to Christianity.
Was Jesus mistaken then when He said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life?”
Of course He was not mistaken. Neither was He in error when He added, “no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
Our problem is that either we don’t read the Bible, we selectively read it, or we don’t believe it. For clearly the Bible teaches there to be only one way to Heaven and that way is through Jesus Christ. Not all roads lead to Rome, and certainly not all roads lead to Heaven.
This startling result from the Pew researchers is a reflection of the pressure within our society to be tolerant, accommodating and inclusive. Truth must be designed, we are told, so that none are made uncomfortable as they handle their own version of law and principle. There are no absolutes, truth must adjust to the mores of the day and to the whims and conventions of the community.
But such thoughts are contrary to scripture. If there are other ways to Heaven, then Jesus was crucified for nothing. Calvary should merely be the name of a piece of land and Golgotha only a strange word. Beatings and a bloody crown should be called a bit of fiction and the telling of an unbalanced man.
Not at this moment wanting to designate anyone by an unsavory name, I’ll just give you the information and let you wisely make the call. I’ve listed already the definition. The next paragraph is a report of some of Mr. Al Gore’s activities. Any thoughts, you astute discerning readers of mine?
A year after the Tennessee Center for Policy Research exposed Gore’s prodigious personal use of electricity at his Nashville mansion (20 times the national average), the center reported this week that Gore’s personal electricity consumption during the past year actually increased by 10 percent.
So while he campaigns for Americans to curtail their electricity use — you should take cold showers, forego air conditioning and dry your clothes on a clothesline — Gore is plugging in and turning on more than ever.
A THOUSAND PIECES
The story of Jerry's remarkable recovery from a tragic
accident. This very popular book is going into its 4th printing.
ROAD TALES
A fascinating blend of Bible studies, of fiction and of
biographical accounts that in a rare way speak to the
philosophy of travel along the road of life.
LINK TO EXCELLENCE
Shirley Buxton and 47 other ministers' wives write about
how to be a godly woman. They each include a great recipe!
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