Plate Glass Windows

At a birthday party last night I was privy to a serious conversation between 27 yr olds: "So which is really the 'hard' birthday age: 40 or 50?"..."Oh, definitely 40".
Really.
40.
In half a month I will be a decade beyond what they think is the hardest birthday; I don't see it that way.
At 40 years of age, the 10-year-social-bubble means you can hang out with 30-yr-olds and 50-yr-olds.
When you're 50... the 30 yr-olds are behind this giant shield of glass, so different, so far removed.
So much like being in a monkey cage, when coworkers and ministry buddies are almost all younger than you.
Turning 50 sometimes feels like trying to figure out how to die gracefully, and the passion to reach teenagers for Christ, though it's still there-- now feels like it's done behind giant plate glass windows. I'm guessing that tension is why so many of my peers have stepped out of youth ministry, and tried rationalizing a new gig... it's hard to be the odd-man-out.
Life is good because God is good.
I enjoy my days of simplicity; things have changed, but I'm not dead yet.
I love you, Jesus. Teach me to learn how you love me.

Roach Bait

One of the favorite times of the year is when the first northern brings air cool enough to throw open the shutters and raise up the sash. This week was one of those weeks, when night temperatures toy with the thought of dropping into the upper 50s... marvelous. Almost. There are few days that are so cold that I would wear a long sleeve shirt to bed; I'd rather sleep bare-chested and bundle if it gets too cool at night.

So, there are certain things that a man takes for granted when he goes to bed. Things like: he will not be robbed while he sleeps, or his house will not catch fire, or that he will not be attacked by insects in his slumber. This week a roach tried to eat me.

I should have paid heed to the foreshadowing when this nervy intruder crawled across my neck: I flicked it off, hoping it was a bookmark or something left on the covers and finding in the flicking an object of troublesome mass-- not a bookmark. Seeing that there was no evidence of any intruder, I turned off the light again and tried to go back to sleep, consoling myself with thoughts of how maybe... it was a cricket, ...yeah a cricket, and: "boy, I bet that scared that cricket", etc. I was successful and at that moment before dropping off into deep rest, when I felt this sharp pinch on my left bicep! I quickly looked over in the dim glow of my neighbor's lights and saw the large, dark insect-- eating me!

There are some things that are just wrong: killing puppies; pedophilia in any form; finding body parts in your fast-food, and... being eaten by a roach in your sleep.
So people; it's personal.
They're not only eating the old crust off your toothbrush at night-- they're waiting for YOU.
...thought you should know.

God's Littlest Angel Visited Me this Week

There has always been a special place in my heart for birds.
From the time I was a child I marveled at these amazing winged creatures who symbolized both frailty and freedom. To be honest I started out a bit like John Audubon with the less-than-sustainable methods of shooting and trapping them to get close enough to see their details, though I guess the trapping at least was catch-and-release. I come from a family of hunters and for a child to learn to stalk a starling with a BB gun, that was considered part of the process of skill-honing.

Somewhere along the way I grew into the matured-hunter mentality: all life has value, and to take an animal for food is a humbling process. Perhaps that is why I spend more time watching wildlife from my tree stand than ever touching my bow and arrow. I have seen such amazing things this last decade from my arboreal nest, but I can't remember the last time I took a deer.  Every year I've teased nice bucks beneath me by pelting them with acorns--I just don't want to take them. I'd rather use my bird book and identify some avian species than release an arrow. (I tell myself I'm waiting for a feral hog or spike to come my way. I'm still waiting.)

Birds have become angels to me, messengers to me that my heavenly Abba is thinking of me with love and adoration, like any good Father. So many times in my deepest of despairs or trials have I been visited by these angels. The owl that flew right over me in the backyard as my wife was telling me she was leaving me; my first golden eagle in the wild within 24 hours of asking God to show me an eagle in an exercise of childlike reception (which transformed me!), and then this week with the hummingbirds.

My local PBS station aired a remarkable program on hummingbirds; it boggles my mind that something that tiny travels continents every year in migrations without the aid of a butterfly's sails catching a north wind spawned by the latest hurricane. Yet this week my backyard is a flurry of dogfighting, nectar-feeding angels. The best thing I did was purchasing the third feeder; much harder to defend when there's three offerings.

So this week three different times I've had hummingbirds drinking from feeders that were in my hand. The first time I was holding the feeder up to hang it back into the tree after replacing the nectar (Texas is enduring the worst heat wave in our nation's history and nectar goes bad in 2 days!) and they started feeding before I could get it hung. The second was even cooler: I took a feeder down and was carrying it to the house to replace nectar and they were feeding on it as i walked. But the most amazing visitation was when I was painting my third feeder. Repeatedly birds would hover around the feeder looking at the decorative flowers but not able to discern the ports because they were simple holes with no color to mark it. So I took some non-toxic yellow paint and started coloring in petals around the ports on this feeder, and this female ruby-throat comes and decides she will feed on the holes opposite where I'm working. Folks, there is something miraculous and angelic to me when this amazing creature watches you from 16 inches away, trusting you to not harm it, perhaps understanding the relationship between this tall, naked ape and the gift of nectar that appears. A feathered angel so small and so close that I could have killed it in a moment, yet that would be an act incomprehensible to me, I adore these creatures so.

May I grow to trust the Father like that.

A Meandering Hermit

This summer, as I cruised the steep channels of southwest Alaska this summer aboard a floating city of screaming kids and ridiculous distractions, I heard naturalist adventurer Michael Modzelewski describe his life in Alaska as that of a hermit. What struck me to my core and prompted me to change the name of my blog was his explanation to the married crowd about the special kind of alone-ness that is borne by the hermit: the alone-ness of seeing something amazing, something that defies explanation, something so wonderful that if you were to witness it yourself your life would be forever changed... and you look around... and there is nobody there to share that experience with. That is the special aloneness of the hermit.

To be alone is in no way a bad thing; for many it is a gift, a reprieve from the noise of a busy world, and I share in that appreciation. A hermit does not have to wait for somebody else to get ready, or worse: bear the guilt of realizing he/she is about to make somebody else tardy because of poor timing. And there is a depth in one's spiritual walk that is profoundly enhanced, leaning into the bosom of Jesus for the intimacy and acceptance that He alone can ultimately fulfill, awakening each day with, "Good morning, Jesus," and concluding each bedtime with, "Good night, Jesus- I love you." But there is something to be said about flesh-and-bone fellowship, too.

Last week I went back-to-back chaperoning student retreats, and over the course of 5 nights I bunked with 3 different sets of men... it was awesome. Yes, some are especially gifted at snoring and others reenact some dreamy story verbally as the darkened room listens to make sense of the prose, but the blessing of laughing with others right before slumber, or awakening to quietly go out for morning devotions while others lie peacefully in their dreams-- that is so cool! It is like the incarnation of scriptural promises like, "I am with you always...". I love being around people.


Some people do not understand my solitude: "Jim, if you like being around people so much, why aren't you dating anyone so you can get married?"


That makes about as much sense to me right now as staying in the water after a shark attack, so that you can overcome your fear, even though you are now bleeding. (It's not the same-- but that's what came to mind so I typed it. In reading this I'm gonna guess that I'm simply not ready for anything like dating, especially in our culture today... so confusing :) .)


Instead I continue to reflect on Paul's words from 1Cor.7 and elsewhere: "...it is good for you to remain as you are... are you unmarried? Do not look for a wife... I want you to be free from concern. An unmarried man is concerned about the Lord's affairs-- how he can please the Lord."


So I meander about in this amazing life, not afraid to stroll by myself yet blessed when accompanied by others-- as I walk into this Adventure called life. Like the Mariposa and the Mermaid, I choose the discipline of thankfulness in all things this hermit encounters. Come Lord Jesus.

Life Held in Jars

When I was a child, I spoke and thought like a child, I acted like a child. And now that I'm a man, I can speak much more effectively and I've wisened up a bit, too. But I still love to look at nature through a childlike wonder.
I have fond memories visiting my cousins and trapping lightning bugs in mason jars, somehow trying to trap the magic of their natural illumination. It never really worked. Worse: they often died before they could be set free. Unintentional death chambers that were intended to brighten life.
How often children's neglect leads to unintentional death; how tragic when one becomes aware of the autobiography of one's past.
What is this need to store things?
To capture something in order to somehow cling to its essence?
And what was the Father thinking when he put the fragility of a butterfly with the mortality of mankind?
We are jars of clay, fragile earthen vessels that have been baked and hardened to serve a purpose but are destined to be broken.
How very sad I am at Chelsey's death.
Goodbye for now, little sister. Comfort your grieving parents in their sleep.

June 2011, in transition?

Half a year from half a century.
I keep reminding myself that I'm not dead yet.
It's interesting the psychic wrestling match that goes on in one's noggin when you don't have any children or significant others to distract you with their lives... this is definitely a passage/season in my life.
I see pictures of myself and am somehow angry at how old I look, angry that I need reading glasses, angry at how my knee hurts going down stairs or how my back hurts getting out of bed. Perhaps the anger is just masked sadness; sadness that I'm going the way of my forefathers, sadness that I can no longer 'compete' for the affections of the maidens, accentuated by the death of my marriage? Sadness for the lost years?
Or maybe fear: fear of inadequacy, that lingering sense of 'good, but not good enough'? The stench of spiritual battle betrays the lies spoken to my soul... how much of my life have I surrendered as homage to that foul Deceiver?
I went to Southwells today for a burger and saw an old friend I last saw 25 years ago. Another old friend contacted me today on facebook... 29 years since we've seen each other.
Twenty-nine years... that's the age of my 'older' co-volunteers with YoungLife.
It is truly a lifetime, 29 years.
The guys in my Bible study talk about sending their children off to college; soon they will be talking about holding their grandkids. There's sadness there, too-- grieving the loss of a child I never had, a reminder perpetuated every year on Father's Day. Makes me want to go live in a cave.
I know that Jesus loves me, that the Father is faithful in His compassions for me. I am not complaining... more like confessing. I know what it is to go to sleep at night alone in a 3-bedroom home, concluding consciousness with, "Good night, Jesus," as I hug the body pillow on my daybed. Every night. That's just true.
I know that perhaps this passage, this transition in life will probably erupt into some kind of sunshiny day and that I may be just hormonal (or sub-hormonal), or maybe this is the family blessing of multi-generational depressive states I am passing through?
There is within me a dissatisfaction with the way things are... it was not so long ago I had mastered the art of contentment. Have I failed in my current discontent?
It's not pretty inside right now, but I'm 50 next winter.. I no longer have the energy to pretend that everything is 'just fine' right now, and I also acknowledge: I'm not dead yet... there is more life ahead of me.
So thank you, Jesus, for what I do have. Thank you that I still have my parents. Thank you that I have a handful of good friends who are trustworthy and can tolerate my funkiness.
I'm not dead yet; help me to live for You, Jesus. Help me to embrace the "abundant life" you promise us.
Speak to me words of sonship, Father... erase these childhood tapes of orphan-spirit.
Help me to experience Your Love, that I may love others well.
Good night, Jesus.
Jim

Life is precious

Doctors told them their fetus would not make it, maybe they should consider "terminating" the pregnancy?

They chose not to kill their unborn child.

She lives...

http://giftsfromgrace.blogspot.com/

... so does the presence of suffering warrant the death of the sufferer?

...if a child is in pain, should the parents kill their child?

... we do it with our pets, right?

No?

April's Fool, Orlando-style

It's Friday evening; I'm sitting in my lab trying to muster one last push to finish grading biology tests after a 12-day week. So tired. Why?...

Last week I was blessed to chaperon the HCHS band trip to Orlando--that's right, Disney World. There was a competition on the front-end of the trip and our kids did great (Yay Ms Redmon), but the zaniest part of the trip was going around on the rides with "the girls".

My escorts through NeverNever Land were so ridiculously fun, and because most of them were young & married, there really was no awkwardness to it for me-- thank you, JESUS.

So I have to start with describing Tinkerbell, my "guide-to-rediscovering-my-lost-childhood" escort. She grew up around Orlando, FLA, so immediately had a game-plan on how to do each park, starting with the FastPass. The strategy is pure: go immediately to your favorite ride and use your ticket to get its FastPass ticket, then wait in line and ride any nearby amusement. When done with that ride, go use the FastPass ticket; repeat. Beautiful. What's fun about Tinkerbell is she loves to laugh and is...well... crazy. Her idea of Heaven looks a lot like a slumber party in the top of Magic Kingdom's palace with a banquet room lined with princess apparel and unicorns. And there's this fresh sense that all the good things life has to offer are hers to enjoy, and for us oldest-child types-- it's a freedom magnificent to witness.

My second guide, Sleepy, is much like Tinker with the exception that she doesn't let anyone know she's zany until it's too late and you are socially committed with her in a situation. The best-case scenario is to have Sleepy and Tinker together, so they can feed off each other into a vortex of laughter (why is hanging up a phone so funny?).

My last guide I shall call Screamer, not because she's loud, though she can be, but because she can instill fear in co-passengers on a shuttle bus with her, "OMG, OMG, this is gonna be so scary"-- which is very confusing when riding next to her on roller coasters. This is because she gets so worked up and anxious, and starts to go through this pre-ride mental checklist ("ok, I will be needing to use this hand-hold, so you, Jim, will need to find something else to grab onto..this ride is so scary..."), which lulls you into thinking, "Sheesh, what an over-reaction," and then the Tower of Terror throws you around like a human yo-yo at 3-Gs and you realize that "the girls" have already stepped out of the now-stopped box of death and you're still holding onto the allotted side hand-hold with a death-grip that could probably pinch a python in half.

I've never been a roller-coaster rider; I don't like being afraid, and Lord knows I already have enough genetically-bestowed anxiety in my life. So when friends like The Paddle-Partner (aka Snorting Loon) dare me to ride Six Flag's "Batman", it's with great personal angst that I accept. But with this year's Orlando Trip with "the girls", something different happened. It's like I didn't have to be the older, responsible brother-- I could try out rides I would NEVER have ridden solo-- and on the other side, realize that perhaps I'm a bit hardier than I thought going into the thing.

And I wonder if God is like that?

I wonder if God gives us fellow pilgrims along our way, so that when we face the horrors and fears that life's challenges may bring, we can just get a grip--hold on-- scream if able-- and make it through that ride?

I wonder if there is a freedom that awaits beyond the pretentious cloak raised by the demons of fear, a cloak that amounts to little more than vapors in passing through, but in approaching seems more like an impenetrable barricade.

I wonder what it would be like to start seeing all the [crud] that life throws my way as an amusement ride?

That would be very cool.

Note to self

On my desk I wrote a note to myself.
I see it everyday I sit at my classroom desk.
I forget what I see the moment I look away. It says:
"I have an important job to do for God; my time on earth is limited, but probably longer than I imagine. God give me the courage to recklessly obey you!"

I'm not dead yet, but I have less years ahead of me than behind me.
In talking to a close friend about the pros/cons of dating women in their 30's (who I had a ridiculous crush on), this time frame was painfully brought to my attention." It would be 'unfair' to.." the younger woman (assuming if she were even interested! LOL!), because she's still starting life and I'm.. well.. I'm not dead yet.
It was the truth, and it sucks.

I'm staring at a half-century of life: what do I have to show for it?
I've loved people and I've tried to be faithful to my life's calling to reach high school students with the Love of Christ Jesus.
I've failed to be perfect; terribly.
I've hurt some folks with my words or behaviors; been hurt by others, too. I hate both realities.
It seems like I've only just started learning about Jesus' love for Jim; only just started learning how to love others.
I AM Bill Cosby's video "49"... except for the marital part... that's now gone.

I've enjoyed talking with others my age, but most have kids going off to college or starting families of their own; most of the folks I know are from work or in ministry with me, and most of them are younger. Much younger.

Some say I'm wise; I think maybe I'm just an old dog that knows a bit more about chasing cats than those who still have more years ahead of them. Maybe I'm just a cynical old fart. I like to think of it as pragmatic, but there is sometimes an edge to my words... definitely needs to be filed down... keeps snagging on things, like sensitive people. I don't like that about myself, but usually don't see it until later or when being confronted (though sometimes unfairly---aka, don't ask me something and then get mad when I tell you what you asked for... that's not right).

So Jesus, I'm not dead yet. What can you do with a fairly well-used white man who has a passion for Nature, a childlike curiosity, a hunger for knowledge, a love of laughter and sushi; who has a respect for your written word, but not enough to be so committed that I die trying to reach the lost in places nobody else dares go. Yet you tell us all: "go", right?
So is there hope for us?

I think I'll ride out to Tully and watch Northbrook's soccer game now.
Grading is almost done; there's always tomorrow. Or it doesn't matter.

I'm not dead yet. But I'm not convinced I'm fully alive.
Jesus, I wanna live.
love,
Jim

Day 354

From DivorceCare daily encouragements:

Can God Use Divorced People?
Day 354

Some people feel that because they have been divorced or because they have made so many mistakes in their past, God cannot use them to be godly leaders, teachers, role models, or a help to other people. This is not true. Your past does not determine your future. Read the Bible to discover examples of God using people with unexpected pasts to do great and mighty works for Him.

In Hebrews chapter eleven God lists heroes and heroines of faith. This list includes a murderer (Moses), an adulterer (David), and a womanizer (Samson). These people moved on beyond their failures and followed God. They were used to accomplish God's purpose in their generations.

Before Kay Arthur had a saving relationship with Christ, she was divorced, and she did many things that did not honor God. Today, she is a respected Christian speaker, author, and teacher through the grace of God.

She says: "God chooses the base things, the foolish things, the things that are despised, the things that are nothing, so that no flesh can glory in His presence. He knew what was going to happen to me before I came to know Christ, and He has used that as a platform for ministry. You can step forward into any service that the Lord has called you to."

God has chosen you for a specific service—take the challenge to walk forward in that!

"The base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence" (1 Corinthians 1:28-29 NKJV).

Holy God, I am willing to be used by You. I want to be a part of Your glorious plan in this world. I know I can be victorious through You. Amen.

P. taeda

Needles of twinkling gold
Glistening in post-crepuscular breath,
The glow descends my eastern guardian
To remind me...
Today is a new day.

Happy New Year to Me

It's a New Year. It's been weird but good.

We started this year with birds dropping out of the sky dead and dying, in 3 different states, plus in other nations... mainly icterids, and they said it happens all the time? Um no.

They say the only difference is that technology this year makes it more obvious when it happens, because we share this information with each other--I do believe we all had blogs and email last year, and the year before that... and before that.

So when one checks the online chat-stream, we don't hear: "oh yeah this happens all the time" from all these different citizens from around the world... we cry out, "What the hell is going on? Birds are dropping out of the sky dead and dying.. not sick under a tree or at a water hole... flying-and-now-dead... dropping out of the sky... they were healthy enough to fly as a flock and now they're scattered across our lawns like black crabgrass!"

That's what we are saying to each other.

Crazy.

It's a fresh new year, and I'm pumped about what God has for us!

KSBJ now has NGENradio; Verizon is getting the IPhone; electric cars are now a reality... pretty cool moment.

I am thankful for a clean start.

I am so thankful for what I'm learning about who I am in Christ.

I am so thankful for friends who show me how to love and trust.

I am so thankful for an amazing place to earn a living.

I am so hungry to experience the Power of the Holy Spirit, whether in humility (scary) or victory. Jesus, broaden my knowledge of who I am.

It's a New Year, but it's a good one.

birdfeeder, update

18Dec2010
Let me first exclaim that today I saw my first verified male goldfinch in the backyard, feeding on the thistle sock! That just blesses me to my core (to know me is to love me).

So in last episode there was proposal to switch feeders around to test hypothesis that proximity to home was issue. Feeders switched.

No difference.

It's the week before Christmas, 55 deg.F, little wind and sunny.

The most utilized feeder in my back yard is:

The square, multi-port feeder with spring squirrel-guard.

Most every bird will use it, but the house-sparrows mob it like boys at an available X-box controller at a video store demo.

The second-most used feeder is the large cylindrical feeder

w/squirrel-deterrent portals.

The Carolina chickadees and red-bellied woodpecker love this one,

plus an unidentified/ grey mystery warbler w/ double wing bands that looks similar to young yellow-rumped

warbler..?

The orange limb-spike is a near-third.

I am impressed with the diversity of

birds that enjoy eating oranges, cut in half and impaled on a nail.

The most common visitor is the red-bellied woodpecker, followed by the mystery-warbler.

The least used feeder is the small tube feeder near the tree. Initially I put thistles in it t

hinking a goldfinch may show up, but was sitting unused for weeks so I rotated the ports to open feeding and started refilling with birdseed mix. Initially the whitewings were using it, but perhaps it's proximity to the tree puts them off, or the thistle sock which hangs 8 inches away (my idea was that perhaps a bird feeding at the tube may realize there are thistles in the sock and maybe learn to feed there-- that was before the goldfinch showed up today: obviously needs no lessons on how to feed on the sock!)

It's a very good day.

Christmas activities are stirring, including dusting off seasonal props.

God Bless and Merry Christmas to all.

Jim

A Tale of Two...birdfeeders?

It's Thanksgiving week in Houston, 75 degrees and rainy, though the sun somehow casts a shadow through it all. Confusing. In my backyard is a buffet of different bird feeders, 6 in all, yet not any two are the same. Two are for goldfinches, two are for fruit eaters, but two are loaded with seeds. This story is about seed-eaters. I am about to run an experiment of the utmost concern for the local Realtor: does location matter, or is it the structure that has the most bearing in appeal.
Consider the birds of the field, specifically the house sparrows in my back yard.
They are mobbing my feeder farthest away from my dwelling; they seem to not even know the other feeder exists.
Is that because they can quickly duck into the shrubbery (spoken like the Knights of Ni)? Or is it that the local squirrel-teenagers use the nearby feeder wire as a zip line, dropping suddenly into the dinner scene of any feeding bird like invaders in an old ninja movie? The nearby feeder has more seeds in it, but perhaps that is less important. Perhaps it's like the scripture that elevates eating up on the roof in peace, over all the trappings yet in the midst of tension.
Perhaps that is the call of Christ, to forsake the pressures and distractions of this world for the simple fulfillment of living at His feet? A call to simplicity, not for self-abasement but for personal fulfillment, choosing the better while seeming to participating in cultural irresponsibility?
I think I'll swap feeders around, just to see...

The Closing of a Chapter; Well Done Good and Faithful Servant

Today at Houston Christian's faculty meeting, my boss, Suzette Estes announced the exciting news that she plans to retire at the end of May, 2011. She is very excited to join her wonderful husband, Tom, and spend time with her children and grandbabies.
As our community moves forward, we will finish the year strongly and truly enjoy how God is going to bring in a new Principal to lead us into the next chapter of our HCHS community.
God is good, all the time.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for sending us Suzette for this last decade.
Amen.

Vectors

"Mr. Kelley, I need to leave your class at 11--here's my slip."
"OK, thanks; are you OK?"
"Not really; mom thinks it's some contagious virus but it may be Strep."
O good; thanks for telling me...from 2 feet away... right toward my face.

As a teacher this exercise is weekly, sometimes daily, so is it any wonder we may be 'a little congested' [teacher-denial-speak for "I'm sick but don't want to admit it"].
So goes the cycle of denial-borne, air-borne contagion.

I got my flu-shot last week.

Too bad there's no cure for the common cold (cough, hack, cough, sniff...ache).

Happy Labor Day Weekend

It's Sunday morning.
Having missed morning worship, I turned on the local Christian station, sat in my favorite chair, and have been listening to praise and worship music while peacefully reading and truly enjoying the flurry of bird life flocking around my now-filled feeder. I even gave the hummingbird feeder it's first autumnal transfusion of sweetness and have already already witnessed a micro-migrator leaving this new ornament on the arboreal landscape! As I type, a swarm of hummers have just mobbed this feeder-- life suddenly is even happier from this chair.
The One-Year Bible's offerings find us in Ecclesiastes and 2 Corinthians, books strangely congruent aside from overarching theological bases: both seem to be specifically addressing the profound limitations of living solely for oneself, written in a voice that leaves me wishing I was farther along my Jesus Journey.
Paul lovingly writes to his Children in Corinth another letter, and says, "do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common?...'Therefore come out from them and be separate,' says the Lord. 'Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you. I will be a Father to you, and you will be My sons and daughters'..." Paul then pleads: "Since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God." (2 Cor.6:14,17-8; 7:1)
I know that nobody can be perfectly holy, but that is not what is going on here-- it's about orientation: what am I focused on? What is the most important thing in my life? Since I immediately am aware of my imperfections, what are those idols I proudly hold onto, idols God is gently asking me to give up so I might receive something profoundly better?
God is good.
People have a profound ability to rationalize our pig slop.
Jesus, help us to surrender that we might truly experience life. Jesus, for those who have never taken this step, give them the courage to give over their lives to your Love/Life.
In becoming my LORD, you become my Savior.
Thank you for the cross; bear with me as I stumble in following you-- I really don't like being hurt, but I'm learning that may not be relevant.
I thank you for the amazing gifts you give me, including that amazing peach-colored bird sipping from the hummingbird feeder: I love you, Jesus.

DeQuarvain's Update: post-surgery

Shortly after my last entry, finding some relief from an ultrasonic wand, my thumb/wrist returned to its previous painful status. Due to the timing of a week-long backpacking trip in the Colorado wilderness, I scheduled my surgery with Dr. Carl Palumbo to release the sheath that was grabbing my tendon (similar to carpal tunnel).
My surgery was August 4, 2010.
I had immediate relief from the chronic pain of this condition, and have begun to experience soreness now only a couple weeks after surgery, though mobility of the joint has been restored.
(see image of injured right hand, compare to previous image; both are mirror images).
I expect through gentle stretching and exercise the soreness, too, will abate.
Then again, I'm getting old...
But I'm not dead yet,...
... and have a life to live, thank you Jesus.

De Quervain's tenosynovitis-

It's the middle of July.
I've battled De Quervain's tenosynovitis (click title for more info) since early November of last year.
I get a little relief through massage, or hot treatment, or cold treatment, or stretching... but it always comes back to this baseline of painful thumb/wrist action. The worst is when my thumb tendon gets "caught" in my wrist, and then "pops" free.
Last week my mom got an ultrasound wand for consumer use; she couldn't use it so I borrowed it.
It started improving my mobility in 2 minutes.
This does not mean that I kept my mobility, but I am typing this with the use of my thumb 3o minutes after the treatment.
So here is my attempt at documentation of my first use of this at my own home tonight (trying to replicate the results from earlier this week): [The images are mirrored from PhotoBooth]
First, my healthy left thumb, flexed as far as possible:








Next my problem right thumb, flexed as far as possible:









Treatment #1. Now after the first 5 minutes of treatment: flexed as far as possible--improved flex with less pain (ultrasound wand shown):





Treatment #2. Now after an additional 5 minute treatment (10 min. total): flexed as far as possible--more improved flex with less pain:





So what does this mean? Not sure. Will need to do further tests, including controls (unplugged wand w/out gel; unplugged wand w/ gel).

Life and July 2010

The nice thing about returning to a place of memories is that it fosters a sense of continuity. Refugio, Texas, is like that for me.
Though I see something new every time I return here, I also am grounded in the familiarity of the smells and sounds of Creation that abound in this part of the world. Last year was bone-dry drought; this week is lush, soggy greeness.
Oak trees here... giant sentinals of time... are part of that continuity, that innate sense of primal endurance that welcome me back like an old great-uncle, when I once again encounter them in the pasture or prominent station near the roadway. And it is with similar sadness when I see some of these centurions brown with death, a contrast to the life around them, especially the giant post oaks of Kelley Road. Some say the drought took its toll; others- an oomycete that selects against Q.stellata. The live oaks do not share the same vulnerability and continue to push out green shade amongst these scattered deceased giants. It's almost like there was a generation of post oaks planted a hundred years ago, and all have become nesting sites and termite fodder today.
Nevertheless, life goes on.
It says so in the performance-art of relatives visiting a local cemetary, or citizens taking photos of some relic left over from the age of windmills and cattle drives; what was is not as it was, yet is for those who look a reminder of what was and might possibly be.
Life goes on; God, I thank you for that reminder.
I love you, Lord.
Thanks for putting up with me.