Thoughts From the Porch: I intended to spend the weekend catching up on all the outdoor stuff I’d put off due to last week’s weather. I ended up cleaning house and spending time with my oldest granddaughter instead. The house was a disaster from a wet week (three big dogs make for three times the mess) so I spent Saturday with broom, mop, and vacuum cleaner. Sunday had big plans, but they were cast aside when I was able to spend time with Baillie. She’s a freshman in college and we don’t get to see each other as much.
I’ve
thought about Baillie a lot over the last few weeks and especially this
morning. It’s hard to believe the same little girl who rode in my old work
truck to church with me every week is now a beautiful young college student. It’s
so cliché to say, “it seems like yesterday when we (fill in the blank)”, but that’s
the way it is. It was four trucks and a lifetime ago.
I
originally sat down to write a Monday morning treatise on grace. My mind was
full of all kinds of theologically deep thoughts about “unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration
or sanctification” (Merriam-Webster Dictionary – italics mine). Fortunately, my
mind kept going back to my sweet granddaughter and the grace that’s filled our
lives.
When
Baillie was three or four, I was told that I’d never be a part of my
granddaughter’s life. My life was a mess; a tornado roaring through the lives
of everyone I touched. Looking back, I can’t argue with those who kept me away
from her. Fortunately, things began to change around the time she turned five:
I found recovery from the hopeless state of mind that made up my life. I found
grace.
I’d
love to tell you of this magical, mystical moment when I latched on to the wellspring
of grace and life changed, but I can’t. It was a process of receiving and
accepting progressively deeper levels of grace – from God and my fellows. Over
time, I’ve come to realize that all
is grace. My life has changed; has been transformed.
The
relationship I have with my granddaughter today is a constant reminder of the
grace, and subsequent gratitude, that fills my life. I still remember the first
time she came to spend Christmas with me. Those early visits were often short
but the highlight of my day. Weeks passed and the visits became more frequent.
Months later, we were off together in my old truck, laughing and spending days
together.
Things
have changed through the years. She’s graduated high school, works hard in
college, and has a host of friends her age that she hangs out with. Even though
time our time together has become less frequent, it’s become more valuable. I’m
always amazed and incredibly grateful when she comes running up to hug me and
spend time with Pops. Grace is an amazing thing.
I’m
convinced that those who have experienced the depths of God’s grace and the
love of a child understand grace better than most. They rely on it and their lives
are transformed. Their lives overflow with grace and gratitude and it touches
everything around them. That’s been my experience anyway.
I
wish you all a grace-filled Monday; grace that pours out into the world. I’m
off to my granddaughter’s house…
Thoughts From the Porch: I had a big day planned. The operative word being “had”. One of the frustrations in farming can be the dependence on the weather, the one thing that cannot be controlled. There’s either too much rain or not enough, either an early or late frost, a brutally hot summer or a brutally cold winter. Farming is always dependent on the weather. So, it is this morning…
Still, even a day of rain can be a blessing. This week has been a bit hectic. Keyboard time has been limited to thank you notes for our ribbon cutting attendees and constant appeals for donations and sponsors. That’s the perpetual chore for most non-profit organizations. However, since I had to rearrange the schedule to fit the weather, I found the time to share some thoughts from the porch.
Waiting to leave for Opal’s Farm
The morning started with threatening skies. I greeted the day with mixed emotions. Part of me wanted it to rain. It’d be a great excuse for staying home and this has been a busy week. When the clouds finally let go of their watery loads with a resounding bang, I felt a twinge of relief. Jameson, on the other hand, did not.
For
those of you who don’t know, Jameson is the official Farm Dog for Opal’s Farm. I’m
not sure his title ever went to a board vote, but I made an executive decision
as Farm Manager that he would be our official mascot. Besides, I’m not sure I
would even know how to farm without a Farm Dog.
Jameson
came to join our little family almost three years ago. Missy, my Sheltie
companion of ten years, had passed away in March of that year and, to be
honest, I wasn’t sure I was ready to adopt a new dog (another story for another
time). She was more than simply my best friend. She was special. I can’t
explain it any better than that. Pet parents will know exactly what I’m talking
about.
One
day, almost a month after Missy died, I was at the feed store up the street from
the Humane Society of North Texas animal shelter. I was finished early for the
day and I could just stop in to look, right? I stopped in and wandered through
the kennels. I was rather proud of myself that I didn’t make an impulsive
decision, but when I got home, I had to confess to Margaret I’d opened a door
that maybe I shouldn’t have.
To
my surprise, Margaret said, “If you want to adopt a dog, then maybe you should.
Our home seems a little empty now”.
I said,
“thank you but maybe I’ll think about it some more”. I started on some chores,
but an hour later I was headed back to the shelter. I wanted to get there
before they closed. So much for taking time to think about it.
To make a long story short, in the very last kennel I inspected my heart simply melted. I left the shelter with Jameson (although we hadn’t decided on a name yet). The incredible folks at North Texas Humane Society were happy to share some of his background. He was nineteen months old and had been born at the shelter. He’d been adopted twice before and returned because of “behavior problems”. Most of his life had been spent in the shelter and the employees loved him. He had a bit of a reputation there and I took him around to say goodbye before heading home. The last thing they told me was that “he’s not a ‘cuddler’.”
Fast forward to today and I can tell you he doesn’t know he doesn’t like to cuddle. In fact, he obviously isn’t aware he’s not a lap dog (a 100+pound lapdog, mind you!). He got his name because from day one he’s been a licker. I don’t need a shower after a few minutes with him. Why not name him after my favorite liquor, Jameson’s? Licker, liquor, get it?
As
I sit here writing this, Jameson is right by my side. He’s really a ‘Momma’s
boy’, but when it thundered, Jameson found his place by my side. You see, he’s
terrified of thunder. I can’t say for sure what the root of his phobia is, but
I think it has to do with being in the shelter those many months. Living in
North Texas is pretty scary during the Spring thunderstorm season. I imagine it’s
even scarier for a young dog in a kennel by himself with a cacophony of other
dogs barking around him…
As
for behavior problems I still haven’t figured that one out. Jameson is a
typical Catahoula – fierce enough to take down a wild boar or a bear and gentle
enough to love on our grandkids. The only thing I can figure is he was waiting
on us to be his family.
That’s Jameson’s story. We’ve since been blessed with Maggie (a Catahoula-Coyote mix, or as Margaret says, a Coyotahoula) and Sadie (our pretty mixed breed – part Rottweiler and…?). They love the farm as well, but there can only be one official Farm Dog and Jameson earned that title…
One may wonder why an official Farm Dog is such a big deal. Only those who have known the love of a canine companion really ‘get it’. To say that dogs are “man’s best friend” is a gross understatement. Besides, I’m sure his spirit will make the produce grow bigger. It’s made my heart grow bigger…
It’s time for dinner!
The
day I brought Jameson home he ventured out into the backyard for the first
time. At once, he went straight to where Missy was buried and sat reverently as
if to pay his respects to my beloved friend. He sat there for quite a while, then
went to the other end of the yard to take care of dog business. One can’t tell
me that dogs lack the same spirit we all share. I want that kind of spirit
around our farm as well as our home.
So,
here’s to Jameson the Farm Dog. Feel free to stop by and visit anytime but be
prepared to cuddle!
For
those of you who don’t know, Jameson is the official Farm Dog for Opal’s Farm. I’m
not sure his title ever went to a board vote, but I made an executive decision
as Farm Manager that he would be our official mascot. Besides, I’m not sure I
would even know how to farm without a Farm Dog.
One day, almost a month after Missy died, I was at the feed store up the street from the Humane Society of North Texas animal shelter. I was finished early for the day and I could just stop in to look, right? I stopped in and wandered through the kennels. I was rather proud of myself that I didn’t make an impulsive decision, but when I got home, I had to confess to Margaret I’d opened a door thaThat’s Jameson’s story. We’ve since been blessed with Maggie (a Catahoula-Coyote mix, or as Margaret says, a Coyotahoula) and Sadie (our pretty mixed breed – part Rottweiler and…?). They love the farm as well, but there can only be one official Farm Dog and Jameson earned that title…
Grace. Do I really believe it’s possible to receive “unmerited divine assistance”? Do I really believe that I’ve been granted “approval, favor, mercy, and pardon”; that somehow, I’ve received “a special favor”? Do I show a “disposition to kindness, courtesy, or clemency”? Is grace the “attractive trait or characteristic” of my life?
Thoughts From the Porch:
It’s been a gray, dreary, and cold weekend here in North Texas. There were
rumors of sleet around us, but here in Fort Worth it was a constant drizzle. I
spent several winters in the Colorado High Country and I’ve never felt the cold
like I do here. It’s the kind of bone-piercing cold that feels like thousands
of tiny needles poking you all at once. Of course, I’m much older now and maybe
it was simply youthful exuberance that made the cold more bearable. Today is to
be warmer and it’ll be seventy in the next couple of days. I’ll quit
complaining now…
I had to run to the grocery store yesterday afternoon. It wasn’t nearly as busy as usual. Everyone must have opted for Netflix binging rather than dealing with the weather. When I got home, I paused on the porch to enjoy what gray light remained of the day. I’d love to tell how I got tom enjoy the quiet at the end of a long, dismal day, but that wasn’t the case. The caterwauling of hundreds of Grackles in the surrounding trees put an end to any idea of quiet enjoyment of the porch. It was so deafening I couldn’t even hear my inner voice, much less the next-door neighbor saying hello as he walked to his vehicle.
Some of you might be
unfamiliar with Grackles, so allow me to explain. The “Great-tailed” or
“Mexican” Grackle is a medium-size bird originally native to Central America.
According to Wikipedia, they’ve increased their range by over 5500% and can be
found through much of the United States. I’m convinced however, that the
greatest concentration of them are in my trees…
I don’t wish to offend
bird lovers, but I don’t like Grackles. If we lived outside the city limits, I
would have no problem declaring open season with the shotgun. Don’t get me
wrong. I love birds. They bring color and song to our quiet little cul-de-sac. Grackles,
not so much. They are, like city pigeons, flying rats. Noisy, flying rats…
Please don’t judge me if
you’ve never experienced a flock of Grackles. They are incredible foragers and
they have little fear of humans. They mock efforts to shew them away. They fly
together in huge flocks, often darkening the sky and even been known to interfere
with traffic.
Several years ago, the
Grackle problem got so bad in downtown Fort Worth that a noise cannon could be
heard going off in hopes of driving them out of the city center. Sundance
Square, the jewel in the crown of Downtown Cowtown, was so noisy and covered in
bird droppings it was difficult to find a safe place to sit and enjoy a summer
evening outdoors. The city sought to drive them away lest they deter commerce
and conspicuous consumption. Unfortunately, they ended up in quiet little
neighborhoods like ours. You wouldn’t believe I wash my vehicles and sidewalk
regularly.
That being said, I
noticed something somewhat unique to our Grackle population. They were all
yelling (it can’t really be called ‘singing’) over one another creating
incredible dissonance when all the sudden it was eerily quiet. I’m not talking
about the noise fading out. It was as if someone yelled, “lights out” and the
entire flock stopped at once. It went from a din to silence in the flick of a
switch. Looking up I couldn’t see a one.
I guess I’m a bit
simple. Little things really intrigue me. The Grackles may be flying rats but
they’re awesome flying rats. Now I know there’s several scientific and
biological reasons for their unique abilities, but to go from unbearable
dissonance to complete silence in a second is pretty darn awesome. It’s not as
though there were a few birds here. We’re talking about a flock of hundreds of
birds acting as one. Sometimes I wish people were like that…
I sit at my newsfeed
every morning, only to be greeted with all the dissonance around me. Everyone
yelling at everyone else. Everyone shouting how right they are. Everyone
screeching to be heard. Everyone screaming out for their self-interests. Sounds
a lot like the Grackles to me.
Imagine if whole
neighborhoods, whole communities, acted as one. You know, for the best interest
of the ‘flock’. Imagine if my selfishness was replaced by concern for my neighbor,
my community, heck, for my planet. Imagine if, instead of yelling to be heard,
everyone got quiet together, changed the manner of discourse and talked to one
another. I don’t really expect it to happen, but what if…
You’re right, I’m a
dreamy-eyed idealist. Maybe the world needs more idealists. It tends to get
beaten out of children in favor of being a practical, rational adult. It’s a
little ironic that Jesus said we should “become like little children” if we
really wanted to live out the Kingdom of God. Like John Lennon sang, “People say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not
the only one…”
