When Shadows Fall

When purple shadows fell and fireflies would come out to dance in the summer’s deepening evening sky, I would listen to the songs of a whippoorwill on a fence post at the edge of my grandfather’s Raymond Miner’s field. Sometimes a pair of mourning doves would add their sad sounding tones to the chorus of crickets and frogs from the swampy area behind the chicken house. I remember sitting on one of the two green Adirondack chairs and settee that claimed spots on my grandparents Miner’s wide concrete porch. It extended across the front of my grandparents Miner’s large two-story farmhouse. There was another settee made of twisted grapevines and sapling pieces, but very few people sat on it because the ribs of the twisted vines made the seat uncomfortable for people to sit.

Four tall hemlocks guarded the entrance of the brick walkway. They spread their branches to protect the house from the heat of the sun and the chill of winter winds. The porch became a shady haven for me where I often played or sought a quiet refuge beneath their thickly needled limbs. It was a cool sanctuary on the hottest of days, a dry shelter when the rains poured down, and even protection from the cold winter winds.

Grandma Miner would store her rugs on the Adirondack settee in the winter. They made a great cocoon where I could to burrow deep into their warmth away from the cold and the noise of aunts, uncles, and the horde of cousins still inside the house. It was a blessed relief after the activity, boisterous voices, and accumulated heat of Gram’s wood burning cook stove and the mass of people gathered inside.

Gram’s house had one other sanctuary. It was found in their formal sitting room. Children were forbidden to step foot inside, but if I was careful and quiet enough, I could slip inside unobserved and crawl behind the bulky sofa. It was clad in pale blue stiff, almost porcupine-feeling plush fabric that was prickly and rough for any kid to sit on when they were wearing shorts. The stiff fabric caused bare legs to itch almost to the point of being unbearable. It eliminated a child’s ability to sit still for more than a few seconds.

Sometimes my memories fade as I age and shadows fall blurring facts or hiding names and places from my remembrance. That’s why I share these recollections in writing as they emerge from the past. I want my thoughts to be captured before they become lost as the darkness falls and the lights fail.

 

Mister Grumpy Recognizes Blessings

Each morning when I roll out of bed, I’m faced with the task of preparing my own breakfast. I’m not too excited about making eggs or frying strips bacon or a slice ham, or making toast. And I get weary of cold cereal or oatmeal. The thought of eating breakfast food early in the morning has lost its appeal, but because I have diabetes it’s important that I eat after I’ve taken my morning medications. My doctor has warned me about skipping meals. Many times my breakfast becomes “opening the fridge and reheating leftovers.” Spaghetti, pizza, or a piece of fried chicken tempts me more than anything else on the shelves. There are times when I have a microwavable sausage dog covered in pancake batter or a heat-and-serve sausage or bacon-biscuit, but they too have lost their attraction as well.

Then Mr. Grumpy finally decides on something to eat. This morning after I thanked God for my meal and sat eating a hot microwavable vegetarian food bowl, (Don’t ask how this Buddha Bowl came into my possession.) I began to think of how many people around the world would be grateful and feeling blessed if they had something to eat…anything at all to eat and suddenly I was ashamed about feeling grumpy because I “had to make a decision of what I wanted to eat” and not IF I had something to eat. How often have I’ve turned this blessing into a complaint? I remember that in the Exodus from Egypt, the Hebrew children were punished by God as they wandered in the Wilderness for forty years because they murmured and complained. How different have I been with my morning murmurings? How truly thankful have I been?

All I can do is to apologize to an all-powerful caring God. I need to learn to be more alert and more grateful for the blessings to my heavenly Father who has given me so much. I have food in my freezer and vegetables that I helped to can last harvest season stored in my pantry and yet I am very ungrateful. I have been given so much and yet I am sometimes unwilling to give my time and my energy to return the favor and show my gratitude to the Creator of all the Earth and for all He has done for me. I know that there will be others who read who have wealth and those who are living in poverty and ask that each person be thankful for what God has given them and bless others as you can.

Wheels Falling Off My Wagon

I do believe that it’s finally happening. Cogs are starting to slip and the wheels are beginning to fall off my wagon. I’ve had the usual forgetful mishaps where I’ve forgotten where I have put something or walking into a room and forgotten why I went into the room and what I came for, but nothing I’ve done in the past compares to the faux pas I recently did. I’ve shared about the accident in the Wal-Mart parking lot where a man backed his truck into my Chevy Malibu causing 3,500 dollars worth of damages. I had to rent a vehicle while my car was in the shop being repaired. I filed the accident under my insurance policy, but I didn’t have car rental on my policy and would have to send the bill to the other insurance company. I was glad I used my policy, because I got a call from his company offering me 1,500 dollars to have my auto repaired. The guy seemed miffed when I told him I’d filed under my insurance. He didn’t give me a phone number to respond.

Fast forward, I decided to call the other man’s insurance company to see what I needed to do to get the reimbursement. Because I didn’t have a phone number nor could I remember the representative’s name, I got a generic number to reach the insurance company. Somewhere in my brain my cells short circuited and I thought the other driver’s insurance company was Progressive. (Perhaps it’s because I am so irritated each time I see Flo’s face with her inane commercials.) I called the number and began my spiel of the accident, date, and driver’s name. On a pad at my desk, I had several numbers; some were the vehicle registration number, the NAIC number, and the man’s phone number. Patiently the young man on the other end of the telephone reviewed each number and the other driver’s name and each time he came up empty. As I reviewed the information I’d collected at the scene of the accident, I noticed something very important that I’d missed. The man’s insurance wasn’t Progressive, it was Safe-Auto. Chagrinned, I apologized profusely. The agent on the other end of the phone call had a good laugh. I said, “I imagine that you’ll have a good tale telling your co-workers about this call. He was able to give me the phone number to Safe Auto and I wished him a Happy Easter.

Fortunately, my next call went much better and I was able to get the information as to how to submit my bill and the address where to send the bill.

 

Cutting Corners

When I was in the United States Navy as a corpsman, I developed an interest in model railroading. After my work was done; I didn’t have a lot to keep my active mind busy. HO gage was small enough for me to keep with my belongings. I began to build trackside accessories. An Exacto knife, a thin piece of wood, and Elmer’s glue was all I needed. My first project was to fashion two tunnel portals, shaped like old tunnel adits where they built wooden walls to prevent debris from falling onto the tracks. My next project was a trestle bridge seven inches high and eighteen inches long. I had to study a photo to make it look real. The next thing I built was a water tank like those that supplied water to the steam engines. It had an arm that could be lowered and raised back into place. With the use of some tongue blades I constructed a train station with benches, a teller window, and windows. A platform stretched along one side with a freight room attached. It was definitely a labor to complete. Getting them home on an airplane is another story entirely. I still have them stored somewhere in my attic.

I made a small jewelry box for a friend. It was a rectangle about six inches by four inches and three inches deep. The corners were hand-carved dovetails. It also had a fitted lid with a carved a bunch of grapes to decorate the top. During this time I was carving miniatures. One I can remember was of an elephant that was about ¾ of an inch high. Another was a small frog with a crown on its head. Most of my carvings were limited by the amount and type wood I had on hand.

The last project I carved happened much later. I got the idea to carve a figure of Jesus Christ with His arms stretched out. I thought once it was completed, I’d use metal pins and attach the image onto a cross made of separate pieces of wood. It was coming along quite well. The soft pine shaped easily. The arms and cupped hands were nearly finished. The legs protruding from the loincloth were done. The chest and abdomen were well shaped. Christ’s hair and thorns were very realistic. The face was being shaped, but hadn’t yet emerged from the beard as of yet. Somehow one arm of the soft pine broke off. At first I was devastated, but God reminded me that I shouldn’t be making graven images and the entire project ended up in the trash never to be finished.

 

Like a Freight Train

Time is like a freight train, hurtling faster and faster. It seems each day something else causes me to reevaluate my life. Age causes me to adjust what I do and when I can do it and that upsets me. I once thought that I wouldn’t let the accumulation of days limit my daily chores and alter my life, but time has a way of making the most determined person eat his words. Time has a way of wearing down even the tallest of mountains, bit by bit, grain by grain. My flesh is all too quickly wearing out and I’m developing a deep and intimate relationship with arthritis and diabetes. I’ve just spent two restless nights unable to find a comfortable position to sleep. Each time I tried to eliminate one ache, another part of me says’ “That won’t work either, Buddy.” But like someone else has said, “If I didn’t wake up with pain, I’d think I was dead.”

The greatest thing is that I can look ahead to is a time where I will no longer have pain and not be limited by my flesh. It is a future event in my life where time has no meaning, where pain and sorrow will have no place, and where heaven awaits behind pearly gates. Each gate is a giant pearl and gold is so common that the streets are paved with it, only fit to be walked on.

When I look around and see the wonders displayed on the earth, I am unable to imagine what God has created in that eternal and heavenly city. It is a place where sin, death, and sorrow cannot enter in. It is a place where the corruption of rust and decay do not exist. So, even though there are days when my aches and pains override the thoughts of my new body and turn to ointments and medication for relief, I must not lose sight of the goal. I must not let the world continue to interfere with the sharing of the Good News to others.

The cost of our passage has already been paid. Easter is a time where we more closely can view the price God paid to redeem us from the grasp of death and eternal punishment. His only Son suffered terribly as He was humiliated, spat on, beaten, then hung on a cross like the most common of criminals. Jesus bore all of that so sinful man could be reunited with God the Father. Remember that love this year at Easter. Christ died for you and me. There is no time like the present to accept Jesus as your Savior.