Animal Tales I

I have always had a thing about animals. As a child, I was known as the person on our mission station to care for any baby bird or small rodent that was found motherless. I regularly had jars of polliwogs on my bedroom window. Hundreds of baby frogs would hatch at once, and they would be everywhere! We appreciated it when they became toads because they would sit around the porch light to catch the mosquitoes and flying insects that congregated there.

My parents were so long suffering with my "gift" for animal care. One day I collected a whole boxful of snails. I was so proud of them, I brought them in and left them in the kitchen overnight. The next morning there were snails crawling all over our kitchen walls and my mother was not amused. Another time, someone gave me nineteen baby rats, only a day old. They were pink and ugly but I tried valiantly to keep them alive. I believe my mother was secretly relieved when the cat knocked over their cage and ate them all.

We lived uphill from a river. A few times a year we were visited by large pythons...they were after our chickens. My dad became adept at picking them up. One night we put a huge python in a pillow case and stored it in our dryer. The next day we took it to school and showed it off, then let it go down river at a "chickenless" spot! I remember thinking my dad was pretty cool for doing this. We had a man that visited our school who had a huge bag full of snakes in smaller bags. He would come around every few years and educate us on the different snakes native to the Congo. He taught me to be unafraid of snakes, although I still startle when I see one moving quickly!

My pets were both domestic and exotic. I remember saving and saving my money to go to the market to buy a baby goat. I purchased the goat, whom I named Goblin,but he was so small and needed his mother still. I insisted on taking him to bed with me, to keep him warm. My mother barely allowed this. He bawled loudly when he was hungry and didn't care what time of the day or night it was. Goblin grew to be a huge nuisance on the mission station, eating our neighbor's flowers and shrubs. We finally gave him to someone who could keep him penned up.

My most exotic pet was my chimpanzee, Jojo. He came to me in the back of a jeep from some people from up country. They said that his mother had been killed by hunters. He was the littlest, most pathetic looking guy, I didn't even have to think to plunk down my entire summer's earnings for him ($120). I had no idea what I was getting into! Chimpanzees have four hands. They do like to be carried constantly when they are babies. I always say that my first child was a chimpanzee, because I literally had to hold his hand until he went to sleep, I had to carry him everywhere, and of course keep him out of the myriad of ways he could get into trouble.

May parents allowed him to be inside the house at first. I tried to keep diapers on him, but he hated them. I tried to give him baths but it's hard to submerge a body that has 4 hands holding the side of the tub, keeping out of the water! Jojo gave our family many laughs and many headaches. His stay in the house ended when he broke a bottle of Wind Song perfume in my room and the whole house reeked for days. He graduated to a tree in our yard where he spent most of his day figuring out how to escape his leash and many times broke chains in order to go on his rampages through the mission station. As I said, I had no idea what I was getting into when I took on that pathetic baby chimp. I had no idea he would turn into a five foot tall, incredibly strong, uncontrollable animal. Looking back, I think my parents were saints to let me have him!

I went through a stage of my life when I thought this animal loving part of me was not very spiritual. But I have decided in my 50's that I will never be any different. I am drawn to animals and it is a part of the way God made me. I have been enjoying embracing my gift instead of minimizing it because it doesn't have to do with people. It is satisfying for me to care for the animals that I now get from our Native Animal Rescue. I'm like an animal Foster Mom, and it fits me to a T. More on that for another post!

Red Sea Musings

Lately I've been reminded again and again of the parting of the Red Sea.
Actually, I have felt like I am standing at the edge of my own personal Red Sea.
Behind me are the armies of Nay Sayers, the Lying Whisperers, and the
Noise Makers that try to drown out the Song of Deliverance. Before me is
the impossible obstacle that is roaring and threatening to stop my forward
movement. Oh, it's my old enemy, the wind and the waves that threaten to
keep me from walking on water (or dry land...)!

Sometimes I can barely breathe with the fear that grips me. Is this how those
Israelites felt? They had to hear the pounding of the army coming towards
them! They must have understood the impossibility of their situation. It was
a desperate, amazing-everything-hanging-in-the-balance time frame. How
did they not buckle under the intensity of it all? Were they moaning and
groaning in agony, believing that this "Deliverance" was just a huge trap?
Yup. I can relate to their mental challenges as they crowded there by
the Red Sea.

This is my question, often...in fact every few minutes. How do we stand and
believe impossibilities will be possible when our own frail bodies are reacting
to their own inner fear-meter. It is not a mind over matter thing. I cannot
tell myself to not notice the wind and the waves. They make themselves
abundantly clear to me, through my sight, my hearing, through all my senses.
So all the "human" parts of me are screaming: LOOK OUT, You are
Going to ______(Fail, Drown, be Ruined, etc).

Somehow, in this, I'm supposed to be still and know that He is God. I am
supposed to not walk by sight but by the Spirit. I am supposed to let
the big He inside me be bigger than the he that is in the world. These are
truths I know...but now I need them in my DNA, somehow transforming
me into a thoroughly human/spiritual being that is able to overcome the
cacophony of sensations the present world is throwing at my physical self.
It is a death to part of me that has been in charge all my life, the self-
protection, self-preservation part. The 'figure it out by what you see in
the natural' part of myself.Faith seems to be synonymous with trust,
and trusting that the One who has brought me here, to the edge of this
Sea, will show me a completely, never done before way-- forward,
regardless of the circumstances which surround me.

No Motive

I am experiencing a lack of motivation for life lately.

I don't know if it's the weather, which is stormy and quite conducive to
hibernation...but I don't want to get up and "seize the day"!

I want to be comatose...until someone dials me into another season.
Perhaps this is a latent part of my human roots...did my ancestors hunker
down for the winter? Why can't I escape like the turtles in the creek
or the bears up in the mountains?

I know, it's not conducive to being a parent, wife,sister,daughter
but that's such a tiny detail! I never was a detail person.

Tomorrow, I will face the day again. Perhaps some great balloon of
understanding will burst over my head and I will find that illusive
reason to get up and do life.

I

Triggers

I took my son shooting for his last birthday (12th) and it was an eye opener for this post-60's peace-nick! I used to hate guns. When I was about 6 I think someone convinced me to hold the target for them. The BB hit my thumb, and I will never forget the terror of standing there holding that target. I think I was coerced!

So for the birthday, we went to an in-door shooting range. The gun of choice was a .22 which I think I'd never seen up close before.... the sales guy gave a quick gun safety class to my son and his friend. Very through. The boys were all eyes. They tried to keep their eyes on his demonstration and not on the box of bullets that were awaiting their turn to be loaded into the gun. One of the cardinal rules of gun safety is "don't put your finger on the trigger until the last minute before you pull the trigger". This was reiterated numerous times to the boys. Instead they were to put their finger along the barrel of the gun in "wait" mode until they had sighted the target. Supposedly, this would give them more accurate shots when they did pull the trigger!

So last week, as I was dealing with some anger issues, this scenario came back to my mind. I realized that I was putting my finger on the anger trigger and pulling it before I even thought about what or who I'd be shooting with my anger. Or why. In fact, come to think of it, the phrase "I was triggered" is all over the therapy world...and we are! A name calling can make us go ballistic. A sassy look can start the fuming fire. An inconsiderate sales person can send us into a rage.

I found wisdom in the Good Book the next day that says "a soft answer turns away anger (wrath)" and guess what? It works! When the angry people in my life pop off at me, choosing to respond quietly turns the skirmish in a different direction! I have a few days of practice under my belt now, and I think I'm less likely to randomly shoot off in anger. I don't want you to think that I am constantly angry, but it is nice to learn that when I am, I can control my feelings and not let them do irreparable damage. This is progress. This is safety. Hope this is the beginning of being angry but sinning not, too!

Re-runs

My husband and I have resisted the urge to be TV viewers for our entire parenting lives. This has meant a certain rejection from some people. My extended family, for example, refuses to miss their sporting events during the traditional holidays. So, they don't come to our house for those celebrations.
We believe that if you want to watch the screen we have in our livingroom, you should watch a video or DVD. Yes, we are hold-outs in the VHS demise and have garage sale treasures lining a bookshelf out in our breezeway, supplemented by the NetFlix that arrive in our mail box every week.
Now that my daughter is home, she has brought to the livingroom what she considers to be her top movies. We all giggled through the Hispanic-accent penguins in Happy Feet the other night. The movie is made so much richer by Cassidy standing up, belting out the "Gloria" songs complete with the "vamping" body movements that an adolescent penguin makes! Very fun memories.
Tonight we are having another go-round of Parent Trap with Lindsey Lohan. Not only do Cassidy and Mark know every last line in the movie, but they race to be the first to say them! The plot is predictable, yet we love the story. Tonight as I watch, I wonder how this story speaks to the heart of an adopted child....the whole "find mom" and "find dad" thing.
We are actually pondering the idea of getting cable for the winter olympics. It's such a big concession in our 28 year track record, though, we might just have to watch the re-runs.

Saying Goodbye

I hate saying goodbye. I live in a house where I am the primary parent figure and today my son (23) who has been the other "adult" in the house moved out.He has not been the most active participant of family life. Mostly he spent time here up in his room, talking to friends on the computer... but I have drawn comfort from his being there. I will miss hearing him practice his guitar and wailing his songs to the air. I'll miss our intense conversations. I'll miss his supportive hugs.
My daughter and her husband are going to move from the comfortable two hour away drive to Arizona. This means grandchildren will no longer accessible. They won't be bopping up to spend a day at the beach with grandma. I look at the booster seat in my shed, and the stroller, and the basket of toys I have ready for their visit...and I feel the emptiness of their departure before it even happens. I'll miss getting my grandma fix without a plane ride....
Because I spent a great deal of my childhood in Africa...and because it was punctuated by leaving every four years to come back to the States with my parents, I hate goodbyes. They trigger this avalanche of emotions that date from way back, to places that have lain dormant for years. So these two events are conspiring to make an earthquake in my emotions, and I am trying to sigh through their intensity.