Memorize:

"But My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Phil. 4:19 (KJV)

Monday, December 20, 2010

An In-between: Christmas Past Around the World.

I happened to find a website about Christmas around the world. Each blurb appears to be written by a native author. It's very interesting, so I thought I'd share some of the neat, different things that we here in America don't really think about.

For instance, in Australia, (written by a very tongue-in-cheek author) there is no such thing as a 'white' Christmas. For them, Christmas is more like our Fourth of July. Not because it's an Independence Day, but rather it's the biggest summer holiday. And who ever in America would have ice-cream and seafood! Santa Claus is just as big Down Under as it is Up Over Here, but 'Swag Man' is almost as big. The Aussies felt they had to come up with something other than Santa, because they're afraid of Santa 'suffering from heat stroke.' Swag Man does not ride in a sleigh. Instead, he drives a very large four-wheel drive. Christmas is made up of picnics, midnight mass, food, 'mateys', and swimming.

Likewise, in Brazil, Santa Claus is really "Father Noel." Father Noel lives in Greenland, and wears silk when he's visiting Brazil; because of the heat. Instead of Dickens's classic Christmas Carol, a folk play called The Shepherds is featured in which all the shepherds are female and the baby Jesus is kidnapped by a gypsy. The traditional Christmas tree has no greenery, but is rather made of electric lights. Other decorations are usually fresh flowers.

In Czechoslovakia, home of the 'Good King Wenceslas,' Christmas is celebrated by putting a cherry tree in water indoors. The hope is that it will bloom on Christmas thus giving 'good luck' and the 'hope of a short winter.' St. Nicolas lives in Heaven and climbs down on a golden rope with his companions; an angel and a whip-carrying devil. (For the good and bad little boys and girls of course)

In France, Christmas trees are rarely in evidence, and the same goes for a real Yule Log. Instead, a Yule log cake is made. The biggest thing is a nativity scene found in nearly every home. Along with the traditional nativity scene pieces, figures of local dignitaries are made, (called little santons, or saints.) These are also a part of the nativity scene. As in Brazil, it is Father Noel who distributes gifts. Except, he's accompanied only by the 'stern disciplinarian' Pre Fouetarrd, who reminds the forgetful Noel who was good and who was not. Gifts among adults are exchanged on New Years' Day.

I considered making a German joke in favor or France, but, well, perhaps I'd better not, especially since their traditions happen to be rather more 'Christian' than any other country so far. The Germans were those who began the tradition of the Christmas tree. It is especially exciting to the children since they are not allowed to see it until Christmas Eve. Christmas Carols are usually sung, the Christmas Story is read, and sometimes sparklers are lit. Only then are the presents opened. St. Nicholas visits with his little 'book of sins.' if the child has been good, delicious things are placed in the shoe or boot near the fire. If not, the shoe is filled with twigs.

In Japan, Christmas is very American, having been introduced by missionaries. It is the only time that the children ever see a cradle, (in the Nativity scene) since Japanese babies are not put in a cradle. Hoteiosho, a priest or 'god' is the 'all-seeing' Santa Claus.

Christmas in Russia, was once a largely-celebrated holiday. During the Communist regime however, many traditions were crushed. St. Nicholas for instance, became 'godfather frost.' St. Nicholas in former times was not the gift bringer, but rather the miracle worker. Baboushka was the gift bringer, and was also crushed during the Cold War. Baboushka has returned however and the tradition has nearly grown to it's former size. Christmas Trees were banned, but Russians continue to decorate their 'New Year's Tree.'

In Iraq, 'Christians' light a bonfire of thorns on Christmas Eve. When the fire dies, each person jumps over it and makes a wish. Another bonfire is lit in the public square on Christmas. The bishop carries a figurine of the baby Jesus, and touches the person next to him. The touch is passed among all the people until all have received the 'touch of peace.'

In Sweden, a fourth century Sicilian saint, Lucia, is revered. During early Christian persecution, she allegedly brought food to hiding Christians. She has become known as the 'queen of light.' On Christmas, the eldest girl in the household wears a white dress and a wreath on her head with seven lighted candles. She brings coffee and buns to each member of the household in symbolism of Lucia's visit. The Tomte is the gift-bringer.

In Bethlehem, the city is ablaze every year with flags and other decorations. The annual Christmas Eve parade is made up of horsemen and mounted police on Arabian horses, followed by a solitary horseman on a black horse carrying a cross. Other officials and churchmen follow until the procession passes through the doors of the Church of the Nativity. Dark winding stairs lead to a grotto. In the grotto, a silver star marks the place where Jesus was born. Another star is located in the center of town. Christians celebrate by decorating their doors with a cross and each home houses a home-made manger scene.

Merry Christmas!

(This has been: An In-between. Look in next time to read: Snippets of:__)

Monday, December 13, 2010

A Day in the Life of: Sgt. R__

One of my favorite people that I actually know is an elderly gentleman in my church. He's like another grandpa. Besides being kindly and intelligent, he's also an excellent story teller. And the great thing is that his stories are true. I considered recording his stories and perhaps I still might sometime. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a tape-recorder. So, while I can't tell his stories with quite the impact that he tells them, I'll do my best, because they're worth telling. His are the stories which can inspire and amuse generations to come, but only if they're written down.

If you knew Mr. R__ today, you would never believe that he could ever have been anything other than a wonderful, gentle and meek man. He was however, when a younger man, a very colorful character with a colorful life that comes with all non-Christian Army drill instructors, Army Sergeants, and Police chiefs.

Sgt. R__ tells this story of his time as an Army Sgt. during WWII. He was a squadron leader of tanks, and they were practicing with the 10th group of something or other. The 10th group of something or other used jeeps with rocket launchers. Sgt. R__ and the tanks under him would practice fighting the 10th group rocket launchers. They used duds for practice, not live rockets.

Each time, after the practice was over, the two groups would leave the field. Usually, the tanks went first. 10th group had a 'twisted' sense of humor. As the Sgt. R__'s tanks would leave the field, the 10th group would launch blank rockets at the tanks. Even a blank rocket is nothing to laugh at. They made huge noises, and packed an even larger wallop.

After a time of enduring this harassment, Sgt. R__ had a fantastic idea. All soldiers were issued cans of pork and beans for their meals. With his fellow soldiers, Sgt. R__ opened these cans and poured them out into a couple of empty shells. Then, they put masking tape over the top of the shells to hold the pork and beans in until it was time.

Then, after practice, they started off the field. As usual, the soldiers in the jeeps launched their duds and then raced off ahead of the tanks laughing. The men in the tanks ducked, the duds hit, the men in the tanks got up, and Sgt. R__ loaded the 'live' cartridges. He cranked the gun on his tank down, waited until the jeeps were in his sights and then...BAM! out of the barrel flew a couple of cans worth of pork and beans! DEAD ON!!! The joke was on the other guys.

The way Mr. R__ tells it, it was worth a million bucks to see the looks on their faces.

"Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein; And he that rolleth a stone, it shall return upon him." Proverbs 26:27

(This has been: A Day in the Life of: Sgt. R__. Look in next time to read: Snippets of__)

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Fountain of Thoughts: Context, Context, Context

I recently posted a list of my goals for the year. Regrettably, I have only completed one of them to date. However, the result of that goal, that is, to read the Bible in three months, was, in my opinion, rather interesting. My main reason for conducting the experiment was because I had heard quite a bit about its benefits. I had heard, specifically, that 'it put the Bible in a whole new perspective.' After having completed the experiment for myself, I must beg to disagree in part with the review. I found, that instead of giving the 'Bible a whole new perspective' it rather put the Bible into perspective.

'Context, context, context' is an oft repeated refrain in my church and house, so, I've always known that the Bible was in context. Nevertheless, I don't believe I have ever seen it for myself so clearly. It is easy in most cases to see the context between individual verses. It is even sometimes easy to see the context between chapters. I have very rarely however been able to see the incredible context between whole books.

While my Bible is not in chronological order according to events per se, reading it in three months pictured the order of events almost as if I was seeing them happen. It was frankly quite fascinating. I was able to 'see' Isaiah prophesying at the same time as King Hezekiah was dealing with the multiple Assyrian invasions. Another thing I noticed was that the Books of Kings, dealt with both the rule of Israel, and the rule of Judah, while Chronicles dealt only with Judah. By reading the four books in a short period of time, I was able to see the correlations between them in context.

Another perhaps benefit I observed was the diminishing of the tediousness of certain sections. I.E., the genealogies and the temple measurements. While I probably like these sections more than the average reader, I still find them, like most people, to be tedious. I found this tediousness nearly if not completely eliminated by reading them in two, or at the most three days. I'm still not sure though, if this is a benefit, or just a general gratefulness for getting to read something else sooner.

I've always had a little bit of a difficult time understanding Paul's longer epistles. I now know why. Each of his chapter's builds upon the other so that it is nearly impossible to read one and understand it without reading the preceding chapters. This time around, I think I have finally discovered why most people love Paul's writings. He is very logical. I must confess however that while I really enjoyed Paul's letters, I still like the writings of John better, even though I found them particularly convicting this time.

When I finished my little experiment, I came to the conclusion that I should highly recommend it to others. It only takes fourteen chapters per day. I was able to do this from between thirty minutes and an hour. And this was yet another benefit: the spending of more time in the Word was really good for me. After you all try it, maybe we can get together and do the other experiment: having a read-aloud Bible marathon!

(This has been: Fountain of Thoughts. Look in next time to read: A Day in the Life of:__)

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Stories of My Life: Pride Goes Before a Fall

I, like others in my family, enjoy joking about all the ridiculous superstitions that people have. Once, while walking down a sidewalk we came across a ladder propped against a building. We proceeded to joke and made a great show of not walking under the ladder because that would be a horrible thing and would mean bad luck. Of course, we dripped sarcasm. However it was rather funny because a group of people walking behind us, overheard our conversation and started talking about it too.

And thus, when I talk about a certain event of my life, I usually poke a little fun at superstition too, because after all, it did happen on my 13th half-birthday, and 13, as we all know, is a very unlucky number. (Not!)

That day, we were invited to go roller skating with another family we knew and their other friends. Neither myself or my brothers had ever roller skated to speak of. That is, we'd done it for a few minutes on carpet before. This however, was an actual skating rink; nothing close to carpet, and, in my opinion, not nearly as safe.

However, when we got their, my brothers and I came to the mutual agreement that, since we were there to roller skate, we might as well roller skate. The rink was oval. On three quarters of the oval were walls which blocked access onto the rink. On the last part of the oval was a large open space where there were no walls, or rails, or anything to hold on to. And this, naturally was the only way to get onto the rink. It was truly stepping, or rolling, out in faith.

We all half slipped, half rolled our way to the safety of the wall, and using it to hold us up, we began to actually work on learning how to keep our balance. Our friends meanwhile, were going circles around us, figuratively speaking. And then, alas, the wall ended. We were forced to cross that huge open stretch with no help from anything. Needless to say, our first couple of dozen circuits around the rink were not something I would want anyone to see. After that however, we all started gaining confidence.

By now, nearly two hours had past and our parents had just told us to do one more loop and then we were to leave. I was just at the beginning of the wall, which I still used a little, but not much. I have to say, though I don't like to, that just moments before, I had been teasing my brothers about how much better I was doing than they were. I guess that should have warned me.

When I reached the end of the wall on my last loop, I told myself that when I did the open stretch, I would really do it. You know, no sitting down, no slipping, lots of confidence. "I can do this" I remember thinking.

I thought it again when I was three quarters of the way across the open stretch. The end was in sight. Unfortunately, I rejoiced to soon. I forgot the rule about bending my knees and leaning forward at the same time. I leaned back just a very little. I didn't really even realize at first that I was on the ground. The action of falling didn't seem to have occurred. Nonetheless, there I was, on the ground, with my legs twisted up.

Here, I must insert a few things. First, I was not using roller blades, but roller skates. Roller blades are supposed to be safer, (although, I can't see how since they have a far narrower base). Roller skates are more like boots, and they lace up too. That, I was told, is not as safe. Second, I really didn't feel any pain whatsoever. I didn't really try to get up. In spite of feeling no pain, I knew somehow, that I wouldn't be able to get up. I think, however, that I did untwist myself. The next thing I heard was two other kids telling the guy-in-charge/coach-dude-or-something sitting nearby that 'it looked like something was wrong over there.

Mom was alerted, and I was carried off the rink. I still really didn't feel pain, but it must have been painful subconsciously because I cried. Our friend's friend's Mom turned out to be a nurse. She wanted to see my ankle, but I'm afraid that I was a little suspicious, not knowing her to be a nurse. I didn't want anybody to touch my ankle. I guess it really hurt. I imagine that it was so painful that it didn't register as being painful. It was an odd sensation.

The friend's friend's mom said I should be taken to the hospital. I was a little upset however, that mom took us home first, so she could call Dad and have Dad take me. At that point, I just wanted somebody to fix me; now.

When I finally got taken to the hospital, I discovered what everybody but me probably already knew. The 'emergency room' is not treated as an emergency but rather as a 'waiting room.' I waited for over an hour before someone came, and even after that, it was still another twenty minutes before the doctor came. (I meanwhile complained greatly about the subconscious pain and listened to the lady in the next partition telling her doctor about how she cut her finger.)

When the doctor came, he said something or other, looked at the x-rays, and then disappeared for another 20 minutes. When he came back, he was really puzzled. He came shaking his head. It turned out, that the break I had, was so rare, that he'd never heard of it; he was an under-doctor or something.

I had a CAT scan, and the upshot of it all was, that I had to have surgery. I know have a screw in my ankle. When I'm being silly, Dad jokes about having a 'screw loose.' The anesthesia was smelled like coconut. I was out like a light, but the sensation was more like drifting.

When I was in the recovery room, I came awake in a kind of dead way. I could hear everything, but my vision was a little blurry and my mind felt completely asleep. Everything except my hearing seemed to be out of focus and way in the distance. Even the things I heard, while I heard them clearly, seemed to be coming from far away.

Hospital people want recovering patients to eat and drink something before they are released. I however, was not hungry. The nurse, at her wits end, offered me unusual hospital food such as ice cream. I eventually was persuaded to try a tuna salad and lemon-lime sprite. It was actually pretty good.

They had given me so much pain killer that the day after surgery, I felt awesome, in spite of the inconvenient full-length splint, (later replaced with a full-length cast). That first day, I did school. The next day however, was a killer. I have a very high pain tolerance threshold, so when I say something, on a scale of 1-10, is 8, it usually means it's pretty painful.

I was on crutches with a full-length cast for 6 weeks, and a half-cast for another six weeks. I don't think it's necessary to say that Proverbs 16:18 really came home to me. "Pride goes before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."

Monday, November 8, 2010

Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2

The fire of 1889, recorded in Part 1 destroyed almost the entire city of Seattle. Thirty blocks were utterly demolished.Afterwards, wooden buildings were banned in favor of brick, stone, and iron. One would expect everyone to be unhappy about this devastation, and I am sure they were to some extent. However, the authorities didn’t seem to mind too much.
Now that the city is burned, they said, let’s build it higher. It will solve the sewage problems, of which there are many, and the city will stop flooding every time the tide comes in.
The merchants however, had lost all of their things in the fire. We can’t wait to build the city up, they said, we need to build our buildings now so that we can have money.
Well, said those in charge of the city, we are going to raise the city fifteen feet whether you like it or not. We own the streets.
You may own the streets, said the merchants, but we own the sidewalks, so we are building now.
The result of this was that the city built the streets fifteen feet higher and the sidewalks stayed where they were, fifteen feet below. For the customers who wanted to get to the other side of the streets, ladders were built. No guard-rails were used on the roads, so coaches and people sometimes fell. Sometimes, people fell off the ladders too. These deaths, the court ruled as involuntary suicides.
When the city built the streets higher, they used more dirt than it took to build the Panama Canal. But they still didn’t have enough, so they used, as Northwestcharm.com tells us, “Rubbish from the fire, sawdust, soil, and even carcasses of dead horses.” (Goller) In doing this, they made an insecure foundation.
Just for a minute, let’s look at Seattle as we see it today. Today downtown Seattle’s foundation is still made of this rubbish from the 19th century. The sawdust and other materials that were used in the past cause many of the pothole problems in the streets of Seattle.
The sidewalks were also raised to street level, creating what is now known as Underground Seattle. A few years after the fire, this area, which had only recently been constructed, was condemned due to a bubonic plague which swept the city. This was due to the large amount of rats that lived underneath. A bounty of ten cents was put on the tail of the rat. This, alas, was another mistake.
Rats are hard to catch, especially in the dark. This bounty that was put on rat tails caused people to raise rats to make things easier. They could cut off their tails and still receive the bounty. The rat problem took a long time to get rid of.
And now, in order to round out this history of Seattle’s folly and the era surrounding the Great Fire, let me tell you about one of the first leaders of Seattle.
Seattle has had many corrupted leaders. Of these, many of the crimes committed by the early leaders are now outlawed. This particular leader however however, did not have these laws.
(I once thought that this fallen man was the first mayor of Seattle, Henry Atkins. When I actually went on the Seattle Underground Tour however, it turned out it was someone else. Unfortunately, I can not remember or discover the man's real name and position. It might have been the Seattle Treasurer). Anyway, this man made many errors and he was a man in the position to do the following: It so happened that being a major town leader, he was also a private citizen. In his role as private citizen he sued the city. That is, he sued the town leaders, a prominent one of which just happened to be himself. Then, the town leader, himself, gave the private citizen, also himself, a whole bunch of money straight from the city treasury. This of course, is very wrong to do and there are laws against it.
The city has made some pretty silly mistakes in my opinion. Jesus once told a parable about the spiritual life. He told of a man who built his house on the sand, sawdust in this case, whose house fell down. And then He told the flip side of the story by telling about another man who built his house on the rock, whose house was beaten against, but did not fall. (Matt. 24-27) The example of the town leader's corruptness is just one. The city has always been pretty corrupted. Skid Row for instance. So I guess that, for the most part, the lives of the citizens are made of the same stuff they build the town on. It’s really kinda funny how people build things to look like themselves, (just look at the King of Babylon, he built a statue of himself.) However, Seattle is doomed! Spiritually, it’s corrupt. Physically, its foundation is (very) unsound. And I think Seattle could cave in at any time.
(P.S. Subsequent recent events have taken place. The city of Seattle is about to build a tunnel underneath the city. I hate to think of what will happen when they try to build it in the midst of that weak foundation. Downtown Seattle really could collapse even without an earthquake!)
(This has been: Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2. Look in next time to read: Stories of My Life:__)

Monday, November 1, 2010

A Day in the Life of: "General" Harriet "Moses" Araminta Tubman (Davis)

One wouldn't have thought that an 11th child and slave named Araminta would have become so very famous; but, she did. Born Araminta Ross in Maryland, she took her mother's name, Harriet, sometime in her early adulthood. As a slave, her exact birth date is unknown, but is probably 1820 or 1821. Like most slaves, she was illiterate and remained so for her entire life.

At age five, she was loaned out to a neighboring plantation. There, she became so ill that she was returned to her home. This did not stop her owner, Edward Brodas. When she recovered from her illness she was again loaned out. By age 12 she was working as a field hand. At age 13, already a fiery individual, she was brutally hurt in the head for defending a runaway slave. Her head wound resulted in lifelong narcoleptic seizures. (I had to look it up. A narcoleptic seizure is "a condition characterized by frequent, uncontrollable periods of deep sleep.")

Around the time she turned 25, Harriet gained permission from her owners to marry John Tubman. Tubman was an unworthy man. Although Harriet married Nelson Davis much later in life, Tubman is the name by which she is recognized.

Even in her early 20s, Harriet dreamed of freedom. When her master died in 1849, Harriet heard rumors that she and her brothers would be sold to a chain gang. With her brothers, Harriet began her journey North. Her brothers however, became frightened and returned to the plantation. Harriet continued alone. She traveled only at night and at last, she reached Pennsylvania. There, she found work cooking and cleaning. She used the money to finance rescue trips.

Before the Civil War, Harriet rescued helped to free over three hundred slaves, including her parents and four siblings. She became deeply involved in the Underground Railroad, was good friends with Thomas Garret and the dubious John Brown, and was nicknamed "Moses" for her strikingly similar task.

Harriet was a persuasive woman. Not one of those she escorted to freedom returned (like her brothers originally), not one was captured or lost. This of course, may have been partially because she threatened her escapees with death if they even thought about surrendering or returning. After she gain her freedom she accomplished over twenty hazardous missions in which she returned secretly to the South, contacted slaves, and escorted them sometimes as far North as Canada.

As her fame spread, slave owners offered a huge $40,000 reward for her capture. While she never got caught by anyone, her own illiteracy nearly gave the game away. Harriet fell asleep underneath her own wanted poster. By the beginning of the Civil War, Harriet was a dominant force in the abolitionist movement.

During the Civil War, in which she plotted with John Brown, Harriet worked as a nurse, cook, scout, and spy for the Federalists. For her bravery and courage before and during the war, John Brown nicknamed her "General" Tubman. She referred to John Brown late in life as one of her dearest friends.

After the war, Harriet transformed her home into a nursing home for local aged colored people.
As she grew older, Harriet made arrangement for the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church to take over the management of the Home. She herself was admitted to the Home in 1911. She died as a 90-something-year-old in 1913.

Harriet was honored posthumously by Eleanor Roosevelt and the United States Postal Service.
Disclaimer: While Harriet Tubman was brave and heroic in her rescue and spy services, the author of this article does not necessarily condone John Brown. John Brown only appears in this post as a friend of Harriet.

(This has been A Day in the Life of: Harriet Tubman. Look in next time to read: Snippets of:__)

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Fountain of Thoughts: Bread Making

Do you ever wonder why your spiritual life seems to be going absolutely no where? Why you don't feel like you are maturing spiritually? I'm sorry to say that this is the way I feel many times.

One of my favorite 'sermons' outside of church is actually a work of fiction. In play, Polly Milton in An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott, gives a short sermon on plum cake.

"Life, my brethren, (she proclaims) is like plum cake. In some the plums are all on the top and we eat them gaily, till we suddenly find they are gone. In others, the plums sink to the bottom and we look for them in vain as we go on, and often come to them when it is too late to enjoy them. But in the well-made cake, the plums are wisely scattered all through, and every mouthful is a pleasure. We make our own cakes, in a great measure, therefore let us look to it, my brethren, that they are mixed according to the best recipe, baked in a well-regulated oven, and gratefully eaten with a temperate appetite."

As I was randomly thinking about random things the other night, I thought of these random verses in Jermiah 18. They're the famous ones about the potter and the clay. "The word which came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words. Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying, O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the LORD. Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.

Since I know very little about pottery and potters, I randomly decided to loosely translate the verses into something I did understand. I picked baking since I had made a loaf of bread earlier that day. It was a delicious cinnamon raisin bread, for those who are wondering.

Following the example of Polly Milton my thoughts ran thus: Life, (I thought) is like a loaf of bread. When we're feeling that life is ok and going pretty well but is maybe a little dull, that's when God is measuring the flour and baking powder and other little tasteless necessaries. He may also be measuring the vital, but small amount of yeast.

When life becomes tough and we feel like everyone is against us, it's probably because He's turned on the bread machine and we're being mixed and kneaded. And the process is still necessary. I read just minutes after this thought in Ecclesiastes 11. It says there that we are to make sure and "remember the days of darkness." They're good for us.

And now I come to thought which came to me first and was the central one in my mind.
When it feels like nothing is happening, like we're not maturing or growing, that is when the bread is rising. The process of rising a bread is so slow, and so subtle, that most of the time, we can't see it grow minute by minute. It seems as though nothing is happening, when in reality we are in the process of growing double and maybe triple our original size. Furthermore, rising bread requires warmth. It isn't usually incredibly hot, but it is pretty warm. Often, when I feel like I'm not growing, I also feel stress and pressure to be growing. I become frustrated. But, maybe that too is a part of the process. Maybe that pressure and frustration is the required heat.

I love the verses all over in the Bible, but particularly in Ephesians where it speaks about the church being fitly framed and joined together with precious stones, (Jesus being the corner stone) and it grows into a holy temple and habitation of God. God doesn't do things all at once most of the time. He starts with a foundation and slowly builds onto it. And by the way, He always starts at the beginning, not in the middle.

Without the boring ingredients such as flour, salt, and yeast, a delicious loaf of bread would not be possible. Without the kneading and mixing, the loaf would be tasteless and crumbly. Without the rising, the bread would be flat, and heavy. But you can't rise the bread before you mix it, and you can't mix it without putting the ingredients in first. Each step has to come in order.

Isn't God good. He knows that after long periods of rising we can get pretty frustrated. Trials seem to come all at once, but they rarely last forever and ever. He intersperses His blessing with His tests. When we're feeling particularly blessed and excited about His Word etc. He's adding the cinnamon and raisins at the beeps. (I don't know if all bread machines beep in the middle so you can add those ingredients, but ours does, so the analogy holds.)

And then of course, we coming to the baking. That's often really tough. But it's the time when our faith becomes stronger. We're no longer moldable dough that can be turned and twisted any direction. The fiber in the dough is brought out and strenghthened as it cooks to become crusty and strong on the outside and soft and moist on the inside. When we're being baked, we often only look at the intense heat we're being subjected to. But in reality, we're learning to 'stand firm.'

After all that heat, we may be so hot that people won't come near us. God uses the time of cooling to temper our faith and maybe chip off some rough edges. And finally, we get the reward. The baker gets to eat his/her bread. Isn't that rewarding! (And man does it taste good!)Hopefully, we won't truly get eaten. But we will get our reward in heaven. I look forward to the day when He will say, "well done, thou good and faithful servant."

(This has been: Fountain of Thoughts. Look in next time to read: A Day in the Life of:__)

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Tidbits of: Iowa




I tried, I really really did! The truly interesting history of each individual state in the U.S. is difficult to find. I confess I didn't find much until I happened to search the history of fire horses. You know, once upon a time, there were no fire engines (gasp!) the first fire station was made up of volunteers, handpulling a cart loaded with water buckets. As things became more sophisticated, horses were used to pull the pump wagon and the hook and ladder wagon. So that's what I was researching. Almost everything I came up with was about the California fire stations. Yes, I can just hear you all saying, "now wait a minute, how did she get California mixed up with Iowa.
It was this way. While researching fire horses (I wanted to see if a book I read was based on true facts or not) I came up with the famous Iowan fire horses, Snowball and Highball. ("Yay, now you're in the right part of the country) Probably this is beginning to sound interesting. I hate to disappoint you, but since I was dissapointed myself...You're probably wanting to know why these two horses were famous. HOwever, while I discovered the fact that they were famous, nothing anywhere would tell me why. The few facts I found were simply that they came in second not first, at a fire department race competition, and were hugely popular. Oh, and when they were retired, because fire engines came into fashion, they had their pictures taken with the 1912, and 1922, fire engines. During a picture, a fire whistle blew signaling that their was a fire. The two old fire horses were the first to arrive, although it was a false alarm. (I think that's pretty funny myself.) Legend has it that the alarm was rigged by dissidents to prove that fire engines weren't as quick to respond as the old methods of reaching a fire.

That's some of Iowa's history, but I was going to explain my opening apology. I still didn't find much about the state's history, even after discovering the bit about the fire horses. However, one thing leads to another. (I now know that if I want interesting history, it might be a good idea to check fire department archives.) Somewhere in the article about the fire horses I came across the word folklore. "Aha!" I thought, "That's a good word to search when looking for history."

When googling Iowan folklore, I came across a link to a story about "the counterfeit silver dollar." Since I like detective stories etc., I looked it up. And that's where it hurts and brings joy. The December 4, 1884 Fairfield, Iowa Weekly Journal only mentioned that a 'very cleverly executed' silver dollar was in circulation. "there is no proof against the suspect passer and he was discharged. All attempts of the U.S. officers to locate the criminal have been unsuccessful." How anticlimatical is that! Well, not too discouraged, I decided to see if there was a followup. There wasn't. But if I find it somewhere, I'll let you know.

In reading the 1884 newspaper, I was astonished to note how incredibly dissimilar it was to the modern media. And then again, it was pretty similar. News in those days was concise and to the point, and yet, hopelessly unimportant, most of it. The first words that greeted my eyes were along the lines of "G.B. Corns, Pittsburgh, is here" "B.B. Frase, of Des Moines, is in the city" A little further down, (after a long list of people who were apparently "in the city") I came across, "A new grocery store has been opened in the former Republican headquarters" (neglecting of course, to say what grocery store had opened.) Still further down the page I came across a couple of amusing tidbits, such as "A man stopping his paper wrote to the editor: 'I think folks otten to spend their munny for paper, mi daddy didn't and everybody nod he was the intelligetist man in the country and had the smartest family of boiz as ever dugged taters." Still further down was an admonition by the paper to consult the paper's office before subscribing to any other paper. And then followed "An old man who said he had two sons in the newspaper business recently applied for admission for the almshouse. The sons, who are traveling in the same direction, say they were willing to support their father, but he refuses to live on cough syrups, kidney pads and liver regulators...the man chose the almshouse instead"

I wondered, even as I laughed at this paper, whether it was really any different from today's paper. So, I looked up Fairfield's Daily Ledger (the weekly journal, can anyone be surprised? is out of business.) My eyes were greeted with headlines such as "City plans to disconnect sump pumps," "Goodwill store moving to town" (at least they said the name of the store.) Obituaries followed, with only an occasional interesting headlines such as, "grenade scare closes parts of town" and "fire fighter's fight smouldering hay fire for 9.5 hours."

Am I the only one that sees a strong similarity? The only dissimilarity that I could see was that modern newspapers are a little bit more detailed. You know, instead of 10 words, they use an hundred to make the same boring point.

So, that was my adventure while researching Iowa. While I didn't find very much, I think that if I refine my researching a little, I can utilize useful things such as old newspapers and fire department archives. Hopefully, I'll run across something more interesting however. Oh, and a couple of more things about Iowa. Iowa is home to: tinsmithing, quilting, willow basket weaving, gardening, cooking, and zither playing. (whatever that is.) (Never mind, I looked it up) A zither is a flat board with strings. It is used extensively in Hungary, Slovenia, Austria, and Germany. It looks kind of fun. (The picture went and stuck itself at the top...oh well.)

(This has been: Tidbits of Iowa. Look in next time to read: Foutain of Thoughts)

Monday, October 4, 2010

Stories of My Life: Sticky, Sticky, Sticky

I don't actually remember this experience, but I've been told about it so often, it feels like I remember it. It all happened once upon a time, a long time ago. I was very small.

Two of my older siblings were sitting in the living room doing school with Mom. Except for Mom's voice, and an occasional answer from the two, all was pretty quiet in the house. My other sibling and I were two young at the time to be doing school, and so we amused ourselves in another part of the house. Thus, it was only mostly quiet. For a while that is.

Gradually the noise proceeding from my part of the house ceased. Most people other than a mother would assume that my brother and I had fallen asleep. When Mom noticed the quiet however, she knew otherwise. For little children, quiet just as often means trouble as it does sleep.

Mom finished quickly her studies with my two older siblings and proceeded towards the kitchen. There, she was confronted with a horrible sight. Earlier in the day or week, my oldest brother had been (clandestinely) in the honey. He had forgotten to screw the lid of the 3 gallon jar on tightly.

Seated happily in the middle of the kitchen floor, I had a pool of honey around me, one hand in my mouth and one in the jar of honey. Yum, yumm, yummm! Mom swooped down upon me, and started to pick me up, (probably to give me a spanking. I deserved it. Naughty girl!) Unfortunately, all Mom's efforts to pick me up were thwarted by the pool of honey surrounding me. I was stuck to the floor.

When she finally released me from the sticky grasp of the kitchen floor, Mom had to call Poison control because I had eaten so much honey and had become sick. While this was going on, more horrors were being perpetrated. My other brother, you will remember, was an accomplice in the crime.

My brother had become tired of actually eating the honey. Fastidious at times, it was in evidence now. He had discovered that his hands were sticky and wanted to get the honey off. With this goal in mind, he wandered around the house wiping his hands on everything; door knobs, towels, cupboards, floor, wall, and carpet.

Needless to say, he also got in trouble. (I think I avoided a spanking because I got sick.) My oldest brother also got in trouble, for getting in the honey earlier that week. Now, we all live happily ever after, and somewhere in my lifetime, I acquired a taste for honey. Now I wonder where that came from!

(This has been Stories of My Life. Look in next time to read Tidbits of:__)

Friday, September 24, 2010

Snippets of: Seattle, Part 1

Seattle is doomed! But in order for you to understand this, you need some basic Seattle history. This story is actually something I wrote for something else some other time, so it may not sound quite the same as I normally write for this blog. Let's just say that by studying Seattle, we are studying a city built on folly

Underground Seattle is a complex maze of passageways and basements in downtown Seattle. In the mid-1800s, when Seattle was just beginning, Underground Seattle was really the ground level. The city was built on the tide flats of the Puget Sound and thus flooded frequently.
The original buildings of Seattle were made of wood, and as the University of Washington Library states, the floors of the buildings were made of “wood chips and turpentine.” (University of Washington Libraries) The streets were muddy, and the people were coarse lumberjacks who seldom took baths.
Seattle was founded on November 13, 1851. A party of settlers led by a man named Arthur Denny landed on Alki Beach in November. (I may do another story on Seattle some other time. If I do, there will be more about the folly of his early settlement.) A man who was interested in the Northwest since an early time in his life, Arthur Denny seized the chance to go west when it came. He was partly influenced by his wife Mary. The city was also founded by the Terry group, and the Hines group. Little is known about these groups, but it’s better not to give all the credit to Arthur Denny.
When the Denny party landed on Alki Beach, now in downtown Seattle they named the place New York and then added bye and bye. Bye and bye became the Washington state motto. Part of the reason that Seattle was once named New York may have been because the biggest city, New York City, New York, where most of the Denny party had come from, was a three month journey. The Denny party hoped that Seattle would be able to take New York’s place as a large social center. Later the city was named Seattle after explorers met the powerful local Indian chief, Chief Sealth, or, Seattle, as we Americans called him.
This story was intended to be mainly about why Seattle is doomed so, enough of Seattle’s background. Let us instead skip to one of Seattle’s first mistakes: the Great Fire of Seattle. It started on June 6th, 1889, at 2:15 p.m., just after a beautiful spring.
The Great Fire started in a carpenters shop when a pot of glue, which was put on the stove by John Back, boiled over onto the sawdust and turpentine floor. The floor, of course, caught fire. When it was noticed, it was already too late to stop it. The fire soon ignited the liquor store on the one side, and a hardware store on the other side. Because of the massive logging industry of the time, all of the hardware stores carried dynamite, while everyone knows that alcohol is highly combustible. You can well imagine the result.
An equally important contribution to the greatness of the fire is Skid Row. The term Skid Row started in Seattle. It was really called Skid Road at first. The lumberjacks would skid the logs down the steep hill behind Seattle to the Puget Sound. After the logs had been put into the Sound, the lumberjacks would enter the bars. Thus, Skid Row was born.
At the time of the fire, drunken teenagers and men set fire to other buildings thinking that it was all in fun. Amazingly, no lives were lost in the fire. An article titled the Great Seattle Fire of June 6, 1889 tells us of the devastation caused by the fire. It says, and I quote, “Thousands of people were homeless, and 5,000 men were without jobs. The city estimated losses at more than $8 million, and that did not include personal property losses.” (U-S, comp.)
Where was the fire department all this time? Unfortunately, the fire Chief was out of town at a fire prevention conference! No one seemed to mind that. After all, they had two brand-new fire engines that would fix the problem in no time. However, they neglected to see if the fire engines were filled with water. Of course they weren't. No problem, said the city’s government, there’s the Sound just a hop, skip, and a jump away. So, they drove the fire engines over to the water. At least, they tried to. Un-happily, the tide was out causing the beach to be muddy. The engines got stuck and the people were forced to put out the fire in the old fashioned and unconventional way. A line of men passing buckets back and forth. The city of Tacoma, about half a day away, did send over their fire engines in time to help put out the fire, but it wasn’t enough to save Seattle.The fire destroyed almost the entire city. Thirty blocks were utterly demolished.

(It sounds like Seattle has already gone through its doom-edness. But this is only the beginning. Other, more terrible things are to come in Snippets of: Seattle, Part 2. However, Part 2 must wait it's turn. Next up is: Stories of My Life:__)

Monday, September 13, 2010

A Day in the Life of: Colonel David "Mickey" Marcus

"Hi, I'm Mickey Marcus, but you must never call me that. Here, in Palestine, I am Mickey Stone. Got it?"

After the Biblical scattering of the Jews before and during the World Wars, the Jews were at last released from concentration camps etc. throughout the world after the Second World War. Deprived of their former homes, the Jews had no place to go after the release and gradually, a new hope and dream began to inspire them all. The historically and culturally rich significance of Jerusalem was calling the Jews throughout the world, and most answered that call. As Christians, we all know that the Biblical regathering of the Jews was accomplished in 1948 when the Jews became a nation once again. Many of us however, are unaware of some of the most exciting events that occurred to bring the Jews to the point where they could declare themselves a nation.

In the intervening time before the Jews returned to Palestine, the Arab people had come into the beautiful land and claimed it for their own. When the Jews returned, something, or someone, had to give place. There wasn't room for two nations in the tiny country.

The Arabs were well supplied with weapons and supplies. Not only this, but the British were biased towards them. The British at the time were executing a withdrawal from Palestine. The Jews had returned to their historic homeland immediately after a period of helplessness and despair. As prisoners, they had owned nothing in the shape of weapons. They had not fought against anyone in such a long time that they had few ideas about how to manage and create an army, let alone an army that would defeat the well-equipped Arabs. David Ben-Gurion, and the other leaders of the Jewish people, knew that they needed the help of a real military advisor. For this reason, they turned towards the recently victorious country of America.

Mickey Marcus, after an extremely successful and colorful career in the military during WWII, had turned down the offer of brigadier-general and returned to his very beloved wife, Emmy, or "Snippy," and a successful law practice. He was interrupted one day by Major Shamir, from Palestine.

Mickey was a go-getter kind of guy. If somebody needed something, he didn't sit around talking about the problem and the various solutions. Instead, he got started doing something to fix it; immediately. When Major Shamir asked Mickey to help the Jewish people find a military expert, Mickey instantly called up all of his qualified friends. None of the viable options he came up with however were available. In the meantime, Major Shamir was sizing Mickey up. The Major was impressed with Mickey's quickness of action, his ability to see a situation from all its angles, and his willingness to help with all of his energy. Mickey was startled when he was asked to consider going to Palestine to help.

The idea however, grabbed his mind and would not leave. He fretted about how to tell his wife. But his wife eventually came around to his views. Mickey needed to be doing something for a cause.

Because of the British occupation, Mickey had to go under another name; thus, Mickey Stone was born. If it became known that an American officer was helping the "insurgents and rebels," American and British relations would go down the hole. That would be bad.

Mickey had planned to take the relevant parts of the American military manual with him, or have them shipped undercover when he arrived. Unfortunately, his undercover contacts for that part had to lie low. Instead, Mickey began memorizing huge portions of the manual. When he arrived in Palestine, he instantly jumped into the work of re-writing the manual from memory. The Jews were astonished. Mickey was one of those fortunate people who could escape with only a few hours of sleep. He was on the go almost 24-7. He not only met and advised the Jewish officials such as his "Boss" David Ben-Gurion, and other leaders of the Haganah and Palmach, but he also took the time to visit with the actual soldiers. The Jews appreciated his out-going helpful but teach-able attitude. Many other "experts" had told them things like "Put two battalions of tanks here, machine guns there." Mickey was the only one who came and used the resources which they already had. As Mickey said, why use what you haven't and can't get. Mickey came to help, but he knew that European modern warfare doesn't always work in the desert. (Much like the American Colonials and General Braddock). He was willing to be taught the methods that were viable for Palestine.

Before Mickey arrived, the Jews' fighting method was strictly individualistic. They used night raids, usually with only 1-3 people striking at one place. While it worked for the time being to keep the lines defended, attack by the modernly-equipped United Arab League was imminent. Mickey saw that individual attacks would not be enough to stem the tide. He liked to use the example of a finger versus a fist. "Look Boss, if I poke you with my finger, or even all five finger, but separately, it doesn't hurt. But if you put the fingers together like this...WAM!" Mickey's examples were always apt, even to the very different culture he was in. Within a few weeks, they all loved him.

The Haganah and Palmach leaders were anxious to get a real army going, and Mickey was too. However, he did realize that time was getting short. Unfortunately, he felt the Jews were being a little too impatient when they said they wanted a fully trained army within a month. "Make it six" Mickey said. After a little argument, Mickey relented, "All right, three, no less." The Jews still wanted it sooner. "Listen," Mickey replied, "how long does it take for a woman to make a baby?"

"Nine months,"

"Right, and what happens if she has it in four?"

This time, the Jews relented.

And so, in about three months, with the help of Mickey's prodigious energy, the makings of a real army began to show through. After a trip home, where Mickey pulled strings to ensure that the U.S. would recognize an Israeli state, Mickey returned to Palestine to help some more. He promised his wife he'd be back in June. He was, but not in the way they both thought. Always one to visit the front lines and be with the 'boys' (literally, some of them) he was killed by friendly fire a few weeks later. His body was shipped to America a few day's later in June.

Colonel David "Mickey Marcus was the only soldier buried at West Point while fighting under a foreign flag. A champion boxer, trusted Pentagon aide, one of the few who actually put together the surrender terms for WWII, one of the first parachuters (clandestinely) to land on D-day, cleanser of the New York corrupted Tammany jails, and possessor of numerous medals, Colonel Marcus was killed in Palestine on June 11, not 10 feet from where his name-sake, the David of the Bible, had danced after Goliath. Without him, Israel may not have been. Almost single-handedly, (figuratively speaking) he had won the Israeli War of Independence. According to David Ben-Gurion, "he was the best man we ever had."

You can read more about him in Cast a Giant Shadow, by Ted Berkman. It is an excellent book.

(This has been: A Day in the Life of: Colonel David "Mickey" Marcus. Look in next time to read: Snippets of:__)

Monday, September 6, 2010

Fountain of Thoughts: Memorization

I've been thinking about writing about Bible memorization for the last month or so. A couple of weeks ago, imagine my astonishment when someone at my church brought it up. Isn't it funny how such things happen. You'll be thinking about something, and then, all of a sudden, it seems as though everyone else has been thinking about the very same thing.

The topic of memorizing Scripture is an important one, and, to my mind, it ties in directly with my previous post in this series about persecution. Over and over in the Bible we are told memorize. Psalm 1: we're to "meditate on [His] word day and night." The word meditate here means to become so involved in God's word that we are talking and repeating it to ourselves. In Proverbs 3 we're supposed to "write it [His word] on the tables of our heart." These are only two examples. This theme literally permeates the Scripture. "Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God." (Deut. 6).

The Bible does say that "not one jot or tittle will pass away." The Bible will remain forever. However, (and this is where it ties into persecution), the time will come for us in America where the Bible will become exceedingly scarce. In many churches in other closed countries, there are either only one Bible or part of a Bible in the entire congregation. Amos 8 says: "Behold, the days come, saith the Lord God of hosts, that I will send a famine in the land, not a famine of bread nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord. And the shall wander from sea to sea, and from the north even to the east, the shall run to and fro to seek the word of the Lord, and shall not find it."

Aside from the direct commands to "treasure [His word] in our hearts" I believe the above verses from Amos is the number one reason to memorize Scripture. Amos continues: "In that day shall the fair virgins and young men faint for thirst." The time is coming when we may not be able to get our hands on a physical Bible. I believe, if we do not wish to spiritually faint for thirst of God's Word, that we must commit it to memory.

I myself have been doing so consistently for three, nearly four, years. At one chapter a month, or about a verse a day, I have currently memorized six books of the Bible, going on 8. (I'm at the end of Amos). A verse a day is easy, anyone can do it, even if you think it's too hard for you to memorize. The benefit for me so far has been a much closer look at individual verses. It's easy, when reading the Bible, to just skim. When you memorize it though, you're forced to look at what the verse really says. Aside from that, it is scientifically proven that memorizing Scripture helps to remember other things. I've started with the shorter books of the Bible, but I'm looking forward to getting to the longer books and being forced to memorize 2, 3, and 4, verses a day to accomplish my goal of a chapter a month. I'd like to encourage you to do the same. Figure out a system that works for you, and then keep at it. It takes work at first, but don't get discouraged, it gets easier as time goes on. Having an accountability partner to whom you can quote your verses can really help as well. For this week, try memorizing seven of your favorite Bible verses.

"The Lord bless you, the Lord cause his face to shine upon you...and give you peace."

(This has been Fountain of Thoughts: Memorization. Look in next time to read A Day in the Life Of__)

Friday, August 27, 2010

Tidbits of: South Dakota

Most of you are probably wondering what in the world happened to me. After all, I haven't posted in nearly a month. Actually, I was taking a very lovely road trip all the way to South Dakota with my siblings to visit my other sibling. For the directionally challenged, South Dakota on the map is located beneath North Dakota, not above. For the scientifically challenged, heat expands and cold contracts not the other way around.

The weather in South Dakota was beautiful, but overly warm. Mid-August and all that, you know. We arrived on Saturday, having left Friday. On Sunday, we went to church with my brother. Interestingly, a missionary from China was there. He had many very interesting things to say. For instance, Chinese children, because of the one-child policy, are all spoiled brats. They call them "little emperors" and "little empresses." On Monday, my brother got us up at 5:30 and we took a mile and a half walk around three beautiful little lakes. Little is right, I'd call them ponds myself. After that, we played Wally Ball. And no, that is not Volleyball, although I thought it was at first. It was quite fun. Does all this count as Snippets of South Dakota?

All right, here's some real South Dakota stuff. South Dakota is home of the Black Hills. These hills, similar in shape, size, and color, to Brown Speed Bumps, are really quite lovely. They are home to the scrawny, scraggly, and skinny National Pine forest. The forest is so thinly populated with trees that it makes for a lovely shaded walk with few obstructions and impediments both to the view and to movement. I may be sounding a little sarcastic here, and it's true, I am. But that doesn't mean I didn't like it. It was so neat to see all the different types of beauty that God thought to create.

Also located in the Black Hills of South Dakota is the National Monument: Mount Rushmore. Mount Rushmore is truly a beautiful work of art. It is thrilling to be there and see it and think about the great contributions of those four great men. I have to say that my favorites, in order, are Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson. The monument is huge. It inspires a wonderful love of my country, i.e. patriotism. I would encourage everyone who is in the area to go and see it, also to see the lighting ceremony at the end of the day.

South Dakota possesses two cave systems. I had the privilege to visit one. The Wind Caves are one of the longest systems in the nation. 136 miles have been explored. It is believed that this is only 5-10% of the cave. It has the most box-work in the world. Box-work is very beautiful. It is as if a cube of cement was poured and partitioned with cement. In the partitions, we put sugar. Then, we pour water on the creation. Naturally, the sugar dissolves. The frame is all that is left, and that is what box-work is like. Some parts of the box-work are very thin. If you scrape your finger lightly on the edge, it makes music.

That, combined, is both my recent visit to South Dakota, and my Snippets.

(This has been: Tidbits of South Dakota. Look in next time to read Fountain of Thoughts:_)

Friday, July 30, 2010

Snippets of: Nome, Alaska Part 1

In Sweden, 1857, a little boy was born into poverty. Sweden sounds very far from Nome, Alaska, and a poor boy being born seems to have nothing to do with Nome, however, Eric Lindblom was pivotal in the history both of Nome, and the United States.

I seriously doubt that anyone has ever heard of him before. His mother was a beggar, his father died early in Eric's life. Eric became apprenticed to a tailor in Stockholm, Sweden. A tailor is often recognized as a very poor trade, but in spite of this, Eric was able to lift himself and his mother out of poverty through it. His work carried him to many countries including, but not limited to, France, Russia, Germany, and England. In England, he met and married Miss Mary Ann Smith, herself a daughter of a tailor.

The Lindbloms traveled to the U.S. shortly after their marriage. Incidently, their marriage anniversary is coming up on August 2ND. They traveled west. In Montana, they became American citizens. In Idaho, on an Indian Reservation, their son, Olof, was born. Their daughter, Brita, was born before they reached California.

In California, Eric took courses in mining. It was only a short time later when gold fever struck. Drawn by rumors of riches in Alaska, Eric joined a ship as a sailor and traveled to Kotzebue in 1897. From that time forth, Eric became a legendary figure. While this was the case however, the sources of his adventures are credible.

Eric found the rumors to be false. Naturally he was disappointed. He decided to board another ship and go somewhere else. Near Teller, Alaska, the ship became nearly ice-bound. Lindblom deserted his post on the ship. Technically, Lindblom, with the other people on board the ship, were supposed to be getting freshwater, instead, Lindblom landed and hid in a snow cavern. After three days, he left and began his travels. On the way, he met a prospector. Hiding under the prospector's load of furs, Lindblom went to Golovin, nearly suffocating on the way. There, he traveled to the mouth of the Snake River, or, present-day Nome. With two other men, Jafet Lindeberg, and John Brynteson, they panned the river for gold. The three of them were the founders of Nome, though Lindeberg is usually credited with it.

So much for Eric's pivotal part in the history of Nome. His part in the history of the U.S. has to do with the fact that he struck it rich, very rich. Eric's single gold strike began what we know today as the Klondike Gold Rush. The Gold Rush involved hundreds of thousands of people. It helped Alaska become populated, and it helped America's reputation as a place of opportunity.

(This has been: Snippets of Nome, Alaska, Part 1. Look in next time to read: Stories of my Life:_)

Sunday, July 25, 2010

An In-between: God Grants Wishes, so be Careful What you Wish

"Lord, we're planning on going to South Dakota in a couple of months. We know some of our cars aren't running quite right. We pray, Lord, that if one of the cars we're planning to take is going to break down, that it would do so before we leave." Thus prayed Dad one morning a few weeks ago.

Yesterday, we all got ready to go to a wedding located close to three hours away. The wedding began at 4 P.M., and Dad intended to leave in time to get there thirty minutes early; just in case.

My sister mentioned to me before we left that she "disliked being way early like that." I mean,"
she said, "I don't like being late either, but not whole thirty minutes early. I like to be on time or maybe just a little bit early," she said.

"Man," one of my brothers said before we left, "I don't see why we have to drive three hours in the hot sun to go to a wedding for people we don't really know that well, and when there probably wouldn't be anybody we know there!" (These were his words, although he was slightly exxagerating since we did know quite a few people).

The hot sun was a big deal for the rest of us, particularly myself and Mom. Our car didn't have airconditioning, and a three hour drive in the sun did not sound particularly fun. I think I did my share of complaining as well; and we all wished for airconditioning.

Our van had been repaired only the day before, so when we got on the road to go to the wedding, Dad was alert for how the van was driving.

"Wow!" he said after a few minutes, "this is driving better than ever before! If the airconditioning was fixed, I'd say we could take this to South Dakota!"

We suffered two hours in the hot car. It was probably close to a hundred in there. Traffic was extremely slow, and that did not help anything at all. At 2:30, we had only just passed Olympia. Traffic finally lightened up a bit then and Dad started to accelarate a little. That is when it the car showed that it had a voice all it's own.

"CLUNK!" it said. (Dad lost power). And then, ..."clunk...clunk...clunkclunkclunketyclunketyclunketyclunk." Of course, we had just passed an exit. We couldn't get off for several more minutes and with each passing moment the car voiced its grievances with more and more vigor. We pulled off into a gas station and we all seven of us got out of the car. The car was smoking. It was however about ten degrees cooler outside of the car and there was a slight breeze which actually made it pretty nice.

We were able to find a towtruck, but, as luck would have it, all of the rental car dealers closed at 1 p.m. Thankfully, the tow truck wasn't that far away. It arrived in about ten minutes with a very nice driver. If you ever have an emergency in Olympia, call William at Great Northwest Towing! William had found a rental car dealer that closed at three. He offered to take us there.
We all thought he meant that he would take Dad to the dealer and dad would get a van and drive back to the gas station and pick us up. However, William had a different plan.

"You all get in the van now and I'll put the van on the tow truck and take you all there at once." So we did, and he did. We rode in our broken van on the tow truck and waved at the top of all the buses passing beneath us. William and our tow truck ride almost made up for not seeing the groom at the wedding ride in on a horse.

When we arrived at the car dealer on top of the tow truck, the people inside the building were startled. The expression on their faces to see us all there in our fancy wedding clothes was well worth it. We were able to get a minivan after fifteen minutes and we all piled in. The car dealer closed up while we were doing so. We had just barely made it before they closed.

The first thing we all noticed was that our rented van had...duh, Duh, DUH, AIRCONDITIONING!! YAY! We arrived at the wedding just as they were being prounounced "husband and wife," so, we didn't miss all of it; only, like, the first 45 minutes.

So, we all got our wishes: The car broke down before we went to South Dakota, just as Dad desired, my sister wasn't half an hour early, my brother didn't have to see a wedding that he didn't know the people, and everyone else got airconditioning. Praise the Lord!

Oh, and one other thing, on the way home the traffic was very light. The trip should have only taken two and a half hours. We had to make a stop to drop someone off. Just as we reached the second to the correct exit on the freeway, the cars in front of us came to a dead stop in all five lanes. We could see flashing lates at the curve in the road just ahead. The accident, a serious one, blocked three lanes. Thankfully, we had come upon it only shortly after it had happened. It only took us thirty to forty-five minutes to get past it!

In case you didn't notice, yesterday was a very adventurous day. I recommend all of you, if you don't want something similar, to be careful what you say and wish for. God just might show you tangibly that He is listening to you all the time!

(This has been: An In-between. Look in for real next time if you want to see what I promised before: Snippets of__)

Thursday, July 22, 2010

A Day in the Life of: Mrs. W___

A lady I know told this story from her life. It just goes to show you that you never know what kind of excitement you can have when all you're doing is growing a nice little garden.

Mrs. W__ lives on tiny piece of property which is completely covered in a tiny, but variegated and fruitful garden. Life was good. The garden was growing well. And, she didn't have rabbits. (Ah, woe is me, those rabbits are the terror of my garden).

Yes, everything was just dandy! (Isn't that always the way it is before something happened to change it)? Because, of course, it is inevitable that one's days are never always filled with peace and tranquility. The scene of the beautiful, quiet, garden, was destroyed in "a moment, in the twinkling of an eye."

One morning, Mrs. W__ discovered signs of cats in her garden. While, as far as I know, cats do not actually eat the produce from a garden, they do not pick through it daintily and walk on the designated paths. As you know, cats have always been known as independent little animals. Instead of walking on the paths, they caused problems in the form of trampled plants. Furthermore, cats use gardens as litterboxes. Cat litter is highly toxic and completely ruins the soil of the garden. For an avid gardener, this is not permissible.

Mrs. W__ decided to trap them; and one morning, she caught one. I do feel sorry for the owner. It was only at great expense that the owner was able to redeem her property.

Mrs. W__ continued to leave her trap out and baited each night. However, she didn't bargain for what she got. She was disturbed from her sleep early one morning by an obnoxious racket proceeding from her front porch. Naturally, she went to see what it was. She was confronted by a caged raccoon snarling viciously. The sheets with which the cage had been draped to make it inviting were torn to shreds.

She called several places to find out what to do, including the police. Her next door neighbor was matter-of-fact. "You have to open the cage and let it go!" The policeman however, upon arriving, agreed with Mrs. W__. "No one is going near the cage without a ten-foot pole."

Finally, Mrs. W__ got a hold of the same organization which had taken care of the caged cat. They had a wildlife department and took the raccoon away. The next-door neighbor however had "looked it up online." "You can't do that!" he said. "It's illegal to transport a wild animal!" Thankfully, the policeman was able to reassure him.

The raccoon was a mother with babies however. The authorities decided that she needed to go back to them. The raccoon was released near Mrs. W__'s property later that day. The authorities insisted that the raccoon had learned her lesson and would not be back. I think she has her doubts.

Mrs. W__ laughed the entire time she was telling me this story. Obviously, she found the story amusing once it was over. While a hectic morning and afternoon can change the day into one that isn't so fun as you might have been hoping for, it is good to take upon yourself the view that Mrs. W__did: Seeing the humor in an unpleasant situation is a attitude we can all learn from. With God, a good attitude is what counts.

(This has been: A Day in the Life of:__. Look in next time to read: Snippets of:_)

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Fountain of Thoughts: Persecution

I often think about random things. One of the most prominent of these thoughts has been that of death and persecution. These thoughts and questions of mine were solidified a couple of years ago after I read a number of books about missionaries and missions during and after the Iron Curtain era. They are all good reads, so I'll list them here quickly. Three were by Brother Andrew: God's smuggler (his personal story), The Calling, and the Light Force (the latter two I probably wouldn't agree with completely). Also, Of Whom the World was not Worthy by Marie Chapian, If I Perish, by Esther Kim, and Against the Tide by Angus L. Kinnear.

All of these books had a common thread which grabbed my attention and has remained on my mind for quite a while. The thread was this: Christians suffering persecution for their faith were drawn together in an unique unity and their "love, faith, long suffering, gentleness, patience, meekness, and temperance" was tangibly strengthened.

Most of my life, I've wondered about death. Would I go to heaven when I died? Would my death be painful? Would my life have meant anything to anyone? Did I even want to die anyway? I mean, there was so much to do and see on earth, was I ready to die yet? Off an on, as these thoughts and question crossed my mind, I ended up concluding that "No, if God wanted me to die, I wasn't ready. Not in the normal sense of being not being ready of course. As a Christian, I knew it was OK to die because I would be in heaven. But not ready in the sense that I felt I had a mission to fulfill on earth and that I would rather stay on earth for a while than go to heaven unexpectedly. In other words, I wasn't I willing to die if called.

I was bothered by this repeated conclusion to my repeated thoughts. It didn't seem right somehow to not be willing. If God wanted me to die, it felt like resisting and defying Him to not want to. I'd always heard at other people's funerals and things about the deceased talking in life about being "ready to go home." And that, I decided, was what it should be like. One should be so focused on God and His home that one wouldn't mind, and in fact, would look forward to going to be with Him. So, I asked Him to make me willing. And, honestly, while I don't feel that I can say "yes" as yet, I do feel as though I am closer to it than I was a few years ago.

As I read these books a couple of years ago, it lead me to more wondering about the subject. No one likes pain. Probably everyone's ideal death is similar to Matthew Cuthbert's in Anne of Green Gables. We probably just want to go to sleep and wake up in heaven, or, die peacefully with "our boots on." But Paul, in 2 Timothy 3: 12 says this, "Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution." When I saw this verse a few days ago, it set me to wondering, again, if I was ready; and if we were ready.

In America, we have been extraordinarily blessed with peace and rest from extensive persecution for two hundred years. It is becoming obvious however that it is coming here too. Legislation is appearing everywhere which is overturning our rights and putting in place laws exceedingly contrary to the former Bible based laws of our country. Our country has moved from it's Christian foundation to a sandy, shifting beach. (Matthew 7:24-27) Those with their eyes open can see that it may not be long before we too are meeting secretly and are being jailed and tortured for our faith.

Those books I read made it obvious that strong faith has a lot to do with it being put under strong tests. Here in America however, it has been so long since we have had such a strong test and trial that I can't help but wondering if our faith is now so weak that we would crumple under the coming persecution instead of strengthening. Ecologists once created a Utopian ecosystem, but because they could not recreate wind, their trees collapsed. A tree that is not frequently blown against by the wind is weak and at the first breath, it will fall.

So, my question today is this: "Are we ready? Are you ready? Am I ready?" And while it is a good thing to be thinking about, ("forewarned, forearmed,") keep in mind that it isn't hopeless. Not only does Paul say that we will suffer for our faith, but that verse is preceded by a list of Paul's sufferings ending with the words "but out of them all the Lord delivered me." And, in 2 Timothy 2:19, we have this assurance: "Nevertheless the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are his..."

(This has been: Foutain of Thoughts. Look in next time to read: A Day in the Life of:__)

Monday, July 12, 2010

Tidbits of Oregon

"Henrietta is my baby! You can't have her. Mother gave her to me! We're supposed to stay together."

In the dead of night, John Sager, 14, slipped out of the Fort with his five younger siblings and continued on to Oregon. Their parents had died of cholera and now their Aunt wanted to take the baby and separate the family. John, a rebellious child while his parents were alive, was determined now they were dead to live out his father's dream of a new life in Oregon.

It was easy at first, the oxen were healthy and the road not too bumpy. They had plenty of food too, that is, they did. One of the oxen fell sick after crossing a raging river. Then, they were forced to camp with Indians who stole their food, and worse, most of the gunpowder too. At fourteen, John could do nothing except to roughly rally his siblings into going on. Catharine, the second oldest, broke her leg. With no immediate medical help, it healed crooked. She was a cripple for the rest of her life. Starving, with the baby on the verge of death, they stumbled into the Willamette Valley on their last legs. They had reached their goal, but they had nothing left.

Narcissa Whitman found them a short distance from the Whitman Mission. She took them in and saved the baby. The Whitmans were the first to bring a woman to the Oregon Territory. Their work there paved the way for future caravans and settlers.

Several years after the Sagers came to the Whitmans, the local Indians, those the Whitmans had particularly ministered to, rose up and massacred them. Catharine was one of the only survivors. The Whitmans however, left a lasting legacy. They, and others like the Sagers, were what had changed Oregon from a dream to a reality.

Today, the Willamette Valley is the most agriculturally productive region in the state and Crater Lake National Park is one of the most beautiful. Oregon acquired statehood in 1859. Founded as a refuge for slaves, Oregon was the only state admitted into the Union with a "whites only" clause. Oregon, said by the officials in Oregon to be pronounced Or-uh-gun, is home to the largest single organism in the world: the Armillaria ostoyae fungus, and the Oregon Ducks.

The woman recognized as the "Mother of Oregon" is Tabitha Brown. At age 66, she financed her own covered wagon trip to Oregon. The wife of a Congregationalist and Episcopalian minister, she arrived in Oregon with her remaining family on Christmas, 1846.

(This has been: Tidbits of Oregon. Look in next time to read: Foutain of Thoughts)

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Stories of my Life: The Stewpot with the Lid

This post has absolutely nothing to do with cooking; at least, not in the edible sense. The edibility factor is simply not there. On the other hand, the boiling part is. This story has everything to do with the dangers of a stewpot with the lid tightly screwed on and an easily fed fire.

I usually tell people that Jesus saved me when I was ten. Truthfully, I remember asking him to come into my life at seven. However, since I never felt like I actually changed until later, I cite age ten as the true date. It was at age ten that I feel I came to true repentence for my sins. And, it happened in the following manner.

We'd moved to a place that I strongly disliked; and that's putting it mildly. In the beginning, I thought it would be fun. It was the first move that I was old enough to help and remember clearly. Any eight-year-old likes fun and adventure, and that, I thought, is what it would be. Of course, looking back, I realize it was in many ways, but then, when I saw the place where we would live, I couldn't help but thinking that I'd been seriously mistaken.

The place was tiny; not tiny as many people think of as tiny, but truly smaller even than that! It was about the size of a Sunday school room in a church. Furthermore, all five of us siblings had to fit in it and share a closet that should have been for only two people. Still more, the room was shared with a computer desk, a wall of food buckets, five beds (two bunk-beds, but still..), and the mess of all five. Yeah, let's face it, kids are messy, and it wasn't a pretty picture to see. And that's not all! The place had rules. Lot's of them! "No running, no leaving dishes out, it's not your property so treat it with respect, keep the doors closed, no shouting"...the list could go on.

About the only safe place was outside. That was also the only plus I could see. The place was on a piece of large property over which we had free reign. But, of course, you couldn't go outside all the time, sometimes it rained, (it never snowed, we'd been used to several inches of snow in the last house, but in this place we could literally count the flakes on one hand. Another minus).

Most people seem to think of me as bubbly (where they got this idea I still have yet to determine). While generally cheery, I internalize things more than most people realize. With the background I've just given you, you can easily see that I began to build around me a castle wall. And inside the castle was a kitchen, and inside the kitchen was a fire, and on the fire was a stewpot, and that stewpot was me, and the fire was fed almost constantly by being in the new place and letting myself be rubbed the wrong way by just about everything.

It went on that way for nearly two years. Until finally, I couldn't stand it. At church one day, I wandered into the then darkened sanctuary and cried my heart out to God. He heard me and answered. I've never been the same since.

It took a little while after that for me to pinpoint my problem of bitterness to the correct sources. God used a school curriculum that I disliked to make me see my exact sin. After that, a long talk with my parents and everyone else I could think of that I was mad at, my consience was completely clear. It felt wonderful!

While I can't say I never struggle with bitterness anymore, after winning that large battle, it definetly has become easier to fight the subsequent ones. I would encourage all of you, if you have a list of things that "other people have done to you," forget it, rip it up, throw it away, and ask those on the list to forgive. With that list, you've probably been trying to keep other people on the hook, but in reality, you've hooked yourself. By ridding yourself of that list, you can find release and freedom. Forgiveness and repentence are powerful. They are the two most often detailed principles found in the Bible. So, in the words of our dear Savior, "Go, and sin no more" (John 8:11)

(This has been: Stories of my Life. Tune in next time to read another: Tidbits!)

Friday, June 25, 2010

Snippets: Baltimore

In the gathering gloom of dusk, in the year 1812, a British peace ship sailed down the Patapsco River near Baltimore. It trailed 19 other ships that were, perhaps, not so peaceful. On board the peace ship were the temporary prisoners, Dr. Beanes and an American lawyer. The fleet of war ships gathered in the ocean within range of Baltimore and their object: Fort McHenry.

Meanwhile, in Baltimore, a seamstress named Betsy Ross, sat in her home sewing furiously. As the British fleet began to bombard Fort McHenry on September 13, Betsy finished her work. As darkness began to fall, Betsy hung her flag outside.

Watching the attack from the peace ship, Dr. Beanes and the American lawyer saw the flag slowly unfurl under the light of the rockets and mortars of the British fleet. The American lawyer watched a moment and then hurried to his cabin. There, on an envelope under his swiftly moving pen, words began to appear. "O! say can you see by the dawn's early light..."

Francis Scott Key was detained on board the peace ship until after the battle, (which the Americans won). In his later life, Key served as Vice President of the American Bible Assocation. The association is best known for its Good New Bible translation. Key's grandson was later held prisoner in Fort McHenry for being a suspected Confederate sympathizer. It is ironic that the National Anthem of America, written at a time of war with Britain, is set to a British tune.

Baltimore is the 20th largest city in the U.S. The name means "Town of the Big House" from the Irish. Baltimore was named after Lord Baltimore, of the Irish House of Lords. It was nicknamed "The Monumental City" by President John Quincy Adams because of the skyline of large churches, edifices, and monuments.

Not only did some of Americas finest history take place in Baltimore, but the traditional American boardgame, Monopoly, can also claim it's share in Baltimore. The B&O railroad (Baltimore & Ohio) began in Baltimore. It was privately owned, (in other words, a Monopoly) for many years, and made Baltimore a key shipping and industrial city. The B&O company suffered what is known as The Great Railroad Strike in 1877.

In 1904, a blessing in disguise was granted to Baltimore in the form of the Great Baltimore Fire. The fire burned most of the city (the disguise), and forced it to rebuild. The new buildings and layout made the city even bigger (the blessing).

It's almost the Fourth of July and most people have probably forgotten, or never heard, the story of the Star-Spangled Banner. America has mainly forgotton the price paid for her freedom and the bravery of the "primitive" colonists. Our country was founded on God and patriotism, it is my prayer that our country will turn back to God and patriotism and that we can, from the heart and with truth, say "God Bless America!

(This has been: Snippets: Baltimore. Tune in next time to read: Stories of my Life).

Saturday, June 19, 2010

A Day in the Life of: Dad

Dad said that in order to have this blog, I would have to praise him to the skies. He was teasing of course. Nevertheless, this Sunday being Father's Day, I figured I would do it anyway. So, in this post, I'd like to talk a little bit about how much my Dad means to me, and what's he's taught me, and how much I appreciate him.

Dad means an awful lot to me. I mean, in the words of the hymn, "Without him, I would be nothing!"

Dad always loves to play games with us kids. When we were smaller, he'd tell us about the California peaches. Those peaches were sum'pin else! They were so huge that you couldn't see past them! Not only that, they were so sweet and juicy, that if you even looked at them, they'd squirt you. If one of them accidentally fell off it's leafy resting place, it would create another Death Valley or a Mariana Trench! We still enjoy joking about this. Dad is something I would call a "Good-memories maker."

Over the years, I think one of the best things Dad ever taught me was the little axiom, "Work before you play," and "Don't leave the work area until the work is done," and "Do it right the first time so you won't have to do it again." For me, these life principles have really been very freeing. You really can have a lot more time to do fun things, if you do the chores first; and correctly. If you work before playing, your work will be all done and you won't have to come back and do it later or worry about it. And, doing something over because you were lazy the first time doesn't save anytime. I love the way my Dad, (and mom), teach us principles from the Bible. In this case, Ephesians 5:15-16 applies: "See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise. Redeeming the time, because the days are evil." A large part of "redeeming our time," is not wasting it. Doing something over again, or grumbling about it, is wasting precious time.

The other thing I really appreciate about Dad is his willingness to admit, and apologize for, his faults. (Oh, wait, Dad's perfect!) No, but really, it takes, I think, even more courage for an adult to say, "I'm sorry, I was wrong, will you forgive me," than for a child. Most parents probably make their children apologize at least once in their lives, but to do so on his/her own, takes a lot of courage. And I've heard that it takes more courage for a parent to apologize to his kids. I'm not sure quite how to explain it, but when my dad (and mom) have done this, it brings them up another large notch in my estimation and respect. Thanks Dad! I love you!

(This has been: A Day in the Life of: Dad. Tune in next time to read: Snippets of...")

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Fountain of Thoughts: Honesty

What do...a bar of soap, a false accusation, and teeth have in common? Well, most often they don't have anything in common at all; unless, of course, the case is an exception; which it is.

I enjoy reading mysteries, but the realist side of me was always telling me that they weren't true stories. So, I never really believed that there were any mysteries in today's world; until lately that is. While thinking it over recently, (yeah, I think about random things) I realized that not only are there real mysteries today, but that our family had one! Furthermore, our family mystery is ten years old.

I doubt Sherlock Holmes would be interested in our little mystery. It doesn't have to do with criminals, only culprits. I mean, what big-time detective would even want to investigate the Case of the Chewed Soap? Yes! Somebody chewed the bar of soap in the bathtub. Evidently, it must have tasted good since each consecutive bar of soap was also symmetrically chewed all the way around! To this day however, no one knows who actually did it.

When the matter eventually came to our Dad's attention, an extensive interrogation took place. I was only approximately 5 years old. My little brother, at 1 or less would have been far too young to have even climbed into the tub on his own. The culprit had to be one of the remaining siblings, including myself. The interrogation is vivid in my memory.

"Now," said Dad, "We know I didn't do it. And we know Mom didn't do it. Your little brother didn't do it. So, which one of you did?" Each of us adamantly denied that we had done the crime.

Dad continued from there. "This didn't have to be a big deal, but now it is because somebody is lying. Who was it?" Still no progress.

I'm not sure what five-year-old has not had a reputation for lying, or exaggerating extensively to say the least. I was no exception. As I recall, I had a terrible reputation in this area. It was this fault of mine, I believe, which led to me being convicted of the crime. At last, I "admitted" to chewing the soap.

To my knowledge and memory however, I did not chew the soap. Since I admitted to it however (my first lie in the case) everyone thought for several years after that I had done it. (I eventually decided that enough time had elapsed for me to tell the truth safely. It was safe, it's now practically a family joke.) Perhaps, in heaven, we will find out the true culprit.

It is likely that most of you are saying to yourselves at this point, "Big deal, what's the point?" Contemplating this recently, I realized, all at once, that this incident in my life led me to become a more honest person. Ten year's later, I have quite a decent reputation for honesty. Not to say I'm perfect in that area-that would be a lie. Nevertheless, I believe that as I was standing in that corner ten years ago, I decided, subconsciously, to become more honest. Today, having a good reputation for honesty has made it unlikely for me to be accused for something I haven't done. Subconsciously, I determined that it would be far better to be punished for something I really had done, but that it be best to just not do it.

So, tomorrow, while you're eating your cheerios and thinking about a lie, don't lie. Tell the truth instead. A lie will get you nothing except the wrath of God and man, while the "truth will set you free." The freedom of a clear conscience is fantastic. Not only is it unlikely that parental punishment will be great when you tell the truth, but you have the great reward of knowing that you have done the right thing. Proverbs 22:1 says "A good name (reputation) is rather to be chosen than great riches..."

(This has been Fountain of Thoughts. Tune in next time to read: A Day in the Life of:---)

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Tidbits of Texas

Who would have thought that a state as conservative as Texas would have a governor named Hogg? Well, maybe that's not so strange. But, on the other hand, couldn't he have named his daughter something other than Ima! It's true. Ima Hogg, who later gave herself the name Ima Imogene Hogg, was born in 1882 to James Stephen "Big Jim" Hogg. Big Jim later became the Texas state Attorney General and in 1889 was elected the 20th governor of Texas. Big Jim had a reputation for being what we today would call "a card." One day, the former governor went to get his shoes shined. They were shined by an Italian. Not in the mood for talking, Big Jim decided to pretend he was deaf and dumb. It worked. The Italian stopped talking. Legend has it that Ima had a sister named Ura Hogg. Legend however, has been proved false. Ima Hogg went on in her father's footsteps and made a name for herself as a benovolent lady. She never married but said she received over 30 proposals! Ima lived to be nearly a hundred and died not all that long ago in 1975.

Ah, Texas! Home on the Range! And home of some of the best tall tales in the world. There goes good ol' Pecos Bill. His rope sailing through the air as he rides a tornado across the state and finally hogties it down in Kansas! Could you do the same? I suspect that those tornado chasers I hear about would love to speak with ol' Pecos Bill, but, this time, they're out'a luck. Pecos Bill is long gone. And all that is left of him is the stories and tales which stand tall in your local library. And they get taller every time they're told!

Who could talk about Texas without talking about animals? Texas, as would any other state, would be incomplete without it's fauna. One might expect that the animal chosen to be glorified in this post would be the longhorn steer. This, however, is not the case. On the contrary, most Texans probably don't know that they have such an unusual rabbit living in their state. If they did know, they would probably attribute it to the greatness of their state. Yes, the Texas rabbit has been endowed in the more recent years with an abnormal amount of courage. Courage! in a rabbit! This courage is evidenced in a unique manner. It so happened, as certain Texans were sitting on their back porch, (or something) that they privileged to see one of these unique rabbits in action. At the same time, they saw what would normally be a rabbit's mortal enemy: a snake; and a large one too. But no, the rabbit did not run away! On the contrary, the Texas rabbit went towards the snake! When the snake, (whether venomous or not is uncertain) struck at the rabbit. The rabbit bounced, and...Returned for More! Naturally, the snake struck again. Was the rabbit daunted? No! This amazing Texas rabbit got around the snake to the tail end and started biting. Not long afterward, the snake was seen retreating in full flight; the rabbit following quickly afterward. The story began with the snake having the upper hand. The story ends with the snake in the branches of a tree approximately 2 feet up! Yes, truly, Texas rabbits have been endowed with a marvelous amount of courage.

(This has been: Tidbits of Texas! tune in nexttime to read the first in the series: Fountain of Thoughts!)