Dear Friends,
When you look at your family, who is a late bloomer?
I do crossword puzzles. The clue is “late bloomer;” the five letter answer is “aster.” Most flowers are showing off in spring and summer. The aster is a late bloomer, coming out in late summer and fall. It may be late in the season, but the aster is beautiful, rivaling any flower!
Through my 30 plus years in education, I have seen countless “asters” pushed aside when other flowers were brightly shining. We are impatient, aren’t we? It is so difficult to see a child seemingly dull when all else are in bloom. Don’t just sit there, do something! Bloom!
God’s time is the right time. We push, prod, medicate, fertilize, and prune, but really can’t alter the timeline without doing a little damage along the way. What does the aster need? Nurture and patience! The result is a beautiful flower – in God’s time!
Who are the late bloomers in your family? Who is your aster?
Friday, September 24, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Tolkien Moment
Dear Friends,
Be careful what you read. Books like “Lord of the Rings” will place weird ideas in your mind that take over at times of vulnerability.
My nephew called with an invitation for Pat and me and our two college-age children to join his family (four young children) on a camping weekend - at Edison Lake. He hadn’t been there before but it was up above Fresno. We love the family! Sure…
We’re campers but, because it was just two nights, we booked a room at the lone resort at the lake. What a surprise to have an opening! It was okay if we were late, according to the owner; he’d leave the light on… Hmmm, people really do that? And what made him think we would be late?
Ryan couldn’t get off for the weekend, so it was just me and the two girls. Mapquest said it was a five hour drive but I estimated four. We left at 4:00 p.m. on Friday and promptly sat for 30 minutes behind a truck with “Harris Beef” on the back side. I used to like Harris Beef. I made up time however and hit Madera by 7:30. It was smooth sailing to Shaver Lake, a beautiful reservoir full of speed boats and serviced by a quaint village. Up the road about 15 miles is Huntington Lake, a captivating ribbon of blue, largely undeveloped, yet easily accessible. I couldn’t help but wonder why we weren’t staying there for the weekend. Another seven miles and the sign said “Edison Lake 20 miles.” Nice, it was 8:15 and another hour should do it. Then the sign said “One Lane Road Ahead.” By now it was dark. The road was passable but curvy, up and down, no shoulder, and very haunting. We didn’t see a car for the first five miles until we hit the ranger station (figuratively); an abandoned group of buildings at 9,200 feet with no sound except a strange scratching from behind a tree. Ents? Orcs? We sped off at seven miles per hour. The road changed – for the worse. It was still paved, twenty years ago, but rocks and ruts and, what looked like animals seemed to jump from the dark places. You would think that the ladies in the car would appreciate the full moon but there was just enough light to illuminate the granite cliffs literally a few feet from the car. It was beautifully terrifying. Our car was quiet and the only sounds to be heard were the gasps, sighs, and blood pulses from those in the car, along with an occasional eerie hoot or growl from those out. Enough gas? 100 miles worth. Food and water? Two days. Weapons? None. God help us…..
He did. I was alert enough to see the sign, across the dam, left at the skull and crossbones (it seemed), and then the welcome light of a fire surrounded by dusty revelers. Druids perhaps? (Later I learned they were backpackers from the High Sierra Trail, stopping for a night of real food and a shower.) One hooded figure pointed a bony finger and I followed the lane past rustic buildings to an old trailer with a light on. We unloaded the car and thanked God for sparing our lives.
It was past midnight. We sat on chairs a few feet from the trailer, on a bluff, and observed the full moon just over a ridge reflected on a lake of glass. No sound. No movement. Hardly any breathing! Pat on one arm, Emily on the other. Perfect peace. Bliss. A Tolkien moment.
Be careful what you read. Books like “Lord of the Rings” will place weird ideas in your mind that take over at times of vulnerability.
My nephew called with an invitation for Pat and me and our two college-age children to join his family (four young children) on a camping weekend - at Edison Lake. He hadn’t been there before but it was up above Fresno. We love the family! Sure…
We’re campers but, because it was just two nights, we booked a room at the lone resort at the lake. What a surprise to have an opening! It was okay if we were late, according to the owner; he’d leave the light on… Hmmm, people really do that? And what made him think we would be late?
Ryan couldn’t get off for the weekend, so it was just me and the two girls. Mapquest said it was a five hour drive but I estimated four. We left at 4:00 p.m. on Friday and promptly sat for 30 minutes behind a truck with “Harris Beef” on the back side. I used to like Harris Beef. I made up time however and hit Madera by 7:30. It was smooth sailing to Shaver Lake, a beautiful reservoir full of speed boats and serviced by a quaint village. Up the road about 15 miles is Huntington Lake, a captivating ribbon of blue, largely undeveloped, yet easily accessible. I couldn’t help but wonder why we weren’t staying there for the weekend. Another seven miles and the sign said “Edison Lake 20 miles.” Nice, it was 8:15 and another hour should do it. Then the sign said “One Lane Road Ahead.” By now it was dark. The road was passable but curvy, up and down, no shoulder, and very haunting. We didn’t see a car for the first five miles until we hit the ranger station (figuratively); an abandoned group of buildings at 9,200 feet with no sound except a strange scratching from behind a tree. Ents? Orcs? We sped off at seven miles per hour. The road changed – for the worse. It was still paved, twenty years ago, but rocks and ruts and, what looked like animals seemed to jump from the dark places. You would think that the ladies in the car would appreciate the full moon but there was just enough light to illuminate the granite cliffs literally a few feet from the car. It was beautifully terrifying. Our car was quiet and the only sounds to be heard were the gasps, sighs, and blood pulses from those in the car, along with an occasional eerie hoot or growl from those out. Enough gas? 100 miles worth. Food and water? Two days. Weapons? None. God help us…..
He did. I was alert enough to see the sign, across the dam, left at the skull and crossbones (it seemed), and then the welcome light of a fire surrounded by dusty revelers. Druids perhaps? (Later I learned they were backpackers from the High Sierra Trail, stopping for a night of real food and a shower.) One hooded figure pointed a bony finger and I followed the lane past rustic buildings to an old trailer with a light on. We unloaded the car and thanked God for sparing our lives.
It was past midnight. We sat on chairs a few feet from the trailer, on a bluff, and observed the full moon just over a ridge reflected on a lake of glass. No sound. No movement. Hardly any breathing! Pat on one arm, Emily on the other. Perfect peace. Bliss. A Tolkien moment.
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