Beware The Descent

After our hosting stint at Spring Canyon (here), Pat and I moved on to Klipchuck campground in the Okanogan National Forest. One of the goals that Pat had set for himself (and me) this summer was to hike the Driveway Butte trail. Not because it was popular. Not because it was scenic. No... Pat's primary reason for wanting to hike the Driveway Butte trail was that it was CHALLENGING. And the trail-head was conveniently located at Klipchuck campground.

On a scale of 1 to 5 with 5 being the most difficult, the Driveway Butte trail must be a 5! (This is Pat-- humpf! 4 max!) The trail gains 3000 feet in 3 miles. Anything steeper would be a rock climb! (This is Pat-- humpf-- again.) And hiking this trail had been out of the question for Pat for more than a decade because of his weight. But now that he has shed 80 pounds, he was ready for a physical challenge. And the challenge had a name, "Driveway Butte."

We had begun training for the hike in June. And now, in early September, I was looking forward to getting it over with! We checked the weather forecast. We packed first aid supplies. We layered our clothing. We took extra food, water, and emergency provisions. We agreed on what time we would begin the return trip and on what weather conditions would cause us to turn back sooner. We told the campground hosts our plans. We covered every contingency that we could anticipate. And then we began the ascent.

The first half-mile was the most taxing. Loose rocks and protruding roots kept our attention focused on our footing. Then we cleared the forested area and began to scale the STEEP switchbacks on the bare south-facing slope. It was slow going. Isolated trees and spectacular views became excuses for frequent rest stops. We kept reminding each other that the return trip would be DOWN. After three miles and almost four hours, we topped the ridge. We were 3000 feet above the campground and felt pretty smug about our accomplishment.

At the agreed upon time we began the descent. The first mile was unremarkable. Then the trail got steeper and our joints began to protest. Pain and stiffness set in, and we grew concerned because we knew that the worst part of the descent was still ahead. As we continued downward, ankles, knees, and hips ached mightily. And we realized with alarm that just one misstep could spell disaster for either one of us, and that the other one would not be able to provide much help. It was a long, slow, silent descent... we didn't dare stop for fear that our joints would seize up and that we would lose what little daylight remained. It took us four hours to cover the three miles down--just as long as it took to go up--only this time there weren't any rest stops!

Pat and I had a wake-up call that day on Driveway Butte. We had anticipated the challenge of the ascent, but it never occurred to either one of us that the true test of our physical limitations and abilities would be the descent. And that oversight could have been our undoing.

Many of make the same mistake in our spiritual walk. We focus on the obvious-- on what we think it might take to guarantee success, or on what might make us feel good. But we overlook or deny the possibility of declining health, financial reversal, sudden death, or the loss of physical and mental abilities that come with aging. We know that these things happen to OTHERS, but we choose to believe that they won't happen to us. And we ignore the challenge of the descent to our peril.

But the descent will come. Our limitations will be revealed. Our faith will be challenged. And we will be tested in ways that we haven't anticipated. Are you prepared for the challenge of the descent?

Pastor Kit

Got Rocks?

Many of us are familiar with the adage "if life hands you lemons, make lemonade!" My take on that would be "if life hands you a pile of rocks, make a rock garden!" Last week I reflected on my numerous rock gardens as I was hurriedly trying to finish yet another one during a break in the stormy fall weather. And I realized that each rock garden had been constructed in response to events that had upset my "normal life"--and me!

My first rock garden was built after we had removed a tree whose roots had broken our waterline, driveway, and sidewalk. I constructed another rock garden after Pat had our old diseased cherry trees cut down in the back yard. Although the trees needed to come down, that didn't keep me from being upset with the change! So I started piling up rocks...and digging...and buying plants. Then after my mother came to live with us, we could no longer take our extended late summer camping trips. I added another rock garden. When Mom fell and broke her femur, I put in a lengthy rock "border garden" and a second rock "coffee garden."

By the time Pat began using his vacations to travel back east to support his family during a spate of illnesses, deaths, and other concerns, I had used up my stockpile of rocks. So I stripped all of the wallpaper in our house and redecorated in colors that better reflected my taste. Many of you followed along on that project as I wrote of the experience in my devotionals (here).

Looking back, the last six years have been rocky ones for both Pat's and my families--no pun intended! But each bump in the road forced me to redirect my energies. So our yard is now landscaped, our inside walls are redone, our rooms are redecorated, and I am more physically fit than I have been in years--all because I needed to find meaningful ways to redirect energy, stress, and emotions during difficult times.

The occasion for the construction of my latest rock garden was twofold. First, the aftermath of our "Hidden Pressure" adventure (Nov 1) had left me with yet another pile of rocks! And second, our neighbor built a six-foot fence between his side yard and our front yard. This had required removing some mature plants between our two properties. And rock pile plus stark fence plus bare ground equaled rock garden in my thinking!

Got some rocks in your life? Consider your choices. You can allow them to become unsightly litter in the landscape where they may damage mowers and stub toes. You can pile them in some obscure spot and think that "out of sight is out of mind"--and overlook the fact that your "obscure spot" might be someone else's view. Or you can turn them into a foundation for a rock garden whose beauty will bless you and others for years to come. The choice is yours. Got rocks?

Pastor Kit

Hidden Pressure?

There are some phone calls that you don’t want to get. Such was the case a couple of weeks ago. I had just walked in the front door when the phone rang. “This is Lisa at Oak Harbor Utilities – are you Mrs. McCartney? Do you reside at … ? Are you currently at home? We’ve been monitoring your water usage for the past week. It seems that you have a major leak in your water line. I’m sending someone over now to turn off your service.”

While Pat and the utilities guy crawled around under the house, I walked through our front yard … and stepped into a hidden pool of water. I relayed my discovery to the guys. After crawling out from under the house, Pat began digging. He encountered a LARGE rock about 8 inches down but had to quit digging and go to work. The next day he called son Nathan for help. More digging ensued. Then they discovered a second LARGE rock adjacent to the first. Passersby gawked. Neighbors commented. Most thought that we were digging in the wrong place because no one would ever knowingly dump two LARGE rocks on a water line!

Removal of the rocks required levers, a tow chain and our four-wheel drive truck. Each rock weighed at least 200 pounds. More digging uncovered the plastic water line … split by decades of ever increasing pressure as the rocks slowly settled in place. Neighbors shook their heads, incredulous that someone had INTENTIONALLY dumped the boulders into the trench on top of the water line!

As I thought about this “cover up,” it dawned on me … aren’t we sometimes guilty of doing the EXACT same thing? Don’t we sometimes try to bury unconfessed sin … addictions … pain … worry … neglected responsibilities? We cover them up with busyness, good works, regular church attendance, lies and/ or denial. Don’t we think that what is hidden won’t be discovered … won’t cause any real harm … to us … or to others?

Years – decades – may pass while the hidden pressure steadily increases. The flow of the Spirit slows to a trickle … or may become blocked altogether. Then something finally yields to the pressure. Something cracks. What is hidden comes to light. Pain and suffering ensue. Relationships, reputations, and careers may be destroyed. And people shake their heads in disbelief … incredulous that someone intentionally dumped something so egregious on top of something so fragile … then covered it up … thinking that it would forever remain hidden … causing no real harm … at least not in the foreseeable future.

It isn’t too late to deal with that hidden pressure in your life. Dig it up. Expose it to the Light. Seek assistance if it is too big for you to handle alone. Do everything necessary to remedy the wrong before it is too late … before the flow is completely blocked … before the Living Water is shut off.

Pastor Kit

A Mission Of Peace

On Monday, our second day of vacation, Pat and I arrived at Spring Canyon, our favorite campground in the Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area, only to discover that it had been without a host for weeks. The local ranger had been transferred. The closest responding ranger was on his honeymoon. And a few obnoxious campers had taken advantage of the situation and were ruining it for the other 95%!

However Pat and I were perfectly situated in a shaded view site on the top-most level completely apart from the ongoing problems in the lower levels. We only became aware of them as we walked the dogs in the evening. And we had a decision to make: we could either stay at the top as we always do and be thankful that we were isolated from the problems below ... or we could drive to town, go to park headquarters, and volunteer our services as campground hosts for the remainder of the season.

We visited the empty host site in the middle of the campground that evening after quiet hours. Black smoke billowed from burning plastic. Music blared loudly. Wind-blown trash drifted through the area. Young children were screaming and running through neighboring campsites. Dogs were wandering off leash. Profanity could clearly be heard above the din.

My stomach knotted. I reminded the Lord that this was NOT the national forest! This was NOT the quiet, spacious out-of-doors that I loved! This was "Yogi Bear camping" not "Smokey Bear camping!" And besides, I'm on vacation!!

But the scenery was beautiful, the weather was perfect (which is why we and others come here at this time every year), and multigenerational families had made reservations expecting to enjoy a family vacation in a family campground. And Pat and I have people skills ... and years of experience as teachers ... and a compelling sense of responsibility.

We took over as hosts on Thursday. One group practically cheered as we began to set up. A camper exclaimed, "Mom and Dad are finally here!"

Our first night as hosts was the hardest. Sometime just before midnight, when one group STILL refused to turn off their loud music and comply with quiet hours, I called dispatch. No one was available—the nearest law enforcement ranger was stationed an hour and a half away! But a law enforcement ranger did make contact the next day. The obnoxious camper made amends with his neighbors and was quiet from Friday on--as was the entire campground. Music and generators were turned off at 10 pm, dogs and children were corralled, neighboring campers began to visit, and park maintenance staff relaxed noticeably.

We worked 18-hour days for the next two weeks. We made regular patrols of the 77 campsites, the boat launch, and the beach. We dealt with lost children, lost dogs and lost items. We answered questions, gave directions, treated minor scrapes and helped with simple repairs. We visited with motorcycle groups, youth groups, Russian and Polish immigrants, German and Canadian vacationers, local campers, and out of state folks who hadn't a clue where they were when they arrived! It wasn’t a vacation, but it was a mission … an exhausting, memorable, and fulfilling Mission of Peace. And we were blessed.

Where is God calling you to leave the comfort of your upper level site to spend some time on a Mission of Peace? And how are you going to respond?

Blessings await … but the choice is yours to make.

Pastor Kit

Left Behind?

Pat and I are gone for our annual four weeks of camping in eastern Washington. As usual we took our pets—two dogs and three cats. I am often asked how and why we take five animals camping with us. After traveling with small children, the “how” is easy—cats in carriers, dogs behind the seats, two litter boxes, old sheets to cover the furniture, pet toys, a vacuum cleaner (!), and a generator to run it. Neither Pat nor I tolerate pet hair, dirt or clutter, so I clean the RV daily—even in the middle of a forest!

The “why” has to do with the pets themselves. All five were rescued—four were brought home by our children. Three were lost (or abandoned) and starving. Two have physical deformities. Two were suffering from abuse. One was badly injured. One was from a shelter. One was headed for the pound and an uncertain future.

Each arrived at our house at different times and at different stages. While their breeds are obvious, we know nothing about their backgrounds. Amazingly, all five of these animals IMMEDIATELY adapted to life in a multi-pet household. Dogs and cats accepted each other from the beginning. Sure the female cats have territorial squabbles at the house—but not when confined to the limited space of an RV! It seems that all five have bonded into a pack. And most of the time, you will find all five together in the same room—the room that their master is in.

While our children still lived at home and were available to house sit, we camped with just the dogs. We started taking “boss cat” Squeak along because she made it obvious that she didn’t like being left behind when the DOGS got to go! When our children moved out of the house, we were left with the problem of what to do with the other two cats. I convinced Pat to try one camping trip with all five, and they adapted to traveling and camping together as easily as they had adapted to living in the same household. These days, all that really matters to them is that they are with “their humans” and with each other. They don’t want to be left behind!

Lost, injured, abandoned, without hope … from diverse backgrounds but rescued by the same Master … adopted into the same family … Doesn’t that sound like the church? But are we willing to accept others? Are we willing to adapt to change? Are we willing to relinquish “territorial rights?” Are we willing to embrace diversity? Are we willing to do whatever it takes to be with the Master—to not be left behind?

All five of our pets have been rescued. All five have been healed and adopted, and now they have themselves adapted and bonded. All five will be going with us wherever we go. No one will ever be left behind.

What about you?

Pastor Kit

Reflections

Gardening mavens tout the benefits of incorporating water features into home landscapes. Moving water soothes, still water reflects, and all water attracts wildlife. So Pat and I installed a small pond and two birdbaths in our back yard.

We purchased pond plants and goldfish, and then sat back to enjoy the benefits of our water features. Birds came, but so did the raccoons! Plants were toppled. Goldfish disappeared. But despite these nuisances we have decided... the pond and the birdbaths are here to stay!

The pond is the initial attention getter. It incorporates a fountain and a watercourse; you hear it before you see it. Visitors look for the source of the sound and delight when they find it. But while the pond sounds soothing and looks attractive, it isn't very practical as a "watering hole." The recirculating water has a chemical added to control algae. The water's surface is well below the rim; it is out of the reach of (and too deep for) birds.

The birdbaths are the mainstays of our water features. The "crow birdbath" is located under the hemlocks at the back of the yard away from the house. It attracts larger birds: woodpeckers, ravens, and... crows. We keep binoculars in the kitchen window for closer observation of the birds at this feature.

The second birdbath is next to the house beside the pond just outside Pat's window. It attracts smaller songbirds who flit about in the shrubbery in that part of the garden. Both birdbaths can been seen from the kitchen, family room, or living room. Pat and I frequently can be heard shouting to each other, "Quick! Look at the birdbath!"

The birdbaths do more than attract birds, they also reflect light--both sunlight and moonlight. The reflected light shimmers when the breeze ripples the water, and I often find myself mesmerized by the scintillation as I stand at the sink washing dishes.

Of course it's the water that attracts. The pond and the birdbaths themselves are merely vessels. And if these vessels aren't tended regularly--cleaned and filled--they can become repositories for all kinds of debris. They can even become breeding grounds for mosquitoes... and the most attractive features of the back yard then become detriments.

We too are vessels that need the ongoing cleansing and filling of the Holy Spirit if our lives are to consistently reflect our faith and attract others to the Savior. If we neglect the spiritual disciplines of Bible study, regular prayer, and Christian fellowship, then we begin to collect the debris of the world. And what should be attractive to others--a life that reflects the living God--becomes a detriment.

Who (or what) are you reflecting these days?

Pastor Kit

You've GOT To Be Kidding!

I believe that God has a sense of humor. And I believe that He sometimes uses it to reveal Himself--and that He is an agent of change.

When Pat and I were first engaged, Pat told me that he was considering going into the ministry. I immediately told him to count me out, that I was in no way suited to be a pastor's wife! So God tweaked the plan a bit. Pat did, indeed, go to seminary--later in life. And I became the pastor. And Pat became the pastor's spouse!

I was reminded of this reversal as I was cleaning out an old desk. Our son Brandon is home from South Korea and will soon be leaving for his next duty station in San Antonio. He and Hiu Sze will be establishing a residence together for the first time since college. They will be taking my old desk with them--along with some other furniture. It has been quite some time since I used this desk, and it has become a "time capsule" of sorts. Old instruction manuals, tax receipts from the last century, vet bills for deceased pets... and my children's school progress reports. The thickest file belonged to Brandon.

I smiled as I leafed through the yellowed papers. Elementary school had been a difficult time for Brandon. He invariably scored low on tests designed to measure achievement in math and language. His teachers feared that he would fall far behind his peers. Later, he was diagnosed with "auditory dyslexia," and this explained some of the problem... but not all of it. I worked with him, pushing him until we both became too frustrated to continue.

When his middle school teachers called to tell me that he was "way behind," I told them that I was finished intervening. I was frustrated, out of ideas. Brandon would have to deal with the consequences of his own behavior. And I turned my son over to God because I didn't know what else to do.

But God had a plan. And when Brandon began to align himself with God's plan, miracles began to happen. By his junior year in high school, Brandon was taking honors classes.

But nothing Pat or I could say or do would convince Brandon that he was college material. He enlisted in the Army during his senior year in high school and left for active duty just a few days after graduation.

Seven years later, Brandon returned home with more self-confidence and a clear idea of what he DIDN'T want to do with his life. He enrolled at the local community college where Pat and I were both teaching math. When colleagues would ask Brandon what he planned to major in, he always replied, "I don't know, but it WON'T be math!" And he had NO INTENTION of returning to the Army. Ever!

As math teachers, Pat and I frequently had to engage adult learners who still heard voices from the past telling them that they were stupid... or lazy... or worthless... and that they would never "get" math. That they would never amount to anything! But then they would begin to succeed in a subject where they had always failed before. And the most amazing transformation would begin to take place.

The second year that Brandon was in school, the community college hired him to tutor math and English. He became president of the honor society. He was awarded the president's medal, was a governor's scholar, and won a full academic scholarship to a state university. Later Pat and I attended his graduation--and commissioning as a second lieutenant in the US Army. Oh, did I mention that his degree was in math?

I returned to cleaning out the old desk. I tossed all of Brandon's school records into the recycle bag... they were of no more worth than the old instruction manuals, tax receipts, and vet bills. And we certainly didn't need any more reminders of those difficult early years.

But what about you? Are you still storing memories of past failures and defeats? Are you leafing through yellowed files full of negative messages from the past? And are you using them to convince yourself that nothing will ever really change for the better? So why even bother to ask God for help??

My life changed. Brandon's life changed. God is an agent of change, and He delights in revealing Himself through His sense of humor! Let Him change YOU.

Pastor Kit
"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart."
(Ps 37:4)

Have You Asked?

Wildflowers highlight the camping trips we take every spring. We enjoy them all, but Pat and I have one favorite – the Calypso orchid. This exquisite blossom is found only in older forests. It is VERY difficult to see on the forest floor because of its small size, muted color, and limited season. Finding one is truly serendipitous … an unexpected blessing.

One spring found us camped at Loup Loup Pass. I was standing in a patch of yellow violets and white shooting stars when I got the impression that I should look more closely at the ground in front of me. There was a tiny Calypso orchid right by my foot! I scanned the area for others, but there were none. I made note of nearby landmarks so I could locate this tiny blossom again, then I went to get Pat to show him “my” Calypso.

Since that first sighting we have visited “our” Calypso nearly every spring at Loup Loup. And every spring it has greeted us … until last year. A new water line had been laid through the area. Familiar landmarks had been removed. There wasn’t any way for me to locate the orchid again – if it still existed.

I was surprised to discover that the loss of that single tiny flower had an emotional impact. We have discovered others over the years, but this was my first Calypso – a special blessing at a special place.

Pat and I returned to Loup Loup again this year, and I revisited the place where the Calypso had been. Brush covered the old site, so I crossed a tiny stream to a nearby patch of yellow violets and white shooting stars. I began searching through the flowers for a tiny orchid. As I scanned the forest floor, I told the Lord how much I missed the Calypso, and that I knew that He was the one who had brought it to my attention in the first place. Then I paused and thought for a moment. Why not ask again? So out loud, I said, “Lord, could I please have another Calypso to replace the one that is gone? It was such a blessing to me … and I really miss it.”

It was an overcast day, but a sunbeam broke through the clouds as soon as I had finished speaking. It illuminated a spot on the forest floor about four feet away from where I was standing. I looked at the spot … and there was a Calypso!

God used this experience to teach me two lessons. The first is that He delights in blessing His children with gifts that speak uniquely to them … but He wants us to ask Him and then to acknowledge that He is the source of the blessing. So much of what God does for us we call coincidence, and this brings no honor to His Name!

The second is that we tend to focus on what was – to mourn what was lost – and to forget that God has a different perspective. His plans are perfect. Loss and change are parts of this life … but they can also be new beginnings.

Finding the first Calypso was “serendipitous.” I asked for the second one. And the Lord of the universe blessed me with far more than a tiny orchid—He blessed me with His presence!

He wants to do the same for you … have you asked?

Pastor Kit

Different Journeys, Same Grace

Pat’s and my parents grew up just forty miles from each other in rural West Virginia. It was in the 1920’s and 1930’s, a time that had its own challenges; a time (and a place) that was more isolated than today. Because of this, our parents had much in common during their “growing up years.”

But Pat and I had very different childhoods. I was born in Spencer WV and lived there through high school. Pat was born in Japan. He lived in France during his elementary school years and in South Korea during his high school years. Then his father retired from the army and moved back to West Virginia.

Our children, in turn, have had different upbringings from their cousins on both sides of our families. But we have been able to take them back “home” to show them where their grandparents and mother grew up. We have been able to introduce them to the Appalachian culture and to their great aunts and uncles. Although “home” is across the continent, it is still accessible.

But our children aren’t going to have it that easy, especially our oldest son, Brandon. Brandon married an ethnic Chinese girl, Hiu Sze. Her mother swam from mainland China to Hong Kong before Hiu Sze was born. And Hiu Sze was raised in Hong Kong by her paternal grandmother until her late teens when she immigrated to the United States to rejoin her mother. One of Hiu Sze’s uncles is an ethnic Cambodian whose first family was killed by the Khmer Rouge. Each one of Hiu Sze’s aunts and uncles has a story of how they escaped from communist China and began life anew in a foreign land. Brandon says that he feels honored to be a part of Hiu Sze’s family because they have overcome hardships that are so different from the experiences of middle-class Christian Americans.

The words of an old hymn have taken on new meaning for our family: “In Christ there is no East or West, in Him no South or North…” Any time two individuals with such different backgrounds turn out to be so well suited for each other, you know that it is a result of God working out His purposes in both of their lives long before they met. It is an encounter with Divine Grace.

Having a Chinese daughter-in-law reminds me to be less complacent... to no longer take freedom for granted... to remember the persecuted church... to pray for Christians everywhere. And to remember that it is grace “that hath bro't (us) safe thus far, and grace will lead (us) home”... whether we are from West Virginia, Washington, or China.

Pastor Kit

What If Today...

When Pat and I go camping we often take the opportunity to explore local back country. On one trip we decided to drive the Chewuch River road to its terminus at Thirtymile Creek. I wanted to check out the campgrounds and Pat wanted to visit the site of the 2001 Thirtymile Creek fire which had claimed the lives of four young firefighters.

The road starts out as a scenic byway up a pleasant river valley. It passes expensive homes and well tended ranches. Then the road narrows and open fields give way to forest. The scent of Ponderosa pine fills the air. As you near the site of the fire the road narrows even more and the pavement ends. The forest becomes wild, thick, and tangled. The Chewuch River becomes shallow—not much more than a small creek—and certainly not a likely place to take refuge from a wildfire.

There was a shocking transition as we entered the fire zone. The river was choked with downed, burned trees. Everything was black. This fire had not skipped around as so many others do. All vegetation as far as we could see was dead, black, burnt. And then we saw it—a new patch of pavement on the west side of the rough washboard road.

We parked the truck and followed the path up to the memorial, built to blend in with the rock scree. The first thing that caught my eye was their pictures—two young men and two young women, all about the age of my own children. I had seen their likenesses in papers. I had watched reports on TV. But suddenly seeing them memorialized at this remote site—the very site where they had died—affected me far more than I had ever anticipated.

When I saw the faces—especially the ones of the young women—my thought was, “These were someone’s children. … They could have been my children!”

I will never forget one day when my oldest child was about five days old. Suddenly I was gripped with the thought, “What if he should die? How would I ever survive?” The Lord replied, “He is My child. He is only yours for a season. You must always be willing to give him back to Me.”

From that moment on I have had to remember to continually give my children back to the Lord, especially now that they are adults. My job is to pray for them, to love them, to model my understanding of what it means to live like a Christian. But it is not my job to control them—even when it comes to matters of faith.

We don’t want our children to fail. We don't want them to be hurt. And we certainly don't want them to make us look bad. But our children can’t inherit our relationship with God. They must choose to seek Him on their own, to develop their own relationship with Him. And, in turn, we must rely on our heavenly Father to teach us how to love and support them without meddling; how to give His children back to Him.

Pastor Kit

Thirtymile photo credit: USDA-Forest Service. (link)

Into The Night

Spring Canyon National Park is well named. It sits on the south shore of Lake Roosevelt just to the east of Grand Coulee Dam, an oasis in the high desert. Pat and I love to camp there in the late summer for the daytime warmth, the nighttime insect chorus, the view of the lake, and the locally grown produce. Deer and quail regularly visit the lush campground, which is largely deserted after Labor Day.

We usually take some or all of our pets with us on our “camping” trips. Their antics liven up the days and often provide grist for stories. Squeak, our wannabe barn cat, accompanied the two dogs and us on this late summer outing.

Squeak is an opportunist who has a history of waiting for suitable moments to escape the confines of our RV. On one cross-country trip she escaped three times—twice in Minnesota and once in Montana. Each time she returned of her own free will and we began to be less concerned that she would actually run away. Now that she is an older cat, she is usually content to look out the windows and observe the passing show.

The nights were warm, the dogs were outside most of the time, and Squeak—possibly feeling left out—seized the opportunity to rush the door as I stepped outside at dusk one evening. True to form, she didn’t run off... she simply stayed maddeningly out of reach. She would bound up to me out of the gathering darkness, rub up against my leg, and then disappear again before I could grab her. It was as though she needed to flaunt her “freedom,” but still needed the reassurance that I was there waiting for her.

This game went on for about an hour, and then she simply disappeared into the night. Squeak’s disappearance wasn’t our real concern—it was her lack of awareness of the danger that had us alarmed. Rattlesnakes and coyotes lurked in the darkness just beyond the borders of our campsite. Owls perched in the trees. These predators threatened her safe return.

Many of us aren’t so different from Squeak. Disappointments, boredom, responsibilities, stress, getting older—a host of things cause us to want to seek our “freedom” from whatever we perceive to be confining us. We tell ourselves—and God—that we know what we are doing. We don’t see the danger waiting to ambush us as we stray farther away from where we know we should be. We may even occasionally return to make certain that people will still welcome us and that God “still cares.” But we stay just out of reach of making a commitment that might limit our personal freedom… because we really care only about ourselves.

Squeak did eventually return. It isn’t too late for you to do the same.

Pastor Kit

It's A Walking Stick!

My joints have their good days and their bad days, so I’ve begun using a walking stick on my daily outings in Joseph Whidbey State Park. At first I tried using the walking stick that son Brandon had carved for himself during his college years, but its grip didn’t fit my hand and it was just a bit too tall for me. Then Pat reminded me that walking sticks were personal items. He said that I needed to find one that fit my size, needs and personality. That made sense to me, and I realized that I had several good candidates for a walking stick in our garage. I put them all through a trial run at the house and then tossed the winner into the back of my PT Cruiser.

The next evening Pat and I arrived at Joseph Whidbey State Park for our walk. I popped open the car, removed my walking stick with a flourish, and said, “Behold, my new personal walking stick!”
“That’s a mop handle,” he said.
“Not anymore! It is now a walking stick … and isn’t it a pretty bright shade of blue?”
“At least put a rubber tip on it,” he grumbled.
“Don’t need to—it already has a hard plastic tip!”
“Which is threaded—because THAT is a MOP handle!”
“It may have BEGUN life as a mop handle, it may still have the VESTIGES of its life as a mop handle, but that doesn’t matter. It is now my bright blue personal walking stick—although the yellow broom handle was also a strong contender.”

Pat’s reaction to my walking stick reminded me of how difficult it can be for some people to accept—or even allow—change in others. This was especially true in the small town where I grew up, in the small schools where I attended, and even in some of the small churches that I knew. Your family name, your family politics, your family church affiliation would open (or close) doors. The entire family would be “branded” with one identity. Those who had less desirable “brands” usually had to leave the area to overcome local biases … they literally had to escape their hometown in order to change!

I hope that we who have personally experienced God’s transforming power would NEVER be guilty of denying that same power to others … would we? We know that God’s transforming power is available for ALL who will accept it … don’t we? We would be the FIRST to embrace a grace-transformed individual in our family, our congregation or our community… wouldn’t we? Or would we?

In the meantime, if you happen to run into a grouchy “Santa” and his lovely companion on the trails at Joseph Whidbey State Park, be sure to look for her pretty blue walking stick.

Pastor Kit

Willie

Willie was a neighbor who lived directly across the street from us for most of the past two decades. He was about 10 years older than Pat and I, had a curmudgeonly demeanor, was of the opposite political persuasion, and would have sported a Darwin fish on his truck had he been given to outward displays of personal beliefs. That is, beyond the bumper crop of campaign signs that would proliferate in his yard in season.

And then there was his ongoing war with our cat. Much to Willie’s consternation, Squeak would visit his “naturalized” back yard to hunt birds and squirrels. But then she would redeem herself by killing rats. Willie wasn’t happy about losing the occasional bird, but he didn’t mind losing the rats. So an uneasy truce existed between the two.

There were only two things that Willie and I had in common. First, we were neighbors—you know, those folks that God commands us to love as we would love ourselves. And second, we both liked to work in our yards. And despite his curmudgeonly ways, Willie was friendly. Consequently I have almost 20 years of memories of visiting with Willie as we both tended our lawns, picked up the mail, put out the trash/ recycling, shoveled snow, and washed cars.

One morning Willie woke up with a headache that just would not go away. It turned out to be a cerebral hemorrhage. In a matter of hours he was on life support until his children could get home—and then he was gone.

Willie didn’t share my Christianity, but you wouldn’t have known that by the way he lived. He was a materialist; he just didn’t believe in life after death. But he did believe in living as responsibly as he could in this life. He was obviously beloved by his wife and children, and I couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor. He did the very simple things that Christians are commanded to do—but so often don’t. He didn’t have to be commanded to love his neighbor—it came naturally.

Willie’s death has left a hole in the fabric of my everyday life. It has also left me with questions… for which I have no easy answers. It has again made me realize that a life well lived impacts more people than we can ever know. How ironic that a self-professed non-believer would best show me how to “love thy neighbor.”

Thanks for the lesson, Willie—you taught it well.

Pastor Kit

“Shall not the Judge of the all the earth do what is just?”
(Abraham before the Lord, Genesis 18:25(b))

Just Checking In

Our phone rang one Wednesday night about 9 pm.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Ma… it’s Brandon.”
“Hi, Sweetie… I thought you were still out in the field. Are you back in?”
“No… I’m parked in my Humvee under a tree because it’s too stinkin’ hot to be out right now, so I thought I’d just check in with you.”
Brandon and I visited until I heard voices in the background.
“Gotta go… love you, Ma… Talk to you later.”

There wasn’t anything particularly unusual about this phone call, except that Brandon was parked under a tree at the edge of a rice paddy in South Korea and I was sitting at my kitchen table in Oak Harbor, Washington. It was 1 pm on Thursday afternoon in South Korea, but it was only Wednesday evening in Oak Harbor. (Brandon says that he calls from the future!) Technology has made what was unimaginable just 20 years ago commonplace today.

When our children were teenagers and began driving and staying out later, Pat would ask them to call and check in with us around 11 pm so we would know their whereabouts and that everything was OK. Brandon is now in his thirties, married, and an Army officer, but he still continues to faithfully check in with his “Ma & Pa” once a week, no matter where he is in the world. And it blesses us, his parents.

When is the last time you simply checked in with your heavenly Father just to tell Him where you are and how you are doing… not to ask Him for any specific thing, but just to talk to Him about what’s going on in your life? And when did you last close a conversation with your heavenly Father with “Love you… talk to you later?”

Why not give it a try today?

Pastor Kit


(Photo by Brandon McCartney)

Whose Voice?

One of the hardest lessons that I have had to learn as a Christian has been to pray and then to keep my mouth shut! Although I may still be a “work in progress” in this area, my husband says that I’ve come a long way. And he should know.

When I was in my thirties, I had an ongoing conflict with Pat over his social drinking. And honestly, he didn’t seem to understand. His job encouraged it, he enjoyed it, so what was my problem?

After one particularly nasty confrontation over Pat’s “problem,” I found myself at the church altar on a Saturday morning, crying, and saying to God, “What am I going to do about Pat?” And God answered. He said, “You’re the problem.”

A physical slap in the face could not have shocked me more than that answer. In the ensuing “discussion” I had with God over this, He made the following three points. They have stuck with me to this very day.

First, I was really more concerned about myself—and what others might think—than I was about Pat. I grew up in a family that was more concerned about appearances than about the emotional health of its family members. It is safe to say that if it weren’t for the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit, I would be repeating this same pattern. I was more concerned about what people would think than about what Pat was thinking.

Second, I claimed to be the “sold-out” (we Nazarenes say “sanctified”) Christian in the family, yet I was far more willing to extend criticism than I was to extend grace. This was difficult, because I ended up having to go to Pat and confess my attitude toward his behavior. Talk about leaning on Grace!!

Third, God revealed to me that I was keeping Pat so on the defensive that he couldn’t hear God’s voice over my voice! Ouch! Years ago, one of my sons was pulled over for speeding. He was on a rural stretch of road, it was late at night, he was tired and wanted to get home sooner!?! He said, “Mom, when I saw the flashing lights in my mirror, I actually heard your voice!”

I used to think that was funny but, now that my children are grown and gone, I don’t so much anymore. Too often it seems that my children hear my voice when they would fare better if they heard God’s voice.

Can your children, spouse, or family members hear God’s voice over your own? Can you even hear His voice over your own? I have had to confess wrong words, wrong attitudes, and wrong actions to my own children, spouse, and family. And that has turned out to open doors so that God could work real changes.

These days, I want my family to hear God’s voice in my own as they continue to hear God’s voice on their own. That’s my prayer. What’s yours?

Pastor Kit

This Wasn't The Plan!

For a number of years now Pat and I have talked about driving over the scenic North Cascades Highway soon after it reopens in the spring. This year I told Pat that Mother’s Day weekend was to be the “someday.” And I began to plan. I suggested that we load up the dogs, cats and RV on Friday, leave, and camp as close as we could to the west end of the highway that night. Then we could drive over on Saturday and return home on Sunday.

But then things changed. Pat’s Thursday evening freed up and so did his Monday. And I changed the plans. Now we could leave on Thursday after Pat got off work!

I planned three “first-day” options. Option A was to stop at a large county campground beside a river. Option B was to stop at either one of two privately owned campgrounds farther down the road. Option C was to stop at a national park campground at the west end of the North Cascades Highway.

Thursday evening we headed out a little before 6 pm. Pat smiled and said, “I can’t believe that we are actually underway on Thursday evening!”

“This doesn’t bode well,” I replied.

Pat chided me for being pessimistic. I reminded him that we have a consistent track record of setting up in the dark—and frequently in the rain. Historically, our first day of camping just doesn’t go as planned!

We blew past our usual supper stop because we were only an hour away from option A. We pulled in on schedule. It was still light—and it wasn’t raining! And... who would have thought that 44 of the 49 campsites would be reserved for a family reunion!

The plan had changed, but we still had two options. It was getting dark by the time we had investigated and eliminated options B. And we arrived at option C with just enough light left to see that its gates were locked!

Pat pulled over. We looked at each other. He said, “Well … only 45 miles to go!” Meaning that the next campground, Klipchuck, was ONLY 32 miles UP the North Cascades Highway, across two passes, and then 13 miles DOWN into the Okanogan National Forest! The plan had truly changed!

But I didn’t want to drive the highway at night! I was tired. I was hungry. And I didn’t want to—yet again—have to back the rig into a wooded site and set up in the dark. This just wasn’t the plan!

We grabbed a couple of bottles of water and a jar of peanuts from the RV and climbed back into the truck. Pat looked at me, smiled great big and said, “I have the feeling that we are about to embark on an adventure!”

We drove into the gathering darkness. Falling snow met us at Rainy Pass. Plowed snow banks towered over us at Washington Pass. And somewhere along the way the trailer’s electrical connection became unseated. And the only brakes we had as we began the steep 13 mile descent down the eastern slope were on the truck!

But the gates were open at Klipchuck campground, and by 11 pm we were set up and cozy in our favorite site in one of our favorite campgrounds in our favorite national forest. And it wasn’t raining—or snowing!

Although the trip didn’t start out as I had planned, it turned out even better that I had thought. We would never have attempted to drive to Klipchuck that first night if our other options had been available. So we would have missed spending four relaxing, renewing days in one of our favortie spots. And we would have missed seeing the early spring flowers and the calypso orchid. We would have missed the character we met in Winthrop. We would have missed the adventure!

What in your life isn’t going as planned? A relationship? Your health? Your finances? Your career? Your retirement? Trust the One who has The Plan. Embark on the adventure!

Pastor Kit

I Need What??!!

When Mom was 94 she fell and broke her thigh. The normal course of events for people who fall at Mother’s age is to become bedfast and then to die. Mom knew that. But when the days passed and she didn’t develop life-threatening complications, Mother’s focus shifted. She determined that not only was she going to heal, but that she was going to walk again!

Her orthopedic surgeon assured her that such a goal was attainable if she was willing to follow through with the prescribed therapy and to allow adequate time for the process. Fortunately Mom’s lifelong practice of pursuing a healthy lifestyle had prepared her for this physical and emotional challenge.

First she had to completely rest the leg and allow others to help her with the most intimate details of her life. She was mortified. Her sense of propriety and her vaunted independence were both utterly destroyed.

Next she had to work to increase her upper body strength so she could eventually transfer herself from bed to wheelchair to toilet to wheelchair to… wherever. By the time she accomplished this feat, she became quite adept at maneuvering her wheelchair. And she realized that life was still very much worth living—even if she never walked again.

Slowly, the bone began to mend.

Now the surgeon explained that Mother had to put stress on it so it would grow stronger. He said that if it were not adequately stressed, it would never become strong enough to support her weight. So Mom learned how to put 10, then 20, then 30 pounds of weights on her leg. And she exercised. And the X-rays showed progress. And six months later—at the age of 95—Mom walked again!

Many lessons were learned during those six months. But one that stands out is that, when it comes to bones, avoiding stress results in developing weakness. Mother had to apply stress to her leg to enable it to grow strong. True—it was calculated; it was supervised; it was managed. But it was stress. And it led to physical, emotional (and spiritual) growth.

I’m afraid that too many of us choose to avoid anything that might give us stress in our lives. The challenges of returning to school, of taking up an exercise program, of getting involved in our communities and churches—of changing jobs. These are all stressful events.

But I encourage you to embrace the stress and to allow God, the ultimate Healer, to teach you how to walk daily in His presence so that you may grow in faith, grace, and strength in the face of life’s unexpected falls. My Mother did.

Pastor Kit

Practicing His Presence

Some time ago there was a TV series titled, “Joan Of Arcadia.” Joan was a teenager who could see God. She could hear Him and talk to Him when others were completely unaware of His presence. And she wasn’t particularly thrilled about this ability… because God had the annoying habit of showing up when she least wanted Him to! Such as at a party where there was underage drinking. Or in situations where peer pressures were influencing her to act in ways that were contrary to her conscience. God’s presence in these circumstances served to remind Joan that she did have a choice—and that her choice could, and probably would, impact others for good or for ill.

Christians have a word for this “presence of God in everyday circumstances” thinking. It’s prayer. Prayer is nothing less than actively practicing God’s presence—inviting Him into your everyday life.

The apostle Paul wrote: “…Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise. Keep putting into practice all you learned and received from me—everything you heard from me and saw me doing. Then the God of peace will be with you.” (Philippians 4:8(b)-9, NLT)

What choices would you make if you could actually see God sitting in the room while you surfed the Internet, watched a movie, played a video game, or interacted with your family? What topics would you talk about? What language would you use? What pictures would you dwell on? What thoughts would you think—knowing that God could read them?

Prayer—practicing the presence of God. How real is God’s presence in your life today? Do you see Him or hear Him when others around you are unaware of His presence? What choices are you making?

Pastor Kit

Life Interrupted ... By Transitions

I was literally knee deep in my wallpaper eradication project—piles and boxes all over the living room—when illness and death interrupted “normal” life. Pat and I made four trips home between Christmas Day and Groundhog Day because my sister’s husband died on January 15 and Pat’s brother died on February 1.

While Pat was back burying his brother, I finished stripping and painting the upstairs hallway. The blue and white wallpaper became history! (I framed a remnant so I would always have a reminder of what had been.) As I applied the final coat of paint, I thought about how I now saw a spackled and primed wall as a thing of beauty in its own right because the wall was now just one step away from a new identity. Wallpaper stripped away, glue washed off, damage mended, surface primed … the wall now ready for the final step in its transition from the old to the new.

My brothers-in-law have undergone transitions too, transitions that we can only understand by faith. Christianity speaks of a transition from an earthly body to a resurrected body, a body that will never experience pain or disease. A transition guaranteed by the Resurrected Christ … our hope made sure.

But their wives are now beginning different transitions. They have suddenly been stripped of their former identities and must now go through the process of grieving, healing and forming new identities as single women. And they, too, will go through times of identity crisis, as did my walls during their transitions. It seems that transitions are inevitable … illness, death, divorce, job loss, transfers, natural disasters, aging … they’re all part of living.

Jesus said, “God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted,” and “Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” (Matthew 5:4, and John 16:33b) In the Old Testament we read that “weeping may go on all night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5b)

Our families are in the middle of a night of sorrow … and at times it is difficult to believe that joy will ever return. But as I look around me, I realize that spring has never failed to follow winter … that sunrise has never failed to follow sunset … that God has never failed to walk with me through the most difficult times of my life … that every season of difficulty has eventually passed … that spackled and primed walls do get painted … and that there literally has been “joy in the morning” when I finally complete the transition.

What transition have you recently undergone? Are you currently in the middle of one? If so, take heart … we have a Savior who has overcome the world … and He promises us that joy will come in the morning!

Pastor Kit

Now For The Details...

Order has been restored to the project! Wallpaper is gone! Painting is done! New curtains are hung! New décor is in place! Clutter has been discarded!

What remains has been organized into matching tubs and bins. I even made matching hand towels from a “retired” terry bathrobe that had hung, forgotten, in a remote corner for more years than I care to remember.

The work would appear to be finished, but it isn’t. There are still some details remaining that only those who live in the house 24/7 would notice … such as the missing blind in the south-facing window over the kitchen sink.

And so it is with our own spiritual lives. When first we become Christians, God focuses our attention on the obvious areas that need to be changed if we are to become the new person that God intends us to be. Friends and acquaintances see the transformation, marvel at the “new us” and remark on what God has done. And we start to feel pretty good about ourselves, this new relationship with God, and the new direction in our life.

But eventually God puts His thumb on a detail that only we (or those who live with us 24/7) see. And He says; “Now this too must change.” And we balk … usually because he has targeted a fundamental part of our personality or a favorite past time … or a secret pleasure or perhaps a thought-life. We don’t want to give it up—which means that it has become an idol. Or we don’t see a need for giving it up—which means that we have become our own idols. Or we don’t truly believe that God is capable of delivering us from this particular sin.

Well God is a God of details. In Exodus, God gave Moses many, many details for the construction of the tabernacle and the fabrication of the priestly garments. And I used to wonder why such details mattered. But one day I finally “got it.” The tabernacle was God’s earthly meeting-place; and just like our own homes, the details reflected the values of the Resident who inhabited that meeting-place.

After Pentecost, the followers of Christ—including us—became earthly tabernacles of the Blessed One. And He still cares about the details of His tabernacles. He still expects us to reflect His holiness in thought, word and deed. And with our submission and cooperation, He enables us to do so. He wants to be the Lord of our details.

In John 14:16-17, Jesus says “…I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever—the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him for he lives with you and will be in you.” (emphasis added)

Your current renovation may look pretty good to others. But what does it look like to those who live with you 24/7? What is God saying to you about the details?

Pastor Kit

Who Is In Control?

I totally lost control this past Saturday … of the project, the downstairs, and my work area. Here’s how it happened...

When Pat retired from the military, he insisted on setting up a desk in our living room so that he could be “in the bosom of his family” while he worked from home. That arrangement has had its pros and cons, but Pat has been adamant about keeping his office in what used to be the living room … even though bedrooms have opened up as our children have moved out.

Pat’s desk eventually found friends: a computer desk, a writing surface, five bookcases, two filing cabinets, a scanner, and two printer stands. He also commandeered my plant shelf and the coffee table! Needless to say, the living room ceased to be a “living” room for anyone other than Pat!

But now that I have reconfigured the furniture in the half of the room that Pat doesn’t occupy, he suddenly “got a vision” of what the room could look like with new furniture … new office furniture!!! So on Saturday, Pat covered every available surface in the living room with books and papers as he cleaned out 16 years’ worth of clutter. I could barely walk through the room, and I wasn’t pleased.

Control is elusive. We want to control things that we can’t and probably shouldn’t … such as others’ choices. Then we refuse to control things that we can and probably should … such as our own choices. Choices that could improve health, relationships, emotions, finances, and spiritual fitness … if we would just choose!

Sometimes we take the path of least resistance. We compromise (as I did with the wallpaper) and later discover that our compromises have taken control. What once seemed tolerable becomes intolerable!

But there is an option when it comes to your life and your choices. You can choose to give all control over to God. And when you do, you will discover that He has a way of changing your priorities and working in the circumstances so that everyone benefits.

I abandoned the living room for the back yard. I gave both dogs a long overdue grooming. I busied myself in the kitchen and in the laundry room while Kate helped her father move the computer desk upstairs. At one point I overheard Kate ask if they shouldn’t see if I could help. (I think it was when they were hoisting the desk up and over the banister from the stairwell into the upstairs hallway.) Pat wisely answered, “Mom isn’t here right now.”

By day’s end Pat had his books and papers corralled in boxes, the desk moved upstairs without mishap, and the furniture arranged so that I could advance in my assault on the wallpaper. And God showed me, yet again, that progress will be made and tempers will be cooled if I will just opt to relinquish control to Him.

Who is in control at your house these days? You really do have a choice!

Pastor Kit

Just Keep Pluggin' Along

When I started my wallpaper eradication project, I thought that I would be stripping wallpaper for four or five months. I am now beginning month seven and the master bedroom is finally finished!

Sometimes I feel like quitting ... but just two bedrooms and one bath remain, so I can’t stop now. Instead I’ve incorporated this work into my daily routine. I might as well keep pluggin’ along until I’ve finished every room before I box my steamer up and store my paint supplies away.

It’s amazing how much we can accomplish if we just keep pluggin’ along. Races can be won (think of the tortoise and the hare), debt can be settled, money can be saved, weight can be lost, old destructive habits can be broken, new healthy habits can be formed, relationships can be restored, degrees can be earned, new skills can be learned, projects can be finished. Just by pluggin’ along.

But first you have to get started.

When I began this project, I had to make some changes. I knew that I needed to keep walking for exercise, so I switched from daily walks at Joseph Whidbey State Park to daily walks to Whidbey Island Manor to check on Mom. I turned my computer off and told friends and family to either email me at work or call me at home if they needed to get in touch. (I’ve become quite adept at painting with one hand while talking on the phone!) I haven’t read a book since I started this project, nor do I read our magazines from cover to cover these days … but I do read the daily paper to keep up on the news since I no longer watch it on TV.

A real bonus has been that Pat has taken over the yard work. Mowing and trimming used to be almost entirely my domain--and that was fine with me. I much prefer working outside, but having mowing off my “to do” list freed up a couple of more hours each week.

And that was all it really took … a few changes combined with enough motivation to get started. After that it was just a matter of pluggin’ along … sticking to the plan … finding ways to stay motivated … day after day … week after week.

Some of you know exactly what I am talking about. There are plenty of folks who have chosen to get started on their own “home (read: self) improvement” projects. And some of you are growing weary in your new routines. This message is for you. Don’t give up!! Look back and think about how far you have come. Imagine where you could be in a couple of more months.

Many of you have already accomplished much and are an inspiration to others, so pay it forward. Find someone to encourage on their journey. Take the time to celebrate your own success and to cheer others in theirs … and then just keep pluggin’ along.

Pastor Kit