Smoke Filled Sky

2014 view from our kitchen window and the current view from our deck

As I sit at my beautiful majestic mountain ranch, Mystic Mountain Retreat in Bigfork Montana, just thirty minutes from Glacier National Park, more than a hundred forest fires burn in the surrounding Rockies from various lighting strikes.  There is no present danger to our home or our property, but the smoke filling the Flathead Valley is getting thicker by the hour. In the horror of it all there is beauty as it makes for an incredible bright fluorescent red sun by day and an eerie blood red crescent moon by night. The record heat and low rain fall has created a cinder box among the thirsty and dying evergreen pine trees and brush. Hourly the local governance is rating the changing air quality, as what little breeze there is mixes up the glorious Montana air with the reverberation of a campfire. There is little relief for my burning eyes from the smoke-filled air where by the afternoons I can only see a short distance through what is currently being rated as extremely hazardous air quality. While all I ever want to do when I’m here is to be outside and breathe the fresh air, now I find my only retreat from the airborne grit is either behind the walls of my home and its man-made air filters or submerged in the lake.

As everything is covered in ash, which appears an enormous challenge, I must remind myself, there is no large or small in the kingdom of the Divine. Nature knows how to take care of herself, which is a good thing because there are not enough fans in the state of Montana to blow all the smoke away and where would be “away” anyhow? I must trust in a higher power prevailing here.

Sometimes in our personal lives, situations occur that obstruct our vision by the soot of what looks like life as it’s burning out of control. The conflict with feeling the need to fix and just observing what you think is your gain going up in flames is a common one.  The outside pressure impacts our lungs, making it difficult to breathe as anxiety-filled concerns create a challenge to thinking clearly. What then do we do when there is no apparent answer in human sight and every potential remedy we can think of in our smallness remains inadequate? One must do what they can to get out of imminent danger and then, with pure unadulterated conviction, know there is a higher power that sees beyond the smog filled sky. Nature knows how to put out the fire. Soon, the refreshing rains from the heavens will cleanse the air and raise the phoenix from the ashes of our lives. And in the chaos, the ruin, there will be Good. So in the meantime, I must trust and listen to my inner guidance just as all the animals of the forest do as they weather the natural firestorms of life.

An Old Story with New Meaning

In honor of throwback Thursday... 

I recently shared an old story of mine with a crowd and was surprised to find it had a new ending. It was 1979, Margaret Thatcher was the new Prime Minister, Bill Clinton had recently been elected Governor of Arkansas, Atari had just released Asteroids, and I was in my first year of ministerial school in Los Angeles at what was then Ernest Holmes College. Like most first year’s, I was required to take a homiletics (speaking) class, one I frequently missed due to its coincidental timing to big waves. Unable to make my newbie freshman class during the day, I tucked away my surfboard and attended the senior class in the evening.

1979, me in my first year of Ministerial School

My first class assignment was to deliver a Rudyard Kipling poem I had memorized, entitled “If”, and man oh man, was I brilliant in conveying its depth. The pauses, emphasis, diction and silence all created a magical moment that had the whole room hanging on every word. I sure was hot stuff at 19 and cocky as the day is long. I was feeling quite proud of myself. If only you could have heard it! It was smokin’ good!  I glanced at the instructor knowing I had just scored big time. He looked delighted and I could tell I had just won him over. Later, in the same class, so impressed he was with my prose and delivery, the instructor asked me to stand and improvise a talk about light for 3 to 4 minutes. I approached the front of the room and then promptly froze. I have never forgotten those moments and not particularly fondly; no words came to my mind nor out of my mouth. I stood there with sweat pouring down my face, my heart racing wildly and my brain turning to putty. A sea of faces stared at me, I was in a blackout, thinking nothing-and the more I tried to find something, the less would come to me…I wanted to impress everyone so badly-but I was vacuous. For the first and longest 4 minutes in my life, I was literally speechless.

The story and lesson I’ve told for the past three and a half decades happened after that moment, which was that I would never again be short of words – which is a good thing for a public speaker. But recently, upon some inner urgings I reveled in a new take on an old lesson.  That day, I got humbled to the core. It wasn’t by choice or even by accident, it was given to me and I got it. The gift of humility. What I learned is that no matter how good a message I may have just delivered, it means nothing in terms of the next talk. I was shown in no uncertain terms that cockiness can lock the gates to the Infinite. I was educated to the cellular level that the message is not me and that I have to get myself out of the way for the extra magic to enter the equation. I do my best to remain humble, but never in a false sense because I’m clear, as clear as every uncomfortable sigh could be heard during that four minutes of silence in 1979, that the next time - the words just might not come.

Parental Authority Can Always Be Questioned

There's no doubt about the clarity of nature's authority with its heat of summer and cold of winter, darkness of night  and brightness of day, hunter or hunted.  Kids who grew up in touch with the rhythm of nature learned their boundaries were non-negotiable. But like everything else, change is ever present in the world and in the lives of those growing up and those raising kids, especially as it pertains to boundaries.

Either I have been a fine teacher or my son has always known that my boundaries are not absolute and has fine-tuned the art of wearing me down. Recently, during his daily digital diet dose, he spotted a super fancy crane truck whose reach extends five-feet. He just had to call it his own. Here, I savored, would be my summer opportunity to teach him about math, the value of a dollar and the art of patience. It started off nicely with saving some of his allowance. Then it picked up velocity leading to his relentless pursuit to earn more money which meant I became the employer and the bank. After weeks of being hounded to borrow money, I left town for a conference returning to find he wasn't going to miss a beat to work me over since his mom had stepped out of this educational equation from day one.

The day finally came where he got close enough that I would kick in the rest just to get some rest from his incessant demands. We rolled up the pennies, counted the dollars, large and small, and carefully calculated the amount he had saved. We loaded up the car, and hair blowing in the wind with excitement, we drove to the bank, deposited his booty, and then returned straight home to order his dream crane truck online. After placing his order I was ready for peace to return to our home. I sat back in the chair for a moment basking in the moment of resolution, readying for the quiet expectancy that would ensue, and indulging, if not just for a moment, in the gratitude for the opportunity to shepherd this fine lesson for my son. I was, in a sense, reveling in my own small success when no sooner had we pushed send, I noted his footsteps padding away from me as he made his first journey to our mail box looking for his crane truck. I explained the store's policies as best I could. Given that it was Friday, the delivery, which could take as long as seven days would best be expected the following Friday. I noted the question mark in his eyes, still not comprehending why it wouldn't just appear in the mailbox as soon as we had ordered it. After explaining again, I punctuated the conversation by marking the calendar so he would understand. There, I thought, now peace will return.

But Trevor was not happy with this news and refused to understand nor accept it as the truth, repeatedly visiting the mail box a half dozen times that Friday. I figured I might not have Mother Nature with her absolute authority on my side in this life lesson on patience but at least the post master general was a pretty good second. I lost count how many times I heard, “Where’s the truck” that Friday and Saturday. Trevor spoke with such affirmation and authority that the truck was coming, but he'd worn me thin on patience and his perseveration had eroded any sense of success I'd felt in teaching him a new life lesson. I'd finally had enough by Saturday afternoon and instead of explaining for the umpteenth time that it would be six more days, I invited him to check the mailbox for himself.  To which, he jumped up, opened the front door, and there sitting on the doorstep, barely 24-hours after we placed the order was his big Amazon box.  Unbeknownst to me, it had been expedited by overnight delivery. So, who learned the greater lesson? I feel probably me. When one is relentless in speaking their truth with authority, heaven and earth and even the US post master general will move to make it so.

A Dog Blessing

So grateful to have been asked to officiate the blessing of the dogs at this year's Cardiff Dog Days of Summer. What a fun and rewarding day!!!!