Time for Cider and Earmuffs

Well it has finally begun to get a little chilly here. Which means time for cider, good books, earmuffs, and plastic over the windows. I don't know how much Ruth appreciates getting all bundled up, but Kevin and I sure love to laugh at her once she is. She has officially begun to crawl and get into things (like cookbooks, our closets, dog play toys). She can pull herself up on just about anything now. Our mugs of cider have to sit somewhere safer now. She has figured out hand to mouth coordination so eating is getting easier (those two bottom teeth help!). Oh well, she keeps us in shape and laughing (maniacally at times!).

Poetry in the Fog

I thought that as well as putting pictures and other news from our life up here, I might occasionally sprinkle that with some stuff that either I or Sara wrote somewhere along the line. I'd ask you if that was okay but last time I checked, Blogger said I was The Administrator of this site, and therefore I get to do whatever I want to. Some might ask why I don't post what I write over at that other site. The reason for that is that some of the stuff I might put up here has little or nothing to do with "Throwing the Word." It could be on nature and outdoorsy things, or it could even be a little short story or two. So without further ado, here is a little something I wrote a while ago. In fact (in a twist of irony) I did post this over at the other site, but I wanted to post it here too (and I'm The Administrator, remember?!).


Poetry in the Fog
There is no sound quite like a canoe being rowed through the foggy stillness of the early morning. The barely audible noise of the bow cutting through the dark glass of still water, and the sound of the paddles as they occasionally bump into the sides of the boat, inspire the romance of man and nature. I would prefer the slower mode of river transportation in contrast with the gasoline powered, smoking, and chugging little john boats simply because of its silence, and its peacefulness. In the dark pre light of the day, with the cold breath of the fog on the back of my neck, the quiet of the river is majestic. Each swift black current breathes a good morning as I continue downstream.

The wet grass, the cold tinge of dark night, and lonely splash of a fish somewhere out in the fog inspire a feeling of freshness in the world. In such a place, the stress of any other kind of life cannot survive. It is starved for worry, and the plastic desires that seem so necessary in our busy lives. And so it is shed like a heavy coat. The experience of an old world waking into a new day is almost too much to take in.

Ahead there is an island looming, right in the middle of the river. I know it is coming because I have seen it many times before, in the daylight. As the canoe crosses the deep pool of water, I have to decide which side of the island to travel down. On the right, the water is deep, and the trees overhang the deceptive looking current, which appears lazy while being very strong. On the left, there is shallow water with several shoal banks, and underbrush is sparse on the shore. The right fork is dark, and there is a heavy feeling when drifting down that section of the river. The left is lighter, more bubbly and alive, at least on the surface. Who can say which has more life? It depends on the moment. At the last instant, the nose of the canoe glides to the left, as though it has decided for me.

The speed of the water picks up at first, and the chill of the air increases on my face. It feels wonderful to have the misty air pluck at my nose, and tickle my neck. There is no need to paddle, so I simply sit on the wicker seat of the canoe with my paddle across my knees, relishing the fact that I am here this morning. It was worth it to rise so early, and steal out of the house while everyone slept. The long drive over dark roads and only the truck drivers to share the highway with was well rewarded. And here, as the dark grey fog is slowly starting to change shades before the coming sunrise, I am alone.

I’ve reached the shallows, and the canoe is slowly moving under the trees. There is a shoal bank to my right, and I can see the dull gray rocks as the water laps up onto the shore. I can even hear the sound of the tiny waves as the lightly slap the flat rocks. Ahead, there is only fog. Then , out of the fog just ahead of the boat , I see something. Standing in the middle of the river, just feet in front of me, there is a young doe. Her head is bent down, the long elegant neck stretched as she drinks from the stream. She sees me just as I see her, and the head raises, and our eyes lock. I put my paddle in the water quickly, and I silently stop the canoe. I notice then that a little fawn is also there in the shallows, behind the mother. The two animals stand there, framed by fog, and surrounded by the river and trees. For a brief second, dragged out into a timeless moment, this scene was all there was in the world. It was as though I had entered into their own great and magnificent cathedral, one made of fresh, living nature. I had intruded on what could almost be called a holy moment.

Then the doe breaks off her gaze, and turns to the shore. She doesn’t dart away, but she simply walks through the water and into the trees, lightly picking her way through the rocks. Her little fawn turns away to follow his mother, with one last look at the strange creature that has floated into their little world. I am left to myself once more, and I am both filled with emotion from the beauty I have just experienced, and empty because such moments must always end. Now I am left with only a memory of such pure beauty, and joy that there is a Creator in this world who has brought such moments into my life. There can be no doubt that He is a poet, a master of His craft. This sonnet He has written for me is no great feat for Him, but to me it is perfect.

There is more to a river than fishing, and although I might have caught fish that day, I cannot remember. It doesn’t matter. If I had caught fish, and that was all that happened on that trip, it would have been just another morning. But the chance to see such beauty up close, that was worth more than any fish I could have caught. I have seen many such scenes since that one, but none sticks out in my mind. I don’t know if it was just the way the entire morning perfectly complemented the vision of the mother and fawn there under the green leaves, but the Great Poet certainly wrote a few verses for me that morning that will last my whole life.

A Little Bit of News from Ruth's World

(I absolutely love this picture, because really, "Whatchyoulookin'at?")


Oh yeah... so Ruth crawled for the first time this past week. If you want to call it crawling, that is. I would call it something more like a "Gollum motion," or something along those lines. Of course, the only reason she did it was because we didn't want her playing with an electrical cord, and she just had to find out what was so special about electrical cords. sigh. So, with that said I guess you could assume that Ruth's world has just gotten a whole lot bigger, and Sara's and my world a whole lot smaller.

A Blog Written While "Studying"

I’m writing this while I should be doing homework, which is about the norm for me. This is usually the time when I post something. Anyway, Sara and Ruth are at church for a women’s Bible Study and I’m sitting in the kitchen “studying Hebrew.” The semester is at it’s halfway point, which is very exciting for me because that means that I’m done with the first (and most time consuming) half of my Hebrew class. No longer must I spend hours laboring to compose a page of acceptable Hebrew composition; now I can read a much more acceptable composition (ie- the Bible). I’m also happy about this because now I can focus more time studying in my other class, which is a Philosophy class dealing with Postmodernism and Evangelicalism (sounds exciting right? Right?!??) I mean, come on! I bet you wish you were studying cool things like postmodern hermeneutics, meta-narratives, deconstructionism, and all that other stuff those crazy French guys came up with don’t you?

Okay fine, I know people only come here to see the “cute one.” It doesn’t hurt my feelings that you probably read the first sentence of my paragraph and then skipped it to see if there was anything good in this post. So you can just be that way!

Here’s what Ruth thinks of postmodernism:


And this is how Ruth consoles her daddy after a hard day of school (at least she cares!):

So now you got what you came for! I hope you're happy...

Growing Tall

Ruth is really growing fast. We can hardly leave her alone anymore because she roles everywhere and into everything. Most recently she has learned to pull herself up in her crib. Ahhh! I'm afraid the easier days of child rearing are now over.

Amusing Themselves to Death, Already.

I walked into the room the other day to find Sara showing Ruth how to waste her life away in front of the television. It must have been a good movie though, or a frightening one, seeing how Ruth got a little scared. What ever am I to do?

The Weekend Review

Well, if you couldn't tell from the picture, I spent the weekend fishing for catfish down in Middle Tennessee. There were a bunch of guys, a lakehouse, two boats, two canoes, cards, games, and a lot of food. Sounds like a good time, doesn't it? It was, don't worry.

Now about these catfish. Well, the technical term for the type of fishing we did is "juggin'." As the name implies, what one must do is take a jug, tie a line to it, and on that line tie a hook, and on that hook tie something foul-smelling, rotting, and altogether what catfish love to eat. Once this is done, then the jugs go in the water, and you wait.

Well, we went to put 'em out in the water. We were in the second boat, as the first had gone out before (and taken all the good jugs!). When we got on the water, we saw one of their jugs right off, and you could tell there was a catfish on it! Now, this is the fun part of juggin': those bottles move, and when there is catfish on one, it just bobs, and shakes, and your blood starts racing. So we pulled up to the jug, and I reached out (as I was the only one in the boat who hadn't gotten to experience this joy yet). When I pulled the line in, there was a four pound catfish (the one on the far left i believe) fighting me! Oh man, talk about fun!

But you don't care about that. You want to know about the big catfish I'm holding. Why? Well, because it's the big one. So let me tell you about that catfish. We'd put out all our jugs, and we'd been puttering around the lake at midnight (because you fish for catfish at night). We decided to check our jugs real quick before we went and did some real fishing, and so we headed over to where we had put all of ours. As we neared the spot, we began to shine a spotlight over the area searching for any movement that we could see. There was none. And then, we saw one. Tim, who was driving the boat (and is not pictured), said something about how low the jug was sitting in the water, and we all agreed that it was very low. We were pumped. I just can't tell you how it feels to see your jug moving around like that.

But as we got closer, there seemed to be something a little weird about the jug. And Kyle (who is standing beside me) leaned forward and said:

"guys, that's no jug. It's a space station."

Okay, that's not exactly what he said, but he got the point across. It was no jug. It was a catfish just swimming along on the top of the water. We figured later that the reason for this was the catfish had been eating a lot, and had gotten bloated from it. So he was swimming it off, so to speak. So, what do you do when there is a big catfish just swimming along, and you are trying to catch big catfish? Well, you try and catch it.

There we were, perched on the edge of the boat. I was ready with a net. Tim was running the motor. And Kyle was standing behind me, ready at a moment's notice. We were dead quiet, trying to sneak up on the fish. As we got close Kyle said, "Go ahead and put the net in the water." I slid the net into the water so I could scoop up the fish, and as we got up to it, we made our move. I slid the net up under the fish and begin to lift. As soon as the net touched him though, he realized what was happening, and he was a big fish. So I'm standing there with a net in my hands that is just bucking around everywhere, so Tim reaches down and grabs the net on either side and pulls it out and drops it in the boat. And put his foot down on the fish to keep it there. It was huge. Later, we weighed it at 11 and a half pounds. We dropped it in the live well, and we were pretty happy. And for those of you who will doubt, and say you don't believe me; for you I am prepared! I anticipated your doubt and give you proof:



Oh, it was amazing. And then, we radioed the other boat to tell them that we decided quit juggin' because the fish were just swimming right into our boat.

It's Like Seeing A Ghost

This weekend my friend Kyle and I went to the Cumberland River here in Kentucky to do some trout fishing. I was really looking forward to this trip because it would be only the second time I'd go fishing all year. And it's September, if you hadn't noticed. Well, we got out there, having been shuttled about seven miles upriver from where we'd come off the water. That way, we wouldn't have to paddle upstream at all that day. We caught four or five fish right away, and we made the mistake that two experienced fishermen should never make.

We said to ourselves, "If we're catching fish this easy, let's throw these back, and we'll start keeping 'em later."

Well, let me tell you right now that arrogance like that really offends trout. And they let you know it. They ignore everything you've got to lure them in. They shun you like I shun White Castle in the morning. We caught a few more fish, and a lot of stripes. But we only brought two home with us. Kyle did catch a very fat, nice looking brown trout, but you can only bring home browns if they are over twenty inches long. I won't even tell you about the ones that got away (even though there witnesses!) because you won't believe me (I never believe those stories either.)

BUT....

There is a reason that a picture of a Bobcat is at the top of this fishing post. The highlight of the day came when I was fishing and I saw some movement over on the shore.

I said, "Kyle, I think there's a cat over there."

He goes, "You mean, like a housecat?"

"No, I don't think so..."

And when we saw the bobtail, we knew for sure. For those of you who don't know, and think that you see things like bobcats, mountain lions, and twelve point bucks every time you enter the woods, know that that is as far from the truth as you can possibly get. Kyle's dad has been trying to find bobcats for years, and has never even seen one in the wild. At one point, the cat hunkered down in a little outcropping of grass on the riverbank, and if we hadn't just seen it crouch down, we would never have known it was there. They're like ghosts out there in the wild.

Well, it was just walking along the shore about thirty feet from our canoe. We floated next to it for several minutes. And then we pulled up on a snag as the cat climbed up on a big boulder and just sat there looking at down the river. It was an amazing experience. If ever an animal has been made to kill things, it is a wild cat. There is simply no doubt when you see the muscles ripple under their skin, and the way they slink through the grass. Their very posture speaks of violence. When the eyes turned to look at us in our boat, I found myself reaching for my paddle (yeah, like that'll help) just in case. But it just sat there for several minutes as though sharing a moment of it's time with the two of us. And we enjoyed it. I can't exactly say that the bobcat is a very pretty thing, or even handsome. I'm not sure he is, and I'm not sure he cares. However, to see him in the wild, where he is as hard to find as, well, a needle in a haystack, that's pretty incredible.

I've always enjoyed fishing, but that's not why I go. Sure, the feel of a rod bucking in my hands and the sight of flashing silver just out there in the water give a guy powerful feelings. But that's nothing to sharing time with friends and family. That's nothing to soaking up the beauty of God's nature, and having intimate moments with the ghosts of the wilderness, those rare moments you only find when you take the time to be there.

We've got pictures of the one we saw. Once they are developed, I'll try and post one or two.

Growing Pains

Well, I appologize to all those who check this site for Ruth updates. We've been kept very busy lately with a family reunion, helping friends move, Bible studies, babysitting, transmission trouble on the truck, etc, etc, etc. Ruth, however, has been a constant reminder of God's grace to us! Just when we feel like it can't get much more busy or frustrating, she has a poopy diaper and breaks the tension for us. That girl always has a smile at the right time. I think it is good to have children while you're young if nothing else than to get you through the busy and tough times of growing up! Yes, for those of you who may not have realized it (ha, ha, ha), Kevin and I are still very inexperienced and naive! Each morning I may start with a plan for the day, but it is soon blown out of the water by the day's events. However, the most important thing (I'm starting to realize) is not whether I got the vacuuming done, or made a nice dinner for Kevin (though the latter is a real plus for everyone!), but is whether God was glorified in the midst of everything. Loving Him, and through that loving my husband and daughter are all that matters each day. So, each day that Ruth grows (cutting teeth! bigger diapers! new solid foods!), Kevin and I are growing as well. We just pray that Christ will be glorified through it all.

Commanding the Universe Can Be A Workout