\"A little neglect may breed mischief ... for want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost.\"

Benjamin Franklin

We forfeit our future by neglecting to tend to the little things today. I think it would be a good exercise in some respects to live each day as if it were your (or someone else's) last AND as if you would have to carry the choices made that day throughout eternity. Would that change the way I lived? Perhaps I wouldn't have gone on an outing instead of visiting my father-in-law with the rest of the family, the day before he died suddenly of a heart attack.

Maybe I would think twice before saying harsh, thoughtless words before I leave the house. They may be the last words my daughter hears before I am killed in an auto accident. Perhaps you wouldn't put off those decisions to finish that will, contact your mother, take out that life-insurance policy, tell your child you love him or her, or something as eternity changing as choosing to make Christ Lord of your life, if you knew you wouldn't be alive by the end of the day. God never promises us tomorrow.

In Psalms 139, the Bible says, \"All the days ordained for you were written in my book before one of them came to be.\"

Tomorrow may always be a day away, but God's grace is like manna, it is to be appropriated each day for that day's problems and opportunities, not stored for tomorrow.

At my workplace, Halloween is celebrated. While I don’t get into the normal festivities, I do enjoy the pumpkin carving. It is a natural outlet for my continual thirst for creative release. There is always a contest, I never win, but it is fun all the same. I think my work is pretty good… ok so Ruth did add the dry ice giving her witches caldron design a multimedia effect that wowed people, but my esthetically pleasing autumn design was very nice.

I have always been looking for unique outlets for my desire to create. My mom, saint that she is, probably still has the blonde piece of furniture with my youthful attempts at tole painting all over it. The barn is gone now, but in my horse showing days, I painted the interior of the stall walls with cartoon figures of each horse. They were good and I did think they added a fun look to an otherwise drab space. Then there were my bracket fungus paintings. Eventually I settled for the more conventional surface of canvas or paper. My love continues to this day as I make my living as a graphic designer.

Hooray for fall! Hooray for you, Mom who has to be one of the most creative and adventurous people I have ever met! Hooray for finding pleasure in simple activities, whether it is carving a pumpkin or sipping cinnamon-laden hot cider on the porch, wrapped in a blanket. Hooray for God, the ultimate creator, who paints the leaves, the harvest gourds and the sunsets with brilliant warm colors this time of year! Hooray for friends and family, without whom there would be no reason to celebrate.

Celebrate!

I considered her my friend. She would come to me when I called her. I would swing in the old tire swing holding her in my lap, the motion of the swing would lull her to sleep [or make her so dizzy she had to close her eyes]. The contented, crooning noises she made were a delight to my 5-year-old heart.

Then, one day she was missing. As I fed the rest of the chickens I noticed her absence and I was frightened for her. Instinctively, I knew she was hurt or even dead. When you grow up on a farm you learn very early that death is a part of living; beef cattle were raised to butcher, ducklings drown when they can't get out of the pond, and small brown hens face a multitude of dangers. Though I was young, I remember the paralyzing fear I felt as I looked everywhere. In my heart I knew this tragedy was not one my parents would be concerned about. I knew they were busy and it would be up to me to look for the hen, so I looked for ever so long.

Finally, I stood sobbing in the barnyard with no place left to look. I had spent a child's eternity looking and finally had no hope and no idea what to do next, except to give up. It was in my despair that I remembered my teachings about God. He answers prayer. He cares. So I prayed. I don't remember my words, but I know my forlorn heart simply reached sadly to God, and.... amazingly, miraculously, He answered.

He answered in the way He has often spoken to me since that day. His words silently spoke to my mind, clearly and completely distinct from my own thoughts. I knew exactly where to look, in fact I was standing right next to the shed the Lord directed me to. I ran and looked under the foundation of that shed and there was my brown hen. She was injured, frightened, hiding. waiting for God to teach me a lesson of faith... to run to Him with my problems, no matter how insignificant. With joy, I collected my hen and nursed her back to health.

What eventually happened to the hen? I don't know. She faded from my childish memories. Yet, I do know that the lesson I learned about God's love for me has lasted a lifetime. It serves as a firm reminder of God's immanence.

----------------------------------

The stories of my parents and grandparents were filled with shipwrecks, wagon trains, horses, buggies, the California Gold Rush, even Indians on cayuse ponies watching from the woodline. Those stories are so far removed from my world of instant everything that they have a surrealistic quality. They read like a pioneering novel. It's hard to believe my ability to communicate instantly with friends around the world, is only a couple of generations removed from the days of the horse and buggy.

Suffice it to say, my parents came from rugged pioneering stock, and themselves were steady, hard-working, intelligent people. My father’s favorite saying, “stay the course,” typified their lives.

My father worked with my grandfather to run their small grocery store and gas station located on the same property as our home. My earliest memories were of hanging around the store drinking coffee with dad and the local farmers, and other colorful, often rough-looking people. I would pump gas, check oil, wash windshields as I grew older. Most importantly, dad was always there when I needed him, a rare opportunity for a child. I could always run to him with my bee stings, slivers, and various emergencies.

My mother was (and is) an extremely creative person [hi mom!]. She was forever engaged in some creative pursuit or an adventurous endeavor. Creativeness was encouraged; messes were tolerated. Her life fed my artistic hunger.

God wasn't a stranger in our home. Church wasn't a compartmentalized Sunday thing, neither was our faith a dictator. Life was lived, Sundays were enjoyed, usually at church, but occasionally on the ski slope or our boat. For a child, it was idyllic. All was right and good and comfortable in my world. The foundations of life were laid carefully and well on the solid ground of a strong family and a dependence on God.

What were the ingredients that went into making me who I am. I think I will stretch my mind and attempt to retrace the often faint footsteps that marked the beginnings of my faith.

Beginnings are the hardest part of any creative endeavor, therefore, in the tradition of a true procrastinator, I think I will start a bit later.

What was the helpless creature's secret to remaining unafraid while in great peril (maybe he didn't realize it, but eating my petunias and ornamental grass was a perilous activity). His secret was his confidence in his refuge. The bunny had made its home in a well-established, low-growing juniper.

Now a juniper is not just any bush. I learned that when I sought to uproot one and discovered the strength of its roots and branches. In addition, it is armed with prickly needles. This bunny had chosen a strong place to call home, one which would protect it against the dogs and cats that roamed the neighborhood. It spent most of its time in the shadow of the bush, only a hop away from choice food (i.e. my petunias and other once beautiful plants). I'd call it a little bunny resort.

My lesson from the petunia-eating bunny is that I should choose my refuge carefully; the place I can run to when the world becomes a dangerous place and I have absolutely no control. I found my refuge in 1983. I discovered a place where I remain ultimately safe, even when I have no control over anything. This place allows me to look at an often out-of-control world with the same peace and calmness that the bunny exhibited because I know my refuge is stronger than evil, stronger than catastrophic events, stronger than life itself.

Even when the answers to my prayers are, \"No!\" which they often are, I can trust that the end result will be good, even if the good is not seen in this life. I often interpret God's promises in such a short-sighted fashion, thinking that the blessings are my right. If I'm not blessed right here! Right now! or my prayers are not answered the way I demanded they be, I interpret the results based on my performance. Either I wasn't praying hard enough or I didn't have enough faith, or God must have been too busy to hear this little request.

I'm so human. I think I can control God. I desire the blessings over the relationship. I do in order to get. I need to turn the whole process around and 'do' because of my love for God and my desire for a relationship with him. Whatever blessings he gives me, I should receive with delight and thanksgiving. They are not a reward for making it through my checklist, they are an undeserved gift from a generous father. I much prefer to worship and serve a God I cannot control, but who I know is good.

As Mr. Beaver said in the C.S. Lewis book, \"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe\":

\"'Safe?' said Mr. Beaver. 'Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.'\"

Psalm 90:1-2 says, \"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'\"

No, he's not a 'safe', comfortable, predictable, controllable God, but He's good. He has proven that time and time again in my own life. I can experience life without fear because, like my little resort bunny, I know where my refuge lies.

I had just made my exit out the front doors of our tiny church and was about halfway across the parking lot when the sound of heavy footsteps behind me clued me in that not everything in life would go my way. It was my dad.

Call it intuition... call it a conscience, somehow I knew that I was in BIG trouble. I started to run. That's when I had another learning experience. My dad could run. I didn't realize this, I had never seen him run. I was fast, but not nearly as fast as he was. Once he caught me, I caught a whipping that taught me defiance has a price.

That Sunday, I enjoyed parts of the service that I had never considered a blessing before. I thanked God for the opportunity to STAND and sing those long hymns. I thanked Him for the unusually cold metal folding chair that helped relieve the sting.

By the time I could outrun dad, I had ceased wanting or needing to. He was a very special person who I knew loved me. I learned a respect for my dad, that later translated into a respect for God and for those God has seen fit to place in authority over me. Running to my father results in a relationship. Running away only results in pain, self-pity and regret.