I Saw…

Grandpa used to say a silly little limerick to us as kids “I see said the blind man to his deaf wife, as he picked up his hammer and saw.”

St. John tells us that the Angel said to him, LOOK, and I turned and I saw…
 

I am at the ocean today and all this past week.  Anyone that knows me knows that I love the ocean.  I sat on the Rock that I always sit on and I listened again.  It seems like it would be easy to swim out and reach the Horizon.  It’s not that far away really, it is really just right there.  The problem is that when you go looking for something you aren’t satisfied with the object of your first glance.  The further you go the further the Horizon is to you.  It moves away from you.  That’s what I saw as I looked at it from that Rock.
 

I looked at the Seals in the ocean; they peek out of the water and float like a bobber on the top of a small wave.  They dive directly into the big waves, not sure why I can’t see what they're doing.  Similar dilemma with the birds:  they float, they fly, they dive, they always eat.  They seem to be right where they want to be.  But they are still short of the Horizon by a long shot.  It’s like they have no clue what is out there for them.  I do. 
 

Walk with me for a minute along the shore.  It's easier to walk on the sand that has been washed by the ocean.  There’s that line where the tide has soaked the ground and made the normally loose sand more firm.  But the closer you get and the easier it is to walk the more imminent the potential danger “Rip Tides” the signs warn “NO LIFEGUARD.”  It’s the most dangerous place near the edge.   As I walk further from the shoreline the sand is dry and harder to walk in.  But you can smell that ocean so clean, and so self-sufficient.  It contains all that it needs to survive and to thrive.  The closer that I walk to the ocean, the more firm and solid my footsteps become and my feet don’t sink and slide back as I try to walk.
 

So that’s the beach, that’s the shoreline, but the goal is always the Horizon.  I want to reach that.  Not by plane or boat, or some other form of transportation, but me, I want to reach it.  It can’t really move.  It doesn’t really get further as I move toward it.  It just makes no sense.  That edge is where I need to be, and I will reach it.
 

Looking down from the Rock, and having been sitting here for about one hour, and listening to the crashing tide hitting the base of the Rock.  The Rock never moves, it is so incredible to sit on it and look out at that Horizon.  But back to the tide, listen to the sound of the tide when you are here.  It always sounds the same but never the same.  The sound is great.  The smell is just as good, salty, fishy, sandy, and full of clean oxygen.  Man, you can really breathe out here.  The sound and the smell are great but you can’t get over the feel of that tide as the waves crash on the Rock.  A mist, almost imperceptible, cools your face and any exposed skin on your body.  For me it’s typically my face, neck and arms.  Never really on the small of my back, that would be weird.  Sound, smell, feel, it nearly transports me from the Rock to that Horizon. 
 

Then I looked down and I saw the Tide from the Rock.  It was hitting the Rock but not angrily rather like it was saying “We’re together like we always have been.”  See, Creation is all about God, it is NOT God, but it proves God, His glory, His power, His beauty, His sweetness, His very character to the extent we can see it.
 

And for what seemed like the first time I Saw the Horizon in the Tide.  It doesn’t move away, It comes to us if we are on the Rock and it speaks to us, and breathes with us and touches our face and neck.

The Ring

To the Three Knights of Carmichaelia

…As they came into the clearing where the battle was being fought, they looked and saw the small, lifeless body of one of the best scribes ever to serve the King.  Giarc Siwel is gone…

Pulling his body behind the horse, they carried him to the Hill of Bones to place his body among byegone warriors.  Large rocks surround the hill, huge outcroppings as high as the highest trees, 10, 12, 15 times as tall as a man, and no entrance--it must be scaled.  In a way, it forms a giant crown, with its diadems polished by the flesh of those dead.  Moss covers the rocks partially; rain falls and grips the stones making it nearly impossible to climb.  The bodies of the dead are pulled up the sides of the stones; fresh blood dripping down them permanently stains the sides of the green slick boulders.  As they reach the top, they fall, and find themselves nestled among the remains of great men who served the King and died.

For a warrior, death is the next promotion.  The men know not to remove sword, rings or personal belongings, not even under garments, a warrior must be put to rest as he died, no change.  

The lifeless body Giarc is hoisted up, scraping the stone and aiding in the polish of the stone wall.  Slowly pulling the rope until his body drags up over the crowning edge and falls to the bottom on the opposite side of rock with men each greater and yet more humble than the other.  On his right hand Giarc bore a gold ring.

As the body of Giarc fell inside the citadel, each man struck the rock with his sword.  Seven strikes, three times, and the men sighed, deep, agonizing breaths, knowing the job on this battlefield, on this day was made more difficult by the loss of one of their own.  And the rock remained immovable. 

As they looked down, small bits of the stone lay there--some larger than others but the significance of this stone was immeasurable.  It was on this Stone that the King’s own Son swore off the finality of Scratch’s deadly bite.  Here, at this rock, He won the battle’s end, yet by His own mercy, allowed the battle to rage on.  These stones drizzled with the blood of the fight that they embody, were gathered to present to the Knights.  One stone for each Knight; each to remind them of the battle which rages, while won, no substitute could ever replace these first stones.  There is no “new stone” of this kind.

Careful selection was made of the gold that would hold the bits of stone for the Knights.  Gold previously won in battle, to remind them that only victory labored for is at once beautiful and savory, while painful and sweet.

They forged the rings, which held the stones.  The King personally inspected each stone, considered it, and commanded that His servant bless it.  Each shone with a color different than the other but each bore the blood of a warrior which had stained the stone of the great hill.  In each stone the King saw the Son, and in the Son He saw His martyrs, and the servant, and the Princess, and the Knights.  And in that Rock they remained, immovable.

And at the King’s command the servant said out loud:

Blessed art thou oh Lord Our God ruler of heaven and earth,
Who gives children as a gift;
Who makes each a diadem more valuable than diamonds;
Who forgives sin where no forgiveness is sought;
Who remembers the faithful;
And Who restores what is lost.

And with that, all that was lost was restored, and a new beginning began, and a Knight was returned to his place, never to be brought low again.

My Hero

Dad loved his family. He defended each one: their character, their position within the family, and their right to make their own choices.

He made us a team. He kept us together and we always played, and ate dinner, and went to sleep each night together without fail.

I remember (kind of) being dressed in a white T-shirt, tucked into my perfectly pressed jeans, and my Hoss Hat. Dad wore a yellowish short sleeve shirt, pants, and tennis shoes. I sat on the handlebars in front, and I knew I didn’t have to worry about a thing, so I guess I just fell asleep. Totally relaxed, because I also knew that dad was right behind me holding that bike up. He was my hero.

We lived in a small house on 1101 Silver Lake Dr., and I remember it like I lived there my whole life. So many good times. Dad hated it because it was a dangerous area and we could have gotten hurt. Looking back though, I can see that he kept his eye out for me and I never even thought about being in danger. He was always right there with me, and I never had to worry. I just rested.

After work sometimes, Dad would come home and I remember he almost always had candy in his pocket. He would hand it out to us, and that was nice, but we really loved when he would wrap his arms around us and wrestle us to the ground. Playing like that probably only lasted for a minute, but it seemed like the greatest hour of our day. He was really there. Really present. We would all play, and eat dinner, and sleep.

There was always the pallor of financial stress, but Dad kept things going like he does. We were a team He was right there with me and told me everything was going to be fine. He never responded with judgment or anger to my rants. He just stayed with me and I never had to really concern myself with the things outside the team. Outside in the world. I just slept and everything would be ok the next day.

I was right there with Dad the day he and Mom made the decision to leave town for a city far away to start over. I felt so empty and so very alone. I was afraid, but he encouraged me like Dad does, and in the end I still didn’t have to stress. I could always rest and sleep.

I called Dad a lot. I like to talk to him. I would just invent problems to run past him. What the problem was didn’t matter so long as I could hear him work it out with me. He always had ideas, and would hear mine. He stayed with me through all my problems real or not and the answer was the same as it always was. Just rest and sleep.

Dad always made sure I remembered that other people mattered more than me. Not to him, but to that innate selfish desire we all have just beneath the surface of our instincts. Work was first for God, then for others, then for me. This is not an easy lesson to learn, and I am still learning it today, but he always reminded me, and taught me, and all I had to do was grow and rest.

This year was tough. Dad got sick. He faced what really scared him. I could see it in his face, and hear it in his voice.  He would call me often and always opened with “O, hi son.” And then would ask for my help with something. That’s how we always talked when one of us was scared. I heard in his voice that morning that he was facing a real lion. The Lion was victorious as He inevitably always is, But to Dad, that day He was was a lamb, waiting to usher Dad to Himself and into the only place where Dad can play, and eat dinner, and rest.


That Lamb, that is a Lion, is my Hero.