Running Away From Goodness & Mercy

Acts 20 vs 35 ~In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: "It is more blessed to give than to receive.~ I have run with that verse like a freight train all of my life. And now, it is out of track. I take it literally, finding myself uncomfortable in situations where I can't be the giver. And darn near shameful to be the receiver.
The last several months have been a spiral of whammies. I felt like that ~Whack a Mole~ game at the county fair where the heads pop up out of the hole and you hit them before they go back down to score points. During these times I have been inundated with support and caregiving from so many wonderful people in my life.
That verse in Acts kept nagging me this morning after my bible study. When I think of pride, the words that come to mind are haughty and proud. Peeling the onion, I find that the layers of pride run deeper. There is pride also in not allowing ourselves to be on the receiving line of grace and mercy. We aren't just blessed by circumstances, we are blessed by people, his creation. He doesn't send down baskets of bread from the sky anymore or turn water to wine (although he can)  He aligns a giver, so that you can be the receiver. Pride in this circumstance would be running away from goodness and mercy.

Chicken Fricassee or Chicken Frisky? Renae Brabham

A friend and I were discussing family reunions recently when the conversation turned to food, as it should. We talked about how the various dishes were always home cooked and tasted better than any food we could remember to this day. That evening while preparing dinner I glanced over at my treasured cook books, a lot of them are older ones, my favorite is titled Virginia Housekeeping circa 1870. It dawned on me that the recipes I had made from this particular book would pale in comparison to the taste they had when prepared by the cooks of that era. They churned their own butter in their homes from cows grazing on grass in their fields. The fresh milk from these cows was stored in glass jars in ice boxes. Vegetables grew in their gardens without pesticides. Families and children pulled the worms and bugs off the leaves and stems of their fruits and veggies. The chicken in their frying pan had been eating corn and meal under the front stoop that morning for breakfast and probably had names like Brooster and Henpecked.
My friend and I had discussed chicken in particular that day. She said her grandmother raised chickens and she never understood why she couldn't get her chicken to taste like her grandmother's even though she used the same recipe. The answer is mass farming. Genetically altered chicken. David Kessler, author of The End of Overeating, said that antibiotics are used in chicken feed for three reasons: To treat disease, To prevent diseases and to increase the chicken’s growth rate. This last one is the biggest concern to Kessler, because using antibiotics to increase a chicken’s size is an abuse of antibiotics and can increase drug resistance. Back in the 1950′s, it took chickens 85 days to reach maturity, whereas now, chicken’s reach maturity in 47 days. The way corporate America looks at it, the bigger the chicken and the faster it can get to the large size, the more profits for them.
Now here's my theory about what goes at the grocery store. I can buy that six pound mass farmed bird all day long or it's parts for as low as 79 cents a pound. Or, I can go down the road a little piece and buy an organic, three pound, born free bird that cost $2.89 a pound. Then there's the more for your money scenario. I bought an ~All Natural~ chicken not long ago at the grocery store, I was going to be home alone for a few days. First, "All Natural", as opposed to "Not So Natural?" Well, I was hungry, that's a fight for another day. Ok, I get this bird home and let me tell you, there is nothing natural about getting 3 meals out of one chicken breast. When your chicken can pose as Chicken frisky instead of Chicken Fricassee, you may have a altered bird. I prefer my chicken to have the svelte legs and thighs of a bridge runner.
I have to say that after reading The Omnivore's Dilema by Michael Pollan, I have given my food considerably more thought. I am positively giddy in the early summer when the fresh fruits and vegetables hit the shelves. But my joy has been lackluster of late. I cringe when I see sixteen inch cucumbers and squash, two pound tomatoes and blueberries the size of nickels. I am disgusted at cucumbers so waxed that they stick to my hands when I pick them up like flypaper. I have to admit that I am a fruit aisle forager. I can zip the bag, fold it over and hide it under my bread from myself. But, by isle three I am pulling it out to taste the grapes, blueberries or cherries. Yes, I know that they aren't washed yet. I rub the heck out of them before I toss them in my mouth. It's not like I eat a pound of them before I hit the register. I just don't want to get home and throw a tasteless bag of grapes away.
Some of the labeling options we have to choose from these days are ridiculous. They tout the appealing and disguise the disturbing. Maybe the antonyms are not so alluring on the packaging? Free Range as opposed to caged up and never seen sunlight? Organic as to Un-organic? Natural as to un-natural? Minimally Processed as to overly processed? No growth hormones added as to growth hormones added? Injected with 20% solution as to non-invaded meat?
We shouldn't have to choose to go to a whole foods or natural food store. But what is more disturbing to me is the fact that what we can or cannot eat is directly related to our income. Can I afford the twelve dollar organic chicken from Whole Foods this week? Or do I get the Bi-Lo on sale for 79 cents per pound? I have been interested for years in eating healthier less processed and more natural foods, but it does bother me that what I purchase for my family is determined by my paycheck.

Nothin Could Be Finer~ Renae Brabham

I was flying out of the door with a backwards glance at the clock. Darn, forgot my "Go to heck hat." Oh well. Some things God is a stickler about and sunrise is one of them. Crossing the bridge to the Isle of Palms in haste, I looked out over the creeks and marshes red with the glow from the sun that hadn't peeked over the sea yet. I almost punched the gas but realized that I would be miss the subtle pink and blue hues that bring on the brilliance of that big orange ball in the sky.

I made it a full minute ahead of the peekaboo line of fire inching it's way over the dark depths of the Atlantic. Seconds ticked by as it tocked above the starting line. Dark bulky shadows on the beach now reveal themselves as couples sitting side by side in the sand. Dogs sit loyally by their master's, anxiously awaiting the moment their owner picks up the Frisbee or ball. Seagulls and Crows patter nervously back and forth, hovering near the bubbling caves in the sand, anticipating their morning meal of hermit crabs. Heron and geese flew over. Waves paid the sunrise no attention whatsoever.
I was now able to see where to walk across the expansive water pressed sand. Dead low tide made it a nice long walk to the shore line. My feet crunch the backwash of the sea. Thousands of tiny shells are crackling beneath my feet. I realize for the thousandth time in my life that I have issues. Who feels sorry for the tiny seashells? Me. I blame it on my Field Guide to Shells of North America. I never thought of shells as having lips and eyeballs. Most do. I almost tripped over a pile of sandy,wet clothes and tennis shoes. The surf consumed them sometime during the night,they were iced in heavy wet sand. The owner naked and shoeless somewhere. A fisherman in a beach chair, gave the appropriate respect to the glory of sunrise,then purposely walked into the surf to cast his line as the first fisherman of the day. The same fisherman walked back within minutes to get more bait, the fish wins. First to eat breakfast.
I stood in awe of the beautiful sunrise and thanked my maker. Turning to walk back to the boardwalk, a pile of Conkle Shells beckoned me. And there it was! One year and one month of walking the beach here and I finally found my first whole Sand Dollar! My bowl of shells at home contains the Sand Quarters I had previously found. I look back at the horizon a few times from the boardwalk, not really wanting to leave, but the day presses on.
I pass a glass storefront window on the boardwalk and was horrified at my reflection. I tried to beat the Kramer-like pile of fuzz on my head down. I pulled out of the beach parking area and behind an old truck onto the IOP connector. The man driving slows to look out over the inlets as we cross the bridge. There is a messy red head sitting beside him in the passenger seat. I am relieved a little that I'm not the only one with a brillo pad for hair this morning. A mile or two up, the road splits into two lanes, the truck goes into the left lane at the stop light. I stay in the right. I look over and what I thought was a messy headed red-headed woman, is a beach soaked Red Retriever! I am sure I looked like a idiot, a laughing frizzy headed mess at that light. What a wonderful morning!!

At Odds With The Animal Kingdom~ Renae Brabham

Although I was only 6 years old, I remember this day vividly. I was enamored by the greenness of the earth, blown away by the expansive terrain and surprised that more existed than what I had seen out of the tall windows of the snowed in Brownstone house we just left in Chicago. We were on a road trip as we moved to the tiny coastal town of Davis near the Outer Banks from Chicago, Illinois. I was fogging the glass of the big Buick tuning out the clamor of my brother and sister beside me. Herman and the Hermits were singing "I'm Henry the Eighth I am" on the radio. I felt so small and insignifigant, yet totally important simultaneously. It was the first time that I knew that I wasn't in charge of a darn thing and the person that was, well he was smiling above those clouds. He knew I was in for one hell of a ride. Somewhere in the foothills of the mountains we stopped at a roadside tourist attraction. Mom put money in a bubble gum type of machine and food poured out into a pan. We slid the pan under the grate of an iron enclosure that led down from the mountain side. Wild black bears sauntered down to eat. One bear sat on his butt and stuck his furry paw through the iron rail, motioning with his hand for me to come back as we left. The only animals I could remember having seen before were monkeys with red behinds and giraffes inside fenced enclosures at the the Chicago zoo. That first summer on the coast across from Ocracoke was an experience to say the least. It was here that I realized for the first time I was at odds with the animal kingdom. The first day we moved into the little white house I was stung by a wasp as I stuck my arm into a heavy laden fig bush. The onslaught of that summer included; Red ants, crabs, flopping fish, Poison Ivy, mosquitoes, lizards and crabs, no see-ums, wish I hadn't seen ums, green flies, ticks.... And there it began. Animals, insects, reptiles, it's not that they dislike me. They want to get closer to me than they do other people. Like real close.

• I've locked eyeballs with a bobcat while picking wild plums on a dirt road in Dorchester, SC
• Had a paralyzing staredown with a huge python in a deserted hurricane demolished lot in Gulfport, Miss. while blackberry picking. He was probably a pet rendered homeless when Hurricane Camille devastated that coast and had lived in the undisturbed undergrowth for the 7 years since.
• Froze in my tracks as a huge buck broke through the woods one day in NC. He rushed by me with a respectful stare that told me "Don't move and you'll be alright." I felt the breeze of his speed on my arms and legs as he flew by.
• Coyotes slinking curiously around the perimeter of my yard questioned my allowance with darting untrusting eyes.
• Oh, there was that alligator that tried to tip my jon boat over in a swampy Dorchester, SC pond while fishing for bream.
• And mercifully, there was that truce with a skunk I surprised while gardening in NC.

I could fill a book with categorical experiences on fishing, snakes, spiders, animals and just weird stuff. All the while, I crave normalcy and peace with the creatures of the world. Then came the day when I crossed over. Over to the dark side. It was bound to happen. Four kids, two boys and two girls. This usually means at some point and time a varmit is going to become a pet. Hence my youngest daughters hamster. She kept him in his cage in the bedroom she shared with her sister. It was around midnight and the household was sound asleep. I was awakened as something large and furry crawled across my neck and wedged next to my ear. I grabbed a fistful of fur and slung it onto the wall screaming. Lights came on throughout the house as four sleepy children and a husband filled the room to watch a hamster take his last breath. Now there were seven rooms in this house and six people to choose from. Really? Why me? No sympathy for mom though, just murderous accusing stares. I apologize and promise to buy my daughter another hamster. We get another and this one is a cyclist. Exercising fool. He spins on that wheel all the time. In a better world, he could have been the lab prototype for the "Spin Craze." It's clicking and squealing wheel became a torture drip to everyone in the house. After a particularly loud evening I lay in bed unable to sleep. I crept down the hall and into my daughters' room and quietly exit out with the cage. I place it in a closet so I wouldn't hear the clanging. The next morning, we get up running. I totally forgot that the hamster was in closet. As I walked into the door from work that evening my daughter wanted to know where her hamster was. I open the closet door to get the cage and froze. The hamster is still and lying on the wheel. Jesus, I killed another one. He apparently didn't know when daylight came and his nocturnal drive had him running all night. Another burial. I am labeled a repeat offender. Please don’t call PETA on me. Lord knows that I don't want to hurt them I would just like to be on RSVP basis with them. I have redeemed myself with varmits. A guinea pig we purchased for our grandbaby lived beyond it's expected years and presumably is in that Hamster exercise ball in the sky.
But, I am reminded once again recently that I will never escape the onslaught of the animal kingdom. The little green lizards. Everyone tells me of their sweet co-existence with these green snakes with legs. They pass each other along life's by-ways and hi-ways. Not here. Case in point. I go to the pool one morning. Lather up, tuck in, pull out and stretch out. I pull out my magazine and a flash of green from afar catches my eye. Across the pool deck at least 30 feet away, a lizard with intent scrambles down a post and hits the deck running. I look around me and there is no one in it's path but me. I pull up and it is still charging. When it is about to reach my chair I swat out with my magazine. Does it run away? No! It scampers stealthily beneath another chair and watches me ease back down into my laid back position. Then what does it do? It charges me again. I jump up and run the dang thing across the deck. It stands firm at the edge of the deck next to the pond, blowing bubbles at me defiantly. I flick it into the water with the magazine. For the next hour I can't think of a thing but that thing swimming up behind me for a flank attack. Yes, as long as I am breathing they are going to find me. June bugs that fly into my shirt at ball games, Bumble Bee's that make me say potty words at church cookouts, Palmetto bugs that decide they best place for them to fly and land is the middle of my forehead. I type this as I am listening to a chorus of frogs outside of my patio. I think they are singing " Why can't we be friends?" I answer, "We can, just send me a friend request"

Just Go With It!

Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination ~ Mark Twain


I was thinking..and then I stopped.  And this is more fun! 

Seek goodness everywhere, and when it is found, bring it out of its hiding place and let it be free and unashamed~ William Saroyan

“To begin to think with purpose is to enter the ranks of those strong ones who only recognize failure as one of the pathways to attainment.” — James Allen