My Learning Curve

Saturday, July 16, 2016

“A Quick Thrust of Trust"

The title of this post is a quote from Sarah Johnson’s book, Jesus Calling. I’m a sucker for alliterative phrases and this one caught my eye as I read her Biblical nudges recently.

The whole idea of trusting Jesus every second of your life is, as Johnson points out, not a suggestion, but rather a command. (“Don’t worry about tomorrow” Matthew 6:14). I love the idea of how God created Time from the very beginning—you can check out Genesis 1 re: Day and Night-- and in addition, for we obsesive Westerners in the 21^st century, He has even divided Time into hours, minutes, seconds (and you can carry this further if you so wish).

All of this discussion about our lifetime and worry boils down to the idea of Jesus and His strength and grace being able to safeguard us moment by moment. But He’s not going to show us any more of the future than the moment we are living in right now. Think of it as a protective shield. Don’t we worry enough about the future moments as it is? What if we really knew the future moments of our lives on earth? Talk about the worry factor escalating through the roof!

As I mused on God’s moment by moment there- ness (Presence), I was reminded of the time when the children of Israel were wandering in the desert for those 40 years. God, in His mercy and grace, didn’t kill off His disobedient children immediately (just let natural attrition do it), but instead, He sent manna from heaven—every day—just enough for each family for that day. The rule was if you gathered more than you needed, you discovered the excess amount had rotted. And, when the Sabbath day came around (see how Time is already in use?), adequate manna appeared to feed your family for two days because no one was supposed to work on the Sabbath.

Jesus personally told His disciples as well as teaching the crowds who gathered around Him, not to worry—about anything. It won’t “add to your stature”, i.e., make you taller, more attractive, or wealthier (Matthew, chapter 6). He is capable of taking care of our needs and we may be surprised at how many desires He will also fulfill. All because He loves us. That kind of love makes it easy to trust Him--with all of our moments

Sunday, July 10, 2016

As Time Goes By

That title heads a lovely classic song made popular in the 1942 movie, “Casablanca.” The song is now the theme song for a British romantic comedy series first televised in the 1990’s starring Judy Dench. Dean and I enjoyed watching the show because it mirrors family life complete with adult children, etc. Our PBS station re-airs the series often and I love to watch it repeatedly as I catch one-liners I missed previously because of the British accents and my poor hearingJ

I'm waxing nostalgic because the month of July deals with such things—my birthday—completing one year and beginning a new one, and Dean’s graduation to a new life when he left Planet Earth and got to meet the Lord and be reunited with many loved ones and friends.

To celebrate my birthday and Dean’s “graduation,” my boys and I decided to spend the July 4^th weekend in Rawlins, Wyoming, the town Dean considered his hometown. Rawlins was literally Brian’s hometown because he was born there and Jeff was only nine months old when we moved there in 1972.

We tried to go, do, or see the things our family typically enjoyed during our years in Rawlins, 1972-1983. Friday afternoon we picked Jeff up at the Salt Lake City Airport and stayed the night in Evanston, WY. Saturday, we got to Rawlins, bought some silk flowers and a little American flag and put them at the gravesite of Dean and Mom and Dad Diehl.

We drove out to Bairoil, the (formerly, Sinclair) oil camp whene both Dean and his dad had worked as well as driving by our old neighborhoods (we lived in two different houses during our stay in Rawlins).

Aspen Alley

Belinda "riding" her log pony

Dean’s sister, Belinda and her husband, daughter and friend met us for the weekend which increased the enjoyment. We walked around the town, looking at the interesting architecture and then on Sunday we drove south of Rawlins to what is known as Aspen Alley and picnicked in the mountains above Encampment.

After lunch we drove down the other side of the mountain and toured the Encampment Museum guided by a very knowledgeable young lady.

Jeff & Gidget-2 story Outhouse

A Forest Ranger tower has been moved to the museum grounds so most of our group (I had to hold GidgetJ climbed the 75 steps up—and the 75 steps down. Since most of them looked a little green when they got back to terra firma, I was glad I had been the designated dog-holder.

To get back to Rawlins from Encampment without backtracking you have to go through Saratoga and it was a beautiful drive. It’s the Platte Valley with beautiful ranchlands—very easy on the eyes. The one thing we did not do as we headed out of Saratoga was go agate hunting which was a favorite weekend pastime for our family when the boys were little.

We had to travel back on July 4 so headed for Salt Lake City after a leisurely breakfast so Jeff could catch his plane back to Fort Worth. Brian and I got home before dark, all of us grateful to have travelled safely and glad to be home. I just finished reading Big Tiny by Dee Williams and this quote from her book is a perfect closing to this blog post: "...home was still the place we all fell asleep, even if some of us were missing.”

As Time Goes By

Aspen Alley

Belinda "riding" her log pony

After lunch we drove down the other side of the mountain and toured the Encampment Museum guided by a very knowledgeable young lady.

Jeff & Gidget-2 story Outhouse

Friday, June 24, 2016

Cousinhood Connections

As often happens when I get up in the morning, sipping my first cup of coffee and feeling my brain cells stretching and yawning, I sit and stare somewhat mindlessly at my fireplace and surrounding bookcases. Not that there’s any reason to sit and stare at them. It just gives my eyes a place to rest at that particular time.

I’m very grateful for the luxury during these retirement years to leisurely sit and slowly wake up as, unlike my husband Dean, who was wide awake and energized the moment he sat up in bed and then touched his feet to the floor, I find it almost painful if I must rush through that first cup of coffee.

At any rate, I digress. One of the abovementioned leisurely mornings last week, I was sitting there thinking about my mom and dad, and in particular, Mom's cousin—and then my cousins—and then my sons’ cousins. The question that surfaced in my mind was description of relational levels.

Using my mother for an example: she was the eldest grandchild on both sides of her family, her maternal side of the family consisting only of she and her younger sister as grandchildren. No first cousins there. However, on her father’s side, he had two siblings with progeny.

Thus appeared my first question: were my mother’s first cousins my second cousins or were they my first cousins, once removed? And what degree of cousinhood were the children of my mother’s first cousins to her? And to me?

Googling “cousinhood degrees” I clicked on a promising-looking link and read what was, to me at least, a rational answer to my question. Family Tree Magazine posted this statement, “All cousins share a common ancestor.” So you figure out your relationship from that common ancestor.

My mother and her first cousin, Virginia Lee shared common ancestors, namely their grandparents

The cousinly “removes” enter the picture when two relatives don’t have the same number of generations between them and their most recent common ancestor. One generation difference equals one remove.

Therefore, my mother’s first cousin, Virginia, is my first cousin, once removed since I’m one generation further distant from our common ancestor (her grandparents). However, Virginia’s son, Larry, is my second cousin because we are an equal number of generations distant from our common ancestors, Virginia’s and my mother’s grandparents.

I am probably the only one out there who has been confused on this issue. If that’s the case, go ahead and feel superiorJ

If we go back into ancestral lines far enough, we are all related. And as far as God’s family is concerned, we don’t have to go back as far as cousins. By accepting what Christ did on the cross and through His resurrection, we no longer need be under the curse of our sins and ensuring death. Acceptance of His gift of salvation puts us into the family of God—that means we have lots of brothers and sisters. (Who needs cousins?)

Friday, June 10, 2016

The Crossroad

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood….” I love this poem by Robert Frost although a divergent road doesn’t quite fit my story—it’s just sounds more romantic.

From fifth grade through college graduation, my life’s path was aimed at the goal of teaching and more specifically, teaching music. I was born and raised in the Missouri and spent my first year of teaching in Illinois. That spring my Chinese college roommate asked me to be maid of honor at her wedding in California. I had no inkling at the time, but a major crossroad was soon to appear in my journey.

After the wedding, I flew back only as far as Wyoming since I planned to visit another college roommate, Ruthie, who was home there for the summer. And it so happened that Ruthie had an older brother. Older brother drove 120 miles to the Rock Springs airport in his powder-blue MGB (along with his sister) to pick me up. That first meeting piqued my interest and the week I had planned to stay in Wyoming soon moved past seven days. I even began getting calls from my mom asking when I planned to return homeJ

Three weeks later I arrived back in Missouri, sensing a major life change was in the offing. But I had signed a contract to teach another year at the school in Illinois so Dean (the older brother), made plans to come to Missouri at least a couple of times during the school year to visit. In the meantime, many letters crossed the western plains (there was no e-mail or FaceBook in those days).

The crossroad appeared when I received a phone call from a school superintendant, a friend of Dean’s family, who was moving to a new school and needed a music teacher. I told him I’d already signed a contract with the school in Illinois and he urged me to ask for a release. I doubted my chances because both my principal and superintendant had retired at the end of the school year so I doubted I would have anyone sympathetic to my desire to move West (and see more of Dean).

Now came the decision. What if the Illinois school board released me from my contract? Did I have the intestinal fortitude to move to Wyoming to teach on an Indian reservation under a supervisor I’d never met? Dean and his folks lived 120 miles from where I would be teaching, so I would essentially be living among strangers. Dare I make a drastic turn at this crossroad or continue on the straight path I was on?

I wrote to the school board of the school in Illinois and within a couple of weeks I received a reply from them releasing me from my contract. And my decision was made.

There have been many divergences from the major direction change I took at that crossroad—some were planned, some were surprises. They would include marriage, children, major illnesses, financial disaster/well-being, and widowhood. Career changes would move me from public school music teaching to private studio teaching to secretarial/bookkeeping positions and then retiring to write.

How many of these paths/life changes might have transpired if I hadn’t met Dean and moved West at that crossroad? I don’t know. But I married a wonderful man, have two loving sons and have enjoyed multiple experiences, making many friends during this journey. I have no regrets about that crossroad decision and can say at this point, “that has made all the difference.”

Friday, May 13, 2016

The Flowers That Bloom in the Spring…

In thinking about a title for this post, the Gilbert and Sullivan ditty from “The Mikado” came to mind—“The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la, breathe promise of merry sunshine.” We have had enough moisture plus warm days to bring out the blooms in my front flower garden. The irises appear to be blooming their utmost and before those buds appeared. the tulips did their thing.

The earliest tulips were a cheerful, bright red-orange. But I had a pleasant surprise after our last snow-rain to see two sturdy tulips, this time in a cool lavender hue. They lasted for a week on my dining room table and you can see by the second photograph, the sad demise of the first one.

My friend/accountability partner and I are memorizing Psalm 103 and verses 15 and 16 came up to be memorized about the time my tulips bloomed and then slowly died. The verses read as follows: “As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.” (NIV)

The lesson I got from my tulips along with the verses we were memorizing is this:

1) I know my next breath isn’t guaranteed, so I need to cooperate with the Lord in the way I use each of the remaining minutes He allows.

2) I don’t know how long my family and friends are going to be left on this planet so I need to let them know I love and appreciate them. And see that I do that more than once a yearJ

Obviously there are verses surrounding the ones I mentioned above and the psalmist (and God) doesn’t leave us on a negative note as we can see in verse 17 of Psalm 103: “But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children’s children—“

My flowers give me joy and I can thank the Lord for them. You, my friends and family also give me joy and I love you. May I ever be aware of opportunities to say so and thank the Lord for you.

Friday, April 22, 2016

A Natural Wonder

After completing my morning regimen, I turned on my computer today and discovered it is Earth Day. I had been considering the following item as a blog post so this seems the perfect day to do so.

As I was listening to NPR several weeks ago on the way to a meeting, a fellow was being interviewed about a “boiling river” he had discovered (not as in being the first to see it, but as a new geographical feature to him—and many others).

I wasn’t taking notes as I listened, naturally, so later I did a search on the internet in hopes of finding further information on this “boiling river.” Bingo! It popped right up on my computer screen.

A young Peruvian geoscientist, Andres Ruzo, had been fascinated about the myth of a boiling river since he was a child. But it wasn’t until he began writing his PhD thesis on geothermal potential in Peru that he began to wonder if such a thing was possible. All the experts told him that hot rivers exist but they are somehow connected with volcanoes. There are no volcanoes in the area Ruzo hailed from.

In 2011 Ruzo hiked into the Amazon forest with his aunt. She and his mother claimed they had actually swam in a portion of the boiling river as youngsters (obviously not the hottest part). When Ruzo arrived, he saw a river rising with steam, so he whipped out his thermometer and took its temperatureJ It was 86 degrees Celsius—not quite boiling but definitely hot enough to cook.

Thermal pools in other parts of the world get to this temperature, but he witnessed a huge area at that heat—25 meters wide, 6 meters deep, extending for 6.24 km. (When you translate that to US measurements that is roughly 75 feet wide, 18 feet deep, extending maybe 3-4 miles) I’m not sure of my conversion figures but that is a lot of hot water.

The river is 700 km from the closest volcanic system so Ruzo wanted to discover the mysterious source of this boiling river. He got permission from the local

Shaman to study the river and its ecosystem. He discovered the hot water comes from fault-fed hot springs. Here’s the example given: “Imagine Earth like a human body, with fault lines and cracks running through it like arteries. These ‘Earth arteries’ are filled with hot water, and when they come to the surface, we see geothermal manifestations, like the boiling river.”

The river water was analyzed and was shown to have originally fallen to earth as rain. Ruzo hypothesized this happened far upstream and the rain water seeped down into the ground where it was heated up by Earth’s geothermal energy and then emerged as the boiling river.

The next statement in this article is totally fascinating. “This [hypothesis] means the system is part of an enormous hydrothermal system, the likes of which haven’t been seen anywhere else on the planet.”

Ruzo has researched the microbes living in the hot water and has discovered new species. As for swimming in the river, it can be done only after a heavy rainfall has diluted the hot water--personally, I wouldn’t want to chance it. Normally, the indigenous people use the hot water for brewing tea and cooking. (I wonder if some enterprising person has discovered how to pipe it into their home?)

That’s the science lesson for Earth Day 2016. Once again we see how wondrously our Creator has formed our world and everything in it.