The lighter side....

I feel that I have been unduly "deep" for the last little bit so thought I would do my best to give you a laugh, a hoot or a giggle to lift up your day. The following is a true story from our family memory catalog. Some of you may even remember the incident. 

There are times in life when your children go over and above to show love and devotion to their parents. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it creates a special memory.

Once upon a time, I had a little bird, a green Quaker Parrot. The kids had cats and fish and rats and dogs, but I had a bird. A bird who could talk. He was all mine. He ruled the roost, quite literally. The kids, dogs and cats all had great respect for this little eight inch dynamo. He rode around on my shoulder while I was working in the house or watching television. And, yes, I actually had a “poop sweater” that I wore because it is virtually impossible to potty train a bird! And, on more than one occasion, I actually went to the store forgetting to take it off.

One cold, dark January night, I went outside to put the dogs to bed and forgot that my little green friend was on my shoulder. He took one look at the great outdoors and took flight. I was sick. I rounded up the kids and we walked the streets whistling his favorite song, “Do Your Ears Hang Low”. This is a true test of devotion from your teenagers. Oh, the humiliation of being seen by their friends walking the streets, whistling at the top of their lungs while searching for an unseen bird. Eventually we located him about 75 feet up in a huge tree in the neighbor’s yard. We called, threw things, tried climbing the tree but there was no way of getting to my bird. It was cold and dark, we were freezing, and we were fresh out of ideas.

At my wits end, I called the police department thinking they might have a ladder or other means to get up a tree. Thus the conversation goes. Me: “I have a parrot up a tree.” Dispatcher: “You have a carrot up a tree?” It went down hill after that. Eventually the police cruiser arrived, and then the second one, and eventually a third, all with their lights flashing. It must have been a slow night for the entire department to show up . . . or perhaps this was the most interesting call they had had in some time. One officer fingered his gun. They could get my bird out of the tree alright, but I probably wouldn’t like the condition in which he came down. REALLY! Not funny!

The next suggestion was to call the fire department. They have ladders, you know. Now I have three police cruisers (with their lights flashing) and a fire truck with its lights bouncing off the neighboring houses. Did I mention that these particular neighbors had a reputation for selling “unseemly, illegal items” out their back door? They arrived home in the midst of our little yard party and probably proceeded to flush all their profit down the toilet. It could have been a very costly night for them.

The fire department does have ladders, but as they explained ever so nicely to my teenage daughter, their ladders would not reach that high. My darling child reamed the fire chief up one side and down the other. I suspect they probably purchased a longer ladder the next day.

The only viable solution was to shoot him out of the tree with the fire hose. I can not make this stuff up, nobody would believe it. So they rolled out the hose the full length of the block, hooked it to the hydrant and proceeded to shoot my poor, frightened bird out of the tree. First shot unlocked his frozen feet from the branch, the second one hit him full force and he fluttered to the ground. I rushed over, stuffed him under my coat and ran for the house only to trip in the irrigation ditch and come crashing down on top of him. By now he was not only suffering from hypothermia and being blasted out of a tree by a water cannon, but he was sandwiched between my chest and the frozen ground.

I took him inside and thawed him out under the hot water faucet. The vet said to give him some honey. I did that and put him to bed figuring we’d have a funeral in the morning. But low and behold, by morning he was back to his old self, whistling “Do Your Ears Hang Low”. He promptly went to the birdie salon and got his wings clipped. One midnight escapade was enough!

The bird survived, the children were not seen by anyone who mattered, and life went on. But the memory will remain in the annals of our family lore forever.

It was a happy ending. And he provided joy and entertainment for another 6-7 years before he packed his little birdie suitcase and left home for good. Another amazing escape from which he never returned.

Just Writin' on the River Road

Same Kind of Different

 I read a lot. All sorts of things, to learn, to relax, to expand my horizon, to have fun. And while I enjoy most of the books, there are only a handful that stick with me for all time. It is generally because the story hits a chord in my life, it makes me think, it changes me.

One such book is A Same Kind of Different As Me by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. I read it years ago and was impacted by this true story of love, grace, mercy and faith. It has been made into a movie but the film does not have the impact of the book. I really can't explain the story to you for it is so simple that it is complex. It is gut-wrenching, painful, healing and filled with faith. I would recommend it for the story is ever so impactful right now with our country being torn apart by violence.

We are all different. Each one of us is a unique individual, just like our fingerprint. No two are exactly alike.  Isn't that incredible? We can mass produce almost anything, but only God created life is one of a kind.  Some of us are roses, some are zinnias, some groundcover . . . but all of us are needed to make this world a whole. Even weeds serve a purpose. Their roots bind the soil so it doesn't erode. So why is is so hard to accept the fact that it is okay to be different?

We can, and do, judge at the drop of a hat. I can easily judge your sin as long as it isn't the same as mine. If you enter into my world, you are treading on thin ice. I like my sin and probably don't want you messin' with it. You laugh, but isn't it the truth? There is judgement on the obvious levels . . . race, sex, work, etc. Those are differences that everyone is aware of. But what about "my sin"?  I don't want you to judge that because I don't see it as bad as your sin.

Worthiness.  This is a word that I have struggled with for my entire life. I never felt worthy in relationships, in employment, even within myself. It wasn't until I realize that if I was not "worthy" then Christ's death on the cross was pointless. That was a slap across my face. It changed the way I thought about myself and others. I may not agree with you or share your belief or walk in your shoes but that doesn't make either of us unworthy.

So what can I do with this epiphany? I never thought of myself as judgmental, but I am. We all are. It is part of our human condition. Do you know where my judgment did the most damage? In my own life! My own judgement has done the most damage to me. It kept me from living life to the fullest, from using the gifts I had been given and becoming all that God intended me to be. If we can accept that we are worthy, then we can shoot for the moon  . . . .if we miss, we can hang on a star. We can accomplish our dreams, fulfill our desires; we can operate without fear.  What excruciating freedom there in that!!  Freedom from fear. It looses our chains, it cuts the baggage rope, it gives us wings to fly!

None of this is to say that circumstances can't circumvent some of our dreams. But if I am worthy, then I will find a way around this obstacle and keep going.  You are worthy!  We all are.  We need to accept that one fact, step off the cliff, spread our wings and FLY!

Just Writin' on the River Road