January
The Piddling Pond
Homeschool Helpers Newsletter
Issue #359 - December 29, 2017
By Dan L. White
Some days are just tailor made for a walk. Before this recent cold snap, one was and I did.
And at the end of that walk, I passed an impromptu pond that had popped up overnight. Actually it was just a piddling puddle about a dozen feet round, where the water from a recent rain drained into a swale. But to the score of birds bathing in it, it was the Riviera. Owing to my ornithological ignorance, I don’t know what kind of birds they were. They were just medium size birds, dark color, fast flyers, bustling bathers. Oh, yes, and here and there a blazing cardinal dipped in, just to show off. Even I could recognize him.
Autumn was been exceptionally dry in the Arkansas River valley, with burn bans, and wildfires from those who spurned the burn ban. So two days of medium rains were more than welcome to the people, the plants and those birds. The winged marvels flew down and filled the whole puddle, splashing and dipping in the impromptu pond as if they hadn’t bathed for weeks. The water depth, or lack of depth, was perfect for them, because they could stand in its shallows, dip their feathers and then shimmy and shake water all over the place and each other. The piddling puddle pulsated with the happy birds, splashing and laughing.
Yes, I’m sure they were laughing.
On this walk, the mid-December air was sixty degrees warm and the clouds from the rains were delightfully dissipating, leaving a bright blue sky behind them as they faded away. The air smelled wet and warm, and a tiny bit of breeze barely nudged the cedar limbs, all of which dangled with heavy drops of sunlit water, sparkling with an unelectrified glow. The bare ground squished a little, not enough to be mud, just enough to know that life-giving water had again returned to the earth.
As I first left the yard, I stepped off the still greenish grass and trod onto the pavement, which resembled a two lane road because of a painted yellow line in the middle, but with no white lines on the side for lack of room. I passed the house and a stand of trees until I was by the hay fields, with an open view. Both to the north and south of the wide Arkansas River valley, hills rise and border the valley for miles and miles. The difference in temperature between those hills and this valley is often about ten degrees, good in summer, less so in winter. They’re not high hills, maybe a couple thousand feet elevation, but when you’re starting at only a few hundred feet, they’re still hills. Sometimes the clouds hang on those hills and leave the valley open, but this day the clouds did not hang heavy. They were just pleasantly
puffy, not dark gray but merrily outlined in white from the ascendant sun. If clouds could smile, these did.
I did, too. No one was with me, no conversation to laugh at, but I smiled to myself.
And myself smiled right back.
I did notice one thing, though, that disturbed me. As I walked in this glorious creation on this warm, wonderful morn, through this picturesque valley left after Noah’s flood, I found myself –
Looking down.
I was walking on pavement, not on clumpy grass. I faced traffic, but the only traffic was one car ambling along, the driver waving at me as he passed. There was really no chance of me tripping on the road because there was nothing to trip over. I did not have to spy the pavement to find my way. And unlike dancing, I did not have to eyeball my feet to have them go where they needed to. In spite of all that, I walked head down, seeing only the pavement and missing the fields, the hills, the clouds and the encroaching blue sky.
Then I had an idea.
I looked up.
I lifted my gaze and instead of seeing just my feet, I saw the Head of the universe, surrounded by all that He made, and ended my walk by the piddling pond with the bevy of birds bathing.
Some days are just made for a walk. Maybe they all are.
Leisure
by William Henry Davies, 1911
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
"The first gulp from the glass of natural sciences will make you an atheist, but at the bottom of the glass God is waiting for you."
~Werner Heisenberg, father of Quantum Physics
Look Up by Cynthia Saladin
My labs are now twelve years old. They both have torn ACLs, which don’t seem to cause them any pain. It just makes them slower. They both have noticeable cataracts, especially Velvet who runs into things now quite frequently. But in this season of their lives, an amazing thing has happened. Their primary focus is no longer the squirrels to chase or the smells to investigate. They just want to be near me. That means when I go outside and call them, they come. Long gone are the days when they would lift their head to see if what I wanted was more important than what they’re doing. Gone are the days when they would disappear for a couple of hours, exploring who knows where. These days they poke around the barn and the trees close to the house, and then they take up their watchful positions on the front porch, content to be together.
This is not what I would really want for them. I miss those days when I could let them out and in 5 seconds they’d be out of sight. I miss the days when they were young and spry and full of youthful enthusiasm. But God is using them to teach me something again.
I can’t help but think about the young person who knows that perhaps they’re not making the best choice, that it’s not really the direction God would have them to go. But much like my younger labs, I was willing to postpone what was pleasing to God in lieu of chasing the equivalent of squirrels, my own idea of fun in those days. But as I get older and experience more problems and trouble, I find myself desiring just to be with God, in His word, thinking about His ways and what pleases Him.
I like Dan White’s article from December 2017 because it’s another analogy to express the same thing. We too often spend our time looking down, looking at our world, our agenda, our squirrels to chase. What we really need to do is to look up, focus on what pleases God, and seek to follow His direction for our lives, regardless of the troubles and sorrows.
This world is not our home. And we can’t live like it is. We can’t spend our time acting as if this is all there is., as if this were the goal. We are given this time, as a gift from God, to become His Bride, to be prepared for what comes next, and to share His light with the people around us. We can’t get so distracted by this life, with its pain and trouble, that our light grows dim. Or as Kent Hovind used to say, You can’t be “so earthly minded that you’re no heavenly good.”
Or perhaps you want it expressed in song:
Lift up your head. Redemption draweth nigh.
To the hills I’ll lift my eyes. Ah from whence shall come my help. My help comes from the LORD, maker of heaven and earth.
The turning of the calendar from 2019 to 2020 is not God’s calendar. But it is still another marker in the passage of time. It’s also a really good opportunity to evaluate where we are, where we’re going, and take some necessary steps to refocus our eyes on the Master. God can use all of what we’re experiencing in our education as disciples, in our purification as the Bride of Christ, in our sanctification as the people of God.
Just saying:
Ban pre-shredded cheese. Make America grate again.
The first five days after the weekend are the hardest.
I child proofed my house, but the kids still get in.
The past, present, and future walk into a bar. It was tense.
They’re not going to make yardsticks any longer.
I checked into the hokey pokey clinic and turned myself around.
What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
Went to the air and space museum, but there was nothing there.
Frog parking only; all others will be toad.
If your car is running, I’m voting for it.
If you think education is costly, try ignorance.
The Piddling Pond
Homeschool Helpers Newsletter
Issue #359 - December 29, 2017
By Dan L. White
Some days are just tailor made for a walk. Before this recent cold snap, one was and I did.
And at the end of that walk, I passed an impromptu pond that had popped up overnight. Actually it was just a piddling puddle about a dozen feet round, where the water from a recent rain drained into a swale. But to the score of birds bathing in it, it was the Riviera. Owing to my ornithological ignorance, I don’t know what kind of birds they were. They were just medium size birds, dark color, fast flyers, bustling bathers. Oh, yes, and here and there a blazing cardinal dipped in, just to show off. Even I could recognize him.
Autumn was been exceptionally dry in the Arkansas River valley, with burn bans, and wildfires from those who spurned the burn ban. So two days of medium rains were more than welcome to the people, the plants and those birds. The winged marvels flew down and filled the whole puddle, splashing and dipping in the impromptu pond as if they hadn’t bathed for weeks. The water depth, or lack of depth, was perfect for them, because they could stand in its shallows, dip their feathers and then shimmy and shake water all over the place and each other. The piddling puddle pulsated with the happy birds, splashing and laughing.
Yes, I’m sure they were laughing.
On this walk, the mid-December air was sixty degrees warm and the clouds from the rains were delightfully dissipating, leaving a bright blue sky behind them as they faded away. The air smelled wet and warm, and a tiny bit of breeze barely nudged the cedar limbs, all of which dangled with heavy drops of sunlit water, sparkling with an unelectrified glow. The bare ground squished a little, not enough to be mud, just enough to know that life-giving water had again returned to the earth.
As I first left the yard, I stepped off the still greenish grass and trod onto the pavement, which resembled a two lane road because of a painted yellow line in the middle, but with no white lines on the side for lack of room. I passed the house and a stand of trees until I was by the hay fields, with an open view. Both to the north and south of the wide Arkansas River valley, hills rise and border the valley for miles and miles. The difference in temperature between those hills and this valley is often about ten degrees, good in summer, less so in winter. They’re not high hills, maybe a couple thousand feet elevation, but when you’re starting at only a few hundred feet, they’re still hills. Sometimes the clouds hang on those hills and leave the valley open, but this day the clouds did not hang heavy. They were just pleasantly
puffy, not dark gray but merrily outlined in white from the ascendant sun. If clouds could smile, these did.
I did, too. No one was with me, no conversation to laugh at, but I smiled to myself.
And myself smiled right back.
I did notice one thing, though, that disturbed me. As I walked in this glorious creation on this warm, wonderful morn, through this picturesque valley left after Noah’s flood, I found myself –
Looking down.
I was walking on pavement, not on clumpy grass. I faced traffic, but the only traffic was one car ambling along, the driver waving at me as he passed. There was really no chance of me tripping on the road because there was nothing to trip over. I did not have to spy the pavement to find my way. And unlike dancing, I did not have to eyeball my feet to have them go where they needed to. In spite of all that, I walked head down, seeing only the pavement and missing the fields, the hills, the clouds and the encroaching blue sky.
Then I had an idea.
I looked up.
I lifted my gaze and instead of seeing just my feet, I saw the Head of the universe, surrounded by all that He made, and ended my walk by the piddling pond with the bevy of birds bathing.
Some days are just made for a walk. Maybe they all are.
Leisure
by William Henry Davies, 1911
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
"The first gulp from the glass of natural sciences will make you an atheist, but at the bottom of the glass God is waiting for you."
~Werner Heisenberg, father of Quantum Physics
Look Up by Cynthia Saladin
My labs are now twelve years old. They both have torn ACLs, which don’t seem to cause them any pain. It just makes them slower. They both have noticeable cataracts, especially Velvet who runs into things now quite frequently. But in this season of their lives, an amazing thing has happened. Their primary focus is no longer the squirrels to chase or the smells to investigate. They just want to be near me. That means when I go outside and call them, they come. Long gone are the days when they would lift their head to see if what I wanted was more important than what they’re doing. Gone are the days when they would disappear for a couple of hours, exploring who knows where. These days they poke around the barn and the trees close to the house, and then they take up their watchful positions on the front porch, content to be together.
This is not what I would really want for them. I miss those days when I could let them out and in 5 seconds they’d be out of sight. I miss the days when they were young and spry and full of youthful enthusiasm. But God is using them to teach me something again.
I can’t help but think about the young person who knows that perhaps they’re not making the best choice, that it’s not really the direction God would have them to go. But much like my younger labs, I was willing to postpone what was pleasing to God in lieu of chasing the equivalent of squirrels, my own idea of fun in those days. But as I get older and experience more problems and trouble, I find myself desiring just to be with God, in His word, thinking about His ways and what pleases Him.
I like Dan White’s article from December 2017 because it’s another analogy to express the same thing. We too often spend our time looking down, looking at our world, our agenda, our squirrels to chase. What we really need to do is to look up, focus on what pleases God, and seek to follow His direction for our lives, regardless of the troubles and sorrows.
This world is not our home. And we can’t live like it is. We can’t spend our time acting as if this is all there is., as if this were the goal. We are given this time, as a gift from God, to become His Bride, to be prepared for what comes next, and to share His light with the people around us. We can’t get so distracted by this life, with its pain and trouble, that our light grows dim. Or as Kent Hovind used to say, You can’t be “so earthly minded that you’re no heavenly good.”
Or perhaps you want it expressed in song:
Lift up your head. Redemption draweth nigh.
To the hills I’ll lift my eyes. Ah from whence shall come my help. My help comes from the LORD, maker of heaven and earth.
The turning of the calendar from 2019 to 2020 is not God’s calendar. But it is still another marker in the passage of time. It’s also a really good opportunity to evaluate where we are, where we’re going, and take some necessary steps to refocus our eyes on the Master. God can use all of what we’re experiencing in our education as disciples, in our purification as the Bride of Christ, in our sanctification as the people of God.
Just saying:
Ban pre-shredded cheese. Make America grate again.
The first five days after the weekend are the hardest.
I child proofed my house, but the kids still get in.
The past, present, and future walk into a bar. It was tense.
They’re not going to make yardsticks any longer.
I checked into the hokey pokey clinic and turned myself around.
What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
Went to the air and space museum, but there was nothing there.
Frog parking only; all others will be toad.
If your car is running, I’m voting for it.
If you think education is costly, try ignorance.
