Tag Archives: snow

by | January 18, 2016 · 10:00 pm

What’s Within…

We’ve hunkered down for the long cold spell ahead, or at least for the next couple images4DDAQKHDweeks. We are facing some of the harshest weather we’ll likely see all winter. Instinctively, we find comfort in the minute details, the planning, research and review of the past and future events.  Today, my daughter and I spent most of the day in the tiny office of the Trail doing just that. Sheltered by the warmth of the heater nearby, we worked independently of one another on separate projects. Every now and then we’d come up for air and share in the moment, sometimes joking, sometimes peeking at the other’s work.

Outside, the wind chill made the air feel like single digit temperatures.

Many places around the world share these cold, bone-chilling climates, we are not alone.

This time of year, in Triberg Germany, the ancient customs of long, bitter winters have created a global niche; the Coo-Coo Clock capital of the world. Forced to remain indoors for long periods of time in their tiny mountain chalets, the woodworkers of old would turn their talents inward, creating tiny cogs, wheels, and artifacts that would make amazingly entertaining timepieces. Through their one-of-a-kind artistry, their mountain traits, customs, and lifestyles would be portrayed in what they produced; all because they sought to stay warm within their remote mountaintop homes.

Outside I could see the wind blowing the tree branches. Part of me could almost feel the chill run up my spine. I shivered inwardly and returned to my work.

Inside, there was more than the physical warmth, it was a feeling of being with someone you loved, as any parent knows, the unconditional love of a father for his son or daughter. For a few moments today, we were back in the studio of my barn, painting, and drawing on our own artwork. Nearby, the old woodstove provided the woodsy aroma of fire along with the heat that kept the freezing winds outside at bay. My favorite painting music would be softly playing in the background; Alan Jackson, Gibson Brothers, Balsam Range, Mountain Heart, Dailey and Vincent and many more. Outside, in the barnyard, the cows would be working on the latest hay bale, and then finding a warm, comfortable spot to lie down and ruminate. A rooster would crow now and then to remind us of the world beyond as the wind might rattle a loose piece of tin to confirm.

Up in the studio, we’d lost track of time until either our stomachs would remind us of the hour or the day would turn into twilight and we’d have to find the lamps to turn in order to see. Someone would grab another log and pitch into the stove, maintaining the red-hot furnace in the corner of the room. We’d take little breaks and warm our backsides to the heat, waiting until you couldn’t stand it any longer then jumping away before your skin caught fire; a warmth that would reach down into your bones.

There was a gentleness to those memories; too far and few between to come to expect.  Rather, those were once in a great while treasures that were separated by long painful stretches of third shift work that tore my body and mind to pieces, leaving shards of my being along the rocky path. Sometimes, the mere thought of those precious memories were all that kept me going.

Thankfully, the long, arduous, painful stretches of third-shift are over. Once again, we are slowly finding time to be together to revisit those almost forgotten feelings of kindred spirit. Once again, I’m able to be the father that I almost wasn’t.

The Bible speaks of how we are to teach our children in the way, “You shall teach them to your children, speaking of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way when you lie down, and when you rise up.” -Deut. 11:19 But if when we are absent, they are left to seek Him of their own accord. Too many times, they become the victims of our best intentions; to make more money so that we can shower them with all their needs.

Sadly, we lose sight of what they need most, which is precisely what we fail to give them; ourselves.

We still await the sale of that farm and our precious studio loft in the barn.

Meanwhile, we take with us the most precious piece of that experience, …ourselves.

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by | December 11, 2013 · 2:14 am

Sled Hill

“The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”-John 10:10

As a child, I never understood why standing on top of Sled Hill and overlooking the trees, rooftops, and steeples in the tiny town of New Harmony made me feel as if I were somewhere else; somewhere in another place and time. Life would eventually lead me on a journey, led by the Master’s hand, to mountain tops beyond my wildest dreams, back to a beginning that no one knew. In those places, the grandeur of God’s majesty would take my breath away as He would open my mind to the Truth. It was as if back then, He was preparing me for the future, but it was beyond my comprehension, as it so often is. But before those magnificent peaks and that walk of faith came a humble beginning. Yet, even now in my mind’s eye, I can still see that view on a sunny day as clouds whisked overhead, throwing shadows that raced across the lush green pastures below that were sewn into a patchwork of squares that bordered the edge of town on the farm we knew as home. It was here on this hill, which to us was a mountain in those days, that the event of a lifetime would occur on a snowy day; quite unlike that bright sunny day, yet so full of wonder and awe that it would take a multitude of memories to contain it all.

Christmas was just around the corner, so everyone was anxious for our first snowfall of the season. The weather on that winter morn was gray and dull with clouds hanging so low it felt like you could reach up and touch them. The forecast was for a few inches of snow, but by noon, there was already a blanket of white so deep it covered everything around that old farmhouse there on the edge of town that sat just below Sled Hill. As the snowflakes fell like giant goose-down feathers, more and more family began to gather until the house couldn’t contain us all and at the suggestion of grandma, we lit out for Sled Hill with anything we could find that might act as a sled, including one real working sled. At that point, it was just us kids, out on an exploratory expedition. Looking back, grandma’s suggestion for us to go explore the sledding conditions were a perfect way to quiet the house and make more room for the adult family who had come to visit. For us kids, it was the perfect excuse to play in the snow. Either way, it would become soon become the stuff of legends.

I don’t know which of us tried to go down first, but by the time we reached halfway up the famous hill, the snow was so deep you couldn’t slide down easily without first making a trough. The initial attempts all met with crashes. It wasn’t until someone made a run nearly to the bottom of the hill that our luck began to change. It wasn’t long before the runs were stretching out into unbelievable lengths. Soon it was apparent that a report back to home base was necessary; this was going to be the sledding event of the century; Christmas had come early!

We went up and down that hill so many times that afternoon that we eventually became wore out and had to return back to the house for warmth and recuperation. If you knew us kids, you knew that for us to have to stop doing something that much fun was a clear indication of our exhaustion. As we retold of the excitement while sipping hot chocolate and eating grandma’s hot fresh homemade cookies, some of the adults had to go check it out for themselves. A few of us escorted them back to the hill, which was a good hike that went past the tractor barn, up the long lane that passed the garden at Ms. Wolfe’s house, past the backside of the Labyrinth, past the bullpens and eventually to the pasture gate at the far end. All along the lane were huge Catalpa trees that would provide an unending supply of fishing bait in the summertime from the worms that would fall off their leaves but now stood barren and dark as ominous figures that loomed overhead which stood as bulwarks against the snowstorm; one side becoming white as they too became part of the ever-increasing snow-scape. Once you reached the pasture gate, you had a good quarter mile to reach the base of the hill, that now stood silent and foreboding as the snow-covered sled run loomed white disappearing into the snowfall from above, becoming one in their obscurity of eyesight.

The report from our adult led expedition told of some of the best sledding conditions that they had ever seen in their lifetime. Our eyes nearly popped out of our heads at this exclamation. The wheels were soon put into motion for preparations for a night sled, something we children had never heard of nor thought of before. Grown men began to brainstorm, and the idea of putting torches along the sled run was thrown out. “And why not,” came a reply which soon put some of the creative minds in the family to work to build the home-made torches that soon lined the sled path before darkness had set in putting off a warming glow to the gleaming white ice that had begun to form on the trail to the top of the hill. I don’t know what we ate, nor when we ate, all I can recall to this day was sledding and sliding down the hill that loomed like a monolithic icicle in the night sky. The hill became so slick that the only way to get back to the top was to find footsteps on the side of the run that had been made before; otherwise, you’d find yourself sledding without a sled. By the end of the night, only the brave or fool hearty would slide from the top of the hill, so fast and slick was the ice. Those who did try found themselves becoming human torpedoes flying down the hill as their sleds raced ahead.

While we kids were climbing up and down the hill, a giant bonfire began to grow, where we would find ourselves warming our frozen extremities and finding hot dogs or other fire baked goodies to satisfy our hunger that had grown without our knowledge. As the faces of family and friends gathered around the blaze, we realized that when grandpa and grandma were also there gathered around that giant fire, this was the event of a lifetime. Grandpa would rarely venture out this time of night especially when he had the 3:00 AM milking coming, but this was no ordinary day or night. We continued on that night until arms and legs would no longer move and slowly we all left the snowfall and ice-covered hill behind. As the embers of the fire began to glow in the darkness, the last snowflakes fell into its warmth with a hiss. A tiny puff of smoke escaped and drifted above into the night sky, like our memories that drifted off with our sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows that night.

In the event of a lifetime, a memory was made that affected so many its recollection brings forth memories from so many that if we were all gathered together, you might mistake our ages as children once again and hear the crunch of snow underfoot as our minds race down that hill once more.

There have been many Christmas seasons that have come and gone since that day. Many of those adults have gone on home to be with the Lord while others have grown and moved away. The old farmhouse was torn down and the farm drastically altered to adapt to changing times. The old milk barn is still there, but now it is the offices and warehouse for a flower farm. While one can stand at the road that once went by the house and look back to where the old front porch used to sit, it is only then, in the mind’s eye can we see from whence we came. Time is the thief that comes to steal and destroy, but we cannot allow it all to slip away.

Life is about living, our past and our mutual experiences and sometimes, those all combine into the unforgettable.

A life lived abundantly.

So it was and always shall be with our “Sled Hill.” Somewhere in your life, you too have had or will have a “Sled Hill.” When you do, or if you have, embrace those memories or that time with all you can, for it sometimes only comes around once in a lifetime.

Again, live life abundantly, and strive to make the most of every opportunity.

Thanks be to God.

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by | March 31, 2013 · 9:14 pm

Physicality of Reality…

[From our recent trip to Stone Mountain State Park NC]

This is us, full of energy as we search for the trail that is supposed to go to the top of the mountain. Eventually we just followed a game trail to the top. We even found bear scat along the way.

This is us, full of energy as we search for the trail that is supposed to go to the top of the mountain. Eventually we just followed a game trail to the top. We even found bear scat along the way.

This morning we awoke to mountain lightly dusted with snow; like powdered sugar atop a muffin. For the most part, it didn’t last long except in those deep dark ravines; there it remained all day as a reminder of winter’s vestiges that refuse to release their icy grip. As we hiked along Widow Creek Falls the snow continued to fall in light flurries. It made it seem all the more dreamlike; the air crisp with little white flakes of angels wings drifting around us as we labored to ascend the summit of some unknown mountaintop. From a distance we could see Stone Mountain with its patches of smooth barren rock. These bare areas made it stand out in the amber light of the morning glow. Those patches shone brightly as their surfaces glistened from the icy moisture that ran in rivulets down their cold granite faces.

Our hill, entirely tree covered, was thick with leaves and dark loamy soil which padded our footsteps; this was ever more appreciated on the downward descent we would later take. Our summit, although tree covered, was seemingly taller than those around us. We gasped the crisp cold air in large gulps as our hearts beat madly in our chests; meanwhile, our eyes beheld a beauty only God could create.

As we sat on a log recovering from our fast pace ascent, I thought of the ancestors, those who had marched out of the Alps in the dead of winter, with -waist deep snow to trudge through while carrying all their belongings. They had been told to leave or die; this was their ultimatum. So they left to become refugees in Germany where they settled a town they called Walldorf. These were our Waldensian ancestors who inspired me to write the book, “Bruecke to Heaven”. They not only had to endure altitudes much higher than what we were experiencing, but they also had to survive a brutal winter march for hundreds of miles. Our hike up this

This is us after the grueling hike, glad that we only had one mountain to climb.

This is us after the grueling hike, glad that we only had one mountain to climb.

unknown mountain was labeled on our park map as six miles. I could tell you it felt like six miles straight up. I could not imagine having to sustain a march like the one we took for fun for hundreds of miles, in harsher weather and climatic conditions. I have to admit, that at times, I had to stop and take a break along with my children. We are all in pretty good shape, so if you know us,

you understand that we had taken a very aggressive patch up this slope. As the pounding of our heartbeats throbbed in our ears and the snowflakes gently fell, I had to amaze again at the sheer magnificence of those people who fought and struggled so heartily to survive. After all, I would not be here today if it weren’t for them.

As somebody said when I told them of our experience, they exclaimed that those ancient people definitely did something miraculous. That of course was nothing compared to what they had already done before their winter march, and for that, I had write the book.

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by | February 27, 2013 · 12:00 am

Up and Down the Mountain…

2013-02-23 22.16.51It occurred to me this past weekend as I watched my children repeatedly ski down the mountain how much we try to intentionally incorporate the unknown into our lives of normalcy. We purposely pay others to allow us to throw ourselves into chaotic circumstances from whence we knowingly might emerge unharmed; yet possibly not, thus the thrill.

Sitting in the ski lodge watching people come and go, it soon became apparent as the day wore on, that the flushed haggard faces were from people who had taken risks, forced themselves into the momentary windswept thrill of racing headlong down a mountain, all for the sake of fun; nothing more. There was no reason for their plight, nothing gained, only the momentary pleasure that the rush of adrenaline created. Had it been another place and time, the faces could have easily been of those victims of the many global conflicts, who might have barely escaped being captured by enemy combatants in a war torn region of the world. Or, they could have been people who narrowly escaped death from the onrushing Tsunami that engulfed their home, now running for their lives to higher ground. Or, they could have been people fleeing for their lives from wild fires that had engulfed entire communities this past summer in one of the worst wildfire summers in recent history.

2013-02-23 22.02.51But no, these were weekend warriors; folks who were simply out for the fun of that feeling of whisking along with nothing between you and danger other than your ability to remain upright and the skill it takes to maneuver through a myriad of skiers and collective snowboarders scattered down the mountainside.

I know, I’ve been there too.

Yes, I have to confess; last year I tried my hand at skiing for the first time ever. Up until the point the slopes became too icy for safety’s sake, I was actually having fun tempting fate. I was there to escort my children, who were pretty much escorting me by the end of the night; it was their first time too. However, late into the night with the progressively worsening conditions, I decided to take one last shot down the double black diamond called the “Orchard Run” I realized my luck could have easily run out.

The slopes that night had become increasingly icy and with time, had become more and more difficult to stop. In fact, even the easier slopes were becoming so “fast” that you had to snowplow (turning both toes inward in order to stop your progress downhill) all the way down just to maintain a manageable speed. For some reason, my son and I decided, even with the knowledge of the ice, that we would try one of the most difficult runs at the ski resort we were visiting. We had already successfully made it down this run before, but now unbeknownst to us, it was nothing but a pure sheet of ice. Regardless, we were there to tempt fate, and so we took off from the ski lift with the anticipation of one more adventure; one last run.

The initial section was pretty much as it had been before. My son took a slight spill just after leaving the ski lift, which should have been a sign. Still, we continued on. It was not far from there on the first curve heading down the mountain that I realized I was already going too fast. It was one of those times when you think to yourself, “Now what was I thinking?” It quickly became quite obvious, this was a mistake. As all attempts to halt the increasing speed became apparent, I felt my legs doing everything they could to maintain control and not buckle under the increased force that the speed of flight was creating. The moment I became airborne off of one of the little jumps that I had managed to miss the first time, but due to the increased speed, could not this time, I knew the end was near. As my body prepared for impact, I knew that nothing good was going to come of this. I tried to imagine the pain I would encounter as bone, tendon and muscle became ripped apart from the fateful impact that was about to take place. The first thing that hit was my face, as the rest of my body quickly followed. It was a blinding tumultuous crash that ensued as gravity, speed and ice all combined to continue my unmanned flight down the mountainside, at nearly the same speed I had managed to obtain at the peak of my airborne flight. Seconds later, I lay in a motionless pile of snow, ice and anticipation. I hesitantly began feeling for that first impulse of pain that would lead to the trip to the emergency room; nothing came. I felt my face where I took the initial impact, no blood? As I slowly took inventory as I regained my senses, it became apparent, I had been spared.skiing

I slowly got to my feet and regained my footing, repositioned my helmet and goggles, and with as much dignity as I could manage, headed down the remainder of the slope. My ski trip had just officially ended, and I was thankful to be able to walk away, in one piece. I met up with my son at the bottom of the slope shortly afterward. He made it safely down without incident but was concerned for my well being. He was relieved to see me again, as I was him; both of us none the worse for wear.

As I reflect back on that uneventful plight, I realized that the risk I took was not the kind of enjoyment in life I really wanted. There was no gain, no measure of significant advancement that might cause lasting joy or memory other than knowing I had survived something which wasn’t necessary to survive to start with.

I know what it is to have fun, but then again, I know what it is to take foolish chances.

preachingYet, every day somewhere in the world, someone is performing mission work or preaching the Word where it is forbidden, taking chances to go places to serve others all in the name of God our Father. For these risks, one can be justified in knowing that, “He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.” – 1 John 4:4 Perhaps, as weekend warriors, we also prepare the path for the day we are called to do greater works, so that we will fear less because of what we have already faced on our own.

I think with age, we come to realize what is more important in life. The fun things become more spiritual in nature, living the thrills to our youth. The old adage, “You’re only as young as you feel,” should have an appendage attached from wisdom that says, “As long as you’ve got feeling left in your body.” No need to risk losing mobility when there is much more life to live.

I believe from now on I’ll take the slow lane; just the ski lift please…nothing more.

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by | February 17, 2013 · 12:03 am

A Vision, A Meteor

meteprIn the fullness of life, we all hope to know of God’s glory. When he speaks we yearn to hear. Today as I watched the silent snow falling in flakes as large as feathers, I couldn’t help to wonder of the heavenly glory that awaits us all. The quiet precipitation from the skies above, like letters from angels, put into our midst so that we may read their messages; if only we would take the time to do so. This past week, a momentary lapse in time afforded me the opportunity to do just that.

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty; once we step through those moments in time that were life-changing events, positive or negative, we can then see more clearly what led up to and were subsequent results of those moments. So it was, this past week on my way to work that I now realize there was something greater than I could know weighing on my heart. What I thought was as a sense of depression was probably more of an eminent doom, which again, I could not know at the time.

I often have time to reflect on my life’s journey on my hour long commute to and from work. I sometimes find myself driving through nightfall or the impending dusk. This seemingly eternal darkness can cause even the mildest thoughts of despair to easily become amplified beyond their true nature. Something inside me kept pushing my thoughts toward the “Why” of it all that night, until I was resolute to justify my existence purely for the sake of my children, nothing more. It was then I began to think of ways in which death might greet me.

Sitting at the stop light at the corner of Old Jenks Rd. and Highway 55, I had the sudden image flash into my mind; one of how death could be so sudden, it might seem preposterous. I was the third car in line at the red light, sitting in the left turn lane. Suddenly from above came a brilliant light, then a roaring flame followed by the sound of an explosion as what had been the first car at the light, a small SUV, immediately disappeared from sight as a cloud of smoke and flame erupted. The car directly behind it caught fire as the blast from the meteor’s impact shook all of our cars, igniting the second car. The driver, a man of Asian descent, jumped from his car running away, screaming in a mixed English-Hindi accent, “My God, my car is on fire, somebody help!” Shrapnel from the blast flew into the second car and then into mine. The mirror from the driver’s side of the second car flew into mine, glancing harmlessly off my window, leaving only a slight chip in the glass. The impact from the blast rocked all of our cars. Few pieces of the first car existed beyond the small crater that it had become from the weight of the meteor’s impact.

Stunned yet aware of the magnitude of the moment, I realized there was nothing I could do. “The people or person in the first car should have been me,” was my first thought. Whomever or whoever they were no longer mattered other than those they had left behind could take solace from the fact a death like theirs could have only been heaven sent. The odds of dying from the impact of a meteor are so small; you could certainly consider it a way for God to call you home.

I knew that the first responders would be on the scene soon. The man in the second car who had escaped with only minor injuries now stood off to the side of the road. I could see him standing there talking on his cell phone, illuminated by the glow from his burning car and the street lights that had not been blown out by the blast force of the impact. My car, although shaken, was none the worse for wear. Realizing there wasn’t much I could do at this point, knowing that this place would soon become a media spectacle and anyone remaining might be tied up for hours reliving the horrible experience, I turned my car and began to drive around the disaster scene.

The traffic on Highway 55 was stopped; some people were standing outside of their cars with their cell phones out taking video of the scene while others talked frantically into their devices, all probably sharing the event with others. I easily drove through the light, which was now green, luckily for me. I watched as I pulled away, the smoldering remains of an SUV, a life that was now gone; gone in the blink of an eye. A life that was just living another day, now gone forever; it could have been me, yet it wasn’t; “God doesn’t miss,” I told myself as I continued to drive away, watching from my rearview mirror.

Blue lights began to fill the sky over the horizon, as my car slowly made its way, putting distance between myself and the scene of the disaster that never happened. Nobody would know that I had been there, and then again, it never happened anyhow, so it didn’t matter.

Somehow, my sense of depression felt better.

Later that evening, I recalled the near-miss vision I had with a co-worker. He sat raptly listening to me tell of the scene, with all the detail of a true event. When I was done, it replied that I had quite the imagination.

We left it at that.

A few hours into Friday morning I overheard someone speaking about Russia. We were still tied up with the job we had started earlier in the night and couldn’t break away. It was a few moments later that the co-worker I had told the story to earlier in the night came up to my desk, somewhat shaken, asking me, “Did you just hear the news from Russia?”

“No, what are you talking about,” I asked, watching my computer screen from the corner of my eye; I was hesitant to take my attention away from my task at hand.

He cleared his throat, trying to capture my full attention, which he did, “There was a meteor that hit Russia just a few minutes ago. Nearly 1,000 people have been injured.” He stood there looking at me, as if he had just seen a ghost, or someone that might have known too much before its time. I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath, “my Lord,” was all I could say.

“You just told me your crazy story, and now this,” he replied, as if repeating it might somehow make it disconnect.

“What are the odds of that,” I asked, somewhat rhetorically?

We both stared in awed silence as our minds tried to grasp the reality of what was.

Even tonight as I write this story, to retell the events of Friday morning, I still cannot help to feel that when God speaks, and if we listen, there are endless possibilities. How we react to them is up to us. Sometimes, if we are fortunate enough, we listen and act.

Friday was mostly a blur of activity after that event. I was already short of sleep before Friday, but after hearing of the news from Russia, my mind was on fire. I would not sleep again until late Friday night. There was so much I had to do, to see and to discuss. It was as if a real meteor had struck in my own life and the spirit of the Lord was on fire within me.

I don’t know what will happen, what will change or what might be altered from all the wonderful things I experienced Friday but one thing I know for sure.

It all started with a vision at a stop light…and I listened.

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