Ministry

Posted on August 9, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Someone
somewhere
somehow

today

needs
the blessing
that you are meant to be

today

H. Arnett
8/9/12

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Lush Lives

Posted on August 8, 2012 by Doc Arnett

In the midst of the neighbor’s brown husk of lawn,
parallel strips of deep green run north to south,
marking the mouth of the septic tank
and defining the lateral lines.

Deep-rooted fescue grows lush and full
in those neat rows,
close beside the dead and dormant sod
lying just beside and between.

There is no sharing,
no passing along,
none of that
“no one lacking anything
and no one having more than he needed.”

Just that deep, clear division
that so often marks the distinction
between those that live
in the line of blessing
and those who do not.

I do not suppose
that fescue,
in its brown moments,
wonders
what sins need confessing,

nor in its green
refreshes itself
with humble awareness
that blessings need not be earned
to be appreciated.

We ought to be
at least a bit higher than the grass
and know that it was not deserve
that placed us above the deep wells
of God’s good grace.

H. Arnett
8/8/12

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Discovery

Posted on August 7, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I was pretty sure it was a myth, this so-called “runners’ euphoria.” Supposedly, at some point in a run, or a workout, in response to sustained physical exertion, the brain releases dopamine and endorphins and that release triggers a sort of pleasurable feeling that’s like, well, euphoria. I’d heard about it years ago. Specifically, about thirty years ago from a teaching buddy who was clearly addicted to running. So far as I could tell, nothing less than addiction would explain wanting to do something that seemed so boring and pointless.

Granted, running keeps many people free of any excess body fat, cultivates great physical stamina and reportedly yields a number of other benefits. So would a couple hours of vigorous ping-pong playing, I guess.

At any rate, you could call me a skeptic. Or you could just say that I hated the notion of exercise. Sport, I liked. Recreation, I enjoyed. Playing games? Sounds like fun. Exercise? Bah, humbug!

Then, a couple of months ago, while pushing myself to exceed what was easy and comfortable on the elliptical trainer, I experienced runners’ euphoria. Somewhere along about thirty minutes of maintaining an average of six miles-an-hour, after a surge of sweat and past the tiredness, I felt a flush. It wasn’t overwhelming, just a sense of soothing exhilaration. Suddenly, I felt like I could run for hours. Very pleasant, very satisfying. I guess it could happen, after all!

I had been a skeptic because I’d never experienced it myself. I had scoffed at the notion because I’d never invested the effort necessary to produce the effect. Maybe I just had to get old enough, determined enough. For whatever reasons, I had followed the same line and logic of those who’ve never experienced the presence of God or witnessed the working of the Holy Spirit. The same path of those who scoff at the notion of a peace that passes understanding or of a power that can move mountains.

Regardless of how many times I may or may not invest the sweat and effort of the elliptical trainer or the weight machines or five kilometers of cross country terrain, I will never doubt again the reality of runners’ euphoria. But its existence never depended on my awareness or confession.

H. Arnett
8/7/12

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Redirection

Posted on August 6, 2012 by Doc Arnett

For most of the day Friday and all day Saturday, it seemed that rain was inevitable. Not just a quick shower or a tiny bit of drizzle, but the sort of rain that sets in for hours, soft and slow, drenching the earth. Every indicator familiar to those who live on the land seemed to say “This is the day of replenishing:” heavy skies stretching as far as you could see, the feel of the air and the hint of wind that usually announces some good sending of rain.

In fact, it did rain on Saturday, three separate showers, each lasting about five to ten minutes and bringing a total of a few hundredths-of-an-inch of rain. Enough rain to settle the dust and bring a refreshing break from the heat but not enough to bring the pastures back from their browning decline. For all the promise of the skies and all the signs of cloud and breeze, the longed-for rain did not come.

No, the rain did not come as I had hoped it would come, but my, what a lovely morning came in the following. The cool front from the north that had spawned the clouds and bit of rain came creeping in during the night. The temperature dropped to sixty degrees. The light of the moon shone almost as brightly as winter and we woke to a slight chill in the feel of August’s first Lord’s Day morning.

In the forming of the heavy dew and the view of clear skies and the slight, fresh breeze, we found a dawning of replenishing beauty and comfort. Even in the midst of drought, even in the harsh of heat, even in times of struggle, there are always blessings to be found. When we choose to loose ourselves from the choking grip of what we believe we desired and focus on the good of what we have received, we become free indeed.

H. Arnett
8/6/12

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Hard Ground

Posted on July 20, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I begin the fencing work
by pounding the long steel posts
into earth that has not felt deep rain
in three months.

Standing in the shade
on a hundred-degree day,
I lift the capped iron pipe
of the heavy driver above the top end of the post,
strike downward again and again.

In the spring, ten strikes
would have driven each post
eighteen inches into the ground,
covering the flange
and anchoring it into the soil.

Now, it takes thirty, forty:
lifting again and again,
heaving the driver downward
and the quick blister on the finger
where the glove is torn.

Sometimes, I cannot tell
whether the post has moved
any deeper or not
but eventually,
all fourteen are sunk and set

except for the one
at the edge of the old driveway,
barely set,
a foot higher than the rest.

Sometimes we are called to a task
that we cannot quite complete
but must make a beginning,
leaving its finishing until
the soil is softer
or we are strengthened,
hoping that what we have done
will do well enough for now.

H. Arnett
7/20/12

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Breaking Free

Posted on July 19, 2012 by Doc Arnett

I needed some more steel fence posts to extend the drying pasture just a bit before all of the grass has turned to brown. I could have gone to town and bought another dozen new T-posts but I suspect a bit of Scotch in my background. Instead, then, in the latter part of a sizzling day, I got my little Kubota tractor out of the garage and headed toward the old fence line along the trees on the east side of our property.

With a chain looped around the drawbar as low on the post as it would reach, the Kubota’s hydraulic system managed to lift most of the old posts out of the ground with no problem. Some needed a bit of budging but came free pretty quickly.

But on the two nearest the centenary maple tree, it was a different situation. Even when I backed and pulled with the tractor, moving the posts thirty degrees off vertical in both directions, I could not pull them loose. Even with enough force to lift the front of the tractor off the ground, they still would not budge. Finally, with the back and forth stressing the steel, the posts broke. I figured that roots had grown around the posts’ flat retaining plates that had been driven in nearly a foot beneath the surface.

I found confirmation of my speculation on the next post. Wedged against the top of the flange lay a piece of maple root, about as thick as my thumb. I suspect the roots trapping the posts nearest the tree were even thicker.

There are people and times in our lives, and we are sometimes them, when the things that tangle us gain such a grip that we cannot remove ourselves from them without taking some damage. But when it comes to things that enslave us, torment us and would eventually destroy us, the escape is worth the loss.

H. Arnett
7/19/12

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Good Exercise

Posted on July 18, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Good morning and good blessings to you,
Doc

Good Exercise

I don’t know how long she’s been working out at the Wellness Center at the college but I do know that I see her there every day around noon. I also know that she’s lost fifty pounds or more in the last couple of years. That’s about all I know about her weight loss; I don’t know whether or not she has lost that weight deliberately.

On the one hand, given her conscientious attention to exercise, it would seem obvious that it’s deliberate. But I’ve come to see in life that what we see on the obvious hand is not always an accurate perception of how things are. It is possible, I suppose, that the exercise is intended to regain strength following a lengthy illness. If it is, instead, part of a plan to continue losing weight, I have reason to think she may need to alter the plan.

After my workout yesterday, I walked over to the convenience store located across the street from the southwest corner of our campus. When I headed toward the counter with my lean lunch, there she was… with her four candy bars.

Now, of course, here’s another situation where that one hand could be pointing in the wrong direction. Maybe she has grandkids waiting at home. Maybe her husband has one heck of a sweet tooth. Or maybe, just maybe, she figures a good workout deserves a Snickers bar or two or four. If that’s it, she’s not the only person I know who seems to be sabotaging her own efforts.

Whether the goal is losing weight, conquering a bad habit or trying to live with integrity, the most profitable exercise is exercising self-control. Or, in the words of another health advisor, equally well qualified, “Eat all the candy you want. Just leave the wrapper on while you’re eating.”

When we are willing to use whatever trick it takes to turn us away from the things that pull us toward self-destruction, we are ready to overcome.

H. Arnett
7/18/12

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Scattered Showers

Posted on July 17, 2012 by Doc Arnett

There is in our dry times
a rather pointed disappointment
in clouds that hold the color of rain
and yet, again and again,
pass by without raining.

Sometimes, they gather and group,
darkening the sky.
Thunder mocks us;
we flinch at flashes of lightning,
even see the silver shadows
that declare someone else’s fields
are being blessed.

And yet,
in these weeks of scattered showers
when the rains pass
within a half-mile of brown grass,
those of us whose fields are green
rarely complain
that life is not fair.

H. Arnett
7/17/12

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A Small Twist of Fate

Posted on July 16, 2012 by Doc Arnett

“You ready to go home or do you want to fish a little while longer?” I asked Hunter, our thirteen-year-old grandson. The sun had gone down about a half-hour earlier and dusk was beginning to settle into the evening. The long ridge of hardwoods to the west of the lake stood silhouetted against a reddish sky. A great heron had flown by just a few minutes earlier, so close that we could hear the soft, thumping whoosh-whoosh of its wings. We had fished for over an hour and caught only a couple of fish, but in the last ten minutes we’d caught five or six.

“Let’s fish a little longer,” Hunter answered.

So, I gave him the only rod with a lure that had not yet been claimed by the submerged limbs near the spillway intake and began tying on another lure on one of the other rods. I figured I was wasting my time putting a small Jitterbug on; I thought it was still too early in the season for a surface lure. My first cast proved me wrong.

Just over halfway back on the retrieve, a nice bass unleashed an aggressive hit on the gurgling plug. It was not a large fish but on the micro-casting outfit I was using, it was a really fun fight. Getting the fish off was less fun.

This particular Jitterbug is only a couple inches long with two small treble hooks. I managed to get the one that was hooked outside the fish’s mouth undone pretty quickly. As I held the fish as firmly as I could and worked to free the other hook, it pulled a Houdini/Jackie Chan on me.

One instant I was holding the fish with my left hand and the hook with my right hand. The next instant, after an impressively vigorous flop, the fish was on the ground and there was nothing in my right hand. There was a stinging in my left hand, well, actually, at the end of the middle finger of my left hand. Hanging from that finger was my favorite lure.

Three attempts to push the barb back through the flesh proved unfruitful and a bit unpleasant as well. Trying to flatten the barb with my fingernail clippers had a similar result. I cut the line with the clippers, then had Hunter twist the lure counter-clockwise while I held the hook firmly. Very firmly, I might say. After several twists, the little eye-screw that holds the hook to the lure was separated from the lure. We gathered up everything and headed to the truck.

Fortunately, the guy fishing a quarter-mile away had a good pair of side-cutting pliers. With the barb clipped off, the hook pulled out easily and my small injury is healing nicely.

It took a lot longer to get over some of those other situations when I thought I was in charge and ended up taking the barb myself. God’s grace is sufficient to soothe our wounds, even those that are the result of our own doing.

H. Arnett
7/16/12

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Finders, Keepers

Posted on July 13, 2012 by Doc Arnett

Our thirteen-year-old grandson, Hunter, likes to fish. But with all the baseball he plays and all the time his dad spends coaching and working two jobs, Hunter doesn’t get a lot of fishing done. So, Gramma Randa being the imaginative woman she is and Hunter being over at our place yesterday, she suggested I take Hunter fishing.

In my younger years, I was an avid bass fisherman. There wasn’t a week that went by between April and October that I didn’t go fishing. And there wasn’t a time I went fishing that I didn’t catch something. That changed when I moved to Missouri in the Eighties. What worked in those west Kentucky ponds, reservoirs and lakes didn’t work in northwest Missouri. I went from avid to dejected and pretty much quit fishing.

So, it was not with great optimism that I prepped Hunter for our jaunt last evening. “We’re going to go look at a lake,” I told him. “We’re going to go look at a lake and enjoy the scenery. If we happen to catch a fish, well, that’ll just be extra icing on the cake.”

Hunter grinned and we started collecting the gear. I managed to chase down a grasshopper that made the mistake of fluttering by a guy who was getting ready to go fishing. Gramma made us a thermos of ice water that we loaded into the back of the truck with the rods and tackle boxes. Then, we were on our way.

We stopped in Troy for gas, drinks and chips. It was nearly seven-thirty by the time we got to the Atchison State Fishing Lake.

About perfect timing, really, since the sun was getting close to the tree line on the western side of the forty-acre lake. Surrounded by trees on three sides and with the water still enough for reflection, it was beautiful. A few clouds held high to the north and east but nothing that threatened a storm. “Well,” I mused to Hunter, “At least we got the scenery.”

An hour later, Hunter had donated three grasshoppers to bluegills barely larger than the bait. I suggested that he try a Beetle Spin and that we try over closer to the spillway. It was a good move. With the sun having disappeared and the day moving into dusk, the fish began hitting. Within twenty minutes, he’d caught a bluegill and a small bass. I landed three bass and hooked at least three or four others momentarily.

It’s intriguing to me how much difference a small success makes on our perception of an event. None of the fish we caught were big enough to bother with cleaning but it was fun catching them. And, it was a beautiful summer evening.

On the way home, Hunter thanked me three or four times for taking him fishing. He wasn’t any more appreciative than I was. Even though we weren’t going to be eating fresh fish, the evening was definitely a keeper. When we learn to focus on the good God gives us each day, we gain more than our blessings.

H. Arnett
7/13/12

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