Tim Tebow: Keeping Faith

Posted on December 5, 2011 by Doc Arnett

He was known as an outspoken Christian while he was playing football at the University of Florida. Some wondered whether or not that would change after the Denver Broncos drafted him. It didn’t.

Declaring that he would never forego an opportunity to “praise my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,” Tim Tebow is keeping faith with that promise. It seems that his first response to the first question reporters ask is exactly what he said it would be. In addition to the criticism he receives over that, he’s had plenty of scrutiny about his football skills.

With an unorthodox passing motion and an inclination for running with the ball instead of throwing it away, he became the starting quarterback six or seven games back. His coach and the team’s general manager continue making critical public comments about his weaknesses. Sports writers and commentators continue broadcasting their skepticism. Tim continues admitting his needs for improvement and working hard. According to some of his teammates, working harder than anyone else on the team. One of them said, “He gets there before any of the rest of us. He works hard before practice. He works hard during practice. Then, he works hard after practice.”

That effort and his determination during games have paid off, for Tim, the team and even for some of those who seem to not like him very much. Since he became the starting quarterback in October, the Broncos have won six of their last seven games.

Whether or not that success continues, we will see. Whether or not Tim Tebow lives up to the faith he claims, we will see. Maybe he’ll just be another high profile embarrassment. I know there are many people who are eager to see him fall. If he’d just shut up about Jesus, most of them would be happy to leave him alone.

As would Satan.

H. Arnett
12/5/11

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December Blessing

Posted on December 2, 2011 by Doc Arnett

On this good day,
may each thing that comes your way
bring with it a clear discernment
and a ready response.

May you bring to each moment
grace
and peace
and goodness.

May your eye be as clear
as a winter’s dawning
and your heart as pure
as a prairie sky.

May you tend to the things of your duty
with genuine pleasure
in the doing.

May you work without measure of others,
surrendering yourself to the counting of the Lord
and trusting fully that His reward
will be sufficient for the labor.

And when your day is done,
may you lie down
to good rest
undisturbed by regret
and blessed by the memory
of what you have given
and received
on this good day.

H. Arnett
12-02-11

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A Brush of Wings

Posted on December 1, 2011 by Doc Arnett

I cannot say with certainty that it was the first sound I heard this morning but the soft, four-note call of an owl in the tall spruce near our bedroom window was definitely the most memorable of whatever other sounds might be on the list. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But, then, in just a couple of minutes, it came again, soft but unmistakably clear.

As I roused myself further from my sleep and its warm covers, I remembered late evenings and early mornings on the farm in Todd County, Kentucky. Paul and I would hear the calling of owls and try to figure out which tree along the edge of the woods was serving as perch. Occasionally, we could see the shape of the night hunter along the line of a limb, silhouetted against the sky.

One of my deer-hunting sons told me recently about a closer encounter he had with one. “I was sitting in a tree stand and it was still so dark I couldn’t really see. But I sensed its presence and then felt the wind from its wings as it flew by me.” He also heard the bird land on a branch nearby. After a while, he heard the slightest scratching of claws against bark as the bird launched itself from the tree. Again, he felt the air from the edge of its wings as it brushed by him and he caught a dim blur of its shape in the predawn light.

There are evidences other than sight that lead us to some of the greatest wonders of this life, a world unseen speaking to us in the silent brushing of soft wings and a sensing of a wind that is not of this realm. There is, in such things, a testimony more real than the deceit of sight and the assurance of knowledge. But, we must take time to be quiet.

We must be still.

H. Arnett
12/01/11

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A Small Inconvenience

Posted on November 30, 2011 by Doc Arnett

In the clear cold of this morning’s dimness, I find the hose frozen. Instead of running the water into the horses’ tub, I fill my bucket at the hydrant and carry it across the yard. Three trips are enough for the fill. There’ll probably be a skim of ice across the surface by the time the horses want their first drink of the day. That should melt away by mid-morning, though.

There is extra work in the way we’re handling things now: putting the geldings into the small paddock at night with access to the shed and feeding them there, returning them to the larger pasture during the day, having to have water at both places, time for the transfer from one place to the other before we leave for work in the morning and doing it again in the dark after we get home. It’s made a bit more trouble with the freezing each night.

For now, I do this, mindful of the horses’ preference for more room to move about and for grazing on fresh grass and my preference for not buying more hay than we have to buy. A few more mornings of hauling water bucket by bucket and I will have to re-evaluate my preferences. That’s the way it is with cost analysis: time versus cash, effort versus convenience, work versus rewards.

I’m not sure how this is going to turn out for the horses. I doubt that they’ve given it much thought. Whether it’s faith or obliviousness, I’m sure they’re trusting the same hands that have taken care of them so far will continue to do so.

That’s what I’m doing.

H. Arnett
11/30/11

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After the Front

Posted on November 29, 2011 by Doc Arnett

My boots slide just a bit on the slight slope going down toward the barn. Heavy frost on walk-worn fescue doesn’t make for great traction but since I’m not packing anything heavy or trying to push a wheelbarrow load of gravel I make it just fine. The air has the clear crisp you expect from thirteen degrees below freezing.

Inside the shed, the geldings stand, waiting somewhat patiently as I add sweet feed to the softened beet pulp in the mixing bucket and stir. I move them back and shake the mix out into their feed buckets fastened to the wall. As soon as I lift my bucket, they shove their noses in and begin feeding.

I leave them and walk back toward the house, mindful of my footing but pausing briefly to look at the stars, still clear in the western sky. To the east, just above the ridge that runs through Wathena, the last edge of three days’ of clouds forms a thin slate bed. Above that, a dull red lightens into pink, gives way to a pale hint of blue that stretches up and meets the passing darkness of night rising into day.

There are worse ways to start a morning than to feel such peace forming within you, reminding you that there is a vastly greater Power in the universe.

H. Arnett
11/28/11

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Virgel and Lucille

Posted on November 22, 2011 by Doc Arnett

It was his goal to live to be ninety years old, a feat he accomplished early this year. But, it was not his goal to live as a semi-invalid. When dialysis every other day became a mandate for living, he opted to spend his time with the comfort of the Lord rather than with the machines of mankind. Further, he chose that the time of his transition from this realm to the place of rest should take place at home.

From the testimony of family and friends, it was obvious that home was a place he loved. Dozens of pictures showed clearly the delight he took in the company of his children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. A deep pleasure showed in his eyes and his smile in the snapshots that covered the decades of his time with them. Clear, too, was the deep devotion he held toward his wife of sixty-seven years.

That same devotion reflected in the eyes and voice of his widow. As she spoke in a strong and clear voice, with a couple of choked exceptions, her love and affection for him and her gratitude for the time they shared together was unmistakable. She recounted his conversion to Christ and the deep change that conversion brought about in his habits, changes that could not be denied by any who knew him.

I was not among those fortunate enough to have known him, yet could not help feeling that I had come to know him in their testimony of sharing. I had met Virgel and Lucille but briefly, a few years ago. When I walked over to offer my condolences to her, she recognized me. We spoke for a moment of the tremendous change that she now faced. She admitted that and then said quietly and firmly, “I know who holds the future.”

She paused, ever so slightly, and concluded, “And I know who holds my hand.”

H. Arnett

11/22/11

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Shadow Boxing

Posted on November 18, 2011 by Doc Arnett

Last night’s hard freeze followed by this morning’s breeze is sending leaves falling to the ground like cereal shaken slowly from a box held high above the bowl. I stand for a moment in the parking lot, watching the maple’s shedding. Caught against the brick wall of the auditorium, shadows trace the drifting tumble downward and slightly to the north. By noon, these branches will be nearly bare.

I walk on past the cars and trees into my office. Greg’s door is open and I see the same tracing framed on his wall beside an east window. The low slant of morning sun shapes shadows in stark parallelogram just above his desk. Slender branches dip and five-pointed shapes flicker in their falling, two-dimensional figures portraying what lives just beyond.

I often find myself studying one thing or another, believing that I search the very expression of life itself and later realize that I have been pre-occupied with some reflection, some refraction of reality. It is the glory of this world to deceive us, fascinating us with shadows as we walk oblivious to the substance.

In the pure and peaceful wisdom that comes from above, our eyes are opened and we begin to grasp the greater reality of the things that are unseen.

H. Arnett
11/18/11

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One Day’s Good

Posted on November 17, 2011 by Doc Arnett

In the busy-ness and unquenchable thirst
of this worlds’ seekings,
walk as quietly as the coming of frost
on a November morning,

looking neither for gain or advantage
over others,
but rather the calm that comes
from a pure heart

genuinely seeking the good
that may be done in a moment
or an hour
or a lifetime,

the good that takes no thought
of its own needs
but rather
that of someone else.

And on this evening,
may you be blessed
with the remembrance
of having done

some small thing
that brought better
into the world
without thought

of your own gain.

H. Arnett
11/17/11

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Long Lessons

Posted on November 16, 2011 by Doc Arnett

I rise slowly in the slight light of a half-moon shining above the thin clouds that drift solemnly toward the east. The breeze that has pushed in with colder air keeps the grass in the pasture bare of frost. I see the neighbors’ lights shining through the naked branches beyond the creek and along the line of the bluff. Taking a moment for my head to clear, I steer my steps along the hallway.

There is risk in rising too quickly these days. Too sudden a shift from flat to standing can make the room spin. Deliberation has long been a slow lesson for me, I suppose. Too much inclination toward decisiveness, too little time taken for consideration of other factors.

Life has a way of taking us toward what we need to learn, bringing us back to the same lesson until finally some semblance of humility replaces the stubbornness that seems so deeply bred within us. I’ve not mastered the lesson yet but have at least confronted the possibility that yielding can take me toward strength greater than that of triumph.

I have found from time to time that giving up on what I wanted has given me better than I deserved. Perhaps, one day, I may become able to actually seek the good of others. And, in that moment, receive the greater gift.

H. Arnett
11/17/11

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At Table

Posted on November 10, 2011 by Doc Arnett

My daughter-in-law, Christie, has a bowl of yeast dough sitting near the furnace register so that the dough will rise. It is the recipe that my mother has used for over a half-century. While the bread is working, she lays out asparagus and mushrooms on a baking tray. Dan preps tenderloins for the grill while my daughter, Susan, and I talk to the kids and one another. Reese is focused on Mario Brothers while his toddler sister, Ann Marie, is focused on whomever has a bit of food to share.

Ben and Sara show up a little later. Christie kneads the dough lightly and cuts out rolls. The rolls go into the oven and Dan heads out to the grill. With the dark of November’s first Friday settling onto the fields and woods beyond the house, Dan blesses the meal and we eat. There are "knock, knock" jokes with Reese, banter between brothers, questions, stories, quips and comments. And lots of rolls.

There are even a few rolls left a few hours later when Jeremiah and Misty make it in from Arkansas. We hug and hold one another for a long moment in the kitchen. I have not seen them in three years. He, the youngest of the six children, seems taller now but argues with me that Sam, the second oldest, is still taller than him.

In the morning, all the rolls are gone. I wish that I had stashed a couple the night before. After the boys return from an early morning hunt without fresh venison, Susan, Jeremiah and I drive over to Clarkesville, Tennessee, to visit with Michael and Sarah and their six children. It is a spectacular autumn day as we make our way across the Cumberland River, full glory reflected in the waters.

At lunchtime, we head over for a deli and barbecue run. Back home, the older three kids sprint to their quick errands: plates, glasses, napkins, and tableware. On a rare November Saturday, we sit at table in the sun on the deck.

For the first time in eleven years, I am able to be with five of my children on the same day. Though not at the same time and in the same place, it is still a thing of great treasure to me. I have seen all six and their families now in less than thirty days.

Under the limbs of a hundred-and-twenty-year-old maple, I look around at the baby, the young ones, Josh and Nathan digging in the garden. I put an arm around Mike’s shoulders, steal another half-hug.

I believe that I know at least a sample of the joy that my Redeemer will feel when we finally sit at table with him in that place where there is no more parting. A day when all joy will be made complete.

H. Arnett

11/7/11

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