Hard Times

I came across a PBS program the other night that was recounting the cheerful tale of the Donner Party. I suppose there were a few new details in that particular retelling of how dozens of people lost their lives in a vicious winter while trying to make their way to California. The story has remained more or less fixed in our national consciousness because of the dark secret of survival that most in the wagon train resorted to during the two to four months they waited for rescue. According to the records of this particular narrative, not all of them waited for natural causes to provide their next ghastly meal; some of them murdered for food.

A similar degree of desperation took place back in the Sixties in the aftermath of a plane crash in the Andes mountains, though I’ve never heard that any of those survivors hastened the demise of their comrades in order that they might dine a bit sooner.

There’s a common saying that we don’t know what we’d do until we’re put into a particular situation. Perhaps we might also say that we don’t know what we would refuse to do, either. While I agree, rather completely, with the saying and would have to admit that in various situations in the past, I have surprised myself. Sometimes, the surprise was pleasantly reassuring and sometimes, devastatingly disappointing.

But in my most honest moments of self-examination, I would have to say that I have never yielded to any dark temptation that I had not previously imagined myself doing. The mental rehearsal of a thing does not always make it easy to do but it does make it more likely. Fantasy creates reality, whether for good or for not-so-good. Which is one more reason for us to guard our hearts closely and only entertain thoughts of doing what is pure and good and holy.

No matter how dire the circumstances and even when those circumstances exist only in our imagination.

H. Arnett
2/4/10

A Warming Light

As we drove into Saint Joe last night, crossing the bridge, we could see the sun shining above the ridge back at Wathena. Still shining after the day’s work was ended and the drive home was finished. What a fine change from all those days of cloud and fog.

After the weeks of gray and cold, a day of sunshine brings something like revival. A brighter sky somehow seems to throw open the window of the soul, lifts us a bit.

I find an even finer effect in the words of Scripture. A reassurance that reaches across the centuries from other voices speaking from their own lives: voices of pain and joy, trial and victory, agony and delight. From the same source of strength, they speak of deliverance and power, promise and comfort. From these who overcame by the Word, who endured all things, who surrendered their souls to him who had given them, who chose death over disobedience, I am renewed, strengthened and uplifted. From them and from him who gave them hope, I find light brighter than the sun, burning red and sinking slowly in the last glow of a winter day.

H. Arnett
2/3/10

Of Beauty and Pain

I love the look of the last bit of snow, the pockets and patterns formed by the wind’s sending. I love the interweaving patterns of dark earth and white remnant of the storm. I can see the circular lee that surrounds each tree, each post, even the small clumps of weeds and grass. The trace of each ripple of earth can be found in those soundings of snow, crusted now by the melt of day and light, frozen again in the cold of night. In the shrinking length of drifts there is still some tell of the swirling sift of the blowing powder that came a month ago, held on through the long cold of January and the plains.

Even after the storm, there are these small gifts, if we can push away the memory of long nights and harsh winds.

The After-Cold

It has been a month now since the snow came. Most of its remains melted away in the slight thaw that saw our daytime highs crest in the thirties until last Saturday’s giddy haze of fifty degrees. Even in that, the ice-snow was slow to go. Even now, some of it stays.

This is especially true of the drifts, despite the slumping shifts that drew them closer to earth. On the north banks of east-running roads, where the winds dumped their loads of powder, there is still sign of the storm. Out on Old 36, west of Highland, the drifts are still six feet deep. It will take more than a few days of barely warming to take them away, more than a few hours of winter sun.

Where the work of the cold is piled high and deep, where the path of the sweeping wind leaves riffles in the snow, it will take a stronger warming, a greater forming of sun to take away the winter. In the soul stung by life’s harsh edge, the heart closed against the killing frost, it takes a surrendering of what is lost before the healing touch can fill the darkness and bring Light.

H. Arnett
1/29/10

Teammates

The young man in my office is from another world, a world of different standards, different beliefs, different expectations, different rules. Trained in that world, he reacts in this one, reactions that do not fit the standards, beliefs, expectations and rules of a small college in a rural setting. Among the many ironies that I see in my conversations with him is that he is adamant about that other world: “I can’t go back there.”

He heard the coach’s speech at the beginning of his freshman semester about the importance of attending classes, completing assignments, preparing for tests. He heard the speech, yes. But he figured it was just one more in a long series of speeches he had heard that were not backed up, not enforced, not taken seriously by the ones making the speeches. So, just as he had done in high school, he began skipping classes, ignoring assignments and blowing off tests. And, he got into a fight with another member of the team. Again, responding with the old patterns in the new setting.

In this world, he found himself kicked out of class, kicked off the team and kicked out of college housing. He will either learn and use the principles of success in this different setting or find himself back in the place he knows will destroy him.

I find tremendous affinity for his situation. As a believer, I have struggled to rid myself of the old ways of thinking and doing. I have known the fear and failure of slipping back into the slime of old emotions and actions, those born of the darkness that pulls me back toward destruction. As I pray for this young man and his release, his seeing, his triumph, I pray for myself.

H. Arnett
1/27/10

January Night

I hear the wind
high and hard above the trees in the back yard,
feel its stony edge hammer through
the thin legs of my dress pants.

It pounds along the ground,
refreezing the thawed mush of the earth.

It pushes through
the seams of woods and brush,
shoving up against the cold brick and rock
in an indifferent rush against the house.

I step into the unlit porch,
welcoming the warmth inside the darkness.

On such a night as this,
it is good to have a place
beyond the wind’s lancet,
a place where love is strong.

I climb the stairs,
still hearing the wind beyond the walls and roof.

I lie down in warm blankets,
close to the one I love,
grateful, kept, held,
knowing and being known.

Together, we sink into sleep
in the keeping of Him who sends both wind and fire.

H. Arnett
1/26/10

More than Sparrows

We saw them as we walked out from the basement door on one of those bitter mornings two weeks ago: a group of bluebirds loosely huddled above the snow in the low branches of a mock orange bush. Their colors seemed brilliant against the frozen white, orange chests and blue backs, all fluffed and puffy. “They look huge,” I commented to Paul. “Yeah,” he replied, “trying to stay warm.”

Fifty feet away, another small group of dark gray birds with black heads and beaks caught breaks of early morning sun, sheltered by a clump of old limbs and branches stacked on the sloping bank beneath the trees.

In a world where even the wild birds find shelter from minus thirty wind chills and some place of protection in the midst of winter, how much more blessed are we who not only have the provisions of this life but also have the very Spirit of God living within us!

H. Arnett
1/22/10

Over the Hump Day

Ever have one of those days when it seems like you work hard all day only to end up further behind than when you started? That was how Tuesday seemed for me when we were working on pulling the base of an exterior wall back in toward the rest of the apartment. It seemed like every half hour or so, I had to make another run to the hardware store: longer bolts, shorter bolts, different drill bit, different washers, etc. Even though we were making progress, a gaping hole in the side of the living room where we’d taken out the old door and window made it seem otherwise. Appropriately, the end of the day found me making another run to the lumberyard. This time, it was dark already and we needed two sheets of plywood to close up the big hole in the wall. We’d worked nearly twelve hours with little to show except a big hole and a front door deck that had dropped about six inches at one corner. Frustrating day, one could say.

Yesterday was quite different. Within a half-hour, I had the deck jacked up and braced into place. I made a quick trip over to the hardware store for the right size washers. Another hour on the lag bolts had brought the wall back within a quarter-inch of plumb. In a nine foot run, that’s pretty good. In some places, we’d pulled the wall in nearly three inches. Kevin and I set in new studs under the header he and Travis had put in the day before. Then we put in the door and then the window. After Travis had to leave at four-thirty, Kevin and I kept working. He put in new metal flashing over the door while I worked on the kitchen window. We finished installing the trim and replacement siding pieces by flashlight and caulked the joints and edges around the door and windows. Once temperature and humidity cooperate a while, priming and paint will finish the job. A very productive day with much to show for it.

Thing is, the productivity of this day was largely accomplished by way of the previous day’s frustrations. All of those aggravating trips and the hours of effort with little visible progress set up the success of the next stage.

It is often like that in life and it is just that that makes it so critical that we persist. We cannot know when it is that just one more bolt, one more plank, one more prayer, one more kindness will bring about the desired result. While we must live with wisdom and accept the limitations of humanity, we ought to persevere in all that is good. It is worthy, too, to remember that doing what is good and proper and loving is not to be dependent on the perception of progress and result. In many cases, the doing itself is the desired result.

H. Arnett
1/21/10

Good Footing

It seems there is no end to the opportunities uncovered in remodeling an old house: wiring, plumbing, flooring, walls and on and on the list goes. Many of the changes are cosmetic and aesthetic, some provide greater comfort and some increase the safety of the place. And then, there are other changes that make it less likely to fall to the ground.

When we tore out the fire damaged plaster walls in the kitchen and living room, we discovered that the exterior wall had a problem. At first, it seemed that there was a slight separation between the sill header and the floor joists. Separation is not a good thing in this case. While absence may make the heart grow fonder, it can also make a wall go wander.

In this case, it had wandered out so far that the nails were pulled completely loose from the ends of the joists. At one place, the exterior wall was three inches farther out than it should have been. As you might guess, that’s well beyond tolerance. A sixteenth of an inch isn’t even noticeable, really. Forty-eight times that is another matter.

As my brother, brother-in-law and I investigated, we found that the foundation had shifted. Construction methods apparently in vogue ninety years ago did not have a system that interconnected the flooring, joists and walls. Flooring and joists stayed in place, wall did not. When the foundation shifted, the only resisting force was the linear friction of the nails in yellow pine end grain. Not sufficient.

When the foundation is secure, it bears the entire weight of the structure and the forces applied to it. When the foundation gives way, everything that is built on it is put at risk. This is as true of civilizations and nations as it is of old houses and people. When foundations are restored, the changes are miraculous.

H. Arnett
1/20/10

Whether Forecast

Week before last, we spent a few days setting record low temperatures. Currently, we must be setting records for most consecutive days of dense fog. I suppose it must be that slightly warmer air over this definitely frozen ground that keeps that heavy shroud pulled over us in the Midwest. On Saturday morning at eight o’clock, the mercury reading was thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. An hour later, it had not changed. Same reading at noon, at mid-afternoon and in early evening. When I finally pried myself away from the weather reports and retired to bed, it was still thirty-two degrees. Still foggy, too.

Yesterday, we made it up to thirty-five degrees but we did not manage to get rid of the fog. But at least we have some variety headed our way today; there’s a sixty-percent chance of drizzle with outright rain slated for tonight. Whether or not that will take away the fog remains to be seen.

What is clear, though, is that God’s love and mercy, his faithfulness, his leading and calling, his provision and training are not dependent upon climate patterns, not altered by Arctic blasts nor stalled out fronts. Beyond the whims of weather, above the fog and drizzle of this life and through every circumstance, his devotion and care do not falter.

H. Arnett
1/19/10