A week ago Sunday, our family embarked on a vacation. We drove to the San Juan Islands on the Washington coast, taking a ferry to get to our particular island, where we stayed at some friends' cabin. I learned a few things on this trip. First off, I learned that you can't judge a gas station by it's company. "I have to go poop!" my two year old niece exclaimed as we were driving down the freeway. I took the nearest exit and saw a Shell station on my right and remembered all the Shell stations I have ever seen, which are almost always nicer than other stations, and would probably have nicer bathrooms. As we pulled into the parking space, the small store had a handwritten sign on the door saying that there were no bathrooms inside. What they did offer were a couple of port-a-potties. Time being of the essence, we had no luxury of searching for better accommodations elsewhere, and the ones provided had to suffice. Another thing I learned is that some jellyfish aren't harmful, whereas others are. The little clear ones don't seem to have any stinging tentacles, and we saw tons of them. We did see a couple of large yellowish ones with long tentacles that would undoubtedly unleash their fury in an excruciating way. Thankfully none of us learned the hard way. Something we did learn the hard way was that paddling a canoe home on the ocean in a strong headwind is not always an easy task. Since the water was too choppy to see much underneath it, we had spent the afternoon wandering the rocky beaches looking for interesting see creatures. On the way back, the wind was intense. I remember paddling over each wave, feeling like I was making progress, only to look at the shore and discover we were barely moving. If we paddled only slightly, the boat would begin to go backward. As we battled the wind and waves, we drew close to a bald eagle on the beach, engrossed in eating something big. Curiosity aroused, we pulled into shore to take a closer look. It appeared to be a seal or otter or some such thing. The bird was probably just scavenging, because catching something that big would be a difficult feat, even for an eagle. To our relief, we made it back to the road where we could load the canoe on the van and go back to the cabin. My last lesson is simply that any car ride near stop and go traffic or winding mountain roads that involves children or anyone who tends toward motion sickness should be furnished with at least one strong, easily accessible plastic bag with no holes in the bottom. Shopping bags don't work well
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This week I worked for a couple of days with a friend who has a carpet cleaning business. The work isn't generally very hard compared to construction or some other kinds of manual labor, but it has some interesting qualities. Every time we arrived at a new house to clean, I didn't know what we would find inside. My friend, having done this for some years, said nothing can surprise him now. He has seen it all. The story I want to relate to you is not actually from this week, but took place a few summers ago when I was helping him.
One warm summer day, the foreboding description of our next job had me curious. There was a stain on the carpet that needed to be cleaned out, which purportedly saw the final death throes of a now deceased cat. We had scarcely reached the door when my olfactory senses caught the distinctive stench of cat pee. Inside, we found an older lady, a middle aged lady who was probably her daughter, and a guy in his twenties. None of them seemed to be the type of people who were gainfully employed. This fact was betrayed to us various forms, one of which being the nature of their activities upon our arrival. Many people will sit in their living room watching a TV, but curiously enough, they were sitting there entertained with something else. I could make out some crackling voices coming over the radio scanner, something about a brush fire. In the first bedroom, we encountered the curious stain right next to the bed. Meanwhile, my mental faculties began roaming, searching for what circumstances could have possibly surrounded the incident to leave such a stain. They didn't seem like the kind of people that would kill a cat inside and try to hide it. I support this conclusion by their possession of other ill-fortuned pets that resided there and their care toward them. A small dog with little control of it's hind legs (and apparently of its bowels as well) had undoubtedly spent most of its time in the second bedroom. The scene of this second bedroom was the most horrific and illogical situations where I have had to clean. A small animal had been defecating on the shag carpet all around the room. The most horrific part was the absence of evidence of an attempt to clean any of it on the part of the dweller of the room. I can understand there being stains on the carpet from such accidents, if someone still insists on keeping such an animal in their bedroom. However, what I don't understand is the presence of small logs, some of them thoroughly dried, evidencing that they were not simply unnoticed. I sincerely hope that there are very few people who would allow this to happen, and I don't think that anyone should ever have to vacuum up a room full of dried up piles of poop. If anyone ever got their money's worth out of carpet cleaning, it was them. I tell this story partially for the sick satisfaction of grossing out most of my readership and partially to testify to the horrors of laziness. Don't be lazy! There is nothing more particular to American culture than our celebration of Independence Day. Each country has it's own holidays, and many countries even have their own styles of celebration. Somewhere along the way, people decided to celebrate by gathering together with family and friends to eat outdoors. Some people like to go camping on such a weekend, and for many people, the 4th of July is a good excuse to drink more alcoholic beverages than they would ever drink of any other liquid. Thankfully, my family is not like this. We stuck to healthier alternatives, such as volleyball. Soccer didn't take place until after the meal, which seemed like a bad idea to me, but it was still entertaining. The court was a leveled piece of ground with a hill on one side and tall grass on the other. Someone decided that there shouldn't be any boundaries on the side, so family members fought each other for the ball, running up a hill and around a tree, or tramping through the grass. I wasn't expecting to play soccer, so I didn't bother bringing shoes. Some of the small pointy rocks would sneak under my heel right before I put my weight on it. Maybe one day my feet will be as calloused as they were in Brazil when we all ran around barefoot, even on cement. Another interesting tradition is the use of fireworks. No one would feel like they had celebrated the holiday unless they saw some form of fireworks. Somewhere along the line, someone must have decided that the way to demonstrate human joy and exhibit a mood of celebration is to set off a loud explosion or make bright colorful sparks. Blowing stuff up can be fun (as long as you don't heed the warning label). Then after it gets dark, the s'more making materials magically appear and all the kids get their sugar high right before bed time. Mother to small child: "How many marshmallows have you eaten?"
"Three." "Three!?" Yes, fun things happen on the Fourth of July. |
AuthorWe are normal people who believe that God would have us serve Him in Brazil. We are saddened by the existence of people who do not have access to the gospel due to their location and language. We want to live among such a people group and plant a church among them, shepherding the believers as they grow to maturity. Archives
November 2019
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