In the Mean Time

I have so many items on my list of “Things to Do.” But instead of "doing", I have been sitting on my shady front porch . . . with Abe . . . reading David McCullough’s fascinating biography of John Adams. My husband is gone to business meetings. My son is on a jobsite somewhere building a fence. The poodles are napping. And I am sitting outside in the humid southern summer with Abe.

I had first planned to run a few errands, but my son and my husband have our two cars. Dave’s truck is sitting in the cottage driveway, but I can’t find his keys. Guess running errands is out of the question. I don’t have any car keys.

Then I thought that I would do a little painting prep-work in the cottage. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little work done over there. But all the doors were locked . . . and both men have all the keys. Guess working at the cottage is out of the question. I don’t have any way of getting inside.

Then I decided that I should take a walk and do some outdoor photography. I toted my camera to a clump of thistles to see if I could capture a good picture of the bees buzzing from bloom to bloom. After the third picture, my camera battery shut down. I had forgotten to recharge it. Guess I won’t be taking pictures right now. I don’t have an extra battery.

I already cleaned the kitchen. Perhaps I could do laundry. The floors definitely need a good scrubbing. But instead, I have chosen to sit and read. And think.

The thing I have been thinking about is the phrase, “in the mean time.” I am doing that right now . . . not really able to do what I wanted or planned to do, but waiting for the time when everything will work out so I can move forward. For now . . . sitting on the front porch with Abe . . . reading and thinking and drinking iced tea . . . is how I have chosen to spend my “in the mean time.” In a sense, I am waiting. But in another sense, I am fully occupied. That is pretty much what “in the mean time” is. It is both waiting and occupying.

Then it dawned on me: life is FULL of interims. Waiting for summer. Waiting for the move to college. Waiting for your birthday. Waiting for a promotion at work. Waiting for the wedding. Waiting for grandchildren. Waiting and occupying is as much a part of life as “real activity” is. And the way we spend our “in the mean times” can be the defining framework that surrounds everything else we do. Are we anxious? Are we fearful? Are we frustrated? Are we bored? Is there a sense of fullness and peace in the mean time?

I think our “in the mean time” moments are the prologues and the epilogues of the chapters of our lives. They set us up . . . emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually . . . for the activities God brings to us. And then they give us an opportunity, at the end of it all, to find clarity and meaning to the working-out of His hand in our lives. Perhaps we shouldn’t be in such a hurry or full of such anxiety about what will happen next. Perhaps we should be completely content in the mean time. Perhaps there are treasures of blessings there.

I think I should tell David and Rachel that these last three-and-a-half weeks before their wedding are important “in the mean time” days. They should treasure them. They should allow God’s peace and love and wisdom and grace to soak into every nook and cranny of their “waiting for the big day” hours. These “in the mean time” days can be a beautiful, blessed prologue for their new chapter in life.

I think I should tell myself that, too.

The picture of the bee and the thistle I have shared with you is from last year. I will take more photos later when my camera battery finishes charging. And, in the mean time, I will get a new glass of iced tea. Abe isn’t finished with his nap and I have a few more pages to read . . .

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Abe's Blog

I have become a “dog person.” I am quite surprised by this fact. When I was a young wife with four growing children, I just never quite pictured myself as a 50-year-old dog lover. But as my energy level wanes a bit and I have more time to indulge in quiet things like long walks and thick books, I am beginning to truly enjoy the loyal companionship and whimsical friendship of my dogs.

Typically, Kirkhaven is the realm of poodles. Very small, delicate poodles. They lounge on your lap. They nap in your arms. They snuggle at your shoulder as you sit on the couch reading a book or watching a movie. They enjoy a short traipse through the daisy meadow and gleefully chase turkeys if such serendipity arises. Poodles gaze deeply into your heart. They lick you gently on the nose. Their loyalty and intelligence is rooted in their ancient breeding as hunting dogs. Their mission at Kirkhaven is to joyfully greet every visitor and lavishly rest with all who enter our doors. They lie quietly as you stroke their soft, curly fur and totally convince you that THIS is the important moment of your day.

But a new age is dawning at Kirkhaven. Abe is coming to town. Things are truly about to change around here. If you haven’t met this endearing soul, it will be difficult for you to fully grasp the immense impact he is going to have on our tranquil home. Abe spent last summer with us when Dave came home for summer break. I totally know what we are getting into this time. I don’t think I will tell the poodles that Abe is coming.

Abe is a dog. Just like my poodles. Abe also has ancestral hunting blood running through his veins. Just like my poodles. Abe is well-meaning and genial. Just like my poodles. Mmmm . . . let me see . . . that’s about it. Yup. That’s all Abe has in common with the poodles. Everything else about this German Short-haired huntin’ dawg is utterly unpoodle-ish.

My son Dave, recently graduated from North Dakota State University, is bringing Abe home to us. Dave will be marrying his lovely bride, Rachel, in the back yard of our Tennessee hill-top home on July 3rd. Then Dave, Rach, and Abe will be settling into the “Kirkhaven Cottage” to begin their life-journey together. I will get to spend a lot of time with this energetic dog. I am quite looking forward to it. I think.

What Abe Looks Like:

Abe has a rich, shiny liver coat. The white patch on his chest makes him look a little like he is wearing a tuxedo. His eyes have that doleful expression that makes you want to kiss him right on the snout. Which you really shouldn’t do. He will kiss you back.

Abe’s Joy: Abe is 70 long-legged pounds of pure, bird-dog energy. He doesn’t traipse through daisy patches like poodles do. He bounds. His long, floppy ears haphazardly flap in the wind as he barrels across the rolling fields on our East Tennessee ridge-top. He dives into the woods if he smells something interesting. He streaks and zig-zags through the tall grass following every scent and alerting to every wildlife happenstance. He is so exuberant in his freedom that even your own heart begins to swell with joy as you watch his unbridled galloping . Then he usually makes a final sharp turn and plows through every flower bed on his way to the swimming pool. It is pretty much impossible to stop him, even if you think you have the advantage of a head-start. Neither wildly flinging arms, nor strongly yelled rebukes, nor any feeble attempts to block his way will prevent Abe from diving into the pool. I have tried them all. Especially on muddy days. It is a simple fact: Abe is deaf and unavailable to all forms of communication when he is rejoicing.

Abe’s Devotion:

Abe is devoted to his people. Especially to Dave. No one is a “stranger” to Abe, and he is generous and lavish in his affection. Actually he expresses himself in much the same way as poodles do . . . only more gangly. He, too, wants to spend time with you. And nap with you. And relax in the quietness of your friendship. It’s just that he is much heavier than a poodle . . . and has slightly less manners. And Abe snores.

Abe’s Melancholy:

Abe doesn’t like to be alone. That’s really his only serious personality flaw. He will eat through any fence. Scratch through any door. Dig deep holes. He will do whatever it takes to be reunited with his people. It is one of the saddest sounds in the world when Abe . . . all alone in his dog pen . . . starts his mournful howling. “Sounds like a dang hound dog,” is how Dave describes it.

I am looking forward to seeing ol’ Abe again. We will take walks together. We will play fetch in the west meadow. And we will sit on the loggia on really hot days while everyone else is at work. Someone else will have to scold him for ignoring commands and for digging holes and for howling. That won’t be my responsibility. Abe and I will simply enjoy each other. I don’t have any grandchildren. I suppose Abe is my grand-dog.

Perhaps the poodles will learn to love Abe, too. In spite of his lack of manners.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Events and the Now

I want to be a person who can live in the moment. As I stop to think about it, I am astounded that after 50 years of life experience, I am still grappling with exactly how to be fully present . . . and fully alive . . . in my immediate “Now.” I have been anxious about the future. I have been nostalgic about the past. I have allowed myself far too much liberty in becoming stressed with the present. But I really don’t think I have mastered . . . in 50 years of living . . . the art of living Now.

I think I have fallen into the trap of living my life as a collection of events.

First there have been the planned events. They were prepared for. They were executed to the best of my ability. Then they were recorded and catalogued . . . in pictures or writings or memories. And they were finally relegated to the recesses of experience where I could access them for future planned events. Neatly packaged.

Then there have been the unplanned events. Some of them wonderfully waltzed into my life with the joy and laughter of a happy surprise. Some of them body-slammed me with the gut-wrenching horror of an unexpected shock. Some of them I have immensely enjoyed. Some of them I have barely survived. They too, of course, were still events . . . life happenings. Just not so neatly packaged.

But I am beginning to wonder if this “life-event” mentality is shortchanging me. If l have been living from one event to another . . . then what has been happening to the in-between times? It certainly cannot be possible that God is silent in-between. It cannot be possible that nothing important transpires in-between. It could, however, be possible that I am missing something in-between.

So . . . maybe . . . instead of life being a collection of events . . . maybe life is a progression of moments. And maybe life’s real challenge isn’t to have successful events but to find real Life in every moment.

If this is true, then my salvation is not just a life-changing event. It is more. It is an astounding moment-to-moment continuing journey with the Creator of the universe. Every moment of every day. Even when the only event happening is a lovely sunset or a quiet starry night.

And motherhood is not just an emotionally-charged birth. It is more. It is a committed, enduring relationship of ups and downs with someone who is so like me yet very much NOT me. Every moment of every day. Even when I haven’t spoken with my child in days . . . or weeks . . . or years.

And my father’s death isn’t just a final medical tragedy. It is more. It is the temporary postponement of a joyous reunion in eternity when there will be no more pain or worry or cancer. Every moment of every day. Even if I miss his laugh and his warm, assuring encouragement today.

DeVern Fromke, in his book Unto Full Stature puts it this way:

It is just here we see the glaring weakness in many fundamental circles. Too many emphasize the past-tense crisis act and almost ignore the privilege of the continuous present participation. They rejoice in the finished work, but know or seemingly care little about the continuous operation of Life within them by the Holy Spirit. It is one thing to have received “Life in the Son,” but it is sure an equal privilege to enjoy the vital participation in Life every day by His Spirit.

Vital participation in Life every day. By His Spirit. I think that is what I need.

Live in the moment. With Him. By Him. Because of Him. Every moment of every day.

Hear Him.
Appreciate Him.
Agree with Him.
Work with Him.

Rejoice with Him.

Let Him console you.
Be loved by Him.
And love Him back.
Through every event.
And especially in-between.

It is true, I think, that events are markers in the progression of our lives. But I am thinking that the stuff life is really made of is its moments. And true artistry is living each one to its fullest. In Him.

I want to be a person who can really live in the moment.

John 1:4
In Him is Life.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Hannah's Wedding

The sound of Hannah’s Wedding is what I remember most. Of course the flowers were beautiful. The ceremony was truly sweet. Hannah was absolutely gorgeous in her beaded, fairy-tale dress. And the reception at The Bower’s Barn could not have been more perfect.

But this afternoon, as I putz through another Kirkhaven Monday, it is the sound of Hannah’s Wedding that I remember most vividly. My heart still resonates with it. It’s a warm, rich, patchwork-quilt kind of clatter that says, “The saints of God have come. And blessing is raining.”
Hannah Grace contentedly hummed on her daddy’s lap . . .
Mom Ann chatted quietly with Wendy in the vestibule . . .
Roonie laughed . . .
Angel whispered as she hugged a friend . . .

I stood in the doorway of the sanctuary at Hannah's Wedding, with my eyes closed, and let my heart become drenched with the sound of God’s precious people. I listened to it . . . this symphony of fellowship. I listened because I had heard it before. I listened because I knew . . . when I heard it . . . that Father had sent His most treasured envoys to bear his rarest gifts. Gifts found only in His Son and in the fellowship of His people:

I knew there would be joy.
I knew there would be peace.

I knew there would be love.

The celebration would be lavish.

The blessing would be enduring.

And it truly was.

God's people had come to Hannah's Wedding.
And the sound was glorious.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

The List

I had a list today, but I put it away. Lynne said that I should. “Get your camera and take that walk,” she said as we chatted on the phone. It seemed too lavish. My husband, after all, was working. And I had important things to do. Some of my chores were even “carry-overs” from Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. But I wasn’t horribly resolute about this list today. And I can say, “Lynne made me do it.” I totally love a good excuse.

So I took a long walk. A leg-stretching, deep sighing, traipsing and meandering kind of stroll. I watched insects in the meadow. Searched for deer and turkey tracks on the soggy forest path. Closed my eyes and breathed intoxicating scents of honeysuckle and wild berry blooms. And I made a different list. Here it is.

1. Fog is quieting. Especially when it is lifting. It shushes my mind so my soul can think.

2. Salmon-pink azalea blooms can survive a thunderstorm. I presumed that this morning’s pouring rain and gusting wind had smooshed them. Delicate beauty is hardier than it seems.

3. The Gerber Daisies are back! Growing right where they were planted last year. In the middle of the weeds I should clear. I guess some things don’t need my fussing and tending to thrive. Or even my faith in their ability to survive the winter. They managed it all without me. I love surprises like that.

4. I haven’t seen the turkeys today, but they left a feather in the meadow below the cottage. I feel pretty sure the turkey hasn't missed it. For him, it is completely replacable. For me, it is a small treasure.

5. There is something very poignant about beautiful things that only last a moment. Like water droplets on blades of grass. We walk on them. The wind blows them away. The sun evaporates them. But sometimes, if we stand very still and look, we can see them before they disappear. And then they are always remembered.

6. I am not really sure which I love more: blackberry blooms or blackberry cobblers. Both, however, grow on sprawling bushes that have intolerable thorns. Several things I truly love are like that.

7. You can’t really predict where bugs are going to land. You definitely have to be watching. If you hate bugs, their landing could be a catastrophe. If you are fascinated by them, their landing is a gift. I am thinking that sometimes the difference between a catastrophe and a gift is simply perspective.

8. I found a four-leafed clover in the yard.

9. I lost a poodle in the field.

10. And she was NOT too happy about being found.

I finished my walk and sat at the computer eating Orange-Almond-Spiced Homemade Granola (a Wendy Cantrell special treat) as I clicked through all the photos I had taken.

Here is my conclusion on the subject of lists:

Lists can be a good thing if they are inspiring and nourishing.
Lists can be a bad thing if they are demanding and stifling.
But lists can be a blessed thing if they bring your heart and your mind to the kind of quiet rest that allows the voice of God to be heard. And believed. And acted upon.

All in all, lists are really just neutral.

But what we do with our lists . . . that, seems to me, to be the thing that defines them.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

A Third Now

. . . now we see through a glass, darkly (KJV)

Now we see but a poor reflection (NIV)

. . . now we see in a mirror dimly (NASB)

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to see everything clearly. With perfect perspective from every angle. Completely understanding the issues in the foreground of my life without losing any clarity with the things that are in the distance or in the background or around the edges.

There will come a time when I will see the Lord face to face. There will come a time when I will know things . . . understand things . . . truly and completely, just as I have been known and understood by Him. There is comfort in that. But if Father had left me with only that . . . peering intently into things that I cannot fully see . . . I think I would despair.

There is however, in the closing verses of 1 Corinthians 13, a third “Now.”

Now I see through a glass darkly.
Now I know in part.
But now faith, hope, love.

Perfect. Father’s ways are always perfect. Some things He clouds. Some things He cloaks. Some things are mysteries unrevealed. But in our groping through the fog . . . and in our questioning through the confusion . . . and in our heart-wringing through the pain or strife . . . He stands with His hand extended. He gives faith. He gives hope. He gives love.

Sometimes we cannot understand.
But we can believe.
And if we turn our eyes from searching . . . and peer intently into Him . . . we will find more than enough to sustain us.
To more than sustain us. His Word assures us of this.

I have seen.
It is true.

For now we see in a mirror dimly,
but then face to face;
now I know in part,
but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.
But now faith, hope, love, abide
these three;
but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:12-13 (NASB)

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Praying

I really don’t think most people get up in the morning and say to themselves, “I am going to ruffle a few feathers today. I am going to maximize my stress, minimize my peace, and see if I might find a little devastation in my life today.” Most of the people I know don’t like conflict. Personally, I am a fan of quiet, tranquil days. Ruffled feathers are usually accompanied with the kind of loud squawking and frantic flapping that sends me running for safety.

My recent studies in the book of 1 Samuel have challenged me to examine the way I deal with stress and conflict. And through that challenge, I am discovering an unexpected beauty in vulnerability. And I am seeing inherit dangers in the ways that I deal with it.

In first Samuel chapter 4, Israel was very vulnerable. The nation’s spiritual leaders were reprobate. The nation’s people no longer ascribed to a purely Biblical theology or philosophy. “In those days the word of the LORD was rare; there were not many visions.” (1 Samuel 3:1) God wasn’t speaking. And the mighty Philistines were on the attack.

1 Samuel 4:1-11 narrates the story:

And Samuel's word came to all Israel. Now the Israelites went out to fight against the Philistines. The Israelites camped at Ebenezer, and the Philistines at Aphek. The Philistines deployed their forces to meet Israel, and as the battle spread, Israel was defeated by the Philistines, who killed about four thousand of them on the battlefield.

When the soldiers returned to camp, the elders of Israel asked, "Why did the LORD bring defeat upon us today before the Philistines? Let us bring the ark of the LORD's covenant from Shiloh, so that it may go with us and save us from the hand of our enemies." So the people sent men to Shiloh, and they brought back the ark of the covenant of the LORD Almighty, who is enthroned between the cherubim. And Eli's two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, were there with the ark of the covenant of God.

When the ark of the LORD's covenant came into the camp, all Israel raised such a great shout that the ground shook. Hearing the uproar, the Philistines asked, "What's all this shouting in the Hebrew camp?" When they learned that the ark of the LORD had come into the camp, the Philistines were afraid. "A god has come into the camp," they said. "We're in trouble! Nothing like this has happened before. Woe to us! Who will deliver us from the hand of these mighty gods? They are the gods who struck the Egyptians with all kinds of plagues in the desert. Be strong, Philistines! Be men, or you will be subject to the Hebrews, as they have been to you. Be men, and fight!"

So the Philistines fought, and the Israelites were defeated and every man fled to his tent. The slaughter was very great; Israel lost thirty thousand foot soldiers. The ark of God was captured, and Eli's two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, died.

What?? Israel brought the Ark of the Covenant into their camp. There was great rejoicing. The enemy heard and was afraid. And Israel LOST the battle??

There is something very important about Israel’s “use” of the Ark of the Covenant. God is speaking to today’s church through it. Dale Ralph Davis, in his expository commentary 1 Samuel: Looking on the Heart takes that old story of Israel’s defeat and adds modern relevancy to it. Here are some excerpts from his commentary on 1 Samuel chapter 4:

When we, whether Israelites or Christians, operate this way, our concern is not to seek God but to control him, not to submit to God but to use him. So we prefer religious magic to spiritual holiness; we are interested in success, not repentance. . . Yahweh will suffer shame rather than allow you to carry on a false relationship with him; and Yahweh will allow you to be disappointed with him if it will awaken you to the sort of God he really is. Whenever the church stops confessing “Thou art worthy” and begins chanting “Thou art useful” – well, then you know the ark of God has been captured again.

So, here is what I glean from all this:

When the Philistines came against Israel, God’s people did not respond to their difficulty based upon their RELATIONSHIP with God. They responded to their situation based upon their BENEFITS from God. They didn't wait for God or call upon God or trust God or seek honest, Godly counsel. They just took the ark . . . their most powerful symbol of God’s ability to save them . . . and they used it. Used God. Put that ark out into the battle and expected it to work its magic. They didn’t want relationship. They just wanted success.

We . . . God’s people . . . are susceptible to “using God” and making “magic charms” of spiritual things when we are going through dry, difficult, scary times. These seasons when God seems too slow or too quiet or not attentive to our “needs” leave us vulnerable. Just standing there, vulnerable and waiting, is hard. We want to do something. We want some spiritual power to cover our vulnerability. We just want success.

It is in these times that we usually become most trite. Most desperate. Least discerning. Most likely to take that ark, march it to the front of the battlefield, and expect it to work its magic.
I think we use prayer like that sometimes.

Here are some examples:

“When I start every day in prayer, my day just goes better.”
Really? Does it? Always? What happens if God totally UNDOES your heart during your morning prayer? And then you are UNDONE for the rest of the day?

“I just need to get prayed for.”
So you get prayed for. You cry. The moment is terrific. Everyone involved agrees that something really wonderful happened. But in that very moment, did God do an enduring work in you? Are you really different? Will you still be different tomorrow . . . or will you need to get prayed for again?

“Prayer changes things.”
So what happens if you pray and you see no change? For days or weeks or months or years you see no change? Is that really the highest purpose of prayer . . . to “change things”?

I definitely believe we need to pray. Probably need to pray MORE than we currently do. And I believe we should pray for others. And we should ask others to pray for us. And . . . The effective prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much (James 5:16). However, in difficult times, when we are most vulnerable and feel least powerful, we must be careful to not use prayer as a talisman.

Talisman:
1: an object held to act as a charm to avert evil and bring good fortune
2: something producing apparently magical or miraculous effects

Prayer must be a function of relationship. God's power isn't the point of our prayers, because failure isn't the overriding tragedy in our lives. Separation is.

We need a deeper relationship with Him. Walk with Him. Talk with Him. Study His Word. Let His very nature soak into every vulnerable nook and cranny of our soul.

Then when the Philistines come . . . as they always do . . . we will be found in Him.
And when victory comes it will be His victory.
His way.
His timing.
His glory.

Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
2 Cor 4:7 (NASB)
But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves.

Psalms 46:10-11 (NIV)
Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. 

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Ice Fishing

In the South, ice is a summer thing. It keeps your lemonade or your sweet tea cold and refreshing as you sit on the loggia, under lazily spinning fans, watching puffy clouds drift across the Smoky Mountain vista. You dump bags of it into coolers when you are going picnicking or fishing so that your food and drinks don’t become tepid. It is a necessity in long, hot, humid days. It is a friend. A blessing.

In North Dakota, ice is a winter thing. It hides as a slippery crust under deepening blankets of new-fallen snow. It hangs in long, glistening icicles from eaves and mailboxes and trees. It creeps across the glistening surface of quiet lakes . . . thickening day by day . . . until even the fish are encased below its opaque coldness. It is a fact to contend with and can even be a danger to plan for. It is a familiar companion . . . even a friend, when you get to fish on it.

When I tell my friends here in East Tennessee that I went ice fishing, they just shake their head in southern skepticism. When I tell them it was a worthy adventure and absolutely fun, they stare at me in stunned disbelief. But . . . they never went fishing with Kirk.

Kirk Ohlheiser was utterly prepared for this adventure. He had all the gear. Trust me . . . alllllllllll the gear. He brought two ice huts, two heaters, a large auger, fishing poles, and live minnows. Holly brought sandwiches, chips, and beverages for the whole crew. And, of course, we had our borrowed “warm clothing gear” that Holly had procured from her friend. So we loaded up the trucks and drove to the boonies. Southerners were going ice fishing.

First, I had to emotionally deal with the idea of traversing across a frozen lake. I had heard stories of people falling through ice. Everything in my southern mentality screamed that winter lakes were full of very cold WATER . . . even if the water was temporarily hidden by a small crust of ice. If I was going to pull this off gracefully, pure Reid grit would have to win over southern sensibility.

Mercifully, Kirk decided to haul all the gear out onto our fishing destination by foot instead of driving. That saved me the embarrassment of frantically flinging the truck door open, dumping myself into the ridiculously deep snow, and walking across the lake all by myself. I had already made a very loud, solemn promise to everyone in the truck that I WOULD NOT, by any means of coercion, DRIVE onto that ice. If I was going down into the numbing waters through the ice, I WOULD NOT DO IT in a truck. I was quite sure God had heard my panicked prayers when Kirk decided that we would park the trucks and walk.

I learned several things on our adventure out onto that frozen lake:

First, the exertion of hauling gear is morphed into Everest-like effort when the air is too cold to breathe. Tucking your face into your scarf helps until your breath condenses into ice on the scarf’s fibers. Then nothing helps.

Second, laughing keeps you warm. It shoots life-giving joy through your lungs and your body and your soul. And it keeps your definitions of the adventure from wandering into thoughts of impossibility.

Third, frozen lakes are the perfect place to make snow angels. Unbelievably perfect. But if you refuse to fall back and try to make your own, Rachel will shove you backwards to encourage the process. Ask Mattie.

Fourth, trust Kirk. He doesn’t just ice fish, he ice fishes IN STYLE. Gracious service. Lush accommodations. And a delightful dose of very dry humor to keep everyone sharp. If you MUST go ice fishing, go with Kirk.

Fifth, everything freezes on ice. That seems like a grand statement of the obvious, but it is really true. Beverages freeze. Sandwiches freeze. Feet freeze. Even the fishing hole you just augured freezes over and captures your fishing line in its incessant grip. THAT, I finally figured out, was what the spoon scoop was for. It wasn’t a soup ladle. It was an ice-crust scooper. Go figure.

Sixth, girls fish differently than guys. David, my husband and I were in one hut. Holly, Rachel, Jamie, Mattie, and Chad were in the other hut. Kirk, stationed in my hut, visited between both huts to make sure everyone was fine. My hut was the “guy hut.” My hut was quiet. Chad endured the “girl hut.” I am not really sure what transpired in the other hut, but it sure sounded like a hoot-n-holler hoe-down to me. I never heard a peep from Chad, however. The only real excitement in our hut was when my husband decided to dump some of the live minnows into our fishing hole to see if he could coax some big fish our direction. We all sat around that hole, watching the minnows swim in a circle, while my husband declared, “Be free, little guys! Be free!” Ice eventually starts to mess with a southerner’s sanity, apparently.

Frozen lakes are starkly beautiful places. The only noise is your noise. The only warmth is the richness of your fellowship and the dependability of your heaters. The only colors are the white of the snow, the azure-gray of the ice, and the deep, cold blue of the North Dakota sky. And when the sun goes down, the deepening strokes of orange, purple and pink are stunning beyond description. I loved it in such a deeply, satisfying way. As we were chatting in our hut, David wistfully said, “I could stay here all night.” I understood.

We didn’t catch any fish that day, but we captured a memory that will last a life-time. When I talk with my Tennessee friends about it, their minds can’t really get past the idea of that much ice and that much snow and that much cold. They gaze at me extremely doubtfully when I say that they would love it. I guess you just had to be there. With Kirk and Holly and the gang.

They would love it.

I am sure.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

North Dakota Adventure Part Two: The Warmth of North Dakota Cold

The written word can be so limiting. You simply need wild gestures and a passionately inflected voice to convey some things. But rich, deep, soul-nourishing experiences deserve to be communicated and shared. Even if their retelling stretches the writer’s skill with crafting words. And even if the real treasures of the matter lie wordlessly in the heart.

Holly’s big idea was that we should all go sledding. She had borrowed extra winter gear from a friend and convinced us all to pile on the layers for an afternoon excursion. It wasn’t until I stood at the top of the hill that a tiny panic alarm started beeping somewhere in my subconscious. I suddenly remembered that “redneck” joke where the punch line reads:

What’s a redneck’s last words?
“Hey y’all . . . wa-chis!”
Translation for my North Dakota friends:
“Attention everyone! Watch this foolish Tennessean do something really stupid!”

Several things about this venture were beginning to give me pause.

First, it was cold. Not the Tennessee kind of cold where you put on your hoodie because the temperatures might dip below freezing. It was a North Dakota cold. Where your own breath freezes on your eyelashes because the wind chill factor registers in negative double digits. If you can breathe at all.

Secondly, I wondered exactly how dense my 49-year-old bones really were. And how much opposing force could my joints and tendons actually tolerate? I was watching other people speed down the hill. The frequency of wipe-outs seemed pretty high.

Thirdly, I was wise enough to understand that what goes down must also come up. My fledgling experiences with walking on snow-covered ice nudged me to consider what challenge awaited me on the uphill trudge. Did I actually have the stamina for it?

True to form, however, Southern Pride won out over tenative musings. In the same spirit that adventurers traveled across these Great Plains many years ago on a quest for gold . . . “California or Bust” . . . I struck out on a quest for the prize of the greatest sled run ever . . . bust or not!

I will never forget that first race down the hill. The sheer panic, absolute abandon, and utter exhilaration will be frozen in my mind forever. My husband rode in the front and I was tucked in behind him. We had challenged Chad and Jamie to a race and our Reid competitive spirit had taken control of the moment. I reached behind the sled to give us an extra boost at the starting line. Then I heard the clear, familiar sound that pushed all fear aside and sent me shooting down the hillside with hoot-n-hollering southern joy. Holly . . . my dear North Dakota friend . . . was laughing.

We careened down the hill quite a few times that afternoon. Sometimes we managed to stay on the sled. A couple of times we graced the slope with our own version of tumbling acrobatics. But every run was absolutely joyous. All previous trepidation was gone. I didn’t break any bones or strain any muscles. Everyone had a blast. Holly’s big idea was a total success.

It started snowing again as my husband and I labored up the slope for the last time. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Evening was descending across the winter landscape and it was time to leave. I took a snapshot, in my heart, of the drifting flakes and the freezing wind. I listened to the sound of muffled footsteps as they sank into the deepening powder. I wanted to remember it all. The ice on David’s beard. Rachel’s red cheeks and dancing eyes. Mattie tucked snuggly inside her fur-lined hat. Jamie’s cheery chattering and Chad’s quiet grin.

And Holly laughing.
Such a treasure.
Could there ever be anything warmer than that?

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

North Dakota Adventure Part One: Fresh Tracks in the Snow

Sometimes you have to get out of your comfortable routines . . . and go on extraordinary adventures . . . to test the mettle of your own beliefs. Wake up in the morning to a different vista. Go trekking on totally fresh ground. If what you have always believed about joy and love and friendship and family are really enduring and really true, then your travels will find you enjoying comradeship among the most distant people and experiencing warm familiarity even in the most unprecedented moments.

North Dakota in the winter is definitely an unusual place to find an East Tennessean. But Rachel Ohlheiser, my son’s Fargo-born-and-raised girlfriend, finally convinced us that THIS year was the PERFECT year to spend Christmas week with her family in Bismarck. So we packed our bags, donned our new, hand-crocheted scarves, and left Kirkhaven to the care of faithful friends. “This year,” we assured our fellow southerners, “the Reids will have a white Christmas!”

After leaving Knoxville, we had two layovers sandwiched between three flights. When we finally arrived in Fargo, happy for the journey but weary from the travel, Dave met us at the baggage claim and escorted us to the double-cab truck he had borrowed from Rachel’s father Kirk. Dave’s truck, a red Toyota Tacoma, wouldn’t have been sufficient for the next day’s drive to Bismarck. We would be travelling with three adults, one teenager, one German Short-haired Pointer, and a plethora of bags and satchels. We were very grateful for Kirk’s generous offer of his vehicle.

We deposited our luggage at the hotel and headed to the restaurant where Dave had arranged for us to enjoy a late dinner with several of his friends. We were excited to meet the young men and women we had heard so much about. It was during our walk across the airport parking lot and then our drive through the city of Fargo that the reality of snow began to settle into my heart.

There was snow everywhere. In all the parking lots. On all the roads. In every yard. And, whether my stunned, southern mind could believe it or not, there was even snow beginning to drift down through the cloudy, night sky. Shouldn’t we rush outside and frantically start a snowball fight? Shouldn’t we hoop and holler and dance around at the wonder of a landscape blanketed in white? Shouldn’t we hurry and grab a sled and try to enjoy it all while it lasted? Nope. No bluster. No hurry. This wasn’t the South. The snow would still be there in the morning. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be melting until spring.

I made a fresh set of tracks in the snow that unbelievably cold North Dakota night. I stepped off the sidewalk at Ground Round Restaurant and let my southern feet sink deeply into the pristine whiteness. I didn’t tell a soul. I just did it.

And I made myself four solemn vows that evening at the start of our North Dakota Adventure:

1. I would make tracks in the snow every chance I got.

2. I would find a pristine patch of winter landscape and fall backwards into the whiteness to swish out the perfect snow angel.

3. I would watch my son and his huntin’ dog Abe traipse across the North Dakota prairie in search of pheasant.

4. I would NEVER, NEVER demean myself by squeeling in freaked-out-southern-terror as my son slipped and slid the truck across ice-covered streets. Even when he did it purposely. Even when he did it grinning.

I kept every promise. Even the squeeling one . . . you can ask Dave. But I could have never dreamed how perfectly or unexpectedly or wondrously each vow would be kept . . .

Did I find adventure outside of my comfortable southern routines?

You becha.

Was there love and joy and friendship and family even in the subzero winter of Bismarck, North Dakota?

Yup. All of that, and even more.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid