It's Like Butter

My heart is being softened with respect to Cindy Sheehan.

Out of the blue.

While watching the news coverage of the destruction we must face together in the wake of hurricane Katrina, I found myself awash in tears as whole families were desperately flagging down helicopter rescuers from aloft their roofs, sticking up about a foot out of the floodwaters. The awareness of the stark reality in our hard hit gulf states further roots faith and restores perspective. In me, it also sparks a mighty thirst to add not only my prayers, but my concerted effort or actual presence to help heal the hearts of the thousands of people left with nothing as the waves and wind steal their homes and change their lives.

As I was finishing my phone conversation with the local branch of the Red Cross toward that end, I noticed that the news had given way to a commercial break. And suddenly I was confronted with Cindy Sheehan's face and voice.

Great. I can't seem to get away from this woman.

That was my first thought.

Typical of my often a bit obsessively ravenous desire to seek and ingest information, I listened to her. All the way through her little speech delivered into the camera while directing her angry words to our President. I heard the familiar, "you lied to us" verse (to which I admit unconsciously uttering a sound quite resembling a bullfrog), the bitter accusations, the hurt tone, the angry pleading face.

I heard her. Again. It was nothing I have not already heard before. Amply.

As I turned away from the TV in disgust, I muttered to myself, "Ugh. Ridiculous woman."

Now here I must offer you a bit of a personal glimpse into the nature of my love and life with God. Our relationship involves daily interaction, conversation, prayer, worship songs, and quite regular Biblical and spiritual wrestling matches which always end with a lesson learned and a humbler heart. Well, almost always. Sometimes I am just enormously stubborn and dig in my heels. And sometimes, despite stumbling over the same obstacle many times before in my journey towards Him, I inevitably encounter them again. And again, fall flat on my face. Those are the moments when I feel certain that most laboratory rats have a faster learning curve than I do. And in which I rely on grace alone. Those moments I am at my closest with my Lord. Because when I am weak, He is strong.

Today was one of those moments.

Once in a while, when He speaks to my heart and clearly leads me to His understanding, I am able to actually hear his words as though He is in the room with me. Spoken in conversational tone, heard within my heart and mind simultaneously. Not as intimations or tuggings at my heart and mind, which comprise the far more common delivery systems He chooses to use my life. But as WORDS, as clearly spoken to me as though I were having an-in person verbal conversation with a friend.

Because essentially, I AM.

No, I am not that crazy lady sitting on the bus next to you, eating yarn and barking like a dog. This is not an indication of some mental disorder or disease, but evidence of a particularly sensitive intimacy with God that has developed between us over the last 32 years. And continues to be a palpable blessing in my life.

Today, with the clarion amplitude I imagine God emitting as He spoke to Moses on the mountain top, I heard His still small voice nudge me firmly,"Why are you determined to hate her?"

That sharply got my attention. God is rather excellent at getting my attention. Gosh darn it.

"What?! I don't hate her!"

"'Ridiculous woman' is not a term of endearment, Lachen."

So here I go marching into the frey once more with God. Remember the lab rat/learning curve reference above? Yeah, that'll be further illustrated here. Again.

"I do think she is ridiculous, though. A ridiculous whiner in a field. She's so blinded by her agenda! She is using her son as a sword across the soul of this country. She just wants to hate."

"SHE just wants to hate?"

"Hey, I don't hate her."

Silence.

I realize I am squirming inside myself. Truth is hard to face, and I don't like the way this conversation is going. It takes me a minute, but I sit down on my bed with my Bible and pray, asking to be convicted, convinced, compelled to hear what God is trying to tell me (because He has not been clear enough to this point already, right? Shades of Gideon re-emerge within my character, which I am not altogether unhappy about, but I am using them as more of a stalling technique in this case, and I know it). I pray to be open to what I need to hear Him say to my heart.

I open my Bible and am immediately forced to confront this rather direct response, in the form of 1 Corinthians 13:

"1 If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I surrender my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing. 4 Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, 5 does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, 6 does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; 7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 Love never fails; but if there are gifts of prophecy, they will be done away; if there are tongues, they will cease; if there is knowledge, it will be done away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part; 10 but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away. 11 When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. 12 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. 13 But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love."

How many times have I read this passage and found solace and inspiration? Found comfort in the unending love of God and the committment I believed I had upheld until now to love every one of God's creation as HE does? Today, I found the Godly echo of my own self-condemnation. And it was righfully and painfully discovered.

My firece resolve, all my carefully honed and still subscribed to arguments about the Sheehan Festival of Whiners, the War, the Right, the Wrong, and all the Rest Of It stepped quietly and gingerly into the background. Dissolving, while remaining completely intact. Still as rooted as ever, just moved from the forefront of my mind to the back to allow the Spirit to take over and convict me from the heart outward. So that I could be restored.

I imagine that being confronted with the presence of hate as an unnoticed festering parasite in your heart is akin to finding out you have cancer. In whatever amount - even if it is a tiny glimmer in an otherwise healthy body, it still has the capacity to eradicate health in favor of death.

So, I found myself turning Cindy Sheehan and all who champion her cause over to God anew, today. And experienced the tight vice around me loosen and my heart soften. More tears. It's Like Butter! (in the words of the uber-hilarious Mike Meyers, who universally cracks me up. Well, aside from that ill-conceived Cat and the Hat fiasco. But let's reign in this tangent, shall we?)

I still find her cause untenable, her methods unproductive, and her words bitterly uninspiring. I still believe that a great many of her more public supporters are media-hungry crackpots. And I continue to wholeheartedly assert that the circus in Crawford is little more than a Festival of Whiners on behalf of tired, long standing political agendas.

But... I can with pure heart today say I love Cindy Sheehan without reservation. Without expectation or caveat. Unconditionally. Borrowing God's view of her, not leaning unto my own understanding. What a shock to find something so deplorable as HATE barging into my spirit and taking residence there as an ininvited, unwanted, unChristian squatter. I had no clue this poisonous foothold was within me until God, with His characteristic and rather forcefully wielded chisel, pointed it out and propelled me to eradicate it.

Thanks Lord. I rather hated this fabulous experience. It's not easy to realize how far off the mark your heart is, and more difficult still to admit and reconcile it. But once on the other side, once repented, once forgiven, once healed? Unimaginable freedom.

It's like Butter.

See Shark

See Shark.

See Shark Swim.

Swim Shark, Swim.

See Shark be NOT SO SMALL as Copper chided Lachen it was.

See Lachen Smile.

Smile, Lachen, Smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*

These are the photos of the 8th shark from our recent scuba adventures in Maui ~ the one I found in the cave while exploring by myself. Recall the good natured, size-related belittling this poor shark endured from Copper? OK, so it's not JAWS, but it's a decent sized White Tipped Reef shark to encounter alone, guys! I am feeling just the slightest bit legitimized by these photos my underwater digital captured. My poor Copper. He'll definitely have to remove that "My shark can eat your shark" bumper sticker from his car now.

Definitely.

Swamped

As Hurricane Katrina batters and tears at our Gulf coast, I ask each of us to join one another in asking for God's hand of divine protection on the families and lives wrenched by this ferocious and devastating storm.

For reasons that are amorphous and not easily explained in finite terms, my own heart feels as bitterly swamped as I imagine the historic, beaucolic streets of New Orleans to be right now. Not only due to confronting of the reality of this hurricane, whose physical impact so harmonizes with the condition of my own spirit at this very moment, but for the smattering of horrific news that greeted me this morning:

Texas pastor and 4 others shot and killed at a rural church
Jewish Family's Home Defaced with Swastika's

We live in such a world of despondency. Of tragedy. Of hate and misunderstanding. Of lost souls and hopelessness. Satan is having a field day.

Without Jesus, how does anyone find the strength to bear it? Honestly, I cannot imagine how we could continue to hope in the midst of the storms without being able to take shelter from them under the wings of the Creator of the Heavens and the Earth who loves us and can heal the pain of our lives and hearts. I am forever grateful that He knows my name. I can't wait for the moment when His Kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven. For when the rocks cry out and sing, when heaven's bounty opens and I am, by GRACE, allowed to taste of it and be HOME at last. I can only imagine.

For that ultimate, unearned, incomprehensibly awesome gift, I am honored to struggle, to hurt, to fight to keep my head above water amidst the violence, the death, the hatred, the purposelessness, the anger, and the wickedness. Because I know what it is to be loved. To know that there is something more, something that of substance in a world of the superfluous, something that eclipses the bleak present with the blessings of eternity. Praise God. It is at times like this moment in my life, when my energy reserves have been utterly tapped, my soul deeply weary, my body rebelling, and my spirit is so burdened, that I feel the reality of His promise that I am a sheep amidst the wolves.

I take comfort from knowing that my shepherd will not leave me out here alone. He is my reason to hope.

For now, Lord, thank you for giving me my daily bread and please teach me rejoice and be glad in it. Adversity is a promise. Deliverance is a gift. Please rescue my heart from the deep well of exhaustion, frustration, and torment that so threatens to swamp my soul today and drown out your message of love and peace.

Thank you. Amen.

In the words of Inigo...

Note to the seventeen spammers I had post unwelcome advertisements in my comments section today. And the eleven from yesterday and the six on Thursday. And the ones that will inevitably show up tomorrow.

Yeah, you guys, we need to chat. Your pathetic, parasitic methodology leaves something to be desired.

A little hint also seems in order at this juncture: associating the product you are advertising with being as ANNOYING AS POSSIBLE by hijacking and spamming the comments sections of random people's blogs is not a well-thought out marketing campaign.

And even if it was, filtering your attempts and targeting them properly might be in order. Just for the record, I am not a hot prospect for Viagra or male pattern baldness treatments, guys.

You're way off.

Way,
way,
way off.

I think I speak for all of us when I stick out my tongue in your general direction. Please kindly retire your practice of hiding blatant advertisements in our collective blog comment sections, ok? This seems to be a fairly universal phenomenon at the moment. We just get cranky and end up erasing your comments/ads anyway. They don't achieve what you think they achieve. With deference to my beloved Inigo Montoya, "You keep on using these stupid ad techniques. I do not think they do what you think they do."

I am now using a new tool in my comments section which requires word authentication before a comment can be posted. See guys? Take that! I am intent on out-manuevering you, and am confident I will eventually win this battle..I am sure there are more respectable, less annoying methods of getting your point across. Because there sure are not many that are MORE annoying, let me tell you.

Thank you. We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

When Inanimate Objects Attack

Someone moved my bathroom door.

Not altogether, just slightly to the left.

The resulting purple volcano of a bruise on my left hip and slight limp gained from the painful contact I made with said doorframe in the middle of the night is a lovely reminder not to take anything for granted.

Because doors do, apparently, move. By themselves. What was here today might not be here tomorrow. Or if it is here tomorrow, it may have moved just enough to the left to knock the sheer tar out of you. You can bet I will learn to turn the lights on for each middle~of~the~night potty foray from now on. I'll take blinded by the light over being maimed by a door for 1200, Alex.

I look like a battered wife. Can I request a citizen's arrest for an inanimate object?

Ott on Sheehan...

Scott Ott nailed it. Absolutely nailed it.

Best known for penning bitingly direct sarcasm with accurate zingers, his blog entry this week comprises the very best response to the Camp Sheehan hoopla I have encountered. I cannot imagine a more perfectly crafted response.

I quote,

"You ask for what noble cause your son died?

In a sense he died so that people like you, who passionately oppose government policies, can freely express that opposition. As you camp in Crawford, you should take off your shoes, for you stand on holy ground. This land was bought with the blood of men like your son.

Now, 25 million Iraqis cry out to enjoy the life you take for granted. Most of them will never use their freedom to denigrate the sacrifice of those who paid for it. But once liberty is enshrined in law, they will be free to do so. And when the Iraqis finally escape their incarceration, hope will spread throughout that enslaved region of the world, eventually making us all safer and more free.

The key is in the lock of the prison door. Bold men risk everything to turn it.

Mrs. Sheehan, everyone dies. But few experience the bittersweet glory of death with a purpose -- death that sets people free and produces ripples of liberty hundreds of years into the future.
Casey Sheehan died that freedom might triumph over bondage, hope over despair, prosperity over misery. He died restoring justice and mercy. He lived and died to help to destroy the last stubborn vestiges of the Dark Ages.

To paraphrase President Lincoln, the world will little note nor long remember what you and I say here. But it can never forget what Casey Sheehan did during his brief turn on earth. If we are wise, we will take increased devotion to that cause for which he gave the last full measure of devotion."

PLEASE READ the full text of his brief blog. It is ABSOLUTELY worth the approximately 270 seconds it will take to you to be transported to his site and to read the entry from start to finish. I stand in awe of your eloquence, Scott, and the coherent brilliance nourishing it which gracefully lays this bare and puts it to rest.

Crying Daughter, Smiling Butterfly

My dear best friend and I enjoyed a spontaneous end~of~summer outing at the local Natural History Museum's Butterfly Exhibit with our combined five kidlets under the age of seven. The children were enraptured with the masses of colorful butterflies, LaLa so much so that she wept as we left, begging to be allowed to live in the butterfly exhibit with her new favorite creatures in all the world.

The closeup photo of this particular butterfly reveals a surprising happy face in its natural pigmentation. Can you see it? The ever inspiring intricacies of God's creation are hard to ignore when they unexpectedly smile back at you.

Rattlings of Pots and Kettles

Jesse Jackson is chiming in about Pat Robertson's vocal on~air musings about the positive aspects of potentially assassinating the President of Peru.

Sigh.

Two pots screaming about the proverbial black kettle. That's productive.

Thanks for clearing up the mis-representation of Christians, guys. Neither of you is qualified to be chucking such hefty stones at one another. Jackson, fresh from that reprehensible, startling display of inciteful hate~mongering in Atlanta under the false guise of a cause, continues to teeter on a toothpick-thin foundation of credibility for ANY cause to which he lends his voice. That each of these characters actually made legitimate bids for the office of President of the United States at a not~so~distant point in our past makes me ever so newly grateful to the American people for successfully dodging a couple of rather nasty bullets.

These two loose cannons do demonstrate something in common here. Robertson and Jackson can say any old thing they wish, as long as each realizes his audience dwindles with each divisive word each utters. What a sad commentary on the perceived Christian leadership of our nation. Surely we can do a better job of wiping the soot off the truth, and manage to put Jesus ahead of our personal ambitions. Since that is the point of our shared faith, is it not? I personally don't subscribe to either man's rank brand of Christianity, which I find heavily steeped in money and seasoned with broadcast makeup, with liberal doses of ego~fueled hate speech added to taste.

And for the record, Robertson does not represent ANYONE, other than himself, and certainly not our government or our collective in any way, shape, or form. Criticism of President Bush for apparently not using forceful enough language or measures to address Robertson's comments by various representatives strikes me as bizarre. Since when is Robertson an elected official that should be politically censured? Since when is the President aligned with Robertson in any way save from sharing the basic tenets of their religious faith? Since when should a President be held accountable for the inflammatory comments of a person he has no hierarchical political authority over? What would be the more correct action of a sitting President, in this situation, beyond clearly damning the lunatic's comments and moving on. The President did not call for an assassination of anyone. The President did not authorize an assassination of anyone. He openly and without hesitation condemned a pseudo-celebrity's incindiary public statement and that should suffice.

Personally, I defer to the chilling, but smack~on~target words of Joseph Farah on this one, though I, like he, do so lament the rancid tainting of the source that inalterably stains the truth.

Like buying sushi from Radio Shack

My NATION has not let me down. Because we are a collective group of individualists, trying to merge our ideas into harmony while proudly singing our various melodies louder with each new verse.

My PRESIDENT has not let me down. Because he only a human who is charging toward a mark only a rare few would even endeavor to take aim at, and that position demands respect, not perfection.

My POLITICAL PARTY has not let me down. Because it is an aloof and inherently flawed means of collective representation and does not pretend to heal the marrow of the matter.

My LEGAL SYSTEM has not let me down. Because the law by which it is bound is merely a reflection of the tidal, fickle, evolving society with which it is concerned.

My RELIGIOUS FAITH has not let me down. Because it provides the iron to sharpen my iron, and the frame for accountability, study, and worship that draws me closer to the Lord my God and to truth, unequivocated and salvation, simply.

My CHURCH has not let me down. Because, as church means "people", we are equally flawed beggars seeking after the same bread, differently.

My FRIENDS have not let me down. Because in them I see God working miracles, shaping souls, and crumbling long-standing fortresses around walled hearts.

My FAMILY has not let me down. Because in them, I am humbled by echoes of my own failings, become stronger as I heal from old wounds of imperfection long inflicted, experience the boundless love of a mothers' heart, and hear cheers of encouragement beside me as I run the valiant life marathon.

My HOPE has not let me down. Because in hope lies the crux of meekness, the power of faith, and the wisdom to trust in truths promised and revealed in God's time.

And the LORD MY GOD will never let me down. Because in His gift lies the reason for my joy, the rhythm of my spirit, and the promise of eternity. The truth amidst so many shades of grey.

Sometimes I find myself angrily frustrated with the lack of answers and solutions among us as we look to those representatives and institutions which are meant to provide them. Often times, the options presented remind me of taking a multiple choice test in school. I want to choose: "D: None of The Above". But when analyzing my sense of abiding Let Down with the world, my thoughts lead me to understand that my being disappointed to the point of despair quite often means that the expectation was likely misplaced in the first place.

This seems to be a chronic error I stumble into, even while realizing full well that in order to go through life with Godly expectations, I MUST shed the worldly ones I so often find myself bogged down by. We cannot expect miracles from our President, or lasting answers from our judicial system. We cannot expect flawlessness from our political system, the parties it spawns, or the candidates it creates. Why am I tempted to expect bountiful harvest from barren ground? It is as ridiculous as trying to buy sushi from Radio Shack.

There are simply limits on what this world, its people, systems, unions, and even our most honed offerings can produce. While our world can be inspiring and worthy, beautiful and honorable, all that we are pales by comparison to the unending well of wisdom and perfect truth we have unlimited access to EVERY MOMENT. If only we stopped wasting our time trying to quench our compelling thirst with thimbles of water, we could be drenched under a roaring waterfall.

The answers are not found in anything this world can produce. But within this world, there are sometimes unexpected signposts that can help lead us to the answer.

I can only be let down if I place Godly expectations on worldly mechanisms, on people, and on things. He alone offers solid hope, satisfying answers, and lasting nourishment. Everything else is transitory. To release our grip on it is to let go of unfulfilled expectations in favor of the only one who can ever truly satisfy our souls. And to cease focusing on that which has limited capacity and a finite shelf life, and instead invest ourselves in that which is eternal. To exchange "Let Down" for "Let Go", and profound frustration for newfound peace.

Halloween revisited

OK, so the whole idea of dressing my kids up as shrubbery to complete the "Knights that say NI!" ensemble proved to be fatally problematic. There are no such places which manufacture anything even REMOTELY resembling bush, brush, or even Elderberry tree costumes. Apart from gluing branches of real shrubs onto my kids, there was no way to make this rather elaborate but self-declared brilliant concept work.

Sigh. Onto Plan B we go.

JoyBoy's costume has been purchased this week (with due kudos to Ebay). Appearing on Halloween night at Casa Lachen will be my very own, adorably chubby 19-month old CATERPILLAR:

In a fantastic stroke of luck, LaLa declared this morning that she wants to dress as a butterfly since JoyBoy is a caterpillar! Without even so much as a peep from me. That's my girl. So, we are now endeavoring to find a butterfly costume which is warm enough to wear outside while Trick-Or-Treating in our typically very damp and chilly coastal evening weather. Not an easy feat ~ have you ever seen any arctic butterflies? I thought not. It's a challenge. But one I am thrilled to embark on because this creates a much coveted THEME: caterpillar to butterfly. Perfect!

Or so I thought.

LaLa today announced that our theme was not complete. A caterpillar cannot change into a butterfly without first making a cocoon, Mom. Everyone knows that. We NEED a cocoon. Guess who was appointed to don an attractive COCOON costume? Um, no. There is no way I am walking the streets dressed as a giant bug incubator. I cannot imagine where one would even begin to find or make a giant cocoon suit. And I thought finding shrubbery costumes was difficult.

Trying to figure out how to get out of this one...

Morning has broken

Mornings have never been my forte.

As a little girl, I remember my father bounding into the room my sister and I shared, crowing songs at the top of his lungs in a rather effective effort to wake us up most mornings. If, by some chance, one stanza of "Morning Has Broken" failed to do the trick (I think my Dad only ever learned the first verse), we would hear "It's Time To Get Up!" repeated in fanatically faster and faster versions until we ruefully relented and dragged ourselves out of bed. Monday mornings meant particularly difficult wakings, as I recall. The warm~and~snuggly factor of your bed is awfully hard to voluntarily discard in favor of the inevitably colder air we face as we begin our groggy morning rituals.

I have friends who are devoted "Morning People". I secretly think they are aliens from Pluto.

However, both my Dad and my Plutonian refugee friends would be proud of me on this individual Monday morning. I was quite anxious to be awake and begin this new, fresh, blank canvas of a week. I woke today significantly before dawn, (which is Guiness-worthy in my life) wanting to carve out deliberate time for prayer and reflection before the endless reels of Noggin TV and Memory Game wash over our house with vigor. Motivating this not~going~to~become~a~habit early rising was the relief I feel at leaving the events of last week behind as a fresh week begins today, while committing never to forget the state of grace and attitude of gratitude in which I am now potently steeped.

I find myself focused today on the rather simple notion that so often gets overlooked as we speed through life. Today is a never~before~seen~in~the~history~of~the~world day. The universe has never before seen another Monday, August 22, 2005. And when midnight strikes, this day will pass into history and never occur again. Today is fresh and unspoiled, awaiting to be created, its legacy written by the choices and actions we make. That inspires me to make the most out of this day and to reinsert the principle of CARPE DIEM into my moments. And to be open to what God would teach me and where He would lead me as I wander through this day.

But make no mistake, no amount of introspection inspires me to make crack~of~dawn wakings any kind of staple around here. 5:00 am is just too doggone early. On Pluto, where is is subzero all the time, I am sure that cold mornings are no big deal. But I just about froze my little tushie off.

The Mercy Seat

Thank you all so much for your prayers and thoughts, calls, and emails in the last 36 hours. And for your posts here to let me know your hearts were with us and your prayers were being lifted. I REALLY took comfort from your care. We have deeply felt God's presence as we dealt with shock and recovery from one of the most critical incidents that has ever threatened Copper's life while on duty. By the grace of God, we are emerging on the other side of this event, treading relatively unscathed, but for the scarring Copper bears inside for having narrowly escaped a more tragic, sobering outcome.

There are moments in a lifetime which forever alter our reality as people. Getting married. Experiencing the birth of a child. Releasing a loved one into the waiting arms of the Lord in heaven.

I am adding to my own compilation of these events the exact moment on Friday afternoon when I received the phone call from my sweet husband, who, over nearly deafening reverberations of a Fire Department Evac helicopter in the background, told me he had been involved in an accident ~ something about gunfire, explosions, and a fire. But that he was not harmed and would call me back later.

I hung up the phone, prayed, posted here (see immediate predecessor of this post) and waited.

Almost two miserable hours later, I practically tackled the phone on the first ring of his promised callback, thirsty to know what had happened and anxious for a more secure confirmation that my beloved husband was OK.

He was. And is. Aside from minor injuries, Copper is fine. By the grace of God.

Because the incident is under investigation, I am limited as to what I am able to share about it. But suffice it to say that Copper and his partner officer are both extremely graced and blessed to be alive. A fairly routine shooting range training at the outdoor course went very wrong yesterday. A perfectly fired shotgun blast somehow set off two very powerful munitions explosions which shook the ground, sending smoke and debris 100 feet into the air. This caused the entire area to ignite into an inferno within moments, surrounding the officers in a remote location. Copper and his fellow officer were rescued by Fire Evac personnel.

In the course of this incident, as he attempted to move it out of harm's way, Copper's shotgun suddenly discharged, sending a spray of bullets over his head and into the window of the patrol truck behind him, shattering it. It is unclear what made the shotgun misfire at that exact moment in time, but whatever the cause, it is a miracle that neither Copper or the other officer were injured, as the gun discharged at extremely close range to both of them. That shotgun blast was the third in a rapidfire series of powerful~brush~with~death events that Copper and the other officer survived.

And it meant to us yet another reason to openly celebrate LIFE and the power of God to preserve and protect us in all circumstances, however harrowing.

Though it scorched more than 6 acres, the fire was eventually extinguished. The nature and cause of the explosions are under investigation. Save for minor injuries, both men are unharmed and back at work. Though there will ensue an ongoing internal investigation, both officers are deeply grateful for the outcome of this critical series of events that very well may have ended in horrible tragedy. They are both alive.

I know what it is to reside tonight under the protective wing of the Holy Spirit. To rejoice in Copper's presence and to rebel against the pounding realization of what almost happened, and what my husband faced out there yesterday. I relearned what it is to be utterly helpless as the lives of loved ones face daunting situations, and to lean entirely on the abiding grace and power of God.

We have found ourselves in the Mercy Seat. And with gratitude, we will pause here and rest awhile, content in the grip of His grace.

You know, as I pray for my husband each morning, I am ashamed to admit that I sometimes feels as though I am going through the motions. Covering my bases. Checking in with God. Obeying. Doing the right thing. Not always because my whole heart is invested in my prayer, but because "pray for Copper" is on my to-do list. Copper is my husband, I love him, and I love and trust God, so I pray.

This morning, though, my prayer was markedly different. In my still shock-riddled state, I knelt and prayed for my husband in completely free flowing emotion and love and gratitude. In tears, I thanked God, petitioned for continued safety, and asked for His hand to never leave Copper's life as he works hard to protect and serves the lives of others. I prayed as though our lives depended on it.

Because yesterday, Copper's did.

Request

Please pray for my husband today.

I can't go into specific details in the blogosphere, but this afternoon, Copper was involved in a serious accident involving gunfire and an explosion. Though he was blessedly physically (relatively) unharmed, we deeply covet your prayers right now. Not all wounds are physical, and there is much which needs God's miraculous healing touch in our corner of the earth today.

Bless all of you,

Lachen

The promise of home fulfilled at last

Those who recall my trip to Tennessee last month know of the medically critical but profoundly miraculous happening I unexpectedly became a part of. My dear friend, V, whose husband has been deployed in active combat in Iraq, suffered a series of seizures and strokes, viral meningitis, and two fractured knees. The procedures performed on her while she was hospitalized for two weeks included a spinal tap and brain tissue biopsy. It was a very high risk situation, and though she is still unable to walk or be left alone due to the risk of seizure, she was released into the care of a beloved mutual friend and guardian angel. This blessed woman has provided constant care and hope to V while aiding her to wade through the treacherous waters of putrid self-perpetuating bureaucracy standing in the way of her husband being allowed to return home to care for her. Though she has been apart from her 4-year old daughter (being cared for by her grandparents in another state) and her husband and has been faced with the kinds of medical problems no otherwise healthy 26-year old woman should face in her lifetime, V has been blessed with love and care and a strengthening relationship with God during this time of turmoil and struggle.

Friends from all over the United States have been waging a fierce battle with the powers~that~be to plead for this soldier to be permitted to come home to his very ill wife. For two months now, our collective efforts have been met with frustrating failure.

But today, finally, just moments ago, we got the notice we have been longing to hear: V's husband is ~ at LAST ~ coming home! For ten long-overdue days. To see his wife for the first time since her strokes, to hug her and hold her and give her strength. And to make decisions for the uncertain medical future they now face.

Please join me in thanking the Lord for the return of this soldier from the deserts of Iraq to rainy Tennessee to be with his beloved wife at last. And for the hand of God in their lives and His presence in their hearts. I am so grateful, Lord, thank you! Please bless and keep them safe.

Siberian Camera Day

On days like the one I just survived, I often pacify my own deep well of frustrated exhaustion with the oddly comforting, entirely fictional conviction that there is a hidden camera somewhere in my house actively broadcasting these terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days of mine to Siberia, or some such equally unappealing locale, in an ongoing effort to cheer people up by comparing my unprecedentedly worst days to their own. And realizing they ain't got it half as bad as they thought if that haggard American lady provides any kind of reliable basis of comparison.

Today was worthy of the Siberian Camera from the moment I began my morning by stepping barefoot into a nicely placed pile of fresh cat ~deposit~, at the bottom of my staircase. And it ended perfectly in synch with that lovely beginning, with a cranky, teething, hungry toddler (that would be JoyBoy) who threw a screaming fit so hard while in the shopping cart at the supermarket that he actually hyperventilated and passed out.

I could not do blogging justice to the endless myriad of tedious items that went dastardly wrong today, consistently, relentlessly, hour after hour. At some point, it did actually become so ridiculous that it was funny. I think that was the point when the 12-case of soda fell off the shelf and onto the toes of my right foot, badly bloodying my shoes and the floor where I had been innocently standing (Cleanup on Aisle 12!). My self-propelled consolation is that the secret hidden camera providing a live feed to some otherwise bleak population somewhere in Eastern Europe does allow others to be comforted in their own plight from watching the train wreck that was my day, unfold in all its glory.

Laugh it up, all you Siberian voyeurs. Laugh it up.

Halloween Knight?

Yes, I know Halloween is a far cry from imminent. But since I traditionally dress our family in related costumes within the same theme (last year's was NEMO), I tend to start looking early. I can't decide what category this potential costuming choice falls into for Halloween 2005. Picture two children under 5 in small "shrubbery" costumes, and their parents each sporting one of these:

For those who know about the Knights Who Say "NI", this could be truly quite cool, and unusual, which appeals to me after the parade of endless Incredibles, Toy Story, and Disney Princess outfits which appeared on our porch last year. For those who don't recognize the reference, though, it could look like two idiots wearing deer antler helmets and carrying kids dressed like bushes from house to house on Halloween night. That could lead to an in-field sobriety test, at least.

As such, I am open to comments and suggestions on this potential costume choice. Speak now or forever hold your peace, as you never know, we could end up at YOUR doorstep on October 31.

pigs, deer, flack jackets, & sheer loons

My beloved Copper will be manning an unusual post today.

Long before God awakens (read: 4:00 a.m. ~ 4 hours from now), he will don his bulletproof Flack apparel and report to the middle of nowhere~near~a~rock~by~that~tree~over~yonder with about a dozen other officers. Together, they will mount ATV's with requisite protective gear, and will embark on the annual "save the deer and a pig" patrol.

You see, our community borders a huge National Forest. Within this dense forest, there lies a vast (something like 6,000 acres) ecologically sensitive Nature preserve and animal sanctuary owned and maintained by the State, which is wholly off~limits to hunting or poaching. Every year at about the second week in August, hunting season begins in California. Guys with guns pour into our local forest, camping out with six packs and jerky by night, and seeking defenseless deer and pigs to mow down by day so they can strap them onto the hoods of their trucks and drive around honking at each other to celebrate their achieved greatness.

Woohoo. You teamed up, ambushed, and killed a defenseless woodland animal with your AK-47 double automatic krypton Uzi with laser sighting. Nicely done. That was certainly a fair contest. Try arming the deer next time and see how well you come out (If you're sensing my general disdain for all things hunting~related, please be advised that I tend to get more flippantly tongue~in~cheek about it as time wears on).

Now, please understhand that I am avidly pro-gun. Guns have an honorable place in society ~ protecting life and preserving law, chief among them. I also do not categorically dislike hunters. Several of my friends have husbands who hunt and they seem to be well-adjusted, great, intelligent, honorable men apart from their love of shooting things and hauling various dead body parts (or their whole bodies by the droves in the case of the literally hundreds of ducks and birds one of my girlfriends has mounted all over her house ~ her display rivals that of the Natural History Museum exhibit) back to display prominently in their living rooms. While I do deeply reject the supposed "need" to hunt and hunting culture as a whole, because people I dearly love, hunt, I choose to reside in the "I just don't get it" category. Surely, there must be something missing in my psyche. For the life of me, I fail to understand why there still exists a powerful need to shoot and kill deer, pigs, and the like, ostensibly for food purposes, when there are readily available Albertsons supermarkets with well-stocked meat sections. Surely it is more about the thrill than the food, right? I remain convinced that the THRILL is the draw, not the fact that the object being shot at does also provide edible meat. I just propose that it would sure be excellent if that thrill was not based on taking out Bambi, but I digress...

Copper and his fellow "save the deer and pig" officers spend up to 16 hours per day on the first hunting weekends of the season, hiding in thick brush, scanning the horizon with infared binoculars, and exhaustively patrolling this nature preserve to stave off and arrest the ample miscreants who break the barriers every year, trying to pick off easy targets. Some of the characters who choose to hunt illegally do so with certifiably nutball gusto. The stories produced each year are a mixture of hilarity and equal alarm at the realization that some of the people wandering around with loaded guns in the wilderness are not the brightest bulbs, God bless them.

Two of my favorite cases in point:

Copper and the boys routinely use decoy animals to track errant shots from illegal hunters within the preserve perimeter. Last year's deer decoy was excellent. It looked real from far away and by the end of the weekend, it had been basically obliviated, with tons of bullet holes, resulting in many citings. One of the shooting incidents is classic. The decoy was placed on the side of a dirt access road well inside the preserve boundary. Shots rang out. The fake deer was hit, but remained standing. Pause. More shots. The deer was hit again, again remaining upright. The officers now were honing in the location of the shots. But they did not have to worry, the illegal hunter emerged from his roost and approached the decoy deer. He touched it and then shoved it. He walked about ten feet away from the obviously fake deer decoy, turned around, and then shot it again, just to make sure it was:

A. not alive and
B. not a REAL deer

Yeah, he was a quick study.

The other two guys, though, truly epitomize my point and comprise my favorite of these stories. It was nearing dusk on the last day of patrol. The officers were packing up, and had loaded the deer decoy into the back of the jeep and parked it near the road. They were preparing to leave when shots rang out, closeby. Everyone ducked for cover. Shots rang out again, closer. The deer was hit twice while SITTING IN THE JEEP. Two guys in flannel come bursting excitedly from the woods to check if they had downed their target. How hardup must you be when you are aiming at a deer which is seated in the in the backseat of a Jeep? What did they think he was doing there, hitching a ride home? Having a smoke? The two Nobel Laureates doing the shooting were arrested and booked for an offense I suspect loosely translates to "Illegal hunting under the influence of sheer stupidity".

Copper and the rest of the guys love serving on the "save the deer and pig patrol". They tell me it is great fun and I am comforted by the hope that their actions do save the some of the lives of the deer I so esteem. At the end of these two days every year, Copper comes home sunburnt, dirty, grimy, and exhausted, but always jubilantly armed with more great stories.

They are using a pig decoy this year. This should be fun.

Thankfully Thwarted

My brother is to be married next month to a woman that is a delight to both side of her soon~to~be~enlargening family. Aubrey is extremely sensitive and strong, with a depth of compassion for others and a deep desire to continually sharpen her character and integrity serving as a continual inspiration to me. She is a blessing.

This beautiful woman was accosted last week by a would~be carjacker at 4:00 in the afternoon. While waiting in her car at an intersection for the light to turn green, with her driver side window rolled down (it was over 100 degrees that day, as is the wont for most of California in August), Aubrey reached across to retrieve something out of her briefcase, sitting on her passenger seat. When she leaned back, an enormously large man with several gold teeth was leaning into her car through her drivers' side window. Almost in her lap, he physically pinned and threatened her, demanding that she "Give me something now,*$&#! &%*! Give me something!"

Remarkably, Aubrey maintained such brilliant wits about her that she FLOORED her ignition with this man still halfway into her car. Speeding out into the intersection and into cross-directional traffic, she miraculously and thankfully did not cause an accident, and her action forced this huge man to let go of the car within a few seconds. Immediately rolling her window back up, she drove a few miles to a a safe spot to pull over and recover herself before safely finishing the drive into the quite anxiously waiting arms of my brother.

She was shaken and angered when relaying this incident to me, but grateful not to have been seriously injured. I found that while my initial reaction was immense relief and gratitude for her safety, not far behind that sprung ANGER and disbelief at the tragically poisoned nature of a persons' character that would lead him to perpetrate such an act onto another. The thought process required to believe himself so ENTITLED to accost and potentially harm a random stranger, ostensibly for her belongings, wholly eludes and achingly frustrates me.

There are an awful lot of sick tickets out there. My husband is a police officer ~ I hear some awfully vivid first~person accounts which regularly bring this reality home. I am not naieve. But when one such individual comes perilously close to harming my own immediate family, I find it, at times, difficult to resist the urges to fill my mind with blazing images of the dangers we face in living our everyday lives in this nation and become a bit paralyzed by fear-driven bewilderment. That a women driving alone could be so openly accosted in broad daylight at an intersection and no one came to help?? For goodness sakes, it is awful and maddening. An already turmultuous sense of safety is wavering even more for me upon digesting this news. I suddenly feel so vulnerable and at risk, after listening to my dear future sister~in~law's musings about the unsafe world we tread in. For the life of me, there are some elements to the manifestations of sin nature that I am incapable of understanding.

I am deeply thankful that my future sister~in~law was spared any lasting trauma from this frightening assault. She will heal and rebound from this happening in due course. But in the meantime, the mundane and unpredictable dangers of those who prey on people at random were brought home through her experience. And I am left haunted.

Catastrophically wasted postage

"Please kindly refrain from future attempts to solicit donations from me, thereby making me an accomplice in your brand of franchised homicide. I'll be sending a donation to a worthy cause (CARENet) which promotes preserving the value of each innocent human being instead of providing and profiting from abortions by which hundreds of thousands of innocent lives are routinely exterminated each year."

So penned a slightly riled me in the reply section of the self-addressed stamped envelope sent by my friendly neighborhood Planned Parenthood to me in an effort to raise funds to stop the evil pro-life crowd from trying to save babies from being killed under the warped banner of "Reproductive Freedom". Freedom not to reproduce is one thing. Freedom to kill the baby ALREADY produced is quite another. The only "choice" involved in abortion is the one in which a decision is made to kill the already alive child. That is the "choice" which is promoted, performed, and profited from every day by Planned Parenthood Federation of America.

I tend to be frank by nature, and am especially not known for my subtlety when it comes to abortion (see also: outspoken, direct, on fire, pointed, on a mission, cranky).

And stop it. Right now.

All who are tempted to bristle and muse, "Whoa, she is a way off the reservation on this one. What a radical loon. Planned Parenthood is a 'good' organization, providing medical services to women of all ranges, from dispensing birth control, treating STD's, giving breast exams, and providing sex education." Declaring Planned Parenthood a "good" entity based on these types of qualifications fails to meet the standard for intellectual honesty. It is not truth. It is not reality. Stop it.

Attempts to mitigate the fact that Planned Parenthood's primary function and income source is to provide abortions with feel~good~balms like, "they also provide reduced cost medical care and birth control" is akin to saying that McDonalds is a health food restaurant because it also happens to serve a few menu items whose primary components are not deep fried or lipid laden. Planned Parenthood credits over 34% of its total 2004 income from abortions performed (this number increases to almost 50% when chemically-induced abortions are included). Considering that approximately 33% of PPFA's revenue comes from government funds (read: tax subsidies) and a thankfully receding approximate 18% from private donations, it is clear that without providing abortion services, this organization would become insolvent and fail to exist. May I live to see the day.

In a country with an overall declining abortion rate (praise God), "Planned Parenthood increased the number of abortions at its facilities by 6.1 percent to 244,628, according to the FY 2004 report, even though the total number of abortions performed nationwide has been declining since 1997." Nine out of every ten pregnant women who walk into a Planned Parenthood clinic obtain an abortion from PPFA. According to the Ryan Report, and PPFA's 2003/2004 Annual Report: In fiscal year 2004, this supposedly non-profit organization declared a net income of $35.2 million. Since it opened its doors 18 years ago, PPFA has turned in 18 straight years of net profits, to the tune of $538 MILLION DOLLARS. Not~for~profit? What a crock.

Planned Parenthood is making a killing. Literally.

Note to Planned Parenthood fundraising department: You may want to cross~check your potential donor mailing list against those who qualify to be listed in reputable reference materials as the antidote to everything your barbaric organization propagates (a good place to begin this effort would include the mailing list of the national and local Right To Life chapters), before sending out wasted solicitations for money. Just a gentle postage-saving suggestion.

May God forgive me for not doing more to save the innocent souls that perish at the hand of their parents each day. Please let my heart for this cause make a difference. Even if it is just once. Lead me on, Lord.

Clipper Confessions Sought

Ok, fess up. Who is actively coming into my house each day and confiscating or hiding my nail clippers in a rather effective plot to drive me bananas?

Tomorrow, I must purchase the seventh nail clipper I've had to replace since Christmas, when I received a nice one in my stocking from Copper Claus. Because he loves me and feels my pain.

Perhaps I should consider installing metal detectors at my doors. That way the mass exodus of nail clippers from my house would at least not occur undetected. Sigh. Maybe it is not malicious after all. Could it be evidence of a cosmic phenomenon beyond my comprehension? Is there a specially designated Bermuda Triangle for these kinds of consistently missing personal items? Because if there is, it is a sure bet that my derelict clippers are up there whopping it up with Copper's five pair of missing sunglasses, about a dozen plastic combs, one piece from almost every puzzle in our house, and a boatload of mismatched socks.

Wrestling with God does leave a mark

My heart has been in conflict over various insundry tidal happenings of life since we returned from Maui.

Oh yes - and by the way, we are home! At last. And safely. Though we did experience one of the longest travel legs ever endured in our lives on the way back to the mainland. The culprit was the sheer lack of cooperation of our delightful 17-month old. Yup, sadly, our dear JoyBoy was THAT CHILD on the flight home. You know the one. That one child you can hear from the back of the plane somewhere while you are still boarding, drawing nearer to the deafening noise as you hope with increasing fervency that you do not have the unfortunate luck of being seated next to this ball of energy the whole flight. At least two people on our flight ended up with those lamentable seating arrangements, and our sincere condolences extend to those poor souls. We tried. We REALLY tried. If there was a Nobel Peace Prize for attempts at quieting a toddler, we would have been worthy of consideration for our efforts. We exhausted ample supplies of food, drink, games, paper and crayons, toys, stuffed animals, songs, books, and movies on the COSTCO portable DVD (a worthy indulgence). Ultimately, though, when you are 17 months old, you must MOVE around. When that need goes unmet for too long, you tend to get rather vocal about your growing frustration that you are unreasonably not allowed to use the entire fuselage of the airplane as a personal Jungle Gym.

Sigh.

THAT kid was OUR kid on this flight. Thank God he is indisputably adorable, because his megawatt grin and innocent giggles just may have been our only saving grace from the massive head trauma we'd surely have endured from flying headphones and other makeshift aerodynamic items launched at us by fellow cranky passengers.

But back to the state of my being at the moment...

I have been tossed around this week, quite frankly. Jet lag and typical end-of-vacation-reality-check exhaustion aside, my whole being feels a bit shredded. I have spent much time alone with myself. Sometimes thinking, sometimes crying, sometimes praying, sometimes writing. Primary in my heart is my search for reconciliation and comfort from God over the loss of three year old Clara, whose departure from this earth and battle with disease during her fragile life seems inordinately cruel. The substantial majority portion of me finds peace in not being able to grasp the divine "why's" of such seemingly senseless tragedies we encounter in our lives. But that usually homoestatic part of my soul has slipped into silence over Clara's death, and the rebellious, angry, untamed side of me has surfaced with rare aggression. I have been engaged in discussions with God the likes of which I have seldom ever engaged in. Angry ones. Bitter ones. Ones in which I passionately challenged Him in one breath and begged forgiveness for my lack of faith in the other. Mysteriously to me, this little girls' life and death has so moved me like no other death before hers. I never met her, but I ache terribly because of her. I invested my heart and mind in fervent prayers that God's will would include the undeniably miraculous healing this baby girl, to allow her a full, healthy life.

But His plan is not my plan and He answered my prayer in ways I lament. And God has heard about it this week from me. I so wish that I could claim otherwise, but I went into battle with the Lord of the universe, armed with nothing but righteous anger and a piercing sense of loss. My sadness has had angry tinges to it. I cannot wrap my mind around the possible purpose this sweet baby's death serves in the Lord's plan, save to remind us of the frailty and GIFT of life. Which is no small realization.

We take so doggone much for granted.

As a commitment to tangibly honor Clara, I have been weepy, introspective, but joyfully unafraid to be grateful as it strikes me during the day. I feel, in some ways, as though I am waking up a bit and celebrating the mundane because I'm realizing the simple blessing that I CAN:

My children's' latest Lego creation truly tickled me today as we squealed in delight, destroying it with abandon ~ only to rebuild and repeat the destruction a half dozen more times.

I prayed with LaLa in thankful relief as the Russian sailors who had been trapped 625 feet down in the frigid ocean were heroically rescued.

Hope floated as the sun set just as I was taking the trash out. What an unexpected reward for just doing my chores.

I relished the numerous spontaneous kisses and "I love you's" expressed freely my children each day.

The carefully wrapped package with hand drawn pictures from the "children with no Mommies and Daddies" in South Africa (many of them orphaned as a result of AIDS) thanking LaLa for her gift of their birthday party and wishing her a happy birthday, too. This touching gift brought me into the presence of such innocent hearts of children and saw tears spring.

The extra scoops of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup in the extra thick milkshake I made for Copper with dinner tonight. He said it was the best he's ever had. My heart did somersaults.

My wrestling matches with God this week, seeking forgiveness, comfort, and understanding of Clara's passing, has left me feeling as though I am on the threshold of understanding, at the doorway of another space God has created for me to explore in my trek towards Him. Newly humbled (read: cut off at the knees), broken, challenged, sad, hopeful, rawly reminded of the chinks in my own faith armor, and seeking to suck out the marrow of life each day with passion. Because life is not an entitlement. It is a perishable item with an unknown expiration date.

I will again be overwhelmingly focused on thoughts of Clara and her family tomorrow as her funeral is held to celebrate her life and her heavenly homecoming, but yet also mourn the starkness of her absence. My whole person is being taught, sharpened, refined, and changed because of this little girl. And I never even met her.

I stand in grateful awe at the hallowed lessons bring written on my heart from a compassionate and loving Lord through the life of one miraculous child.

Part Two

Because I so cherish my dear friend, Patricia, often in ways that defy expression, I will honor her request to step up and complete Part Two of what may just evolve into a never-ending TAG phenomenon:...

1. What were three of the stupidest things you have done in your life?

At the risk of sounding magnanimous, I have done innumerable stupid things in my lifetime and will almost inevitably add to that running tally with fresh choices I might make tomorrow. But because each event and choice we make has the potential to sharpen us into more usable vessels for God, I rejoice in even the most idiotic of my past choices. I believe in living life with no regrets, so I refuse to regret my life - past and present, because I do not regret where and who I am now, which would not be possible without experiencing the life I have known to this point. Including all the ample "stupid things" I have done.

That stated, among my top candidates in this field are:

1.) Allowing myself to develop an eating disorder at 15 which even now rabidly preys on me at will
2.) Until recently, wasting Gods' gift of my singing voice in lieu of more "important" tasks I chose to clutter my life with.
3.) Owning a Yugo

...and, for good measure...

Eating that second 'Sandy Beach' burrito from Maui Tacos last Tuesday. Definitely too much of a good thing.

2. At the current moment, who has the most influence in your life?

I cannot think of a time when this answer has not been God ~ though the many people He uses to exert his influence in my life are always revolving.

3. If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were allowed to only pick up five people to dine with, who would you pick?

Jesus, Mozart, Martin Luther, Martin Luther King, and a mechanic in case the Time Capsule breaks down on the way back home. I don't think they had Dr. Pepper back then. I would be sunk.

4. If you had three wishes that were not supernatural, what would they be?

Abiding health for my family and friends
That I could play a role in restoring the value of life through degradation of abortions from an on-demand societal right to a last resort societal regret
That parental love, nourishment, care, safety, trust, peace, and innocence be the birthright for all children of this world. And that every single soul can know what it is to be loved, unconditionally, through Jesus Christ.

5. Someone is visiting your hometown/place where you live at the moment. Name two things you regret your city not having, and two things people should avoid.

Regrets: warmer ocean water (to suit us avid divers!) and an ice skating rink
Avoid: Wal Mart on Sunday afternoons (though this is not location specific I am told) and driving too fast by the gorgeous countryside, lest you miss your chance at getting a peek at the elusive Zonkeys.

6. Name one event that has changed your life.

Attending a church service during the summer I turned seven.

Cheers.

Please forgive me as I tag the following unsuspecting, hopefully good sports:

Portland Angel
Molly
Scott

Clara called home

A cherished, precious little girl I have ardently prayed for with my sweet LaLa (who is only just slightly older than she) for two years, gently passed into heaven's embrace last night. After a long and miraculous battle with cancer, her soul was released from the arms of her mother into the embrace of the Lord.

Though I never held her hand or smiled upon her face in person, my soul sought a miracle for her. I begged God for her cancer to be cured. I prayed ~ often tearfully ~ pleadingly for her sweet, tender life to be totally healed and made miraculously whole, free from this awful disease.

God answered those prayers tonight, but not in the manner that I, in concert with hundreds of others who prayed faithfully for her, so earnestly hoped for.

And now I am pounded by waves of sick grief. Awash in tears. Though I did not have the honor of personally knowing this child, I was unable to hold back chokes of pained emotion when the news reached me early this morning. I can only imagine what it must be like for her parents to experience this deep, tragic loss. My heart is broken for them. Her mother. Her father. Their baby. I can only imagine.

After crying and praying over the news of her passing, I stole into LaLa's room and carried her urgently into my bed. I snuggled her close all night, comforted by the rhythmic beating of her heart and the smell of her hair conditioner. While I clung to my little girl, I tearfully prayed. My desperate, angry, sorrowful pleading of, "WHY?" will likely not be answered until such time as I can ask God in person.

She is free now. There is no cancer invading her tiny body anymore. No tubes and needles, oxygen masks, medicines, or machines. She is free.

But the void she leaves in the lives of those who love her is immensely vast. My heart hurts and my soul aches for her parents and her family as they grieve the death of their sweet daughter well before her fifth birthday. May God envelope them in peace that surpasses all understanding, and love that can triumph over bitter anger and pierce through the darkness. May He love them and comfort them as He welcomes heaven's newest angel.

God Bless You, Clara.

Anything you can do...

Copper can do better, apparently.

I pet a shark today. By myself. Took my gloves off (coral burn protection) and was able to pet a great black-tipped Reef Shark who was resting in a cave outcropping at about 85 feet down in Molokini Crater.

Because I have always encountered sharks in tandem with Copper on dives, this was a novel experience. I was alone with the shark, as Copper was exploring the reef about ten feet above me. I was thrilled with the experience, stroking him from just above his gills to his dorsal fin and then his tail. It is such a rare and fascinating experience to pet a shark. His skin felt like a cross between soft rubber and smooth vinyl. The mercifully patient shark allowed me to touch him for a minute or so, and then flicked his head around to let me know he was quite done with being the main attraction in my one-man petting zoo. I removed my hand (lest I join the ranks of Tyler as a recipient of the shark~bite~blunders award), and he gently eased himself past me, out of the cave, and into the deep.

Explosively jubilant about this incredible encounter, I was eager to talk about it with Copper. When we surfaced, I ecstaticly asked, "Did you see? Did you see that black-tipped in the cave? He let me pet him! That was so cool! He was beautiful! I got a great photo. What an amazing dive. Did you see him?"

Copper, who was evidently given a one-day promotion to Captain of the Joy Deflation Committee, said, "Yeah. Cool. But while you were busy with your little shark, did you see the really huge Grey Shark cruising the reef below you? He had to be at least twelve feet long. Your little guy was what ~ four feet? Too bad you missed the BIG shark. He was awesome."

As the expression on my face blended bemused disgust, disbelief, and amused resignation, I muttered something about Copper being astoundingly impossible to impress. It was ridiculous. If I pet a shark, he sees an even bigger shark. If I were to go pet that bigger shark, he'd see a school of even larger sharks. If I swam with the school of the largest sharks in the known universe, you can bet he would lasso one of them and ride it like a scuba cowboy.

I think he heard my grumblings, because he smiled broadly, threw his arms around my shoulders and hugged me before loudly joking that I was the best "baby shark petter" in the world.

My snorkel mask just missed hitting him squarely in the head shortly thereafter. Don't know how that happened - we're looking into it.

We had to laugh. I love him even though he was the King of One-Upsmanship today.

The Shark Count has settled at 22 for this trip. Not bad. Even if one of them was barely worthy to qualify by SOMEONE'S standards. It may have been only four feet long, but I am over the moon with my latest shark petting experience and will wickedly miss communing with the vast underwater world of Maui when we leave for home tomorrow morning.