Slough

Slough

Growing up in Minnesota I am familiar with swamps, blogs and sloughs. The land of ten thousand lakes has lots of backwaters. These were great places to catch frogs, salamanders and other assorted creatures to say nothing of the beautiful lily pads and cattails; a compete eco system of aquatic life.

What brought this to mind was the name of the inlet where we rented a home for our family vacation a few weeks ago. Just off of Comeback Bay on Lake Pend Oreille at Sandpoint, Idaho, is a small inlet called the Sagle Slough. A quiet body of water that was showing signs of the dog days of summer.

It was the word “slough” that caught my attention. Looking it up in the dictionary I found a few interesting tidbits. A slough is a place of deep mud or mire on a river or creek.” What surprised me was the variations of this word; same spelling but different pronunciation. Here they are:

-       A state of moral degradation or spiritual defection

-       The cast-off skin of a snake (yuk!)

-       A mass of dead tissue separating from an ulcer (yuk again!)

-       To get rid of or discard as objectionable

The most famous slough of literature is found in Pilgrim’s Progress written by John Bunyan in 1678 as a Christian allegory. It is called the Slough of Despond where the main character, Christian, sinks into the murky muck from the weight of his sins and guilt. A great read for all who seek relief from their burdens.

Having found myself, more than once, in this slough of despond, I am reminded of the words of Jesus that bring relief to the weary soul. “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me; watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

These words are living water!

CCII

CCII

One of the advantages of a liberal arts education is learning Roman Numerals. It allows me to read the dates on important building cornerstones as well as which Super Bowl is which. Little did I know that memorizing these obscure numbers would have a lasting use later in life. One might well heed the wisdom of the ancients, never knowing when it will come in handy in the 21^st century.

This blog marks the 202^nd (CCII for the uninitiated) blog of the Mangy Moose. The reason I know this is that the app I use to publish keeps track. When I started back in 2014 I had no idea that my writing would get this far out of hand. Maybe a few random thoughts written down here and there would do.  I have acquired a habit of sitting down with my I Pad Mini, my second one since starting this blog, and sharing thoughts and stories that have accumulated in my memory over the years.

More than once I have come close to shutting down the Mangy Moose. Every time I mention this to one of my ardent readers they plead with me to keep on going. I have heard that it has become a Monday morning staple for people while they sip their coffee. One reader told me that my blog is his favorite toilet reading. I understand since I have dedicated more than one article to that bodily function.

Although I struggle at times to come up with a story or an opinion you might enjoy, I love to share with my readers real life experiences whether they be personal, church, or politically incorrect opinions. I trust you take most of what I share with a tongue in cheek attitude. I hope I have not embarrassed my wife, my children or my siblings. If I have, they will just have to live with it.

Every once in a while a reader will respond with a pithy comment or two. Sometimes family members will call to let me know that what I wrote is not exactly how they remember it. Feel free to comment on Facebook, a text message, a phone call or even face to face. I can handle the fame!

Here’s to going ahead to blog CCC.

Whore of Babylon

Whore of Babylon

Don’t fret! This blog is not about the Apocalypse or a treatise on the End Times. As much as I would like to write on these topics I have another purpose in mind. I have used this phrase only twice and both times to describe machines that I grew to have a love-hate relationship. Not born with mechanical skills, I struggle through life mechanically impaired.

The first was found in the bowels of a church building where I once served as pastor. Looking back, I didn’t read the fine print of the pastor’s job description. The church leadership informed me that, as pastor, I was to oversee the boiler. The previous pastor had acquired an engineer’s license so that he could operate the heating system. After encountering this behemoth, listening to its hissing and feeling it’s steamy exhaust, I decided license or no license, I was not going to touch this whore of Babylon. I came to pastor a people not a boiler.

The second was resting in a dilapidated shed in the Bridger Mountains of Montana. Judy and I ran a ski lodge at the base of Bridger Bowl ski area. In the shed was a rusting D 4 Caterpillar. It was my job to plow the parking lot and driveway. Having never operated a tractor, I had to learn how. First you start the gas pony motor which really whines in the cold. Once the pony motor warms up you engage the diesel motor. This is when clouds of black smoke fly out of the exhaust stack and all kinds of strange noises sing a tune that pierces the ear drums. This machine was truly a whole of Babylon.

At this stage of life, I endeavor to stay away from large machines. I focus my time on more mundane things like technology. My learning curve with the Internet has been steep. I have invested time, money and energy into my I Phone, I Pad, desktop Mac, and Kindle; thinking about getting an Apple Watch. These gadgets are not easy to master, especially for an old man, but they don’t hiss, spit, or blow black smoke in my face.

I am becoming an I Dan!

Road To Hell

Road To Hell

I am of a generation that was taught about life by maxims, clichés, and old wives’ tales. My grandmother, who came from the old country, was a font of quaint sayings that had a warning, often with a sting embedded, designed to keep me on the straight and narrow. During my seminary years, we had professors who were fond of pithy sayings. One professor kept warning his students by repeating “if this in the greenwood, what in the dry?” I never did figure that one out.

My all-time favorite, repeated by grandmother, the nuns and priests, was “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” If nothing else would make me stand up and take notice, those words with a little spin on them, put the fear of God in me. Raised in a church culture that majored in guilt and shame, that warning conjured up slippery, hot asphalt that lead to only one place, a firestorm of perdition.

Inquisitive about the source of this saying, I found that it was a misquoted medieval saint. The original went something like this “hell is full of good wishes and desires.” Not quite so scary in the original. Nonetheless, that adage has found a permanent place in my memory. Every time I promise to do something or be somewhere, a bell goes off and those words challenge my ability and desire to follow through.

I find it interesting that in our culture that doesn’t place much stock on a real hell, there is an accompanying lack of commitment to follow through on promises made and obligations met. It’s getting harder and harder to believe people when they commit and don’t show or produce. Maybe we need a little old-fashioned reminder once in a while.

As a postscript: whether the reader believes in hell or not, rest assured that there is no paved road just a slippery slope. I like these words of Jesus: “Just say a simple ‘Yes, I will,’ or ‘No, I won’t.’ Anything beyond this is from the evil one.”