Two Dot

Two Dot

One of the pleasures of living in Montana is jumping into your pick up truck and driving. The state is over 650 miles from the Idaho border to the North Dakota border. It is about 350 miles from the Wyoming line to the Canadian line. In other words, there is a lot of open space to explore. From the rolling prairie in the east to the mountain passes in the west, Montana is a smorgasbord for the eyes.

This fall Judy and I along with our friends set out exploring. It was a beautiful autumn day with a gentle breeze and blue sky. We headed north out of Bozeman searching for new places. Along the way we saw old homestead buildings, a resorted early 1900’s church, lots of antelope, deer and a moose! Pulling off on a deserted road, we had a Happy Hour with wine, cheese and a jaw dropping view.

The highlight of the day was stopping in Two Dot. This is a very small town located in the heart of Montana. It was established in 1900 as a station stop on the now abandoned transcontinental railroad. The town got its name from a rancher who donated land for the town. His cattle brand consisted of two dots, placed side by side on the hip of his cattle. Once a thriving center for commerce, traders and trappers, it now has a Post Office and a bar and a few homes.

Driving down Main Street, crossing the Musselshell River, is like a time warp into what was Montana a century ago. When we pulled up to the bar, people sitting outside welcomed us with a “Howdy neighbor!” Although the past glory of Two Dot is gone, there is still a remnant that welcomes strangers.

In recent years, the town regained fame in a 1983 Hank Williams Jr. song “Two Dot.” Here is the refrain: “But I’ve climbed up the Rockies and swam down the Snake; I spent winters trapping in the Mosery Breaks. This ain’t the first time I’ve been in a jam. I’m from Two Dot Montana and I don’t give a damn.” Amen

Round Table

Round Table

Growing up in a family of eight children presented a number of logistical problems for my parents. One of the biggest was how do you get that many bodies around the kitchen table? Eight kids, two parents and one grandma demands a large table. We had a big kitchen so a round table with several leafs to enlarge the seating capacity was the answer.

One of my favorite childhood memories is all of us sitting around the table for an evening meal. The combination of high chairs, booster seats and adult chairs filled all the available space on the circumference of the table. Because it was so large, it was hard to reach for the butter, salad dressing or the salt and pepper. Everything needed to start eating was on the opposite side of the table and unreachable. Asking a sibling to pass “the whatever” was a lot like asking them to quite eating altogether.

Then came the Lazy Susan. This modern marvel bypassed the moodiness of family and delivered the goods. A Lazy Susan is a round piece of wood on a stand that rotates on ball bearings and holds condiments for a meal. When that appeared on our kitchen table, life got a lot easier. Now I didn’t have to ask someone to pass the salt. Also, I had a toy to spin while waiting for supper to be served.

Those days of the round table with our family sitting around it are long gone. All that is left are scattered memories of growing up in a large family. It is hard to find a round table any more, at least one that would sit eleven people. Once in a while I see a Lazy Susan sitting atop someone’s kitchen table with a floral decoration on it. Then all those memories come flooding back.

The Bible says: “Your wife will bear children as a vine bears grapes, your household lush as a vineyard, the children around your table as fresh and promising as young olive shoots. Stand in awe of God’s Yes. Oh, how he blesses the one who fears God!”

Little did I know how blessed I was.

The Old Road

The Old Road

Several weeks ago, a friend and I drove from Bozeman to Minot, North Dakota. We went to celebrate the completion of the new sanctuary at a sister church. I rented a 2015 Ford Explorer for the trip. Montana recently upped the freeway speed limit to 80. So we cruised in luxury through the plains of eastern Montana and the oilfields of western Dakota. Autumn was having its way with the aspen and the harvested fields of grain and sugar beets.

Traveling that long stretch of interstate, I caught glimpse of the abandoned two-lane highway that used to carry traffic from the Midwest to the Pacific coast. Sections of the old road were used for local traffic. Some of it was overgrown with tumbleweed. Other parts completely gone except for a bare, flat stretch of roadbed.

Even though we made good time on the expanse of concrete that ran for hundreds of miles, I felt sad to see the decay of a once powerful road that carried life and supplies to far away places. As we sped over the concrete bridge that spanned the Yellowstone River, I couldn’t take my eyes off the old, rusting Iron Bridge still willing to serve any who wanted to venture into the past; a stark reminder that beauty and gracefulness are often replaced by utilitarian ugliness.

I am reminded of the prophet Jeremiah’s words: “Go and stand at the crossroads and look around. Ask for directions to the old road, the tried and true road. Then take it. Discover the right route for your souls. But they say, ‘Nothing doing. We aren’t going that way.”

Oh, we almost set a land speed record getting from point A to point B and back again. But I can’t help wonder how much we missed along the way. When I travel fast I see a lot of nothing. When I take the time to travel slowly, I find all kinds of interesting people and places. As practical as that concrete ribbon is, it can never replace the back roads of Montana.

Kingdom Manure

Kingdom Manure

Growing up in the suburbs of Minneapolis, we lived in a nice home on a two-acre lot with a swimming pool. Of the eight children, my brother Mike and I were responsible for lawn care. That meant cutting the grass, weeding the flowerbeds and picking up dog poop. These chores kept us busy and out of trouble. At times, we felt like slave labor while our five sisters enjoyed some housework and the pool.

One year our father got the idea to plant an orchard of fruit trees. Once planted these trees needed constant watering and care. One day a dump truck arrived and deposited a whole load of manure. Mike and I were instructed to shovel the manure in a wheelbarrow and spread it around each fruit tree. For us it was more than one day’s work. When finished we smelled like the inside of a barn.

 I finally worked up the nerve to ask my dad why fruit trees need manure, he told me two things. First, manure is full of nutrients that feed a tree so that it can produce fruit. That answer was hard to believe considering where it came from. Secondly, he said that manure spreading was character building. He went on to say that in life, there are situations that are far worse than the smell of manure. It was time to learn how to handle the smell.

Jesus told a Kingdom story about manure: “A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren’t any. He said to the gardener, ‘What’s going on here? For three years now I’ve come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?’ The gardener said. ‘Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilize it, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then chop it down.’”

Producing fruit either on a tree or in the heart needs more than wishful thinking. It takes a lot of tender loving care and a wheelbarrow load of manure. Just because it stinks doesn’t mean it ain’t good for you!

Thanks Dad for all the character building.

Herding Cats

Herding Cats

I confess that cats are not my favorite household pets. Although I have had a few over the years, I still prefer dogs especially Shelties. Cats have a mind of their own and don’t take to being told what to do. They are not easily intimidated by loud threats or scolding. They like to cuddle and snuggle but only when they decide. No, dogs are a lot more to my liking.

There are two exceptions to my cat feelings. They were not cats that I lived with but ones I observed from a distance. I met Elmer back in 1974 while moving from Minneapolis to Bozeman, Montana where we going to manage a ski lodge. Hauling our earthly possessions in a U Haul, Judy and I stopped in Medora, North Dakota for the night. When I went into the office to register for a room, an overweight calico cat was napping on the counter. This was Elmer’s perch. With those big feline eyes he checked out anyone who came in the door. You could pet him and he would purr but nothing more. Elmer of Medora is probably no more but he was a cat with a class act.

Fang was a whole different kind of cat. I met Fang early one winter morning.  I was making breakfast for our lodge guests. I happened to look out the window. There, on the very small ledge, sat this huge, grey Angora cat. As I looked closer, this cat had one eye gouged out and only one large tooth that hung outside his lip. This was a wild cat that had seen better days. He appeared on the windowsill every morning. After awhile I built a shelf so he could sit there comfortably. I could not touch him but he loved my pancakes. Fang is no more. Somewhere along the way he fell to the bottom of the food chain.

Several years ago, I saw a video on the Internet. The title was “Herding Cats.” If you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to look it up. It reminded me of pastoring. In fact I showed it at one of our Sunday services. Not an easy job to get everyone going in the same direction.

The Bible records in the Book of Judges a time when Israel was in disarray. “At that time there was no king in Israel. People did whatever they felt like doing.” Sounds like a lot of cats to me!

Blogger

Blogger 

For years people have asked me to write a book about my experiences in the ministry. Apparently, some feel that my journey from being a Catholic priest to an Episcopal priest to pastoring in non-denominational church life would be of interest. I confess that I don’t have the interest or gifting to share my life in a book.

Interestingly enough, this past year, there was a lady who asked to write a book about me. I turned her down several times but finally agreed to a series of interviews. We met in a local coffee shop. Being a good interviewer, she asked questions that forced me to bring back to remembrance my years of trying to follow God. The more questions she asked the more uneasy I became. Why was I struggling so much?

At my age, looking back at the past can be a mixed blessing. Although, I know that God ordered my steps, I carried the guilt and shame of dragging Judy and my kids through some painful situations. Until these interviews I did not realize the impact of these emotions on my life. During my last interview, I suddenly saw that the collateral damage that I though I caused was my problem not my family’s. With that revelation came a release of guilt and shame.

Although, the book is not written and may never be, the process of looking back and seeing God’s goodness every step of the way is more than enough reward. This is a good reminder that my view and God’s view of life may be and often are two different things. The Bible says, “He knows us better than we know ourselves…That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.”

Now that I am released from the guilt and shame of the past, I am free to share my life with you, my blog readers. I have been writing weekly for little over a year. I hope you have had as much fun reading them as I have had writing them. Thank you for your encouraging responses. I will keep at it as long as I have stories to share.

Cruise Control

Cruise Control

It was an early spring morning as Judy and I drove through the Columbia River Gorge on Interstate 84 heading back to Bozeman. We had left Portland about 4 am after spending a week visiting our oldest son and his family. Judy and our dog Sparky were fast asleep. I was trying to stay awake myself. I had the radio on, my window open and cruise control set at 65. When I woke up all I could see was metal!

I could not have dozed off for more than few seconds. Startled by the fact that I was about to rear end a semi, I jerked the steering wheel to the right slamming on the brakes. I heard the crunching of metal, the squealing of tires and the pounding of my heart all at once. By the time I stopped on the side of the road, I knew I was in real trouble.

As the semi kept on going, I got out of the car to look at the damage. The hood was bent like a tepee. The front left headlight was gone and the front bumper was sagging toward the ground. Judy was screaming, the dog was barking. I though I was having a heart attack.

Amazingly, the motor kept running with no clanking or fluid running out from the engine. I drove to the next exit, ran into the convenient store to get a cup of coffee to calm my nerves. Believe it or not we drove the remaining 650 miles home without incident and wide-awake.

I share this story as a reminder that whenever I am tempted to put my life on cruise control I am probably heading for disaster. Procrastination is a tough taskmaster. I am learning the discipline of dealing with life issues up front not putting them off. Tomorrow can be a long way away.

The Bible says: “A nap here, a nap there, a day off here, a day off there, sit back, take it easy; do you know what comes next? Just this: You can look forward to a dirt poor life, poverty your permanent houseguest.”

By the way, I now use my cruise control sparingly.