Barney, an American tourist, is visiting an Aboriginal cultural site in Australia. For his enthusiastic audience, one of the guides plans to demonstrate how to throw a boomerang
He flings the L-shaped projectile outward, with the intention of it returning back to him. Or so . . . he hopes everything works out as intended.
As the summer heat burns up the air’s remaining moisture, Barney pulls out his water bottle for a thirst-quenching gulp. Unaware, he wanders right in front of the guide.
Sometimes, opposite forces must interact in a cataclysmic event. Now is one of those moments when time stands still.
The guide offers a hurried instruction, “Here it comes mate!”
Waking at midnight, I glance at the open bedroom window filled with what I think is early morning light. Throwing off the covers and rubbing sleep from my eyes, I hurry to the window with wonderment and then surprise.
Wandering outside in my robe and slippers, I discover the backyard is filled with an enormous oak tree. I think to myself, “Where did this tree come from? It’s never been here until now.”
Nestled under a full canopy of branches, rests a delightfully engineered tree house. From a window, a young boy’s voice beckons me, “Come on up.”
“But how?” I ask.
Without any explanation, a gentle breeze sweeps me up, and I am standing next to a handsome boy, Steven. He welcomes me to his house, and goes on to say, “I don’t often give tours during darkness in the middle of the night.”
Steven and I walk together, just the two of us, at midnight, in his magnificent tree house. I have never seen anything like his personal Shangri-La.
Each of the three small rooms is filled with a young boy’s playthings and imagination. One room overflows with games of every description, which are stacked neatly upon a shelf. On the table is a half-finished puzzle, which the two of us finish together before I begin battling another yawn.
Another room invites us in to experience beautiful music. The atmosphere feels like a concert hall filled with symphonic, harmonized sound. We relax and listen while sitting in comfy bean bag chairs, but I am beginning to feel just a bit drowsy.
The final room offers a kaleidoscope of color, with different designs on each wall and the ceiling. The floor is painted with shades brighter than any rainbow. Steven encourages me to touch any color, and it instantly changes to a more dreamy moment.
As my personal tour of Steven’s tree house wraps up, he tells me, “I hope to see you again some night. Always wake up preciously at midnight, and I’ll be here.”
The moonlight’s stardust carefully returns grandpa back to sleep; now in his bed . . . still wearing his robe and slippers.
Traveling to face the top-ranked Fergus High School’s basketball team, the young Golden Bears face a daunting task. In the middle of the third quarter, the home team Eagles begin to assert themselves on their way to an exponentially growing lead.
Seeing the score heading toward a lop-sided conclusion, Coach Pete calls a much-needed timeout. As he gathers his players around him, the twinkle in his eyes connects with each of his unseasoned players.
Deep inside of the sideline huddle, Coach Pete’s animated gestures and persuasive voice mesmerize every player. Everyone’s attention is focused on him, except for the team’s manager.
The team has been huddled up far too long, and one of the officials comes over, “Coach, let’s play.” Given the intensity of the timeout’s atmosphere, no one hears the official’s whistle.
The timeout continues as the coach diagrams one final play to run when the players return to the floor. Hopefully, a basket will calm the rising tide of the game’s scoreboard.
The manager suddenly interrupts, “Hey Coach.”
Coach Pete is just beginning to wrap up his final exhortation.
The manager pipes in again, “Hey Coach!”
Turning to face the manager, the coach impatiently asks, “What?”
“They just scored!”
Coach Pete and his bewildered players jump up to see the opposing team at the far end of the basketball court, just as the scoreboard registers another two points for the Eagles.
The official runs by the team’s huddle and tells them that they have possession of the basketball, but they better hurry up. Another delay will turn the ball over to the Eagles with another opportunity to score.
As the Golden Bears return to the floor, their growing confidence emulates from the twinkle shining from Coach Pete’s eyes.
Growing up with a band of brothers, there was a common refrain at my childhood home, “What’s for breakfast?”
However, in order to answer this question, one must return to dinner the night before.
Our mother, in her desire to provide our growing, young bodies with nutrition, decided to try a new vegetable for dinner. Do diced beets from a can catch your fancy?
Being used to green beans, peas, and corn, my brothers and I looked at the beets with their strange color and unappetizing smell, and we knew these little morsels would taste just awful.
All of us went on strike at dinnertime . . . refusing to eat any of the beets.
Our father wasn’t a happy camper with our decision. In fact, he became quite animated that we should all try a sample at dinner. Yet, we refused to budge.
Finally, our enlightened father drew a line in the sand (or on the table), “If you don’t try these beets tonight, you can have them for breakfast in the morning.”
Morning arrived, and instead of our usual Cream of Wheat or Quaker Oatmeal, our breakfast menu consisted of those horrible red beet squares. My brothers and I held fast—NO BEETS!
Our mother was paying close attention to her sons. Never again did she include beets with a meal.
To this day, I still won’t eat beets, no matter how they are prepared. I think my brothers probably feel the same way. Do you have a least favorite vegetable?
An elderly man steadily works in his backyard, raking up some of autumn’s harvest of red maple leaves. The quiet, afternoon air is punctuated by angry and upset mumbling coming from the neighbor’s yard.
Walking over to the fence, the former teacher listens while a much younger man unsuccessfully tries to start up his lawn mower. The neighbor, in his late twenties, has been facing extra pressure and longer hours at the small business he operates.
Pausing and then sending some words of encouragement over the fence, the quiet man offers some advice, “Does the mower need a new spark plug?”
A quick reply comes back, “I never thought of that.”
The conversation continues back and forth for a few minutes. The young man confesses his frustration at work has brought a heavy burden on him as well as his family. He is married with a young daughter.
The wise neighbor adds some gems of wisdom before they both go back to their separate chores, “Hang in there. God’s using these difficult days to prepare you for a more successful tomorrow. He’s equipping you with tools which will help you to bear fruit.”
The young man replies back, “Thanks. I appreciate your advice as well as your testament from the Lord.”
With the rake in his hand, the elderly man prepares to step away from the fence, but he returns and offers a prayer for the young man, “God, grant Tim the serenity to accept the things he cannot change, the courage to change the things he can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Both men say their final words, and return to their respective yard work.
As the retired teacher continues to rake more of the stubborn leaves into a series of small piles, he hears the lawn mower start up with a roar. Obviously, the young man has changed the mower’s spark plug, and it is now running as it should.
At the same time, Tim feels the spark of God’s Word bringing him patience and encouragement for today as well as for tomorrow.
From 2 Peter 1:5-7: “For this very reason, you must make every effort to support your faith with goodness, and goodness with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with endurance, and endurance with godliness, and godliness with mutual affection, and mutual affection with love.”
Elizabeth is flying in coach seating on her way to Minnesota. She occupies the window seat, and a quiet gentleman has been sleeping in the aisle seat.
The flight attendant offers her refreshment and a snack. She selects a diet Coke and a bag of peanuts. The attendant graciously leaves her the entire can.
As the plane nears its destination, Elizabeth begins to clean up her tray table. There is a little bit of Coke left in the can, and she pushes her empty peanut bag inside of it.
WARNING!
KIDS DON’T TRY THIS WITHOUT ADULT SUPERVISION!
Inside of the can, a surprise chemical reaction is taking place as the salt in the peanut bag mixes with the Coke.
Without warning, Elizabeth experiences Mount Vesuvius at 30,000 feet. Her little napkin is all she has to snuff out the volcano before disaster covers her lap.
What will she do?
Glancing to her right, she spies a blanket covering the sleeping gentleman.
I think of myself as the “Top Cat” around this house. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter brought me home from a shelter about two years ago. They love skiing up on the big mountain, and they adore their cats even more . . . with one exception.
Me!! Yes, you got it. I always seem to be in trouble around here. My female cousins, Sky and Birdie, are treated like royalty. Can you imagine two cats being treated like a pair of princesses?
Well . . . I want to tell you my side of the story.
My given name is Revel, which isn’t such as bad name. While Sky is sometimes curious and Birdie is shy, I love the adventure of roaming and exploring the house.
A few days ago, I am in the garage with Mr. Wynter. He doesn’t seem to notice me as I glide along the garage door rails high above the floor. I can be quite the acrobat while walking this tightrope.
I enjoy chasing and teasing my cousins, especially Birdie. She is so timid, but she doesn’t seem to mind it when I am pulling a chunk of hair from her back. I have a cool collection of her hair stashed under the bed in the spare bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter haven’t vacuumed there for months.
Sky likes to pull open drawers in just about any room. I encourage her to open as many as possible. When she’s finished, I move in and pull objects out of the drawer with my mouth. It’s so much fun to leave a mess in every room of the house.
When Mr. and Mrs. Wynter eat dinner, I join them by jumping up on the dining table. They become easily annoyed with me so I have to be quick to jump back down to the floor. It’s sort of like playing “cat and mouse.”
Last week, I helped Mrs. Wynter do some baking. When she would turn her back, I would jump up on the kitchen counter. Have you ever seen a cloud of sifted flour float through the air?
It seems that everyone in the house has grown tired of my adventures. They call it mischief.
Oh my! The life of a “Top Cat” needs to be an exciting venture.
Last night, I climbed up on a bookshelf high above the master bedroom floor. There was a pot with a houseplant in it. I just couldn’t help myself. I pulled and pulled with my teeth and claws until most of the plant and dirt flew out and landed on the bed.
I guess I may have gone a bit too far this time. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter have been dressing me today in a prison outfit, complete with black and white stripes. I look more like a convict instead of a “Top Cat.”
Snickering at my unfortunate circumstances, Sky and Birdie now call me Rebel.
Hey, I am innocent until proven guilty! P.S. My name isn’t Rebel . . . It’s Revel!
My youngest daughter and her husband provide a home for three rescued kittens (now full-grown cats). Revel, Sky, and Birdie enjoy their new home. And yes, Revel does have his moments. The photos of Revel were taken by my daughter.
A harsh Arctic weather system had pummeled the community, leaving it to endure the coldest winter night in recent memory.
Trudging through drifts of snow, a young man braced against the freezing wind and cold. He was only dressed in a few thin layers of clothing, topped off with a faded and tattered hoodie from his college days.
Hopelessness had left him waiting for life’s next train. Whenever it might arrive would be anyone’s guess. His hand touched the few dollars hiding in his jeans’ pocket.
Looking all about, he realized that he needed to find even the barest of shelter on this coldest and most silent of nights. Coming around a corner, his eyes caught a glimpse of a small church.
Situated in the small yard in front of the church was a nativity scene. The young man surveyed the yard and discovered that the stable’s construction made for an adequate shelter.
Slipping in between the figures of Mary, Joseph, and some shepherds, he found straw that would provide a dry mattress, and the wind could not penetrate the outer walls.
Tumbling down into the piles of straw, he nestled next to a manger. He had barely noticed the setting around his makeshift bed. Falling quickly to sleep, his mind began to dream with the help of the warm, dry stable.
As he slept, the stillness of the night came upon the midnight clear. Choirs of angels could be heard in the heavens, proclaiming the birth of the Messiah. Shepherds gathered to witness the arrival of God’s promised Son.
The young man continued to dream and sleep. He had not really rested for over two days.
Morning arrived, and the sun was breaking through the few remaining clouds. The young man stirred from his warm, overnight journey of dreams. He realized that he was covered with a thick sleeping bag. Next to him waited a thermos of hot coffee and a lunchbox of sandwiches.
Turning the sleeping bag into an improvised tent among the nativity characters, he felt the warmest of joy. He sat up to drink the hot coffee and ate some of the food. Peace was backfilling his empty heart. Inside the lunchbox was an envelope with a note.
The note read:
I found you soundly sleeping here last night. I didn’t want to wake you on this most special of nights. I saw that you could use a grace-filled hand from My Father. I covered you up with the sleeping bag and left you some coffee and food. I will be with you always.
Suddenly, the young man realized that he had been blessed in ways he had never imagined. His faith had rediscovered hope. He found the love of his Savior on this warmest Christmas night.
Little Johnny hurried down the sidewalk. Catching his breath upon reaching his school bus stop, he waited and waited.
Soon his fate began sinking in. He had missed the bus . . . again!
The warm and sunny morning invited him to walk across the street to a park. Curious and feeling playful, he explored and enjoyed some spontaneous fun. Readin’ and writin’ and rithmetic could wait a spell.
Minutes turned into a couple of hours. Feeling hungry, Johnny discovered a perfect hideout under a nearby pine tree. He pulled out his brown bag lunch.
Following a quick lunch, he felt a bit sleepy. Fresh air, plenty of exercise, and a filling lunch made him drowsy. Curling up under the tree, Johnny was soon snoozing on a bed of soft needles.
Stirring awake, the noise of his rickety school bus shuttling down the street reminded him that school was over for another day.
Upon reaching his house, Johnny’s loving mother met him at the door. Her stern-looking frown told him to watch out . . . caught again!
A wise, mature owl is hunting at night in the 500-acre woods. As usual, his prey will be one of the smallest creatures in the forest.
A tiny, frightened mouse has been darting behind every shadow in the woods. He’s forgotten just how far away he really is from the family home where everyone is sleeping safe and sound.
With better than perfect night vision, the owl spots the mouse. His hiding place has been discovered, and soon the owl will be feasting on him.
Just as the owl prepares to grab him with his sharp talons, the mouse instinctively jumps into a nearby hollow log. The owl appears dumbstruck for now.
The mouse calls out from his secure hiding place, “Hey buddy, I hear there’s a daytime job available in the 500-acre woods.”
The curious owl answers, “Please tell me more.”
Meanwhile he positions himself on top of the log. The next several seconds will count mightily if the mouse is to survive.
Trying to calm his frazzled nerves, the mouse continues, “Okay, the main office is looking for a branch manager to watch over the woods during the daytime.”
Forgetting his hunger for a moment, the owl asks, “Are free meals included with the position?”
The mouse quickly adds, “Why certainly! I’ve heard that a fresh supply of rabbit stew will be served every morning.”
The owl thinks for a second or two. The shivering mouse’s energy is almost spent, and he feels there is no escape.
The owl responds one final time, “Rabbit stew? I haven’t tasted it for quite some time. I accept the position.”
The overwhelmed mouse begins to relax, and let’s down his guard. As he begins to move out from the log, the owl prepares to strike.
Filled with a dark premonition, suddenly time pauses. The cautious mouse freezes just inside of the log.
The famished owl whispers, “I’ve never really liked rabbit stew.”
Big Sky Buckeye 