Saturday, May 31, 2025

The Gene R. Mauk Effect

 


I have known Gene Mauk for around 51 years. Knowing Gene for that length of time, I am bound to have been influenced by him, especially when 96% of that time has been spent as an in-law. Some of Gene inevitably rubbed off on me, and I believe that because of his impact, I am a better man.

The great love he has for Jan, his wife, and his four children, Cindy (Cynthia), Steve (Stephen), Rob (Robert), and John (John) worked wonders in making me a better husband and father.

Gene’s attention to detail showed in restoring his beloved 1930 Ford Model A made me a better woodworker on my various little projects and a better mechanic on our various vehicles.

Gene’s passion for hiking and mountain climbing, and his focus on the many lists for these and other pursuits, including seeing total eclipses, overnighting in all 50 states, and others, inspire me to be aspirational. I’ve created a list based on the trifold, “City of Glendale Trails and Fire Roads”, which I found in Gene’s office. I am hiking them to honor my Father-in-law.

Jan and Gene both valued education and were awarded college degrees. Jan demonstrated this by investing in the PTA and serving on the board for several years in various capacities, including as President. She also worked in libraries serving children at the heart of education. Gene manifested his value of education in the drive for his degree by working a full-time job and being a father while attaining his degree from California State Los Angeles.

The effect was that all four of their children attained four-year degrees. Rob earned a PhD in Molecular Biology. Cindy received an AA at Glendale Junior College, then completed Nursing School through Pasadena City College, and followed those up years later with a bachelor’s degree in Psychology, leading to her receiving master’s degrees and a Doctorate in Psychology from Fuller Theological Seminary. All three of Cindy’s and my children received degrees. I am thankful that Gene and Jan set the bar high. They probably would have locked Cindy away from me had I not earned my degree before we got married.

The Gene Mauk effect reached across generations. He loved being a grandfather and getting involved whenever he could with whatever his grandchildren and great-grandchildren were doing.

The Grand Effect:

From Ashley Cornelius:

List of how I think grandpa has affected my life:

- love of nature and outdoors

- love of experiencing new places and learning about them

- knowing the value of family

- being responsible

 

(In these four bullet items, I found volumes of Gene’s effect on my kids and their lives. I am grateful to him for the affection he showed us all.)

 

From Trevor Mauk:

 

Anyone who knew my grandfather (Papa) would agree that his sense of adventure and admiration of the world's beauty is contagious. I've thought about a couple of ways he has affected me throughout my life, and how I can carry on Papa's legacy through my own mindset and actions.

 

Ingenuity and Curiosity: I recently asked Papa to confirm this story during one of my recent visits because I find it incredible, especially through the lens of our modern information era. When he was a teenager, Papa was passionate about astronomy and set out to build a telescope. Using only books he checked out from his local library, he constructed a large, fully functioning telescope; this included machining various mirrors and lenses and repurposing industrial pipe to act as the telescope body. Incredibly, though unsurprising considering Papa's grit, he got it to work. This was the same telescope I viewed stars and planets through in the La Crescenta backyard when I was a young boy. 

 

I think this is a wonderful example of how Papa lived his life with curiosity and the discipline to understand how the world works—a burning desire to understand the beauty and complexity of the universe, and a relentless determination to take a 'peek under the hood' at how it functioned. I try to carry this same spirit as I move through life, whether it's understanding how the latest car engine functions or how a snippet of code powers a web app. He taught me there is joy in understanding the details of the world.

 

Adventure and Beauty: Anyone who knows (or even knows of) Papa will know he has an incredibly adventurous spirit. I am grateful for the breathtaking hikes, camping, and summits he pushed us to tackle during our winter and summer camping trips. I find more and more of this in myself, especially as I grow older. I've begun to go on weekly hikes, challenging myself to achieve new distance/elevation personal records and seek out new beautiful places. This has allowed me to connect with the beauty of the world and myself in unique ways that I'm doubtful I'd be able to find within other areas of my life. I'm grateful for Papa's inspiration, which has pushed me to seek out natural beauty and appreciate the details in my environment.

 

I'd be hard-pressed not to mention how Papa kept this adventurous spirit going up until the very, very end. Not everyone can say they completed a 14-mile alpine hike with their grandfather in their 90s. Papa's ability to carry this mental and physical strength late into life has encouraged me to take care of myself so that I can do the same—and has made me look forward to the later years in life knowing I can still find joy and adventure in the outdoors with great company.


From Riley Mauk:

 

My grandfather, or "Poppy," as I would come to know him during the first 28 years of my life, is nothing short of remarkable in terms of the life he lived and the impact it had on me.

 

He was always there, from my earliest memories of celebrating annual holidays and family birthdays at his house to going to my basketball games and school activities. He never missed anything in the world. I am very grateful for his presence throughout my life, as it instilled the importance of family in me at a young age.

 

His sense of adventure runs in the family, and I witnessed it firsthand from my early memories of backpacking in the Sierras to our desert trips exploring old, abandoned ghost towns. I'm so fortunate that I was able to share these experiences with my grandfather, like hiking along the PCT with him in the Sierras and Cascades.

 

One of my fondest memories was when he stood at the trailhead of Whitney Portal to congratulate me (and the rest of the team) on successfully reaching the peak earlier that day.

 

My grandfather affected my life in a number of ways, most notably: the foundation and importance of family, his love of the Sierras, and the State of California, as well as the Los Angeles area, and the passion for traveling and exploring new places.

From Lauren Chambers:

My Grandpa, Gene Mauk, was always a loving presence in my life.  But as a child and growing up, I always gravitated towards Nana.  After Nana’s stroke and she was living at Oak Park Healthcare Center, I spent many mornings or afternoons visiting Nana.  Sometimes the visits had numerous people there, and sometimes it was just Grandpa and me.  I got to know my Grandpa in a whole new way and grew a deeper relationship with him.  For me, this was the bright silver lining of the dark cloud of my Nana’s stroke.     This relationship ultimately led to my daughter being named Becca Gene.  I hope the “Gene Mauk effect” will continue by passing down their stories and acting in kind, loving, and thoughtful ways. 

From Daniel White:

In the mountains and the night sky, in an overture of classical music, I am with my Grandpa. Grandpa’s relationship with these elements has forever affected mine.

By far, the most epic backpacking journey of my life was a trip I took with just me and him - 75 miles of the PCT in 10 days, from Sonora Pass to Tuolumne Meadows. We all know of Grandpa’s meticulous planning and tracking with lists, but what I remember most about that journey was simply his joy of being in his element up in the Sierras. One day in particular was a difficult hike, up the side of a deep valley, reaching the apex, only to look across another valley we were to traverse before dark. Every time I reached a peak, I would wait for a few minutes for him to catch up, and every time he caught up, a huge grin from ear to ear, showing both his satisfaction of overcoming and pure wonderment at nature’s marvel. Another day, while we took our lunch break, we decided we would try to camp out by a lake a little off the trail instead of the designated campsite. We had so much fun just locating this lake we found on the map. We reached the point in the trail where we calculated the lake to be, got our compasses out, and headed directly into the dense forest. And we ran right into it, it turned out to be little more than a pond, but he took so much delight in our successful diversion from the plan and finding a place a little less travelled.

He also affected me in my appreciation of the sky. As you can imagine, we spent a fair amount of time looking up at the cosmos on our trips while we sat by our humble campfires and pondered our place in the universe. I also admired his dedication in building his own telescope and the way he took great pleasure in capturing views of other worlds so far away. I often think about those times still, when I stargaze today.

I also have a greater appreciation for classical music because of Grandpa. We would listen to classical music on our long drives to the trailheads. I then started mixing some into my rotation of alternative, grunge, punk, and ska. He would sometimes test me if I knew the composer of a song that came on and he would look so full of pride when I would get one right occasionally. I remember he asked the question at a family party one time, and I was the only one who got it right - Vivaldi, if memory serves me right - and I felt a great sense of pride as I saw how happy Grandpa was that I had gotten it right.

So no big thing, Grandpa only affected me by teaching me to appreciate the mountains, the sky, and the sound of music.


Tuesday, May 20, 2025

Dear Story

 

May the journal of your life be filled with awesome wonder.

Dear Story,                                                                                                May 19, 2025

I love the name your mom and dad found for you: Story Joyce Walker.

You are a child with abundant promise, your own story yet untold, and it is being written day by day. Even as a young child, not much older than a babe, you will find your Way in God’s story. That is the higher road you will walk – finding the path our Lord has for you rather than writing God into your biography.

It seems that you are destined to share amazing narratives that will touch the hearts of your friends and the people you meet as you wend your way along the roadways, paths, and thoroughfares God takes you. Even when it feels like you are being taken where there are no roads, you will know you are being led by the author and finisher of our faith, Jesus Christ. Knowing your parents, I am certain those out-of-the-way places without trails will be awesome, if unexpected. And the stories you share along the way help those who listen.

It was no coincidence that your first visit to church was a Communion Sunday. You will grow and develop on the Bread of Life, and you will be sustained by his blood, the fruit of the vine.

There is something special between two people when one is named for, or in honor of, another. You have a tie with your great-grandmother Joyce that goes beyond the genetic connection. I believe it will be a great blessing to you both. There is Joy in your names, I love it!

Now, about this being a little sister – it is likely to be an untamed part of your journey; one minute warm and cozy, the next stormy and cold. I recommend gravitating toward staying warm and safe. It will help you through those parts of life that can be hard on you. Lake can be a great anchor when things get stormy.

You will find characters in your biography who will be friends from your first couple of chapters through the end of the book. There will be characters who appear for short and significant periods. Hold on to them. Try not to mourn when they are not with you and remember how pleasant and delightful they are; awesome friends never really leave us.

Your quiet demeanor will calm those with worried hearts. Your vivacious side will light up rooms with joy. Your rapt attention to people who talk with you will ease their loneliness. People who watch you play with others, hug others, or even while you are by yourself, will know God is nearby.

Your name, Story, has some interesting roots and meanings. One source of the name is Old Norse (a language your mom and dad can explain about), and it means “large” or “big”. I can see the tie to your person in this because I believe you’ll have a big heart, and that will be where Jesus lives and where people will see these wonderful things about you. Someday, I am sure your folks will share how they came upon your name. In any case, I believe it fits.

Our God is many things, huge, and has many aspects about him. He is the Creator, Love, the Great Healer, the Good Shepherd, the Provider, the Prince of Peace, and he is present. He provides wisdom, love, grace, forgiveness, and life itself. The Bible tells us that we are created in God’s image, so I believe we each have a measure of all those aspects of God. I am looking forward to seeing how Jesus shows himself in you. It will be spectacular.

I am forever in His grip. Blessings,

Jerry White


 

Saturday, April 5, 2025

Dear Chrissy

Dear Chrissy,

How can the sun be shining? That is what I asked myself this morning as I hiked up the mountain with Todd. It seems to me that the day should have been overcast, drizzling, and dreary, and more befitting of my feelings since getting the news of your going home. Once I got over my indignity at the sun for such an outrage and disgust at the gentle breeze that cleared the way for me to see the ocean, I could see that this was the perfect day for your homecoming. I know that you were greeted by Jesus with, "Welcome home, good and faithful servant. Well done."

I have missed you these past weeks. There will be an empty spot that, thankfully, Jesus will need to fill and most assuredly will. At your darkest hours, you can make me feel blessed and warmly received. I felt like a rock star whenever we saw each other, all because I had the good fortune of spending a little extra time with your kids, which was a huge blessing to me.

Austin and Nicole have been at the center of your world, they were two of your reasons to hold on as long as you could. I don't believe you feared death but instead were possessed by a fierce desire to live, to see your kids well on their way in life, to hold on to Todd for as long as possible, and to be there for your friends while you were about the business of the Kingdom of God. After all, we have only a short time here with our loved ones and an eternity with Jesus. You thirsted for life; indeed, you thirsted for The Life, and I know you found it and shared it unabashedly.

Grief will visit us. It will be sharp and poignant for your family and the closest of your friends. It will come to them in waves. Some waves will lap at their feet and be gentle reminders of all you are to them: your kindness and love and your ability to make them the center of your universe. Some waves will try to overwhelm them, and we'll need to stand with them to ensure they are not swept out to sea. God's grace is sufficient, and He will provide.

I know that for myself, I asked, "Why Christine? Why was there no miracle healing?" Honestly, I've been a bit miffed. Others will feel the same. I went down that deep dark path years ago with a friend when I held on to my anger far too long, so long that it turned to bitterness and that bitterness separated me from my Lord. I caution folks to let the anger go, hold on to the love with their big hearts, and let God be God. We may never know his purpose in our losses. He must be enough for us.

I will continue to be sad for myself, sad for that marvelous core group of friends of yours, and sadder still for Todd, Nicole, and Austin. But I will also spend a lot of time marveling at nature and the lush green pastures and the valleys you now have with their lakes and streams, and I will praise the name of Jesus that I have the good fortune to call you my friend.

In His grip,

Jerry

PS – I have taken the liberty of scanning some of the comments from your friends and family and have listed some that ring particularly true to me here. Some of these are only a piece of what they wrote, some are all. At last count, there were 180 comments on the family post at this writing and these are but a few:

From Phil Van Horn, "Brokenhearted and inspired…all at the same time."

From Alfred Berumen, "I share your grief for someone with such a beautiful soul. Chrissy was always a gem of delight and personality and she had fabulous "Hair Pirate" hair. We all loved her so much. Peace and strength sent to your family."

Sarah Rush: "I'm sending you all my most heartfelt love and will be praying for you. I was heartbroken to hear the news of precious Chrissy's passing last night. I've prayed so fervently for her the last 5 years. I know she's with Jesus, but my heart is so heavy. God bless you dear ones."

Karen Gee McAuley, "We are so blessed to have known and loved her. We will remember her, full of love, light and baked goods to rival a pastry chef, her sense of humor and humanity. God called her home and while we miss her so much, we are grateful that she is finally at peace."

Lisa Li: "What a loss, such a ray of sunshine no matter the clouds. May she fly high as know she would."

Jennifer Horn: "Such an amazing woman filled with so much sparkle…"

Alice Hill: "My heart breaks while her soul finds peace. I know she is in the loving arms of our Lord, with no more pain and no more fear, only love. She will be missed by everyone left behind, because she was truly one of the special ones. Her loving spirit lit up a room as soon as she walked in and I am sure heaven felt that amazing spirit when she arrived."

Sue Volz Peters: "I'm so very sorry to read this news! Chrissy was a bright beacon of light!"

Sharon Marks Boudreaux-Stam: "I'm so sorry for your loss. She was such a beautiful person inside and out."

Michele Hetherington Fernandez: "We love you all so much & our lives have been forever changed from having Christine & your family in them."

Greg Stoney: "I'm so gutted. Such a sweet human taken from us much too early. I feel honored to know her…"

Amanda Minkey Granier: "Gonna miss my sweet friend so much  but so blessed to have had her in my life for so many years. I will cherish our times together, our laughs, our cries, our talks and everything in between."

She was truly one of a kind and touched so many hearts! She loved loved her family and was so proud of all of you!

Terry Kappen: "OMG!!! I am shocked to hear this news! My heart is breaking! I am so sorry Todd, Nichole, and Austin. Chrissy fought the long fight. She trusted God to see her through this for 5 years and never gave up. She now can have the peace she and everyone that loves her have been praying for. She was the kindest, God-fearing person I knew, she had helped me through many of trials in my life."

180 and counting…

Thursday, March 6, 2025

Descent of a Comfortable Silence

 

Photo Credit: Jim McClelland

Jim McClelland and I are cruising along Highway 95 in Nevada, after our trip over Interstate 80 out of California, as we work our way to Eagle, Idaho. We are in his new-to-him truck pulling a 24-foot enclosed trailer as he and Shirley begin a new chapter in their lives, not a chapter they would have necessarily written for themselves, at least not with all the plot twists it’s taken to get them this far. 

During our 12-hour trek through the high desert, there is plenty of windshield time with snowcapped mounts surrounding us. While we have plenty of talking to do to catch up on our lives as we trundle along, we allow ourselves some periods of silence, a silence as rich in solitude as two people can have sitting next to each other.

There is comfort in the occasional silence that suffuses the cab of Jim’s truck that only comes in our being the best of friends. I am assured of Jim’s acceptance, I don’t need to fill the time with talk just to delight him, make him like me more, or prompt him to make a statement of undying devotion to our friendship. It is there, not taken for granted, but present in the silence, even as I type the draft for this post.

I want this sort of comfortable silence with Jesus Christ, my Lord. Many people talk about Jesus being their friend or ‘being a friend of Jesus’. I admit to having a problem with that terminology for myself. I am too busy working on having Him be my Lord and my King to seek friendship. It’s all semantics, I know, but semantics are important to me. I would like to sit with Jesus in a comfortable silence even as He is my Lord and assured of His acceptance with no need for me to say things to him to delight Him, make Him love me more, or to elicit a statement from Him so that I know He cares for me. A silence where I don’t ask of Him anything; no pleas for forgiveness (as much as I continue to need it), no appeals on behalf of friends or family (as much as they need it), and no adoring words of praise from me (as much as He deserves them all the time).

There is a hierarchy of assurance, a depth to certitude from thinking, to feeling, to believing, and finally to knowing.

To sit with Jesus in a comfortable silence is to be known by Him and to know Him. I would love to have that day descend on me. I dare say, if it happened, I would not likely recognize myself the next time I looked in the mirror.

In His grip and as always, on the Potter’s Wheel,

jerry

Photo credit: Jim McClelland
 
An Idaho writer's nook courtesy of Grandma Virgie, Jim's grandmother

Friday, November 15, 2024

It Will Find You...

 


I have spent the whole day running from it, ducking into anything to hide from it, evading it at nearly any cost. Like from Dodgeball, “Dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge.” I poured myself into useless phone apps in the predawn hours. I read the L.A. Times, mostly for the funny pages. I did crossword puzzles to distract myself because I work a puzzle, I get zoned in on it.

Then I inundated myself by waking up hibernating projects. I took a writing piece to the next stopping point and handed it off and still the worry nagged at the edges of my heart and mind. I worked on digitizing old VHS tapes of my grandfather’s 8mm film reels. The device I’d been successfully using crapped out on me so I drove them to a pro with a next step of viewing Cindy’s and my VHS tapes to do the same with the ones we want to preserve. The old DVD/VHS player didn’t play the tapes at all and I was stuck again. To prove the stupid box is connected right I stuck in a DVD and it played masterfully. I let Silverado play through getting lost in western gunfights and awesome dialog. Still, it was always in my periphery. So clearly was it in the edge of vision, I almost cursed the talent that helped me steal hundreds of passes and disrupt even more plays on the basketball court.

I stayed off social media because of Facebook’s constant reminders of past posts on this day four years ago, three years ago, two years ago, last year. I forced myself not to group text; “let them be”, I told myself.

Grief.

The simple definition for this unfathomable process is a deeply poignant anguish caused by bereavement. This is the “it” that has been dogging my tracks today on the fourth anniversary of my mom’s death. The honest truth is that grieving her loss, which followed so closely the loss of my dad, provides a one-two punch that is difficult for me to slip and get in an offensive rhythm of my own. Most days I can dance around the ring and trade blows while staying on my feet and scoring a few touches of my own. I can get things done that need doing, do things that I enjoy doing, and tackle responsibilities that, while I’d rather do something else, I can do them anyway.

What I find most effective is staying toe-to-toe with grief when it enters the ring and face it for what it is. Sometimes it is even better to get close, close enough to get into a clinch and wrestle with it. The only referee for me in a fight like this is Jesus. He can pull us apart and send us to our corners, give me a standing eight-count when I need it, and keep the fight fair. The problem with a bout like I had today is that when I run, hide, and avoid the conflict, my Referee can’t act and I end up exhausting myself. Fighting grief is best done as a tag-team match with our closest of confidants.

We handle grief in our own ways and wrestle with it and grapple with emotions that are as individual as our fingerprints. I don’t recommend running from it nor do I suggest we engage with it to the point it consumes us. Do not deny it, it will only build up to a breaking point. Don’t fill the void with excessiveness or stupid things. Playing hide and seek on a blank canvas surface surrounded by ropes designed to keep combatants together is not a productive approach.

When I spend too much time with pointless mechanisms to handle losses, I end up not being an effective person; I don’t love right and I don’t serve effectively, and these things lead to a self-loathing whirlpool. Breaking the hold with these things weighing us down is doggone difficult and many times we need help in getting back into the flow of life. Reach out and tag them in to help.

When grief taps you on the shoulder and challenges you to meet in the parking lot, turn ever so calmly, look it in the face, and take grief on right there. Don’t screw up the rest of your day worrying over meeting a bully later.

In His grip,

jerry


Sunday, September 29, 2024

Holm is Where the Heart Is

 

Isaiah 43:2 - “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.”

In my last Calvary’s Thread post, ‘Adrift’, I wrote about drifting along the current of a river without tiller or oar and speculated that I might be able to lean over and hand paddle my along. Jim McClelland suggested in a comment that by hopping in I could “enjoy the truths of the discoveries along this particular journey.” Part of my reply to Jim was that I am more effective as a swimmer than a drifter, or something along those lines. As effective as I can be while propelling myself along the river of life, I need respite from the currents and chills of the water. I need rest and a place to do it. I believe I found such a place and I know of a handful of others. Holm.

Holm, as Webster describes it, is a small island or inshore island. It’s a British term and those folks seem to have cornered the market for alternate words for an island such as: ait as in ‘a little island’ or eyot a variation on ait. I prefer ‘holm’ to the alternatives, it feels warmer and more inviting to me.

When my sister Denise moved to Merlin, Oregon and shortly thereafter my parents, we took summer trips to visit them nearly every year and with few exceptions, rafted down the Rogue River. For twenty-five years we took these floats using inflatable kayaks, paddle rafts, and drift boats. We encountered small islands, or holms, along the way downstream. They provide sanctuary for birds to nest to be safer for their eggs and young. Canada Geese, Mergansers, Teals, Mallards, and other waterfowl use the island to pull up on and sun to restore body heat and to nest. Songbirds and waders (Green and Great Blue Herons, and various Egrets) wade off the holms to hunt for fish and frogs. The islets are not Edens as there is predation from the sky from eagles and hawks. Otters, playful as they are, eat pretty much what they can catch. Still, there is a measure of sanctuary and peace, the birds can breathe and relax a bit.

Bass Lake, the ancestral home of my mom, has a couple of islands – one toward the upper third of the lake where the Madera County Sheriffs operate from. The other island is down near the dam. Both islands are submerged when the lake is full with the only evidence as either the Sheriff’s tower or the vegetation sticking up above the water. Likewise, both islands are accessible by walking when the lake is at its lowest point. The island near the dam is bisected by a boom, in the old days of true log construction but nowadays made of rubber coated tubes filled with floatation materials. Nearly from the day we could walk we would see how far we could get before falling off the boom and into the lake. It became a rite of passage when we could swim along the boom out to the island or take our inflatable rafts to it. These were our Huck Finn moments.

My dad and I sometimes rowed out and fished around the island. I miss those times of quiet conversation as we tried to lure trout and bass to our hooks. Whenever I see the island, I remember those times and I am warmed by the memories of them. It is a holm to me.

A week ago, as I wrote this, I was at holm with Jim and Shirley McClelland, free of the river’s currents, rapids, and rocks. A place of peace and sanctuary. I feel at home at their place, always. I rode my motorcycle up to see them, hang out with Jim with his various errands, and take in a Giants’ game at Oracle Park. As arduous as my ride up was (I’ll need to write that story for Iron Side Up) I needed a place to catch my breath. The ride provided me space to think and pray about things and then push them away to pay attention to the road. With Jim and Shirley, it is as though no time has passed and we pick up where we left off. I love them for it.

Mike and Van Schermerhorn’s place is another holm, and island of respite. The last time I was with them I had rented a trailer to help Mike move a patio set to a friend of theirs in need. As with Jim, it seemed that no time had passed and we picked up where we last saw each other. Mike and Van bought lunch for me which we had shared with friends of theirs. They needn’t have, the warmth in sharing in their kindness was more than enough payment. I love them for it.

My sisters’ places and kids’ homes are places we stay that offer the same sort of comforts of love, joy, and peace – they are places to rehab my soul. Holms in the river, though with the grandkids the times are more otterlike than completely restful.

My prayer for you, my encouragement to you, is that you find your holms. And those that you already know, pay them a visit and heal a bit from the rush and keep a weather eye out for new holms.

In His grip,

jerry

Biblical river references:

Psalms 46:4 - "There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High."

Revelation 22:1-2 - "Then the angel showed the river of the water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb."

Genisis 2: 20 - “A river flowed from the land of Eden, watering the garden and then dividing into four branches.”

Monday, September 2, 2024

Adrift

 


Living waters have a current, an ebb and flow to them, sometimes unseen, as from a hidden wellspring, a source beyond the ken of human senses. Living waters are not distilled nor sterile. The currents bringing them to the ponds and headwaters contain nutrients, the outgoing currents take the waste of the living organisms downstream to be consumed by still other creatures or cast of in the effervescence of the streams.

The waters I seem to be on are not some stagnant pond, putrid with waste and polluted by mankind. And so, adrift as I am, I have at least this one thing left, that my oft used sign off, ‘in His grip’, is still true and that whatever landfall my drift takes me, I will have my feet on firm soil.

Adrift appears an apt turn for this stage of life I find myself. Meriam (we are on a first name basis now) talks about adrift as being without motive power and having no anchor or mooring, ties, guidance or security. I am uneasy with these things. I’m an old man, for God’s sake! Shouldn’t I have the power to direct my life, activities, and interests?

By what mechanism have I become adrift, without sail and subject to every current and vagrant wind? By my own devices? Have others cast me into this drift? Let me be honest with myself – I have no one to blame but myself. I pushed off into the stream without proper provisions.

I shouldn’t be rudderless, without oars or a motor these days. I’m a Christian. But I am in the water’s power and subject the vagaries of the stream with its rocky outcroppings, rapids, and glassy stretches. I am consumed with sadness, not as acute as Jesus’ sadness in the garden of Gethsemane, but at times it feels akin to that.

I have a distinct memory from my childhood when my mom and a friend of hers took my sisters, the friend’s son, Dennis Broberg, and me up to Switzer’s Creek in the Angeles National Forest. Dennis and I took our army men and equipment. You know, like those great characters from the Toy Story movies? We set up roads and fortifications. We collected twigs and fashioned rafts for water-born assaults. The prone machine gunners were particularly good for the rafts. We set them adrift in the creek in the hopes they could get behind enemy lines. Adrift and without rudders, they invariably ran afoul of some driftwood collected between the rocks. My own drift sometimes feels like the ill-fated infantryman’s.

Still, I am in His grip and when it comes to it and I am caught by the eddies that thwart my progress, I can risk it and reach over the side and hand-paddle my way out. Firmer ground awaits and who knows what stranded wayfarer I might bring into my raft and take to safety along the way.

To borrow a phrase from Ellis Boyd "Red" Redding, “I hope”.

In His grip,

Jerry White