Happy Hunting

The Plains of Sabbath. The wide open spaces between the thickly, prickly forests of Necessity, the foggy Deserts of Dream, the stormy Seas of Calamity and the hyper-bustling Cities of Man that make up the rest of the hunting range. Here a hunter can ease down in the tall grass, test the wind and relax a little, knowing that his quarry cannot pass by unnoticed. Like a lion surveying the savanna, all the herds must pass a nervous day under his eye, predator and prey in full sight of each other. There is nowhere to hide until you reach the other side.

Thanksgiving Valley is this plain's name. And it marks the mouth of the Advent Race. A peaceful stream that flows through this fruitful field gathers speed and power as it pours over the precipice at the end of the vale. From there it's down, down, down the mountains in a tumbling, pell-mell fury of thunder and chaos until it finally bursts over Christmas Falls and into the Pool where some drown and others bathe and finally it slips out the other side and the quarry will be gone, never to return. Another Year gone, another Yearling straining at the gates in agonizingly youthful exuberance ready for its hunt. Its chance to run the gauntlet.

But the hunter is still thinking about the last hunt and all the hunts before. How to capture a year? How to hold on to that powerful beast? How to best use every bit of the members he managed to pull down? What did he learn? What worked, what didn't?

For this hunter, this valley, this morning of Thanksgiving has been a good place to slow the critter down. It's the last good grazing spot before it's dash down Christmas Ravine. Here i can walk among the herd, even run my fingers through their wooly manes. It's a sacred spot. A place to count blessings.

• Such as homes given...to us, to Clan Bubba, to the Cats.
• The departing of a Shepherd and a partner, hopefully both to happier hunting grounds.
• The arrival of a new partner and all the adjustments that means.
• For a camping trip, a beach trip, a reunion with my brother's family.
• For seasons of growth in the Ballyhoo.
• For more proof that God will provide, even in recessions, democratic presidencies and swine flu pandemics.
• Reconnecting with family, some i wasn't aware i had.
• For sins forgiven.
• For a few more sign in my larger hunt for joy and contentment.

And for knowing when to end a post that has buried itself in poetic metaphor without a single joke, laugh or snicker. Happy Thanksgiving to All and to All a good Hunt!

A Jeremiad.

Two days ago, at work in a basement, stuffing puddy into a thousand thousand little nail holes, i had at least six ideas for art work, nine for a story and three for a post here on the Coop. Here i sit in front of a laptop and there's more action on the static screen than in the oblong pumpkin. (Calling it the squash would convey it's lumpy irregularity more efficiently but then i don't think folk would get that i'm talking about my head.)

i've been thinking about change lately. As in: Can people change? Specifically for the better. For you see, in my experience, people don't. Change for the better that is. Once they reach some semblance of something we can label cynically as "maturity," they're personalities are fixed. The ingredients of traits, quirks and habits that make them able to be differentiated from the other primates in the herd have settled into the shape that they will only harden around as they age. From there on until the Big Chemical Breakdown, they will take that palette of colors and let them dry and darken with age. The most change i can say i've witnessed is when one of the colors, usually a particularly dark one to begin with, starts to take over. But this isn't change, this is just a natural progression of possession. We sell our souls to something and sooner or later or in most folk, gradually, it takes more and more of that real estate. Until all that's left is the slave and the master. The fearful person becomes the shut-in, the party animal burns out, the cynical philosopher becomes a grumpy blogger. Slaves to their sinful addictions.

Now my problem with this is this: i believe in the God of change. The Father so loved the world (euphemism for all of the little yellow, brown, red, black and pink idi-ants running around on it) that He gave His only begotten son. That whosoever, (or who ever wants to) believe in Him, shall not perish (die a worthless life and then spend an even more tragic eternity) but have everlasting life (life here should be capitalized. Life. Not the life that we suffer through here and is but a pale shadow of truly Living as it was meant to be, fully in God and He in us. No questions about purpose. No coping mechanisms. No incessant search for love and fulfillment. No lies.) That God has told me that He came to free people from their sins. Those that believe are no longer slaves, they are truly free. One of the evidences of this is that they shall live differently, different from how they lived before and different from all of those who have chosen not to believe. They shall truly change! This is my hope. Or i hope to make this my hope. Being a cynic, hope would be a change. This is what i pray for everyday. For myself and for others.

So how come i'm not seeing it happen?