Monday morning. My mind zips and zags, but not like a water bug. It doesn’t jerk as much as shifts. Not fast. Focused. On what I give attention to. It is not random, but with purpose.
The centering is Jason and Diane. Jason’s in Intermediate Care, a sign of good steps in rehab. Some setbacks, especially when the tracheotomy leaked. Well, that’s an understated verb. Blood flowed over his shoulder. Was addressed and is now well functioning. Of course, scary. In rehabbing it is clear…nothing steady or guaranteed. But, still each of you with prayers and prayers and lovely notes, bring the 3 of us such peace and grace and hope.
With that I share what I learned yesterday in worship. Focused more than some on that. The preacher, a nun, said as I recall this morning, “Mercy often means we have pity on someone. The definition of mercy is not pity. It is the giving of life.” That preaches. Personally, far more…it inspires.
Watched the Super Bowl, thought it was perhaps the most competitive and engaging ever. Wasn’t disappointed the Eagles won.
Then this morning as the personal water bug continued its back and forth. That stopped. Really stopped. With an e-mail from Matthew Krane. Most of you, if not all, know him as my very personal Rabbi Guide.
A Cliff-Notes…we met when I was in Frisco, Colorado about ten years ago, crafting the paragraphs of my first novel, “Murder On Tillamook Bay.” At the time was the Conference Minister out of Austin [say “out of” because driving 40,000 miles each year to visit churches in Texas and Louisiana was simply common.] I am not a non-stop writer; needed fishing time. But I needed a guide, called Mountain Angler and shared who I was, hoping for a match with someone who knew writing and fishing could be partnered.
Enter Matthew Krane. Which started as dynamic and reciprocating a relationship. We went to Muddy Creek, private ranch land. The more we talked the more I admired him. But, he wasn’t just talk. I’d be fly-casting. He’s walk up, tap me on the shoulder and point upward. He’d never say, “Look at those clouds.” Never. Rather, he’d name the clouds and remark on the beauty of creation. He’d then point out a hawk flying. Incredible.
While fishing the first drift, nymph fishing with a small orange floating bobber, Matt went up stream to scout out the upstream hole for sipping trout. I looked up to appreciate he was guide and scout. I then looked back and my bobber was nowhere to be seen! The river exploded, MR. TROUT liked the nymph and certainly didn’t know we released every single trout. Matthew came down, took a net downstream, stealthily to not intimidate the trout. The trout jumped just before the net…PING. That sound defines ESCAPE. Matthew said, “There’ll be more.” I assumed he meant exploding trout in the river and not PING. Okay, it would be both.
Over this decade, which has been anything but decadent, Matthew became my Rabbi Guide. His Hebrew faith is deep and beautiful and powerful. I love it. Plus. I’ve never met anyone who knows more about more than my Rabbi Guide. Goodness. I bet it knows the full script of Blazing Saddles. And, even more, he’s a ski patrol guy at Breckenridge, a top-notch photographer, and plays the guitar in his gaggle of similar spirited buddies, the Pine Beatles. They gave a concert Saturday night and Rabbi Guide sent some pictures. Will give one…he’s the guitarist on the right…which is a direction and has nothing to do with either his theology or political posturing.
So, a Monday morning. Off to the hospital in a bit. Appreciating life and so grateful for so many of you…you spark my day…even if you, not unlike myself, know zip about naming clouds.