Buttermilk Falls is a beautiful spot! That's what I had been told, and I was always open for a great new spot to go for a Sunday afternoon drive with the kids. So we drove out to the country and set out to discover the beauty of Buttermilk Falls. I did have to stop and ask directions a couple of times; I guess a lot of people didn't know where this great spot was.
If you've ever had to make a marathon drive over a long distance, or if you just wanted to squeeze every possible hour out of your vacation, you know what it's like to drive all night probably. If you're a long-haul truck driver, pushing through the night, that could well be a way of life for you. For me, that last hour or two before dawn, oh, man, that's tough. That's when you turn on the most obnoxious radio station you can find and you blast it. That's when you start doing aerobic workouts behind the wheel. It's when you roll down the window in spite of the 30-below wind chill and the hurricane force winds. What makes the last hours of the night particularly challenging is the truth of that old cliché, "It's always darkest before the dawn." It usually is the darkest time, right when the night is seeming to be the very longest. Then suddenly, you start to see that glow on the horizon. The glow gets steadily brighter, and it starts radiating light across more and more of the dark sky. And then, there it is - the sunrise! Hallelujah, the long night is over! Just when it felt like it was never going to end!
Antiques and young children - not a good combination. It is, in fact, an invitation to disaster. Like that lovely antique teapot my wife had out years ago when the kids were little. You know what happened, right? One moment a teapot, the next moment pieces of a teapot. But my wife quickly rallied to remedy the situation. No, she did not disown one of our children. She sent me out for a tube of some sort of super glue. And amazingly, she put those pieces together and recreated that old teapot. And that glue? It's held it together to this very day!
There's one vacation spot our family has always wanted to go back to - Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. As you walk through this bustling, restored Colonial capital, suddenly you say, "Whoa, it's not "now" anymore." You feel like you're in the 1770s again. I mean the buildings, the gardens, and the elegant rooms carry this charm that even children can sense. But it wasn't always that way.
I've been privileged to have a lot of friends in law enforcement over the years. Not because I was in their custody. Let me make that clear. Some of them have the intriguing, and harrowing, assignment of being involved with both a SWAT team and a Hostage Negotiating Team. Needless to say, they're specialists who are called in when there's an especially dangerous situation; often involving people who are being held hostage by a felon. Their mission, one way or another, is to do whatever it takes to bring out those who have been taken captive.
They take more abuse than anyone in professional baseball. More than the managers who make some dumb decisions. More than the players who mess up. No, it's those umpires that so many fans love to hate. Oh sure, they make some calls the fans don't like or agree with, but I'd hate to think of a ball game without some objective official deciding whether the pitch is a ball or a strike, or whether a hit is foul or fair. Let the players decide? I don't think so. It would be chaos without the umpire. Perhaps the place he's needed the most - and sometimes appreciated the least - is those close judgment calls when the runner and the ball arrive at the base at the same time. Everyone holds their breath as the umpire signals his verdict "Safe!" or "Out!"
When my wife would get her hands on the TV's remote control, which was seldom, she'd usually choose something educational. One night she was watching a feature on what the host called "good things hurricanes do." Well, I've seen some of the bad things hurricanes do, I was intrigued to hear about this. The feature told about these Australian pine trees that somehow had taken root in a place in Florida that hosted attractive plants which, in turn, attracted many beautiful birds and small animals. Well, as those pines grew and got tall, they literally created a canopy over those plants, and blocked out the sun. What had once been an area thriving with plant and animal life became this stretch of sterile underbrush - until the hurricane hit. The storm literally snapped those trees in two and I'm sure did a lot of terrible things. But the sun was back. For this little area, well, it had become a beautiful park with pools, greenery, flowers, herons, and lots of interesting wildlife. But it took a hurricane.
Our little granddaughter, when she was little, oh what a Mickey Mouse fan! So I got her a big helium Mickey balloon. It had gone through three pretty distinct phases. First, Mickey was totally flat and folded up into a little square. Then the lady at the store gave him a shot of helium that made Mickey big and flying high. In fact, without a string to tie him down, he'd fly away and be in Bolivia. I know from past experience, though, that there's another phase. Yeah, his flying high days can't last forever. One day we knew we were going to find him all soft, mushy, and (you can picture it can't you, right?) slowly shriveling up on the floor.
We live in one of the mountainous regions of America. And, you know, mountains are beautiful once you can see them. In areas like this, you can start quite a few mornings with fog and mist. Sometimes it just obscures the mountains in the distance, and sometimes I can't even see the neighbor's yard. If you're the kind of person who lets the weather determine your mood, you could feel pretty "blah" on those foggy days. But there's something you can always be sure of when it's foggy. It's not going to be there all that long. Because even though you cannot see the sun, you know it's shining out there. It's burning off that fog until you can see the beauty around you again.
You've probably seen pictures of an eagle, probably soaring majestically. You've actually seen some eagles? Okay. I'll bet they were soaring. It's always special when you see one. But apparently, from something I read recently, there are times that they can't even fly. and very few people have ever seen them in their bad times. According to this account, eagles do get sick, and sometimes when they're sick they're almost immobilized. They're weak, depleted, and frankly they're not much to see. When an eagle crashes like that he goes off to a place where he can be alone, often on top of a high cliff. And he lies out in the sun, face up, spread-eagled, totally collapsed. God has actually outfitted the eagle with eyes that can look at the sun without any damage, and that's what the powerless eagle does. He focuses his eyes on the sun and he lies there until his strength comes back. Yeah, the eagle crashes, but he knows how to come back to soar again!