Acting Squirrely

Our Farmer’s Almanac says the Midwest is in for a lollapalooza of a winter. If that’s true, there’s cause for concern about Little Red’s welfare and all his squirrel buddies. Last year our neighborhood was blanketed with acorns, so much so that walking the length of the driveway was like lurching about on a carpet of marbles.

This fall, however, there’s nary an acorn to be seen. God may have told the trees, “After outdoing yourselves last year, take a year off.” But good news for the oaks has been bad news for the critters. I didn’t realize the extent of the problem until I bought a few pumpkins for the front porch.

I’d barely gone inside when the first little thief came and dragged the tiny baseball-sized pumpkin away. I counted again and again before realizing what had happened. Now, a week later, they’re all but gone, the chewed-up evidence scattered throughout the yard.

All of this off-the-ground eating puts me in mind of the biblical manna. Although its timely arrival every night was miraculous, God told the Israelites his main reason for sending it wasn’t to satisfy their hunger, as much as to teach them about the nourishing, faithful Source behind it: him.

I sometimes think of the incredible boredom of eating manna every day for 40 years. The slaves of the Egyptian pharaoh who left in a hurry never realized how scrumptious that last Passover meal had been with its roast lamb and all the trimmings. Once they were in the desert, it was same old, same old, despite God’s eventual addition of quail to the menu.

We get frustrated eating leftovers more than once or twice in a row. How about being raised on manna as your staple? Forty years worth of newly-born wilderness-Israelites had no idea what it was like to eat anything else.

I always thought of manna as God’s provision of love, but the Bible says he sent it “to humble them and test them” for their own good. (Deuteronomy 8:16) In other words, he knew how difficult it would be to exist on the miraculous but boring manna day after day but considered it useful training. And then came that glorious day when they walked into Canaan and had their first taste of something new: baked bread and roasted grain, mmmm-good!

At the end of God’s humbling and the tests he allows into our lives even today, we can always count on him to provide the mmmm-good when it’s over!

BTW, maybe the local squirrels have viewed their annual acorn diet like so much manna, nourishing but boring. If so, this year’s pumpkin feast must seem like the Promised Land!

“No manna appeared on the day they first ate from the crops of [Canaan], and it was never seen again.” (Joshua 5:12)

(FYI, Scripture hints we might all get to see and taste a little manna in heaven. Remember, he saved a jar of starter in the Ark of the Covenant. Revelation 2:17)

A Tail Tale (by Jack)

Today is a tail-wagging day: my 9th birthday. That makes me a contemporary of Midge, since we’re both in our mid-60s now. She gave me a wonderful birthday present, telling me I could write tonight’s blog. She also gave me an extra rawhide. I especially like the ones with the red stuff in the middle, which is what I got today.

In response to public demand for an update on last week’s tail injury (“Without a Wag” Oct. 13, 2011), please know I’m doing well. That fateful day when I failed to hit my mark while leaping onto the high deck at the back of the car, I crashed backwards to the asphalt, bending the base of my thick tail in a way it shouldn’t have bent.

Immediately it got black and blue, but with my black fur coat, who knew? Because it hurt to move it, I was forced to stop wagging, a tremendous sacrifice. Not to be able to show acceptance and affection to my loved ones was a terrible loss, the start of a depressing week for me.

But Midge sympathized with my dilemma, and as I tried to communicate love with my eyes, I’m pretty sure she got my drift. She doesn’t have a tail herself (poor thing) and can’t wag her emotions, but I’ve gotten good at figuring out how she’s feeling by other clues she gives.

A year ago as she was crossing over all the “firsts” without Pidge, she wouldn’t have been doing much wagging even if she had had a tail, especially during the October days leading up to the first anniversary of his death (Nov. 3). But this year was a different story. Although sometimes I catch her with a tear on her cheek, mostly her wag-o-meter is in a wiggling position, and her face is dry.

I’m thankful for her, and I know she’s thankful for me. Now that my bruise is healed and my wag is 100% again, I’m able to tell her that every day. As for her, despite the disadvantage of not having a tail, she does her best with words, weaving them into tales of another kind.

By the way, I saw her take a juicy red steak out of the freezer tonight. Maybe if I wag really good…
“The Lord will make you the head, not the tail. If you pay attention to the commands of the Lord your God that I give you this day and carefully follow them, you will always be at the top, never at the bottom.” (Deuteronomy 28:13)

Ding Dong

Those who have sharp brains can remember appointment dates, people’s names, and where they put things. A little mental bell rings, and the info quickly pops into their frontal lobes. My bell must be wrapped in a towel, because it’s often too muffled to hear.

Two weeks ago, my faithful old IBM computer tower died during multiple power outages. Even though it was a used, rebuilt office model, it had given us many years of service. Today a new tower is in place and working well.

Of course before we could let the old computer go, we needed to remove the hard drive and our personal information. I took the tower to my favorite techie who saved everything before disposing of it.

Right then is when my towel-wrapped mental bell began ringing, but of course I didn’t hear it. It wasn’t until after a week’s worth of muffled clanging that I woke with a start thinking, “My new CD is in the old tower!”

Having turned the house upside-down looking for a just-purchased Barbra Streisand CD, I finally remembered, but it was too late. When I called our tech guy, he told me the old tower was long gone. So the CD was lost, and I felt old and forgetful.

Mom used to have decorative napkins that said, “Old age isn’t for sissies,” and I’m beginning to appreciate that. I’m actually getting there faster than most with my muffled mental bell, because I know several 90-somethings who would have remembered to get the CD out of the tower.

All of us wonder about our futures, how long we’ll live, what health issues we’ll have, whether or not we’ll end up in nursing homes. Those are unknowns God will gradually reveal, bit by bit. One thing we know now, though, is that none of it will be easy.

I remember reading about a project in which high school kids were given geriatric characteristics: Vaselined glasses to blurr their vision; cotton balls in their ears to mute conversation; gloves to make it difficult to pick things up; weighted clothing to make walking laborious.

The kids were disbelieving, and they hadn’t even been given joint pain, diabetes, heart damage, or cancer. But studying how life is going to change for all of us if we live long enough should not inspire fear. Instead it should produce gratitude for what we have today.

We should also rejoice that God promises to be as fully available in our old age as he was in our youth. Although we experience subtle mini-losses every day, he never changes, never grows old, never tires and he never, ever has a loss.

I hope I can remember that when I’m pushing 100. Maybe I should burn it onto a CD.

“I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you.” (Isaiah 46:4)