I Read the News Today, Oh Boy.

There is a Beatles song that begins “I read the news today, oh boy”.

I did the same thing…I watched the news this morning, oh boy. It’s frightful, almost paralyzing in the horrendous and daily atrocities that plague the lives of those living almost everywhere in our battered world today.

I’m feeling depressed and useless in my ability to help. Fearful of what is to come - I begin to panic. I need peace! And then I think of my dad, a soldier at the age of 20. In the midst of war, a whole world at war. He was in a foxhole on enemy ground. His army buddies had also dug their own personal safety foxholes in the mud to hold their position and keep from being strafed by enemy fire. They had to stay there in those muddy, miserable holes holding the position for long, long hours that stretched into days. The soldiers who couldn’t stand it any longer climbed out only to be taken down by enemy fire.  Realizing he would literally go crazy if he didn’t do something about it, Dad started to think of home. The comfortable chair in the living room, the radio, the pictures on the wall...and he pulled out his hatchet and his knife, took off his helmet and with these makeshift sculpting tools he began to create "Home" as he had dreamed about it.   The chair, the radio and even the framed painting on the wall began to take shape and then he sat back in his chair made of mud and throughout his weary body and distressed mind he felt…peace.

He had created a peaceful place right in the middle of a war so that he could go on, so that he could survive and fight the fight that would bring peace to the world and his family.

At this point I realize the TV is still on and piercing through my thoughts - taunting my nerves. I'm suddenly aware that I need to finish breakfast and get on with my day regardless of my anxiety. I spoon some strawberry jam onto my toast. And in an instant that taste of strawberries opens a window in my mind to a memory of half a century ago…..

It takes a while for the morning sun to spread its glowing fingers of light throughout the thick forest of Island Park. I lay in my soft little bed under a fluffy patchwork quilt. My room is high in the loft under the rough-hewn timber eaves.

 I’ve spent every summer of my young life in this tiny log cabin. Over my head I watch the sunbeams dance in the air. They are enticing me to follow their golden path. But not until the chickadee sitting outside my window calls to me do I push off the blanket and silently slip out of bed. I tiptoe gingerly across the wooden floor with my bare feet. Watch out for splinters!  I rest my elbows on the pine log railing and gaze down over the cozy scene. My nose catches the heady scent of cold ashes. It comes from the firebox of the sturdy stone fireplace that dominates the room below. The logs that crackled with warm firelight last night are just a memory now. The Columbine and Bluebells from yesterday’s stroll in the forest fall limply over the edge of the polished copper mug on the mantel. I glimpse those sparkling sunbeams streaming through the picture window and dancing across the buckskin sofa. Then I watch as the big hand on the faithful cuckoo clock dutifully pushes the minutes around. It reaches the “12" and out pops the little bird merrily singing, “Cuckoo, Cuckoo.” Seven times.  Listening closely I hear the only human sound; the soft, rhythmic, comforting snores that I know to be my Dad’s.

Ever so carefully I cautiously descend each rung of the ladder. I sneak across the polished pine floor making hushed pitter-pat noises with my bare feet.  At the door I slip on my Keds.  I slowly twist the dimpled metal doorknob and pull. “Creeek”.   Shhhh. I slip out and close the door silently behind me.

 I take a luxuriously deep breath filling my lungs and soul with fresh mountain air. It is aromatic with pine pitch and a hint of the rich high mountain soil that lies thickly carpeted with pine needles.  Little droplets of morning dew sparkle on the steps and on the leaves of the wild strawberries. I step down and pick a bright red berry wearing a little green leaf cap. I pull off its cap and pop the fragrant delicacy into my mouth. It is soft and ripe. I push it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue and feel the bumpy texture of the tiny seeds for just an instant before the berry melts into decadent nectar. I pick a handful of berries and sit on a big round rock in the warm sunshine. I meekly thank Heavenly Father for the food and nibble on another heavenly bite.

In just a moment, that peaceful memory floods my mind and restores a sense of personal peace in the midst of the world’s unrest. And...I will survive, to fight the fight of my own personal battles and I will be able to stay calm.

I remember when Dale and I were at the apex of our almost frenetic lives trying to keep up with business, family and civic and church responsibilities we came up with a list of things we could do when we had a half hour, fifteen minutes, 10 minutes, 5 minutes or just one minute that would bring us peace in our crazy paced world.  It was very useful.  Without having to think about what to do…if we found ourselves with that amount of time, (or desperately needing it) we would look at the list, instantly pull an idea for the amount of time we had and voila….peace. A bit like rebooting an overloaded computer, or iPhone.

I agree with James Carroll who penned, “There are times when we stop. We sit still…we listen and breezes from a whole other world begin to whisper.”