by Kathy Brasby | Oct 1, 2013 | Hope
These six ducks were to be the start of our duck herd and we were thrilled when three mamas crafted downy nests in the lean-to of our old barn.
We counted down the days until the fuzzy ducklings would emerge from those eggs.
Five days before hatching, we found all three nests empty with just a few egg shells scattered around the edges to reassure us we hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.
After the second time we lost eggs, we decided to set a humane trap.
It took five days or re-setting the trap every night before we caught our varmint because we were rookies at the trapping game.
But early on a Saturday morning, we crept into the lean-to to see the trap had done its work.
We were sure we’d find a raccoon but not so. Instead, a skunk was pacing inside the wire.
My husband was unimpressed. He’d planned to spend the day working on the lean-to. It needed some propping up or the duck nests would be pancakes soon.
The last thing he wanted was a skunk to discharge its displeasure in his work area.
We were not only rookies at the trapping game, but also at the catching game. We didn’t know what to do with a skunk.
Fortunately, a savvy neighbor gave us a hint. The skunk, she claimed, wouldn’t spray if it couldn’t see so cover the trap with a blanket and carry the cage away.
My husband is not ordinarily a delicate man but his care in laying that blanket over the wire rivaled a mother with a newborn. Once he had the cage covered, he summoned our older son.
Armed with a .22 rifle, my husband carried the blanketed cage a quarter mile away into our grassy pasture with our son, who was 8 at the time, trailing badly. Like you’d do if you were following a skunk.
He had no problems with idea of shooting a skunk that had been eating duck eggs. But he did have a problem with what came next.
My husband set the trap on the ground and turned to our son. “You pull the blanket off slowly and then I’ll just shoot the skunk while it’s in the cage.”
Our son walked toward that trap like his shoes were in cold honey. He stopped, leaned forward and grabbed a corner of the blanket with the tip of his fingers. His pull lasted as long as the last 15 minutes of school on a Friday. Then the cage was clear. He took off like he could outrun skunk stink.
Dad took care of the rest.
A month later, three nests full of ducklings hatched. We burned the blanket and left the trap in the pasture to air out.
But the best part was that our son really did outrun the skunk stink.
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by Kathy Brasby | Sep 27, 2013 | Hope
Many allusions come from Job’s story and yet we all wonder just what the meaning of the story is.
We’re told, for example, to have the patience of Job but was he so patient? He didn’t deny God but he did some griping.
What was the purpose of those friends and their advice? Why didn’t Job listen to them? Should he have listened? Did his wife have it right when she told him to curse God and die?
How could he, in the midst of his dilemma, craft a phrase that is now a part of well-known Easter hymn: “I know that my redeemer lives”?
And what do we make of the closing chapters of Job? Was God rebuking or instructing Job? Did Job do well – or forget his place?
I might write more on Job another day but I found an intriguing article this week that I want to share instead.
Scot McKnight offers some thoughts: And then God instructs (or rebukes?)…Job and us.
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by Kathy Brasby | Sep 10, 2013 | Hope
I had one of those coughs that made your toenails rattle and, after a morning of listening to my hacking, a co-worker gave me the evil eye. “That sounds like a smoker’s cough,” he said.
“I’ve never smoked in my life,” I said.
But I had to take it back. There was this once.
My father was a smoker for many years and, at age 6, I approached him after supper one evening. He was sitting at the dining room table with a cigarette in one hand, white smoke drifting like a lazy river toward the ceiling, and a glass ashtray before him.
He must have noticed my fascination because he gestured to me to come. “Would you like a puff?”
Yes, I would. I scooted up to him, excited to share this special moment. I lifted the white tube to my lips and took a long pull on the cigarette.
I’ll never forget what happened next. Dragon’s breath first roasted my tonsils before descending with white heat down my throat. My lungs were instantly seared and my stomach rolled with burning coals.
The scalding smoke slammed into my eyes and my nose filled with a smell of dead mice and scorched banana peels.
Even my toenails curled with the heat.
I panicked at that point, certain that my life was about to end. I spun and ran as fast as toasted legs could carry me into the kitchen. I stuck my head under the cold water faucet and tried to drown myself.
What else can you do when a dragon has unleashed its flames?
I survived, undoubtedly due to my quick thinking in rushing to the kitchen sink.
And, as the rushing water sluiced into my mouth dousing the fire, I had a single thought, which I’m sure my father had intended: one swallow of the dragon’s breath was more than enough for me.
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by Kathy Brasby | Sep 3, 2013 | Family, Hope, Humor
I’m always amazed at how common life experiences translate into metaphors of meaning.
When my daughter and son-in-law moved from one apartment to another, they were forced to leave their beloved goldfish behind.
They’ll probably read this account so I’ll try to be as accurate as I can remember. That’s code that means I’m making up most of it.
Goldie was a beloved fish who would follow them from corner to corner within his little aquarium and never needed walking or rabies shots. He was the perfect pet.
But poor Goldie couldn’t live in their new apartment.
After great discussion, they decided the kindest thing for Goldie would be to give him his freedom. So my son-in-law, as compassionate a guy as you’ll ever meet, drove Goldie and his fish bowl to the edge of the river.
Kneeling at the edge of the water, he met Goldie’s eyes. “You’ve been a great goldfish. Go and have a good life.”
And he gently poured Goldie into the river water.
The little fish took three brave swishes of his tail into his new freedom when a big fish came out of the murk and swallowed him whole.
The number of metaphors in that story are staggering.
Do we learn that little fish have no chance at the good life?
Do we learn that big fish can be counted on to spoil the day?
Or that well-intentioned plans for good don’t always work out?
Those are pretty deep for me. What I learned was when you set your goldfish free, don’t watch afterwards.
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by Kathy Brasby | Aug 23, 2013 | Hope
A well-written fiction piece will have an ending that hopefully deals with all the threads of the plot and subplot. A well-written nonfiction piece contains a conclusion that summarizes the points of the article or book.
Stories in the Bible also use the ending as a powerful tool to give the reader an interpretation of the preceding action.
For example, in Genesis, we meet Abraham and Lot, Abraham’s nephew. After their servants argue over where to pasture the sheep, the two men decide to part ways. Abraham allows Lot to choose first and his choice captures the lushest pastures.
But this crossroads begs for a sequel and we get one a few chapters later when Lot and his family are found living in Sodom. Abraham’s life, meanwhile, has blossomed into many spiritual and domestic blessings.
We also learn from the story of Abraham and Sarah, who, after being promised a son, decide to take things into their own hands. Sarah presents her servant Hagar to Abraham as her substitute. When Hagar bears a son by Abraham, the resulting tension creates havoc for Abraham – and throughout Jewish history.
The end of the story reveals much about the character of those involved in the story.
Another example can be found in the book of Ruth, where Ruth risks herself by choosing a new nation and a new God. The ending of the story, where she marries Boaz and bears a son, shows the reward that was hers for her wise decision.
The end of the story shows Lot’s greedy decision led him on a path to an evil life. Equally, the end of the story reveals Sarah’s lack of faith in God’s promises and how her decision cascaded into problems.
And Ruth’s gracious love for her mother-in-law is endorsed by her happy ending.
The end of the story in the Bible helps the reader evaluate the characters and events of story.
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by Kathy Brasby | Aug 20, 2013 | Hope
You know how there are some statements that parents should never make? Like, I will never give my child cookies for breakfast. Or, I will always listen to my child. Or, I don’t like to go fishing.
When my kids were invited to a special group outing that included fishing poles and bait, guess who had to drive?
I thought I could set up a chair at the pond’s edge, get out a book, and enjoy the late summer afternoon while all the children flung hook and bobber into the murky depths. Somebody else was the fishing expert.
Yeah, I volunteered to be a driver.
I had gotten settled in and read a couple of chapters when I heard my daughter shout. She stood on the dock, pole held high in the air, fish squirming at the end of the line.
Great.
She wanted me to bring the tackle box. I jammed the bookmark in place and marched through the thick grass to the dock.
“Look at my fish! We gotta get the hook out before it gets hurt.”
Sure. I set the tackle box on the rough wood the dock, flipped open the top, and gazed into the tangle of hooks, bobbers, weights. How did one get the hook out?
She sensed my confusion. Or just got impatient. I’m never sure which. “Grab those pliers, Mom.”
OK, I knew pliers. I lifted the metal tool and held it out to her.
“I can’t do that,” she said with a voice that sounded something like a jet engine starting up.
Like I could? “I don’t fish,” I said. Clearly a boundary was in order here.
“I’ll hold the fish and you get the hook out,” she said, gripping the squirmy fish in her nine-year-old hands.
Um, I don’t get hooks out. I stared at the fish, which stared back. This was no time for a “who blinks first” contest.
I drew a deep breath. Parenting involves courage more than you’d think. Extricating a hook from a fish’s mouth ranks pretty high on my “don’t want to do this” list but it had to be done. I stepped closer.
She squeezed the fish’s mouth open and I raised the pliers, trying to find the right grip. Stalling.
And I got hit in the face with a blast of pond water.
I wanted to blame the fish but I looked up then to see my young son standing a few feet away from me, holding a stained and wrinkled paper cup. An empty paper cup.
He stared at the fish while I stared at him.
Then he saw me staring and he shifted his weight. “I grabbed the cup from by the pond,” he said. “And I scooped up some water.”
Why?
“I didn’t want the fish to die before you got the hook out and I thought it might take a while,” he said with little-boy eyes cushioned in fat cheeks.
“So you scooped up the water and threw it in my face?”
He shrugged and tossed the cup down. “I missed him.”
There are some things a parent shouldn’t say. But one I still cling to is this: I don’t like to go fishing.
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