How about a nap in a pig barn?

Betsy and Beulah, Wyatt's pigs, 2019

The pig barn at the Harford Fair exudes comfort.

At least it does if you've spent four hours walking the fairgrounds. Move over, Betsy and Beulah. Make way for my weary piggies.

Wyatt, Harford Fair, 2019

My grandsons, Wyatt and Mack, have been raising pigs and/or goats for about five years, so I make annual pilgrimages to the fair's pig barn to enjoy the fun of the show.

Pig barn living at the fair is not what I expected. My vision of pig barns is based solely on Charlotte's Web where sweet Charlotte goes to extreme lengths in her webs to keep her friend Wilbur from getting to the fair. Her attempts to derail Wilbur's trip to the fair certainly weren't because of the accommodations.

Sadee at the goat show, 2018

The 4-H children at the fair who maintain the stalls and their animals do an immaculate job. The floors are thick with fresh hay, shoveled out regularly. The bovines recline like hairy mountains, oblivious of the crowds about them, swishing their tails to ward off flies like fat dowagers on a Carolina veranda while emitting ear-splitting squeals if they happen to cross each other's personal space. The pens are even decorated with posters for the competition, bearing the name of the owner, the farm, the pigs' names, and the multi-colored ribbons indicating their prize position. Feng shui even in the pig pen. We congregate around the Gadsden Ridge Farm stall. It's family.

But the real fun is in the ring. The actual show is more interesting than most television sit-coms. The pigs have been hosed down and shined up for their appearance before the judges, and the kids, likewise, wear their best jeans, often a plaid shirt, and sometimes a pair of boots that cost more than a Weber grill.

And bling is the thing ... even in the pig barn. Many of the competitors, kids not pigs, wear wide Western belts embedded with turquoise, crystals, and colorful gems. Some wear flashy necklaces, drawing more attention to the showman than the pig, a good ploy if they have trouble controlling their wayward charges.

The plan is to walk your pig in a circle or a figure eight using a guide whip to gently tap the pig while simultaneously keeping your eyes on the judge with a smile on your face. Something like patting your head and rubbing your tummy ... not so easy. The judge floats around the ring with a clipboard giving points to the showman for poise, posture, control, and personality and to the pig for shoulder width, leg distance, back length, and butt configuration. Muscle vs. fat becomes an issue to which both the hogs and I can relate.

With strength and determination of their own, those pigs become a heavyweight challenge for the strongest-willed teenager. One pig heads for the exit shoot, another refuses to move, one skirts the edge declining to come out in the middle, another wants to run at break-neck speed ... anywhere but here. It's a comedy of errors, and glory goes to the kid who can hold the judge's eye, direct his/her pig, demonstrate control, and keep on smiling.

Considering the comfortable pens, the showy affair, and the bling, the Prodigal Son might never have returned home. His story, like the pigs, might have had a tragic ending.

But most of the hogs who enter the ring through those narrow gates are headed to the auction block by the end of the week to provide hundreds of pounds of chops, ribs, roasts, and bacon. And this would be the reason Charlotte sacrificed her life to save her friend Wilbur.

The pig analogy could also apply to us. Everything that looks good, feels comfortable, and shows well may not be the best thing for us.

"Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it, but small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life and only a few find it." 

Matthew 7:13-14

A sacrifice has been made for us as well. We don't have to be led by the trainer's whip. Unlike the pigs, we can make the choice to follow The Way, God's Way, and avoid destruction. 

The last thing we want to do is fall into lethargy and take a nap in the pig sty when the end looms.

Promises, Promises

"We promise a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage," Presidential campaign 1928.

"Mrs. Walczak, I promise to do all of my homework this quarter," A well-intentioned student.

"I can't promise I'll try, but I'll try to try," Bart Simpson.

Promises, promises.

Promises are only as good as the Promise Maker.

This weekend our family celebrated promises made and promises kept. 

The scene was Charleston, South Carolina, where the War Between the States began, and the North launched a campaign, promising freedom to African American slaves. Promise kept.

I think I would concur with the Marquis de Lafayette, "Charleston is one of the best built, handsomest, and most agreeable cities I have ever seen." A great place for exchanging wedding promises.

Michael and Shayna, July 21, 2019

Our entire clan gathered in Charleston to witness the exchanging of promises between my sister's daughter, Shayna, and her fiance, Michael. The four day action-packed destination wedding included a cruise of Charleston Harbor, yoga on the waterfront, golf, plantation tours, horse and buggy carriage rides, seafood dinners, time at Folly Beach, and a city-wide scavenger hunt when we searched out things like joggling boards and other wedding parties. (I did it all with the six grandkids, and I'm still recovering!)

Charleston ranks second to Las Vegas as destination wedding capital of the US. Who knew? Our hotel, the Belmond, and the city certainly know how to welcome brides, grooms, and their families.

The whirlwind ended on Sunday evening at the Rice Mill. We took our seats on the lenai in the southern heat beside a salt water marsh and oohed and aahed over our red-haired beauty, dressed in lace. The bridesmaid brunch, the late night parties, the packing and moving the family over 700 miles, everything built to a crescendo that night ... the exchanging of promises.

You've been to enough weddings. You know the promises:

 I promise to cherish and keep you ... 

•  when things are great for us and even when the kids are a handful, the house is falling apart, or I lose my job. 
• when we have a comfortable bank account, and we can pay our bills, and when we have nothing but the roof over our heads and a beat-up car. 
•  if you are healthy or if you break your leg or have cancer, and I must care for you daily.
•  when I don't like you sometimes because you have a few annoying habits. 
• as my dearest relationship on earth until we are parted by death. 
• And this is my solemn promise.

Last weekend Shayna and Michael made those promises to each other although not in quite those words. We all witnessed it. Promises are only as good as the Promise Makers, and Shay and Mike have the right stuff for promise keeping: strong moral fiber, impeccable character, and commitment to each other's well-being. They will work hard to keep their promises, no matter what life brings their way. So their journey begins.

But as an observer of the wedding guests, my joy didn't settle only on the two Promise Makers in front of the audience. Among the sons, sisters, brothers, and cousins in attendance, I saw a bevy of strong marriages, all cultivated by commitment to promises. Several couples had faced cancer and heart attacks. Some battled job and financial issues. Many either had run the gauntlet of parenthood or were deep in it. Some had second chances. Among the older guests were years of faithfulness. There was wedding happiness for the newlyweds, but abundant joy for those who had proven it could be done through the tests and trials of life. Promises can be kept.

The tone of the wedding? HOPEFUL.

Our "Me" culture leaves little room for keeping promises if those promises run counter to personal satisfaction and self-concern. Questions of integrity and character are moot in the face of "Do what makes you happy," despite the consequences to those around us, despite the promises we've made. The Almighty "I" becomes the key to decision-making. 

A key question facing individuals today is, "Are we willing to keep our promises?"

Our Charleston wedding, filled with promise keepers, was refreshing, hopeful. The future of our society is planted in the bedrock of such commitment and cultivated by mutual respect and integrity. It's a relationship choice that will make or break our characters, our families, our world.

Thankfully, we've been set a powerful example in our Promise-Keeping God who is faithful. He makes us a plethora of promises and always does what He says. Walking life with Him exudes confidence and strength because we know the One who has our backs will never turn His back on us.

"The Lord is trustworthy in all He promises and faithful in all He does." Psalm 145:13

Rhett Butler said of Charleston in Gone with the Wind, "I'm going back to dignity and grace. I'm going back to Charleston where I belong." 

And we long to go back to a world of dignity and grace ... where promises are kept. Thank you, Shayna and Michael, for a spectacular wedding weekend and for the reminder of hope and joy in promises kept.

Grabbing for the Brass Ring

"I want the white one," Sadee yelled as she headed toward a pony with a gold halter.

"I want one that goes up and down," Claire said as she climbed aboard a black beauty with teeth bared.

"I'm getting one on the edge because I want to grab for the rings!" Mack declared as he picked a noble-looking stallion.

We were on the Grand Carousel at Knoebels' Amusement Park in Elysburg, PA. 

The central attraction of our summer vacation for the last seven years has been a trip to Knoebels for several days of camping and riding. My six grandkids have grown up a bit each summer on the 1913 carousel, one of the largest in the world and voted #1 "Best of the Best" in amusement history by Golden Ticket Awards for the past 17 years. 

The children's all-day wrist bands allow limitless rides, but the rider gets off after each ride, stands back in line where there is time to survey the herd, and boards again to choose another from the stable of 63 handsome horses.

The Grand Carousel Organ sets the tone. The old pipe organ plays what has been called some of "the happiest music on earth," with clashing cymbals, beating drums, bells, and trumpets. Much of the music is from an era long before my grandchildren. It's Sousa and Goodman, not Gaga and Underwood.

Sadee on Knoebels' Carousel, Summer 2019

As they've grown and taken on amusement park sophistication, the older grandkids have skipped the Carousel until later in their day and headed, first of all, to the Phoenix and the Twister to get their fill of roller coaster terror. But there has been a steady stream of younger children in the family who head directly to the very center of the park and its piece de resistance, the park's Grand Dame, the Carousel. We've been to Disney World, and Walt certainly has created a massive entertainment kingdom, but the joy of Knoebel's Park and the Grand Carousel are magnets for us.

One thing always draws the older ones back to the Carousel after they get their fill of hair-raising coasters: grabbing the rings.

To grab the brass rings, they have to sit on the outside rim of the merry-go-round. When the ride begins, a metal arm starts to dispense brass rings. The rider hopes the rise and fall of his horse will coincide with reaching the ring dispenser. There's a significant physical stretch involved as they lean precipitously off their horses. Sometimes they can grab the rings, and sometimes they grab air. The game is to see who can grab the largest number of rings. I've given up the reach for rings ... too many variables that might leave me in an embarrassing position on the floor.

Every year when I choose my horse and begin the musical loops, I think about the metaphor of this classic amusement ride. For what rings am I reaching? Am I trying to give my life significance by grabbing for all kinds of rings? 

Grabbing the brass ring is a cultural goal in America. We are on our horses and striving - for a bigger house, a second house, money, possessions, vacations, wardrobes, "bucket-list" experiences. Success is gauged by the rings we have accumulated. Grab what you can while still riding high. Don't fall off the merry-go-round. Aim to get more rings than the other game players. 

Those rings we've grabbed - are they an indicator of our significance, our purposeful lives, or our lasting satisfaction?

Exhausting. Fleeting. We're spinning endlessly, loop after loop of striving to put value in and on our lives. When in reality, it's all pretty temporary, a blink of the eye, passing pleasure, impermanence. 

Is there one, true brass ring for which we should be grabbing?

The Bible is clear - a relationship with the One True and Living God is the brass ring. Believe His promises. Abide daily in Him. Look to the good of others. Walk this life with His desires as the goal of our lives. This is eternity-lasting, untarnishable, brass solid significance.

Life's Grand Carousel of endless circling and grabbing can leave us empty and wanting. God's plan is for our eternal good, not for a temporary pacifier and amusement, a plan that will take us off the dizzying treadmill and galloping into personal fulfillment.

Grab for God's Brass Ring !

"Don't work for what spoils, but for what endures to eternal life, which Jesus gives ... Believe in the One God has sent." (Paraphrase John 6:27-29)
This is God's Brass Ring.

A Lesson from Mangroves and Banyans:

Breathing Roots

Sometimes, breathing requires thought, intention.

Sometimes, we need to find reasons for its natural ebb and flow or catch it when there's a pause like a stomach punch or a slap to the emotions.

January had some breathless moments for me, moments that required reflection, regrouping, reconsidering. Time to breathe. God knows our gasp, the skipped heartbeat, the need to intentionally inhale life when the wind has been knocked out of us.

"Breathe" has become a popular cultural admonition, bandied about often when someone is overexcited, stressed, or depressed. I've heard friends advise each other to "breathe." Not because they've stopped breathing, but because life caught them off guard, and mind and emotions needed to catch up with their changing climate. One local yoga salon even calls itself "Breathe." The idea behind the word: Slow down. Contemplate.

In January I went to Florida, a haven for America's elderly who are all contemplating ... their next breath. I needed to take some deep breaths. To "breathe," my old friends and I walked, each day, through one of the lovely parks in the Sarasota-Tampa Bay area: the Robinson Preserve, Coquina Beach on Anna Maria Island, Emerson Point Park, Selby Botanical Gardens, Myakka State Park, Ringling's Ca' d'Zan grounds.

The Creator draws powerful lessons for us from His Creation. Walks in these Florida parks left me with one overwhelming impression: ROOTS RULE. It is the incomparable power of roots that enables survival in the face of destruction. Roots, God reminded me, enable breathing.

Mangroves and banyans dot and edge these parks. The secret to their endurance and survival in a harsh environment is their roots, roots the Creator has groomed to breathe in the most difficult circumstances.

Mangroves are a twisted jumble of trees and shrubs, growing along rivers and shores in the topics. They are distinctive because they flourish from a tangle of roots. One mangrove seedling sends many roots into the soil eventually spreading into an entire thicket that becomes a birthplace and home for all kinds of creatures. The mangroves spawn a rich ecosystem along the coast.

Leaning into our roots ... Mangroves on Tampa Bay.

They are also remarkably tough, primarily because of their incredible capacity to put down roots that provide oxygen for respiration. Some mangroves grow pencil-like roots that stick out of the mud like snorkels. The roots are covered with breathing pores that can close to keep them from drowning.

Despite the twice-a-day flooding by tides that would kill any other tree, despite the salty water that is 100 times saltier than what other plants can tolerate, despite ocean storms and hurricanes, the mangrove thrives and multiplies, remaining remarkably resilient and strong in the buffeting, battering circumstances of their environment ... because of their unique breathing roots.

Banyan roots.

Banyan trees reconfirm the power of roots. Banyans are the world's biggest trees in terms of the area they cover (the world's largest in India covers 4 acres!). A banyan's roots are breathtaking! The Ringling grounds in Sarasota boast 14 banyans, and some are over 100 years old. They drop roots from their branches, like multi-armed monsters, until one tree becomes a forest of hanging roots. As the tree ages, the stilt roots improve its stability by providing a broader anchorage and support in unstable soil. The aerial roots also help the plant breathe. Like the mangroves, banyans become an ecological phenomenon, sustaining a vast variety of creatures.

These marvels of nature would fail without the roots that sustain, strengthen, and support them.

So what do we do when our grounders are ripped out? When some of our roots are gone? When our breathing is hampered or the things that make life breathable disappear?

Some of my important roots were lost recently. Within one week in January I watched my father step into eternity, followed immediately by a milestone birthday which our society uses as an old age marker. Our culture values roots like family and youth, but these roots are fragile and fleeting. They fail.

Stop and breathe.

But these are not the only roots that hold us in life's coastal hurricanes and twice-a-day tidal flooding. These are not the only roots that support us in old age, help us to become a rich social and spiritual system to enrich our world, sustain us in storms, and cause us to thrive in hostile environments. For roots like family and youth fade and die.

There are deeper roots, roots that won't rot, weaken, or succumb to change and upheaval. Put down in the rich soil of faith, our roots, linked daily to God, to eternity, to purposes beyond our selfish desires, to divine fulfillment ... these roots remain when all around us fails. Strong and tough like the mangroves. Stable and enduring like banyans.

A timely January trip to Florida was God's way of reminding me that my roots to youth and to generations of family here on Layton may disappear, but my roots in God's love, presence, and promises will thrive and survive even when I am 100, even when tempests circle.

Yes, ROOTS RULE, 

and I breathe today

with roots ...

On Layton.

"Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." Jeremiah 1:7-8