Only Because He Would Not Do It Himself

This is post is prompted in part by a certain Matthew in California that is starting to think I don't actually meet people in my travels. Another part is because the subject of this post would never toot his own horn (though you may catch him humming more often), so I'm taking the liberty to do it for him. If you don't know what I'm talking about, click on the title of this post and enjoy the clever mental playground of sights, sounds, and observations that display a wit that is merely enjoyed for its own sake. And of course, a disclaimer is needed: 1) I didn't ask him for permission. 2) This post reflects exclusively the views of the writer and his narrow experience with the subject. So without further ado, let's hit the jump -->



If you get to meet John, he's one of the most unassuming individuals I have met, or have the privelege to know. If you've never met an unassuming person, be advised that this is a good thing. Their counter part is a pretentious person. John is the former to a large degree.

He's a student at Southern Adventist University and you can tell that he enjoys his major by his clever remarks of the mammalian species he is observing, provided in his field notes. If you want, you can view his profile and see his interests, so I'm not going to review the things that you can read for yourself.

I first met John through his parents. I was on assignment in Maine, and ended up attending a church in Topsham, where John's parents attended. I was introduced to John, not in person, but in a sense, in spirit. His mom is kind and verbally encouraging. His dad is quiet and thoughtful, and firm. I enjoyed many Sabbath afternoons at their house either in the canoes or having pleasent conversation for hours in their living room. At that time, John was at school, but I learned some of his parent's traits, that same unassuming personalities in both of them, the thoughtful and thought-provoking conversation, the helpfulness and hospitality. Don't get me wrong, I met a good handful of people in Maine, and that I enjoy still, and of whom I continue to think fondly. But their home, the house with The View from Great Island, was a haven that allowed a place for me to "come rest awhile."

But John is definitely his parent's son. If you don't know what I mean, just look at your own parents, and unless you are in a deluded state of denial, you have to acknowledge that a lot of your parents' traits can be found in you, especially when pain strike, burdens bear down, or elation erupts.

So as I spent time with John for a meager three days, I had to smile to myself, recognizing in him the same traits that I enjoy in his parents. It is difficult to imagine a teenager today who doesn't have his own agenda and in one way or another, lets others know it. But when I met him he was 18 years old at the time, others had volunteered him to tote me around for the next 72 hrs, putting aside his own agenda, just to make sure I got to where I needed to be in a timely fashion. Rarely does one find someone who does not complain, but even they will let it slip in their conversation that there are other things they could be doing. As John was driving me around New Brunswick, I got the sense that the only thing he was interested in doing was taxiing me around, even when he was in the middle of doing other things. Even as we talked, I noticed an interest beyond the typical, "how was your day?", but genuine curiosity was marked by, "I noticed that you said ..." and followed by, "...I thought it was interesting that you (did/thought/said/etc)...". Traits very similar to his father and mother.

Another trait common to parents and son is their generosity. The offering that the door is always open and Rolo the dog will be happy to see me, is substantiated by the availability that is apparent when you drive up. In particular, on the night I arrived for the weekend, they put me up in what I learned was John's own room, and though he could have insisted otherwise, he let me have the entire room, for my own privacy and collection of thoughts. I awoke the next morning to find out where John slept that night: on the bay window bench, lined with a sitting cushion. He dismissed my concern without any fuss, and proceeded to direct conversation to other things, never really concerned with himself. He almost seems like a person who would find himself comfortable in any but the most extreme situations. The canoes, the rooms, the cabin, even time working wood with John's father, all available. Not to be taken lightly, these are not free things to any of them. But they are offered.

John plays the cello, and I had a chance to photograph him at a wedding this last June 2009 (that's him here with Julie Penner in the background). Although he can dress up in appropriate formal wear, I imagine that he is more comfortable running around in comfortable cotton pants, and a pair of Crocs or at least hiking gear. It won't be an unusual thing to find him taking a solo three day backpacking trip, and he has some interest in rock-climbing as well.


Talking to him, one may notice a similar characteristic to his father. The conversation is unhurried, but interested. Insightful, but unpretentious. Humor is subtle, but very clever. And if nothing else, very relaxing, such that except for hunger pangs twice a daily though would intrude, it's easy to just keep talking, not because he fills up the conversation with 'filler words' but because somehow he puts you at ease. Company like that have a certain kind of freedom.

If you're in New England, his parent provide a service to the community, by giving health talks and cooking classes (some of the best food you'll put in your mouth). The three boys are travelers. John has a brother who is married and lives in Africa. Some of you may have heard him speak at GYC in Kentucky, his name is Paul Howe. He has another brother, Barry, who is currently doing research in Kyrgyzstan. Both equally as interesting, and different in their own way. And when I'm in Maine the first weekend of March, John, himself, will be in Haiti to do relief work during Spring Break.

So drop by his blog, enjoy his clever wit and insightful observations and disciplined creativity, and give him a little appreciation. And even if Providence never brings us in contact, I know I'll always be grateful.

Warm Snow

One of the things that keep Vermont economy running is making sure there is enough snow in the winter time to keep all the various ski resorts running, generating money, and pumping it back into the community. Well, with the last several weeks, it had been warm enough to start seeing green patches peek through the snow. A snow drought of sorts.

Well, that broke last night, and it's effects are apparent on Highway 62 on the way to work. Don't worry, I was safe, I held the camera on my steering wheel while I drove (yes, under the speed limit.) The interesting thing about this snow is how warm it is outside. A sweltering 33°F this morning was the temperature during all the shots in this post.

I showed up at work (I'm on call today, it's the only way I have consistent internet access) and was greeted with this great view of pristine trees lining the dignified side entrance to Central Vermont Medical Center, with trees more reminiscent of Christmas time than Maple season, which is on its way.


Here is the Emergency Entrance if you didn't catch the subtle white letters. The ER docs are quite phenomenal here, not only are they notably congenial, they are extremely competent with pediatric patients (a lot of calculations, after all, they're all in various stages of development). Needless to say, I'm very comfortable with their treatment of my patients; but despite this, I don't look forward to being called in tonight. Especially wading through this snow.


The fine view from the house I've been put in during this assignment. It's a bit of a drive away, but beautiful. If you look hard, you'll notice a little brook (now frozen over) weaving between the trees. I'm fortunate to have big glass windows opening up to this.


Finally, the back porch of the house. If you pay attention to the snow atop the folding lawn chair, you'll note the amount of snow that has fallen overnight. Pristine. And it's also quieter, because the snow actually acts as a sound buffer.


The snow is a bit wet because we've had warmer days here in Vermont recently. I'm not sure what that will do for the resorts, but they're telling us HERE that we're going to be getting this for the next several days! I'm on call for four out of those five (yes, all weekend long!). We'll see how that goes. I'll let you know if I get cabin fever.

Spruce Mountain Fire Tower

Vermont's First State Park has a nice and (relatively) easy hike with a mild 1300 ft elevation gain, that ends in a fire tower with a beautiful 360° view of Washington County and surrounding areas. Isn't that Canada up there somewhere?

It is the Spruce Mountain hike that strolls 4.4 miles there and back.


I'll let you read the sign, but what it doesn't tell you is that the trail actually concludes at the fire tower located in Groton State Forest. Two for the price of one. Click on the post title: Spruce Mountain Fire Tower and it will take you to a Google map topographic cutout of the trail and part of the forest.

Click on the photograph and you'll see that it's functionally almost spring here, a sad state for New England, because we count on a good snow fall to help boost the economy in these parts. The resorts still have runs open, but a good snow fall would be considerably more enjoyable (for them and for me.)

Up at the tower base, Brad brought a friend's dog (not pictured), and we chatted about living in local Plainfield. He just recently moved back into town; I guess he missed the solitude. You'll find a lot of people like that here.


This one's for you Matt; see, I actually do meet people when I travel.

Mount Mansfield

Mount Mansfield sports a summit of between 4393-4395 ft (depending on your source) and is the highest peak in Vermont. Ok, so it's not as high as San Gorgonio in my home town, but I'd hate to get stuck up there overnight in February, and it does look prettier more days out of the year. Lately it's been colder here than Vancouver, BC where the Olympics are going on right now.

If you look at one of the peaks in this picture, one of the far peaks on the right is actually the 11,500 ft. peak. Taken in January.


But today we're going to shed light on familiarity. And how our perception of reality actually depends on this. A single case in point is Mt. Mansfield vs. San G. Nothing profound, but we all know that our ideas of contentment, happiness, even kindness and thoughtfulness are relative to what we are familiar with; in a sense these are aspects of light that are given to us. This means: we can choose what we familiarize ourselves with. We can choose what we behold, and consequently what we are changed in to. But does that mean that light is relative? Yes and no. It would be quite a conundrum that we could easily conclude that light (or Truth, or love, or any other linguistic metaphor God mercifully gave us to learn of Him) if we were not, say, a Bible believing Christian. Because the Bible actually sheds, umm, light on this subject.

The path of the just ... you can finish the proverb. If the light given to us, was simply static, then we can be content to conclude that it is relative, and we can smugly palliate our own convictions and say, that we are judged by the light we receive. Well, we actually aren't, we're judged by how we respond to the light ... all the time, not just once, not just today, as we live and breath and have our being, one day after another, will we turn to the light, or will we simply refuse to look as the light is revealed to us? To put it differently, do we love, enjoy, coddle, care for, or otherwise nurture the light we've been given? Think I'm making this up? John 3:19 and it's context.

So if your excuse is that you're no familiar with, let's say, medicine, or good habits of hygiene, or good study habits, or integrity, or familiar with tall mountain peaks. That's not the problem. The problem comes when, though you're familiar with a 4k peak, and someone shows you an 11k peak, and you respond with: well, I still think my mountain is better (taller, whiter, bigger, name your adjective). If it doesn't grab you, and make you want more, then that's where the problem lies. What's so beautiful is the solution: if you're not familiar with how to turn to the light, you can ask for it. All you have to do is realize that you don't have it.

Which brings us to another topic for later: Acknowledgment.

Catch up Photos

Martin Bridge, refurbished and made a local landmark, one of the last covered bridges in the area. I was negligent several weeks ago and had not at the time posted pictures, but this post is a catch up from then. Just some pictures of picturesque Vermont. As always, you cick on the pictures to view them larger.


What should be standard in a New England winter. 400 gram weight boots. Warm, and not so clunky. The North Face makes this pair, but you have a number of good options. These ones simply allow me to hike and play (and get to work) with freezing my toes off.


Another standard issue to keep warm in the wintertime. Lots of wood needed. Everyone needs a stove: wood, pellet, or gas. Propane works, too.


Sunrise on the way to work, from my house to the hospital. The morning sun made the otherwise lifeless trees glow.


In Montpelier there is Hubbard Park with a tower in the northwest side that over looks most of the area. An easy hike from the back side entrance brings you here.


Lake Elmore sports some ice fishing folk. I had heard about these, and apart from my venture to Maine, I hadn't seen any until this particular weekend on the way to church. Yes, I still think it's a little nuts.


A view from Martin Bridge along the river. The recent snow fall for this picture came early enough in the season that the river was still flowing, but the fall was big enough to give a good cover.


This photograph of icon Vermont architecture of the barn and the covered bridge was taken from Stone Circle, on a hill overlooking the typical structures that mark Vermont countryside. It made for a beautiful, albeit, cold view.

Now all that is cleared, I can start posting with some kind of regularity and consistency.

Frozen Lakes and the Christian Walk

Only under conditions in which it is persistently deprived of warmth, do water molecules form a bond of such comparative strength that it can uproot a tree, split rock or in this case, uphold a 4800 lb Jeep Grand Cherokee.

On the way home to Vermont last Sunday, February 7, cars and shanties were spotted along Long Lake off Highway 302 in central Maine. I wondered what it would be like to actually drive on a frozen lake. So against my better judgment, I pulled up next to a couple of locals, I asked them where the launch was located, in order to be able to drive onto the frozen span of water. They pointed ten feet to my right, and pleasantly reassured me that the ice thickness was about 2 feet deep, and with the gauge on my Jeep reading a chilly 17°F, despite the bright sun along with a slight wind chill, there was no way that thing was going to melt.

Certainly the closest thing to actually driving on water, the Hakka Pellitas proved their worth, easily gripping the ice like it was asphalt. I drove out to the middle of the lake away from any of the ice fishing structures or other cars, and opened the door to walk out. Once again learning the value of dedicated winter tread and rubber, my Crocs had me slipping and sliding all the way out on the ice, just to get far enough away to let me take this photo with adequate context. Yes, that's my Jeep. Yes, that's a frozen lake in Maine, yes, it's a wonderfully bright day. And yes, it was a foolish Californian behind the camera.

The cracks along parts of ice proved to be merely superficial, but I still couldn't help but wonder what minimal force it would take to enlarge the split to a larger crevasse. Just seeing those cracks was a bit unnerving. What reassured me as I took a slow turn to head the car back to the boat (now Jeep) launch, was keeping my eyes focused on the tread marks that outlined the tracks of those who had gone before. Safely. To shore.

Thinking back on the experience, there were lessons that came to mind, despite my own foolish endeavor:

1) It is during those times when warmth in this life seems the most absent, that the Living Water, Christ Jesus, is the strongest in upholding us in our journey. For it is only during those times of pain, struggle and loneliness that we can walk on water (well, in this case, drive.)

2) When we are frightened and we mistakenly start to doubt that the Living Water will hold us up, that He will be enough to carry us and the burden we bear, whether it be 4800 lbs or those trials that Providence has decided to bring our way, we can keep our eyes on the Living Water, and realize that on the damaged surface of the frozen water are the tracks of those who have gone before us, trusting that the Living Water would hold them, and support them, every single inch of the way, until they reached safely to the other side.

3) Even though other people think you're nuts, unless they trust the Water, too, trust in the merits of its character, and experience those merits for themselves, they will never have the same experience, only wondering from the near shore what it would be like to walk on water, with no other way to get to the other side.

4) Driving on the ice, I realized what it meant to put my hope, not in myself, my driving, and definitely not my car, but on the character, the merit if you will, of the frozen water. All along the drive, I kept thinking, "Will it hold?" Faith and works came together in a tangible moment, and I found myself driving, but intent on looking, not at my own driving, but on that which was upholding me, and allowing me to drive. My hope was that the frozen water would perform what it seemed to claim: the ability to keep me from falling (into the lake), all the way to shore.

Soon, there will come a time, when the world will be colder than it has ever been in its history, when we will have to put our full care and complete trust in the Word of God, and leaving everything behind, believe that He can uphold us by His merits. If by that time, we have never tested Him, how will we be able to step out let Him hold you up. Now is the time to prove the Living Water, He can do what He claims. He can hold you up all the way until you reach the far shore. And if we start to doubt, look more intently on Him, and He will reveal all the tracks of those who had gone before us. Today He beckons us to Himself, leave the near shore, and come walk on water, all the way to the other side.

"And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek thee." - Psalm 9:10

Vulpes Vulpes

On the way to work the other day, during what turned out to be the end of the January thaw, I spotted this guy.

Otherwise known as the Red Fox, this Vermont canine is more commonly seen than the Grey Fox. The Red Fox hunts rodents and this is the guilty look he was giving me this morning. Stopped in my tracks on the way to work, he was playing with it in her mouth, and just finished when I stopped the Jeep to pull over, pull out the Canon and wait till his curiosity turned his attention in my direction.

The narrow snout, pointy ears, and bushy tail (aka brush) give it the appearance common to foxes. Its red coat is remarkable and easily noted when you see it, but does not begin life this way. Though I wasn't able to stop and chat with it, you can Click HERE for some interesting facts. If he ran in a triathlon, his pace would be a 2 minmile! I think I could beat him on the bike, though.

Current Assignment

The difficult thing about a day off work, is the access to the internet, or lack of it. Only sporadically is there internet at my house, which lends itself to a wonderful sense of solitude, but means that on my day off, it's a day trip to find open access.

But on this day, I arrived earlier than those who park on my side of the parking lot, and the clouds looked nice enough. I'm going to try to get a picture of all the different places where my assignments take me. Some of you have asked where I work, and this is my current building. The architecture is typical New England in appearance, but does lack a basement, and a true mudroom, that are ubiquitous (and quite necessary) around these parts.

Incidentally this is opposite view (and a different day) than the picture on my previous post.

Phenomenon

There is a phenomenon in Vermont (and I suppose in all of New England and other cold areas) that I just never experienced in sunny California. When the temperature hits somewhere in the negative degrees, and you walk outside, there is a sensation of something crawling up into your nose quickly and lodging itself there. What could it be?

This happened to me on occasion, and despite my rubbing or cleaning (when I was inside) this thing always happened to me when the temperature got that low. So when one of the nurses in the office came in one day, and the weather had been particularly cold, she made a comment that explained it all. My staff is always tickled by the novelty of a Californian boy spending the winter in Vermont, or anywhere in New England, and they're always trying to see my response to things like cold weather (to me it is cold, but am now finding that it is every day life that locals get adjusted to). She said, "So what did you think about the weather? Did your nose hairs freeze up?" That's what it was!! Hahahaha! Sure enough, when I'm inside it's fine; when I step outside it's somewhat annoying. But I've never had my nose hairs freeze before. Must be a New England phenomenon.

What is odd, and my senses can't seem to correlate readily is the bright days, along with the cold weather. One would think that with the bright sunshine the days would warm up. But it's that winter earth tilt again that disperses the sun rays along a larger surface area, and we all know from Junior High math that the spherical degradation is reduced by the 4th power as rays get further from its source (or was that college physics? oh, well)

The picture above is the view from the office two days ago; if you look carefully you can pick out my license plate. And a little bit further in the distance is the locally renowned Camel's Hump. Look for further posts on that climb. Below is a nice picture from the office foliage. Not as striking as autumn but pretty by its own right. If you click on it, it's more impressive (unless you're on a PC.)