Mitchell Way
I never wanted a horse. To the best of my knowledge, my mom, my brother and my sister never made mention of wanting one either, and yet we had a horse. He was an American Pony and his name was Starfire.
The old man who lived behind us when I was a growing up was fond of reminding me that I was two drams short of having an ounce of common sense. I imagine this all started when my best friend Chuck and I were camping in the woods behind his house.
Believe it or not, when I was 18, my muscles were well built in the chest and arms. This came from spending most of my free time swinging on rope swings with the other guys in the neighborhood. After a while, with long shaggy hair and a decent tan, my wife said I began to resemble Tarzan. And so, that is how I looked when I went to my first quarter of schooling at Northwest Nazarene College in Idaho. I just mention that so I can better mentor young men in the fine art of showing off.
Thanksgiving 1965, my mom and my cousin Gae were alone in Gae’s kitchen. The buzzer on her counter sounded and Gae rushed to the oven door, looked through the glass window and announced, “The turkey looks done. Yell down the stairs and tell everyone to come up to the table.”
It must have been close to eleven o clock. I was in bed drifting in and out of sleep when I heard the bedroom door pop open. I felt the covers move and the bed settle.
Mrs. Darlene Valum lives at the same assisted living facility that my mom lived in. During my years at Bellingham High School she was the girls’ PE and Health teacher as well as the Cheerleader advisor. Today as I pass her in the hallway, I turn my head and hide my face in fear that she will recognize me even though I know that after 50 years the statute of limitations has lifted and there is no chance she could go back and change my grades.
“You need to get some new undergarments,” Cheryl commented as we walked through the Men’s department at Penney’s.
“These briefs will last another year. Don’t you never mind,” I shot back.
“They look like fishnet underwear. How long have you had them, ten years?” she asked, although she knew full well because she was probably the one who bought them.
The hallway in front of the nurse’s office at Alderwood Elementary School was lined with whimpering children and one moaning adult. The principal, Mr. Alan Thon, looked out of his office door and shook his head.
“Well, there are five less than yesterday,” he noted to the school secretary, Mrs. Lingbloom.
I walked through the automatic sliding doors and into the main entrance of Billy’s, a small family-owned grocery store in Cataula, Georgia. The checker closest to the door looked up at me as I entered, and she stared. She was a young lady in her early 20’s. I could not help but notice that not only did she continue to stare, but she also started to follow close behind me.
“Where would your cold medicines be located,” I asked her.
“Um,” she said. “Right there on aisle three.”
She pointed and continued to follow on my tail.
What is the problem, I wondered? Has she never seen a man from the Pacific Northwest? Don’t people down here wear blue Jean cutoffs with wool socks and Birkenstock sandals?
I turned around to see her following no more than three feet away. She appeared to be fixated on the black hat on my head.
Cicadas, perhaps if you’re from the west coast you’ve heard of them but never seen one. They are interesting insects in that they live under the ground as nymphs for most of their lives, only to surface above ground to mate. My wife and I were visiting Cataula in the spring of 2024, a jackpot year for Cicadas. I say jackpot in the same sense as being at San Juan Capistrano when the swallows arrive from Argentina, or at the Nature Conservancy in Santa Barbara when 33,000 Monarch butterflies congregate.
We just happened to be at the exact spot where Cicada brood XIX popped their heads up out of the ground. It was like being in the right spot, at the right time, for a total eclipse of the sun, the blood moon, and the asteroid Apophis hitting the earth.
After 13 years underground as nymphs, the cicadas were emerging, coming forth from the ground like zombies in a horror movie. Millions of cicadas climbing onto trees and on buildings, shedding their old skins to reveal winged adults. It is estimated that there are approximately one million cicadas in the ground per acre, so in the state of Georgia alone there are roughly two trillion, four hundred eleven billion, seven hundred forty million coming to the surface.
The male cicadas serenade the females with their loud calls during the daylight hours, leading to mating and egg-laying. Once hatched, the nymphs return underground to feed on tree roots until the 13-year cycle repeats. Meanwhile, the adults, like salmon, mate and fall over dead leaving a massive mess on the ground surface to clean up. They have no predators except copper mouth snakes which find them to be tasty treats. Land owners have a choice of raking up the cicadas or having a yard full of pit vipers.
For those of you from the northwest, who have never been to the southeast side of the US and experienced the strange sound of a cicada, it is something as foreign to us as our Sasquatch screams would be to a southerner.
My wife and I were picked up from the airport in Atlanta and driven to my daughter’s home in Cataula. As we got out of my daughter’s car at her home it was late afternoon. What hit me first was the high humidity on the 80-degree day. What I noticed next was the sound.
It sounded like the neighborhood was underneath an enormous flying saucer which had a bad engine bearing. I looked to the sky around the neighborhood, but it was impossible to pinpoint the origin of the sound.
“What is that noise,” I asked. “Crickets, frogs, some type of farm machinery?”
“Those are Cicadas,” my daughter Kalene said.
I stood by the car in awe listening to the sound. It was very much like seeing the Aurora Borealis for the first time. Very captivating.
And then I noticed them flying by, their wings humming, not like a bee, but more like a dragon fly or a large moth because these are very large insects with inch long black bodies, red eyes, and clear, orange-tinted wings.
“Wow, they are everywhere,” I said. “Flying through the air and dead on the ground like a swarm of locusts.”
And so, in my life journal I now have a notation which says: May 2024, experienced Cicadas!
Walking to the display of seasonal allergy medicines, I stopped and scanned the shelf for Benadryl. I did not realize that the young checker was inches away. As I bent down to grab a box off the shelf, I felt her strike. It was a good clean blow to the top of my head.
I stood up, pulling my hat off my eyes.
“What the heck?” I yelled.
“Oh, I almost got it,” she moaned.
I heard the drone of wings and the cicada which was on my hat, flew around and landed on my nose and we stared at each other, red eyes to blue.
Startled, I picked the big bug off by his body and held it in my fingers. The checker held out her hand, palm up for me to deposit the bug but I could see that she wasn’t excited to hold it.
“I tell you what,” I said in a calmer voice, “I’ll take it outside for you.”
I have since added to my journal: May 2024, experienced Cicadas, and customer service at Billy’s Grocery Store.
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
My wife says that the only reason I have ears is to neutralize the pressure to my Eustachian tubes because obviously I never listen to a single thing she has to say. Apparently she is referring to last Sunday when I met her in the car after church.
“Did you see Mrs. Critchet’s hair? It’s bright blue!” I exclaimed.
“Duh!” she huffed. “I only mentioned it five times this week.”
“Duh”- a three letter word that can drag you to the depths of humiliation.
** As with all of my inspirational stories, I am writing from my Christian perspective. If this offends you, please return next week for a satire story.
As a Christian, two of the hardest things I have had to learn in my life are: 1) to stand with my hands held open and, 2) not be in control.
Matthew 6:25–27: Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
I’ve got this hummingbird who hangs out at my feeder. His name is Larry. He has an oversized gut.
When he sits on the feeder, it tilts under his weight and the nectar drips out. I can’t understand how a hummer who uses so much energy to fly could get so fat. When he flies off the feeder, he skims across the lawn trying to gain altitude. I don’t know if his wheezing is what I am hearing or the beating of his wings.
Cheryl asked me, “What mix are you putting in the feeder?’
“One part water to four parts sugar.” I answered.
“Well, no wonder. The mix is supposed to be one part sugar with four parts water. You turned him into a sugar junkie.”
You know, I was thinking about it, and I don’t believe that I have ever seen a fat robin or any other fat birds. This is because God provides all they need, not what they want.
Matthew 6:28–30: And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?
31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
In my life, my desire has been to be the controller of my destiny, the creator of amazing things, the self-made man. But what I have come to realize is that my life is a continuous series of gifts God gives and God takes away. An amazing list of gifts that He gives to show what He can do through me. He created me as a Jack of all trades and a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.
You see, in my life God has opened doors. I have misunderstood what He was doing and assumed that an open door was an opportunity which was forever, but almost every time God has said, “It is done. Now you are to move on.”
I say to him, “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
To which he answers, “To bad. It’s time.”
My response is, “Well what now?”
He always leads me to the next destination.
Let me walk you through my life. We will go back to when I first started believing that my destiny was exactly where I was and what I was doing at the time. These are examples of why I was confused.
I also went through a period in my life when I was sure that being an inventor was the way to make my place in the world. These things I applied for patents on:
Of course, I made a prototype but before trying to market it, I needed some advertising brochures. So, to get some advertising photos, I took my good buddy, John Zylstra with me up to Abbotsford airport. John did photo art for his exhibitions at shows and I needed his camera.
A week earlier, I had gone to the airport and had spoken with the owner of the helicopter and told him that I wanted to have some photos taken of me in my sling being suspended under his helicopter. We agreed on a price and set a date for the following Saturday.
When John and I showed up the next Saturday, the owner wasn’t there. Instead, there was another pilot there who said that he would be flying for the job.
There is a hook under the helicopter which opens with a solenoid when the pilot pushes a button on his cyclic. I clipped my strap into the hook and closed it. I then told the pilot that I had brought some chain and I wanted to chain the hook so it couldn’t open. His response was “No”. If I started swinging under the helicopter, he wanted to be able to drop me.
This should have been a warning to me, but I said, “Okay.”
I said. “I want you to hover me to eight feet so John can get underneath and photograph me in the sling under the helicopter.” I figured, what could go wrong at eight feet?
The pilot started the helicopter and I clipped myself into the bosun’s chair and pulled the strap to its full length out in front of the helicopter. As he lifted the helicopter off the ground, he rose until the strap was tight and he began lifting me into the air. Once I was eight feet up, I saw John beginning to take photos. Then I realized that the helicopter was moving, and we were moving faster, and the faster we moved, the higher he lifted me off the ground. Suddenly, he was flying 40 mph and climbing. He climbed the length of the Abbotsford runway and then he flew to pattern altitude – 800 feet.
Now, here is what happens when you are in a bosun’s chair under a helicopter flying 60 mph at 800 feet hanging by an unsecured hook. You begin worrying a bit.
The first thing that happened is that because my feet were hanging below me, the wind caught them and weathervaned me so that I was facing backwards. This is an uncomfortable feeling because if I drop from 800 feet going backwards, I am going to land on my back, which would hurt. If I dropped facing forward, I could possibly do a front roll and not get hurt.
I began looking for places that I might want to land if I fell. For instance, there was a ditch full of water. I could do a cannonball. It wouldn’t be pretty, but I would survive. I also noticed the top of fir trees, rows of raspberries, even the roof of a hanger . . . all possibilities.
I noticed a seagull that was flying the same direction as I was. (Although he was flying forward, and I was flying backwards). He looked at me and went, “AWK!”
I shrugged my shoulders and yelled, “I know, right?”
The pilot only went around the pattern once. As we flew past the control tower, I noticed the tower operator standing at the window watching me through his binoculars. I waved. I can’t imagine what he was screaming into his radio to the pilot.
As the helicopter lowered me to the ground, John was still shooting pictures. He ran up to me and asked, “Did you intend to do that?”
When the pilot got out of the helicopter, I ran up to him and screamed, “What were you thinking? I asked you to hover, at eight feet.”
“Yeh, sorry,” he said. “It kind of got away from me.”
As it turned out, he was a student pilot who was building his hours so he could get his license.
This verse came to me as I was flying through the Abbotsford skyline like Peter Pan:
Matthew 10:29–31: Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. 30 And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 31 So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
The title of this story is: With Hands Held Open
Each of our lives are different, but for me I have found that God gives me my blessings, gifts, and encouragement. I believe that every good and creative thing in my life has been a gift from God.
Psalms 116:12,13 says: “So now, what can I ever give back to God to repay him for the blessings he’s poured out on me? I will lift up his cup of salvation and praise him extravagantly for all that he’s done for me.”
James 1:17 says: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”
But those blessings may only be for a time and then he removes them and moves me on. Why, I can only guess.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 says:
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
I also know that I can misunderstand what I think God’s will is for my life, which is confusing.
James 4:13-15 says: “Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you don’t even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’”
God loves us and has a wonderful plan for our lives. God blesses us and wants us to know that he is the giver of those blessings. The hope is that we will realize that the Father desires us to recognize his blessings and that we draw closer in relationship with Him as the loving God that he is.
Alistair Begg wrote: “You will never know Jesus Christ as a reality in your life until you know Him as a necessity.” As the giver of everything.
I think that it is best to keep my hands held open. To be able to receive what God has for me, and to be able to release it when it’s time to be taken away. It is always better that I do not hold tightly to anything that he is planning to remove because he will only tear it out of my hands. Who can fight against God?
Jeremiah 18:4 says: But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.
It is painful being reshaped into something better, but I keep going back to the song that started me in Gospel music. It was written by Andrae’ Crouch and was entitled, “Through it All.” I listened to it over and over. The chorus goes:
“Through it all, Through it all, I’ve learned to trust in Jesus, I’ve learned to trust in God. Through it all, Through it all, I’ve learned to depend upon his word.”
There is no way to learn of faith except through trials.
Lastly, a familiar story found in Job 1:6-21:
6 One day the angels came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan also came with them. 7 The Lord said to Satan, “Where have you come from?”
Satan answered the Lord, “From roaming throughout the earth, going back and forth on it.”
8 Then the Lord said to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil.”
9 “Does Job fear God for nothing?” Satan replied. 10 “Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land. 11 But now stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse you to your face.”
12 The Lord said to Satan, “Very well, then, everything he has is in your power, but on the man himself do not lay a finger.”
Then Satan went out from the presence of the Lord.
13 One day when Job’s sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, 14 a messenger came to Job and said, “The oxen were plowing and the donkeys were grazing nearby, 15 and the Sabeans attacked and made off with them. They put the servants to the sword, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
16 While he was still speaking, another messenger came and said, “The fire of God fell from the heavens and burned up the sheep and the servants, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
17 While he was still speaking, another messenger came and said, “The Chaldeans formed three raiding parties and swept down on your camels and made off with them. They put the servants to the sword, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
18 While he was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, 19 when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
20: At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship. (Did he curse God? No, he worshiped. Did he question God? No, he worshiped.)
21 Then he said: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”
I have found that as God removes me from one adventure, he places me in another because He is always in control.
Consider living before God with your hands held open.
** All scripture verses are from the New International Version Bible
Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes
“There are those who speak about you who say, ‘He lost an arm, he lost a leg, she lost her sight.’
I object!
You gave your arm, you gave your leg, you gave your sight, as gifts to your nation so that we might live in freedom.
Thank you. And to your families, families of the fallen and families of the wounded, you’ve sacrificed in ways that those of us who have not walked in your shoes, can only imagine.”
General Peter M. Pace
It’s been a long time since anyone has called me a potty mouth; even so when my wife hears the words, she still gets the giggles.
If any of you have worked in the industry world like I have most of my life, terms like “Lock, Tag, Try” and “Three Way Communication” are slogans that the safety departments drill into us to keep employees from getting hurt.
“Lock, Tag, Try” of course means to lock out a piece of machinery and tag it with an explanation of why it is locked out. Then you try to start the piece of machinery to verify it is indeed dead.
“Three-way communication” means that someone gives you an instruction and you repeat it back. Then, the original person confirms that yes, that is indeed is what he meant or in my case, I get a blank look and the requestor starts all over again.
I was rummaging through what my wife calls the “sentimental junk” in my tool shed when I came across a rather large box labeled “Patents”. You see, in my quest to make the world a better place, I have patented, patent searched, and copyrighted treasures sure to impress my relatives for centuries. I call it a hobby.
I have pulled from the box one of my prize inventions: “The Mitchell Methane Arrestor.” Now I don’t want to give away too many trade secrets, but it consists of a plywood box I made which holds a used vacuum cleaner motor which I purchased from Rector’s Vacuum Cleaner Store. Also, in the wooden box are mounted two carbon filters which the exhaust air flows through.
It is estimated that Australia has over 24 million wild pigs. I was on a photo Safari in Queensland to capture on film the King Kong of feral hogs. The locals call him Jambi.
Jambi weighs over 1000 pounds and is well over nine feet long. He has a harem of 45 sows and multiple piglets. Wherever they move, they create mass destruction of the land and many a domestic animal, even humans disappear when Jambi is in the area.