Gunner and the Gunsmith (Perquimans Weekly 6/25/2020)

This afternoon, I listen to summer storms roll through the clouds. More rain, not that we need it, but I’m thankful for the provision. I type these words as a tiny, grey paw bats at my fingers. Sometimes the paw bats at my hair. Sometimes the entire grey fuzzball curls against me closely: this is Gunner. 

 An unexpected event, yet isn’t 2020 just stocked full of those? With all the bad each month has brought, I give June a little wink of thanks. No, I most definitely did NOT want a surprise feral kitten. We already have a boisterous 90 pound lap dog and an aloof (somewhat evil) ten year old calico. We have two boys, 12 & 8, that I’m packing for a week at Camp Cale. In the midst of all of that, we found a tiny, 6 week old grey tabby kitten. Oh gee whiz! 

 The delight in the eyes of my children was precious. The soft kindness of my gunsmith husband as he caught this little one reminded me of why I love him so much. The vet said this kitten has likely been on his own a bit. He had the usual gamut of fleas, mites, worms, and infection, coupled with being underweight. I could not help noting his toughness, being away from his mother so early and ending up in our bushes from whence he came. Did someone cruelly dump him? Did he dart through wilderness and traffic to end up sitting cozy on my shoulder? We may never know. I’m so glad he’s ok. The boys took turns gently holding him. Milly, our dog, is so excited about her new best friend. We see our older cat, Noel, occasionally. She is really mad and would like to speak to a manager about this insulting event. First, the kids were home and noisy all the time, now THIS thing? 

 I snuggled with this thing, listening to my husband test fire rifles. The kitten purred right through the noise and I chuckled. “You’ll fit right in with this noisy bunch.” I looked up names on my phone while he snuggled against me. Gunner: Scandinavian for brave warrior. A military person who specializes in firearms. A boys name; a kitten name. So here at Davis Precision Gunworks, we have an unlikely new mascot. Gunner somehow survived a rough and tumble beginning and then ended up here. While not exactly the lap of luxury, I’d definitely say there are many laps of love to choose from and fingers to bat. 

Not everyone is ok with a surprise pet, 3 is our max, so like Bob Barker used to say “Help control the pet population — have your pets spayed or neutered."

Stop, Drop, and Listen (Perquimans Weekly June 11, 2020)

As I sat down to write for this week, I thought about the past week. The cursor blinked at me and I blinked back at it. What does one even say? There is such pain, such anguish, such defensiveness, and these things are not a good combo.

When you think about conflict resolution, one of the first things you have to learn is to stop talking. Don’t say a single word. When my kids are upset, it does no good for me to yell back. No one gets anything out of the situation except more stress and hurt.

Growing up, I really thought I’d use stop, drop, and roll way more than I have (which is zero, thankfully), but it was constantly repeated in school and on TV. You’d think catching on fire was a real problem for kids in the ‘80s. Come to think of it, I was highly flammable with all that hairspray, so maybe they had a point.

I digress. Stop, drop, and listen has been way more effective as a parent. I stop talking, I drop down to the same level, and I listen to find out exactly what went wrong for them. I want them to tell me things so I can’t blow up at stuff. I drop my guard, too. The tension calms.

As I watched the horrible news of Breonna, Ahmaud, and George unfold, social media went bananas. Everything got really loud. No one was listening to anyone really. You had protestors, you had riots, you had racist statements, people who thought this was a conspiracy, and the dismissive, yet well meaning  “We just need Jesus” people all at the same time. Disaster. If you watch cable news networks (you couldn’t pay me to), they likely had the same things, or some version, on every channel.

For the last year or so, I’ve been in a group called “Be The Bridge.” It’s about racial reconciliation and I’ve found it to be difficult and beneficial. It’s mostly Christians, though not religious, and it’s to help white people learn about the life challenges and perceptions of black people and other people of color. One of the most difficult and beneficial parts is when you first join, you’re asked to be quiet for 3 months. You can follow discussions, but you cannot contribute. During this time period, you’re supposed to be quiet and do homework that is provided. Stop, drop your guard, and listen. It’s hard. Especially for someone like me! I’m a talker and I enjoy sharing my “answers” (in case you haven’t noticed). In this situation though, I have no answers. I had to listen and learn. It was so difficult to not become defensive about things that were said! That is, until I learned more about the filter they were looking through. Ouch. 

I truly don’t have answers today. I do encourage you to stop, drop your guard, and listen.

I'm Fine! (Perquimans Weekly 6/4/2020)

While working on a project recently, I thought of Jim Mills. Many of you might remember him. He moved to Florida several years back, but when he lived here, he’d greet others by saying “I’m Fine!” We’d kid with him and say “I didn’t ask!” and we’d laugh. 

I’m involved with kids ministry at our church. We are wearing masks to church as a safety precaution. I realized that kids can’t see me smile while wearing a mask, so I drew a smile on it. 

I tried on my happy, smiling face and then complained that my glasses fogged up. I worried it would be hot. I wondered if we would have a lot of kids there. What if they didn’t like anything we did for them? 

I caught sight of my reflection in the glass of the door, frowny forehead and giant fake smile and I froze. 

“I’m fine!” popped into my head. I’m not fine, but there was the fake grin meant to make others feel better. The fake grin that is hiding my real feelings. The facial recognition on my phone added insult to injury - it didn’t recognize the real me behind that mask. 

“I’m fine!” We say that a lot, don’t we? Others do, too. We ask “how are you?” without waiting for a real answer. We expect “I’m fine!” even if it’s fake. Do we want to know the truth behind the fake smile? 

I realize this is dangerously close to sounding like a sermon, and I’m not a pastor, but we have a hurting world. This year alone has been a doozy of a historical event, but there is still suffering that is unrelated to pandemics and economic busts. Those issues just make it worse. Cancer still exists, people are burying loved ones without the support of others, and racism is STILL a massive issue in this nation. 

We are not fine. We are worn. There is a song by the band Tenth Avenue North called “Worn” and I love the lyrics of the chorus.

Let me see redemption win

Let me know the struggle ends

That you can mend a heart

That's frail and torn

I wanna know a song can rise

From the ashes of a broken life

And all that's dead inside can be reborn

Cause I'm worn

This song reminds me that while we are tired and worn, there is a natural seeking of hope that helps make us human. My hope lies in Jesus Christ, but I know that the desire of hope is within us all. We may not have a good source, but we search, even subconsciously, for hope. 

We all wear masks. We did that even before we had heard of Covid-19. We wear visible and obvious ones now, sometimes with a smile drawn on them. I want to remind you that it’s ok that we’re not fine right now, but that there is hope.