For Such A Time As This

“Sometimes we pray; sometimes we are the answers to prayer.  You become the answer to prayer when you act as though your life depends on it.  Because it does.  And so do the lives of everyone your life touches.”

The Last Arrow by Erwin Raphael McManus

            Last week my family was involved in “The Welcome Project.”  This was the third year it has been held.  What started as the brain child of our friend Heather Dellamater, has blossomed into an outreach of global and epic proportions.  I say global because it helps begin the process of acclimating refugee children to live in America.  Often these children have only been here 3 years, one year, a month, or a week.  They came from Myanmar, the Congo, and Southern Africa this year.  In other years it also included the children of families from the Middle East and Southeast Asia.  These are families who left their homeland due to political wars, religious oppression, natural disasters, or ethnic cleansing.  Sometimes staying in refugee camps in another country for several years, they eventually are placed somewhere new; somewhere safe.  Rockford, with its history of manufacturing, is where some end up, hoping to find jobs.

            This is epic because although many children come here being able to speak 2, 3, or 4 different languages, English or our culture itself, is literally foreign.  And so “The Welcome Project” is able to bring in children, through the aid of Catholic Charities, Rock Valley College, and a huge host of businesses and individuals who donate their time and resources, to love them and begin developing relationships of trust and friendships to help tear down walls of fear, hate, and uncertainty.

            Each day was filled with learning; reading, ESL, art, computer, outdoor/gym activities, and music classes in addition to people from the community (principals, firefighters, the police, and librarians).  Throughout the week, through speakers and actors, the story of Esther from the Bible was told; a perfect correlation to living in a foreign land.

            My son Todd was the director this year, and my daughter Jodi was one of the interns.  My wife Cindy worked in the computer room (and also helped teach about money and currency).  I worked with the “Blue Group;” kids who were roughly in 7^th grade; give or take a few years.  Together, Cindy and I also picked up and dropped off kids; back and forth from their homes.

            In the end we began communicating.  What started with scared faces and little to no words, ended with “good morning” or “Jambo” (Swahili for hello), smiles, high-fives, and laughing.  Mothers & fathers trusted us, and sent their beloved children with us and we returned them tired and happy (especially after “water day”).  Our prayer was twofold in that we would be available (like Esther), “For such a time as this” (Esther 4:14), and that the children would be able to take a step closer towards acceptance and being ready to begin school in just a few weeks.  Their hearts are big and willing, but it does make you question things like grades, standards, and testing when they’ll simply be trying to understand, fit in, and maintain who they are; all while learning.  May God bless them and their teachers; grant them unity through love, knowledge, and insight.

            It is this very concept that brings me to the summer road trip that came the day after “The Welcome Project” ended.  The boy’s basketball coach for Duke University, Mike Krzyzewski, in his book Leading With The Heart says we want to be a part of something bigger; it’s a team thing.  John Eldredge, in his book Epic says, “We’d much rather be included in something grand than have to create the meaning of our lives.  To know that life, ultimately, doesn’t rest on our shoulders, but invites us up into it.”

            A small portion of our Gulo Adventure Clan; guys tied to Prairie Hill School District in the past or present, met at my house at 7:00 Saturday morning and drove westward towards East Dubuque and the mighty Mississippi River.  Although our diversity may not have been in our origin of cultures, it was in our ages.  And yet, like the children and people involved in “The Welcome Project,” our group exists like it does because people want to belong and be caught up in a story or adventure that is bigger than ourselves.

Merel - The Captain

            And what an adventure it was!  I didn’t have to hike, or drive, or cookout this time (not that I mind those things).  We relied on Tyler and his truck to get us there, and then the overwhelming generosity of Merel and Carol Wilson.  The weather was perfect; enough said.  When we arrived, Merel gave us a tour of his boat and then we ate some fruit and donut holes while catching up on life.  It felt good to laugh and tell stories, most of which were true.  Then Merel, the captain, and Carol, the admiral, took us on a 3 hour tour.  Actually it was 3 hours and 14 minutes, but those who are reading this blog, and old enough to have watched Gilligan’s Island, know why I wrote it that way.  The scenery was stunning; the vistas, the eagles, and the water.  Tyler and Zach, the young guns of the group, even got to man the wheel.  Merel’s instructions were simple; “Keep it between the buoys and in the main channel.”  Roger that!  Tyler played an excerpt of Celine Dion’s song, “My Heart Will Go On” from the movie Titanic, but none of us stood in the bow with our arms raised, however tempting it may have been.  It was pretty funny.

Zach At The Helm

Tyler Scanning The Horizon As Greg Looks On

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            Who would have thought you could take men in their 20’s, 50’s, 60’s and 70’s and bring them together with any commonality?  Yet, as we returned to the marina and dove off the bow of the boat, swam, and ate sub sandwiches, it was evident.  We were made to belong.  We were created to do life together and share our heart and expertise with those around us.  In our case, with this group of guys, it’s centered around education.  This particular trip was merely a relaxing and motivational boost to get back at it here soon when school starts up in two weeks.  We were created and molded for such a time as this.

            See you along The Way…

Zach, Tyler, Merel, Greg, And Myself On The Mighty Mississippi

Click On Each Video To See US Jumping In:

Panic Stricken

            This past Saturday was a chance to hone my skills before I head North to what is fondly referred to as the “Tip of the Mitt;” Northern Lower Michigan.  It’s the traditional trip with some of my cousins to camp in the woods, and wade rivers, while fishing for trout.  What with the heat, humidity, and heavy rains, it’s the first time I’ve been able to go trout fishing since my Dad and I did two months ago, in early May (See past blog: “Blessings From The Trout Lily”).

            This time of the year I tend to get a little jittery, and border line panicky, as the date for this trip approaches.  I look forward to it so much, and find it both fulfilling and rejuvenating, that I can hardly wait for the date to arrive when I can leave.  I don’t wish my life away, as there are plenty of other things to invest in beforehand, but it is a highlight that fuels me for the upcoming school year.  This year’s outing up North will be unique and fun as my son Todd joins our “Band of Brothers/Cousins.”  Blood runs thick generationally.

            And so it was with these thoughts in mind that I woke at 4:00, hit the road by 5:00, and was standing in the water by 6:30 for my day to practice up before heading North.  Although in many ways it’s like riding a bike, I wanted to brush-up on sneaking ninja like in the water, be alert to my surroundings, react quickly to strikes, and hold beauty in the palm of my hand.  Having the temperatures in the low 50’s and wearing a long sleeve shirt didn’t hurt either.  Throughout those early hours, as the sun rose and the misty fog slowly burned away, I was nice and calm; having stayed up late preparing my gear and making sure I was set.

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            The mosquitoes were around but not too terribly awful when I was in the water.  In the surrounding woods it was a different story.  I put on some mosquito repellent, even though I typically hate to bother with it or be covered in it.  I decided it would help eliminate something to worry about.  Halfway through the morning, once the sun was higher, I added sunscreen to that.  I applied it because although it remained cool, the sky was bright and cloudless.

            Trout don’t really like being out in the bright sun, and I really had to watch the placement of my moving shadow.  I enjoyed the opportunity to be out there, however, and managed to catch and release around thirteen trout.  The average was around nine inches, with the biggest being 11 ½ and 10 ½.  I caught three more browns than brook trout.

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            Those were some of the statistics.  What I didn’t mention was that as I fished, my line was really starting to twist.  This of course can affect my cast and pitches, often snagging the handle of my reel in the process; causing a ricocheting effect back at your face at lightning speed.  Let’s just say that I had to duck and dive more times than I care to mention, in order to avoid the spinner’s hooks.  That’s what probably started my slight aggravation.  The fact that I only caught fish in sporadic sections of time over the many hours I was out there may have added to that, but it wasn’t terrible.  I had hoped for more, or a bigger one, but those types of things were out of my control and so I enjoyed the moments to be out of doors unencumbered.  At one point I ripped off about thirty feet of fishing line, but the line underneath soon followed suit and also became twisted.

            After fishing for about seven hours I decided to get out and head back to my old Jeep.  My wife and I were planning on picking up my daughter from a conference later that afternoon.  I wasn’t quite up the creek far enough to where I sometimes will fish to; where there’s the resemblance of a trail.  By getting out where I did I was going to have to do some bushwhacking.  I was pretty sure that by heading West by Southwest I could find that trail, and so I forged ahead.  I was getting hot but I kept my long sleeve shirt on; it helped protect me from the mosquitoes, deer flies, and poisonous wild parsnip.

            Starting at 2:00 I set forth; keeping the sun above my left shoulder.  The grasses I pushed though were at times taller than me.  These gave way to tangled brush, and then dense woods.  I took a quick video of this part of the venture for “fun.”

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            Several times my landing net, for softly cradling trout in its rubber webbing when I caught them, snagged on broken off tree branches and twigs.  It would jerk me back with a jolt as it was attached to the back of my fishing vest with a bungee cord.  I was doing this all in waders and boots mind you and as I started getting hot, bitten, and discombobulated, I started to get panicky and to lose it mentally.  I questioned whether I should keep pushing onward (Was I almost to a trail?), or should I turn around and either try a different direction, or find the creek and wade back down it.

            River miles are much longer than actual miles, and I had fished a long way up the creek.  It was now 2:18.  I needed to get to my Jeep by 3:00 so I could be home by 4:00.  I took a deep breath, looked down, found a deer fly embedded into the back of my hand, swatted it (which splattered blood everywhere), and started hiking back East.

            I couldn’t follow the same path I had made hiking in, because there was none.  Thorns caught at me constantly from the roses, gooseberry bushes, and buckthorn trees.  Yikes! I didn’t want to puncture my waders.  They are only two years old, and although I am sometimes hard on them with journeys through the woods, I didn’t want to wreck them if I could help it.  Did I mention that I was getting hot?

            After ten minutes my net caught again, and without thinking to stop and unhook it, I reached back with my hand and yanked it back to me.  I heard the netting tear.  Ahhh!  I had put a large hole in it; something I’d have to now add to my list of to-do’s and fix before I went up North.  I was getting tired.  I sometimes laugh that I run like I do to be in shape to fish like I do.  Perhaps I needed to rephrase that to say that I fish like I do to be in shape for when I run.  The element and pressure of time was causing me to make some poor decisions.  Being panic stricken was becoming a reality.  Was I lost?  I started mentally running through the gear I had with me, and remembered my fire starting kit.  Would I need to build a shelter, stay the night, and start a smoky fire to ward off the mosquitoes and flies?  Maybe the search and rescue helicopter would see the light from my fire.  “Good grief Rhines, keep it together!” I thought to myself.  I knew I had to keep my head in the game.  This was fun today right?

            Just about then I pushed out into a clearing of lower height prairie plants.  It broke the feeling of claustrophobia.  I decided to forgo continuing back to the creek and instead headed south to try to find the path I had originally come in on that morning.  After another five to eight minutes of keeping the sun on my right side I realized that I had happenstance upon what looked like an old trail.  It was overgrown, but was probably the one that the DNR mows once a year prior to hunting season.  We wouldn’t want hunters having to get lost and hike through thick shin-tangle!

The "Trail" That I Eventually Found

            With a pace of certainty, I pushed on.  With that pace I miraculously made it to my green Jeep by 3:00.  I stripped off my sweat soaked gear, threw it into the back, and texted my wife that I was on my way home.

            What a day!  What a mixture of emotions.  As the jittery feelings of anticipation blended with the panicky feelings that occur when my trip up North just won’t come fast enough, I allowed myself a smile.  Yes, I have a summer class to work on, and some household tasks to complete before I pack, but I’m ready.  Believe it or not, being panic stricken got it out of my system and put life back into perspective.  I’m going to enjoy this trip up North.  Thank you God for opportunities such as this.

            See you along The Way…

Waves Of Heat

            This past weekend some friends gathered here at the Stateline.  Our friendship carries over from our days in college; past friendships, having current adventures, making present memories.

            The heat and humidity was already building in waves as the guys arrived around 8:00 in the morning.  Due to recent rains, the area’s rivers were still running high so we settled on running Turtle Creek.  I’ve paddled this waterway in the past, but under the direction of a friend, I decided to take the guys to a different section of this creek.  Although it was still higher than normal, and a bit muddied, it wasn’t out of control or over its banks.

            After loading our gear and strapping down the two kayaks and one canoe, we headed across the Stateline into Wisconsin.  We stopped briefly so I could show them where we would be getting out.  It’s always good to have a goal to shoot for.  Our two vehicles then headed down the roads that led up to our put in spot.  Heat off the pavement made wavy mirages as we zipped along.  Once we unloaded the equipment, Chris and I took and dropped off my Jeep back at the take out location.  Meanwhile, Scott and Mike stayed with the paraphernalia needed for the day’s adventure.

            When Chris and I returned, we parked in the shade and together we all began carrying everything down to the edge of the creek.  With the mud left behind after the recent flooding it was a little precarious, but only one of us slipped and fell on their butt.  He fortunately didn’t hurt himself, and after we all laughed good naturedly, we helped each other into the vessels.  Scott and Mike took the kayaks while Chris and I manned the canoe.  My dog Kora sat amongst the gear.

Mike

Scott

Chris (and I) In The Canoe

            The creek is perfect for an easy paddle.  It meanders through woods and farm country but periodically cascades over rapids, creating small rippling waves; perfect interjections to keep things interesting.  I had prepared some food to cook along our route.  It’s traditional on most outings I lead, and this was no different even though the sun was beating down and the sweat was flowing freely.

            Eventually we came upon some islands in the middle of the creek.  We pulled up beside one of them after a half hour to 45 minutes of paddling.  The rookies among us, who were spending their first day on a river, were doing great.  It’s hard for some people to experience such things when growing up in the heart of Iowa, where any river that may exist tends to be fairly big.  We indeed are fortunate for what resources we have available here with rivers and creeks of all sizes and depths.

            With an empty stomach, I promised a quick cookout and meal within 45 minutes or so.  Scott said I actually had it ready in 20; a good thing indeed.  For you see, with temperatures in the mid 90’s and a heat index at 104 degrees, there really isn’t anything quite like squatting down next to a rip-roaring fire and an iron skillet to cook brunch.  We were soaked in sweat while standing in the sun, but it was entertaining.  Looking out over the water and nearby fields, you could see the waves of heat.  The food was awesome, however, and filled our gullets.  Kora finished off the few extra spoonfuls that were left.  She was doing great interacting with the guys, exploring the island, and looking out over the gunwales of the canoe as we traveled along.

            We quickly repacked the cooking utensils and got back onto the water.  We talked, and laughed, and caught up.  It was a chance to bridge the gap between the time since we had last gathered and seen each other.

            In fact, as we neared the end, we shot through some narrows under several classic, historic, and unique bridges.  Irony?  Not really!  When we finished, we posed for a group shot.  Pictures are documentation, but they go beyond that.  Pictures tell stories.  Some stories are apparent simply by looking at them and some pictures are stories inferred by your imagination.  We picked up Chris’ vehicle from back at the put in location, and then loaded our gear into my Jeep.  I actually backed up and looked out over the lawn between the creek and the parking lot to double check that we had gotten everything.  I wasn’t certain everything had gotten packed, as I had been tightening down straps for the canoe.  As it turned out, we had forgotten a life preserver and a dry box and bag.  Luckily a family from the district that I teach in found the items still sitting on a rock several hours later and dropped them off at our home that evening.  Apparently it does pay off to label everything with your name, and it’s a reminder that there are good people out there.  Thank you friends!

Me, Chris, (Kora), Scott, And Mike

            When we got back to my house, we were hot and soaking wet with sweat.  Personally I was getting panicky and needed to cool down.  We quickly unloaded, and then jumped into the pool in our backyard.  It was refreshing, and when my wife brought out a pitcher of lemonade it hit the spot; especially when some of us got out and sipped it while sitting in chairs in the shade.

            We continued talking, and then after another hour or so, the guys headed out to their cars so that they could return to their homes and families.  We said our goodbyes, and I waved through the thick, humid air as they headed down our street.  Until next time my friends.
            See you along The Way…