Lillies of the Field
Jan 29th, 2010 by Sonja

The LightFamily’s favorite magazine is National Geographic.  We all like it and read it/browse it for different reasons.  LightBoy loves the articles about space and the ocean.  LightGirl and LightHusband love the photography and the articles about far away places.  Me, I love the articles about different cultures and people.  So we all get something from this treasure each month.  They get stored in a basket in our “reading room.”  Does your home have a “reading room?”  You know the one … with a “special” white “throne”.  Yeah … that one.

So this morning I wandered into the “reading” room and found an article in the December 2009 issue of NatGeo (as it is sometimes called these days) about one of the last hunter-gatherer societies to survive in these modern times.  There are only about 6,000 people in this tribe which makes it’s home in northern Tanzania in Africa.  And an expanding population is now encroaching upon it’s formerly uninhabitable territory.  The days of being just hunter-gatherers are probably numbered, but the article is quite good.  The author lived amongst the people with a particular camp for two weeks and does a remarkable job of giving a fly on the wall view of their life (including a baboon hunt with only his pocket knife).

I recommend this article to you if you like learning about other people groups and other cultures. It really is fascinating and the author writes it quite well.  But I was struck by his description of the way in which the Hadza live.  Specifically, by their lack of worry.  This is mentioned several times in the article, but strikingly here:

Dirt roads are now carved into the edges of the Hadza bush. A paved road is within a four-day walk. From many high points there is decent cell phone reception. Most Hadza, including Onwas, have learned to speak some Swahili, in order to communicate with other groups. I was asked by a few of the younger Hadza hunters if I could give them a gun, to make it easier to harvest game. Onwas himself, though he’s scarcely ventured beyond the periphery of the bush, senses that profound changes are coming. This does not appear to bother him. Onwas, as he repeatedly told me, doesn’t worry about the future. He doesn’t worry about anything. No Hadza I met, in fact, seemed prone to worry. It was a mind-set that astounded me, for the Hadza, to my way of thinking, have very legitimate worries. Will I eat tomorrow? Will something eat me tomorrow? Yet they live a remarkably present-tense existence.

This may be one reason farming has never appealed to the Hadza—growing crops requires planning; seeds are sown now for plants that won’t be edible for months. Domestic animals must be fed and protected long before they’re ready to butcher. To a Hadza, this makes no sense. Why grow food or rear animals when it’s being done for you, naturally, in the bush? When they want berries, they walk to a berry shrub. When they desire baobab fruit, they visit a baobab tree. Honey waits for them in wild hives. And they keep their meat in the biggest storehouse in the world—their land. All that’s required is a bit of stalking and a well-shot arrow. (emphasis added)

And I remembered Jesus’ words to us in Luke 12:

22Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. 23Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. 24Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! 25Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? 26Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?

27“Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 28If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! 29And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. 30For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. 31But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

32“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. 33Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. 34For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

So was Jesus recommending that we turn back the clock even then (the year ~30 CE) to become hunter-gatherers?  I don’t think so.  It may seem somewhat idyllic to us now, because we did not take stock of the unintended consequences of our modern conveniences.  But turning back to what was is impossible, first of all.  But maybe there are lessons to be learned?

So the next words from Jesus after telling us not to worry, are … but you need to worry.  That it’s a tension to be managed.  A balancing act … that going over the edge either one way or the other is not good and not what He wants from any of us.  He wants us to be watching, yet reclining, relaxed and worry-free.

35“Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, 36like men waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. 37It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes. I tell you the truth, he will dress himself to serve, will have them recline at the table and will come and wait on them. 38It will be good for those servants whose master finds them ready, even if he comes in the second or third watch of the night. 39But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. 40You also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”

41Peter asked, “Lord, are you telling this parable to us, or to everyone?”

42The Lord answered, “Who then is the faithful and wise manager, whom the master puts in charge of his servants to give them their food allowance at the proper time? 43It will be good for that servant whom the master finds doing so when he returns. 44I tell you the truth, he will put him in charge of all his possessions. 45But suppose the servant says to himself, ‘My master is taking a long time in coming,’ and he then begins to beat the menservants and maidservants and to eat and drink and get drunk. 46The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of. He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the unbelievers.

47“That servant who knows his master’s will and does not get ready or does not do what his master wants will be beaten with many blows. 48But the one who does not know and does things deserving punishment will be beaten with few blows. From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

The Hadza

They grow no food, raise no livestock, and live without rules or calendars. They are living a hunter-gatherer existence that is little changed from 10,000 years ago. What do
they know that we’ve forgotten?

The Hadza tend to be gregarious people, and Onwas readily agreed. He said I’d be the first foreigner ever to live in his camp. He promised to send his son to a particular tree at the edge of the bush to meet me when I was scheduled to arrive, in three weeks.

Sure enough, three weeks later, when my interpreter and I arrived by Land Rover in the bush, there was Onwas’s son Ngaola waiting for us. Apparently, Onwas had noted the stages of the moon, and when he felt enough time had passed, he sent his son to the tree. I asked Ngaola if he’d waited a long time for me. “No,” he said. “Only a few days.”

Hmmm … So, I wonder what do they know that we seem to have forgotten?

My Family Is A Microcosm
Jan 27th, 2010 by Sonja

One of my most fun memories growing up was of watching my father line up with his siblings to have their photo taken.  They’d line up by age, which in their family meant that the group was bookended by women, turn to either the right or left and have a profile photo taken.  It was fondly known in my family as “The Naylor Nose photo.”  My father and his four siblings were all endowed with fairly regal, even aquiline, noses.  Some more resplendent than others.  They were proud of this bit of their heritage from their own dad.  Though I don’t remember that my grandfather’s nose was anything in particular.   It was simply a way that the next generation had of reminding themselves of who they were.

That generation is aging now.  The eldest among them turned 90 August 6, 2009.  And as of last August they will no longer all be together on this earthly plane anymore.  My oldest uncle passed away after a long battle with emphysema.  He was 87 and retired from a career as a pilot in the Air Force among other things.  He flew in WWII, the Korean War and Vietnam.  When he got out, he built seawalls in Florida.  He took my brothers on a two month long camping trip across country to Alaska one summer.   And he taught my children how to do “smooth five” so they could give a high five to the elderly without breaking an arm or spraining a wrist.

My aunts and uncles are members of the “Greatest Generation,” my parents are members of the Silent Generation, my cousins are Boomers, my brothers & I and my cousins children are all Gen X-ers.  My children are Millenials and I’m not sure what generation my cousins’ grandchildren belong to; maybe it doesn’t have a name yet.  We are a microcosm of trendy generations.

In the Shadow of Woodstock
Jan 26th, 2010 by Sonja

redmond rain

Photo by Derek Redmond and Paul Campbell, licensed under GNU Free Documentation License

The above photo is very familiar to me.  Though it may not be to you.  I was 8 during the summer of 1969 and becoming more aware of the world around me.  I lived in Vermont.  I had friends who were old enough to know alot about Woodstock and if they didn’t go, they had posters of the event in their bedrooms.  I have cousins who may or may not have gone, but certainly lived close enough to have considered the journey.  It was, rather famously, the Summer of Love.  Or was it?

There’s a lot mythology that’s grown up around that famous summer in the forty years and several months since.  The gathering was peaceful (and generally it was) about the rain, etc.  But what I remember most about it was the ruin.  I remember seeing these photos and (being a child on a farm/in farm country) wondering how that mess would ever get cleaned up.  It turned out that it never did.

The young people who came in droves to that farm in Woodstock, NY for several magical days in August of 1969 left as quickly and as miraculously as they’d arrived.  Coming empty handed, they left empty handed.  And the fields were covered in trash and mud and clothes and shoes and excrement and waste.  The once working farm was in ruins, never to be worked again.

I wonder though.  Looking back it seems as if that one weekend was a snapshot of world that was to come.  There was chaos.  There loud music.  There were some drugs.  There were people getting along.  There were people coming and going.  There were increasing security concerns.  It was the first concert where a promoter decided to try and repeat it.  Above all though, the generation who staged it, held it, attended it in droves and then left that field and town in ruins showed the world their care-less attitude about … really everything but themselves.  The so-called “Me” generation of the 70’s and excesses of the 80’s should have come as no surprise to anyone after seeing what these people did as young adults at Woodstock.

We really should not be surprised that now in their late 50’s and early 60’s they are very concerned about health care and retirement income for themselves … but they’re damn sure not going to give a rip about the rest of us or how we’re going to either get it or pay for it four generations into the future.  You can rest assured of one thing though … someone else will come along and clean up their mess.  Someone else always has.  I know … because I’ve been trailing this selfish generation with a shovel and a broom my whole life.

Why Worry?
Jan 8th, 2010 by Sonja

I signed up some time ago to receive the e-mail posting of the Washington Post’s opinion page.  So every weekday morning I get an e-mail with a tickler about that day’s opinion pieces.  I don’t always read them, but sometimes …

This morning I read through them and saw this:

I need (but have no desire) to read the piece.  Some years ago I could tolerate Krauthammer and sometimes even agreed with him.  I don’t know if it’s age or what, but he has gotten more and more regressive as time has gone on.  Maybe it’s the confluence of our culture and his age.  But he gets more and more shrill as time goes on.  But the question posed struck me.  The Krauthammer of years passed would have gone to the mat for our and others civil rights.  He would have been protective of the U.S. reputation abroad.  He might even have stood firm on the idea that the Geneva Convention has protections worth caring about.

So … here’s my answer to that question.  We are and should be more worried about the Miranda rights of any perpetrator, because … once the gloves are off, it is difficult to put them back on again.  Who is to say how the definition of “terrorist” might change over the years?  At this point, we seem to have a clear idea that a terrorist is someone “other” … a person who does not belong to our culture.  But what happens when the government decides that anyone speaking out against a sitting president is a “terrorist” or might have terrorist affiliations?  I know that sounds silly and well, we have the First Amendment.  Or do we?  If Miranda rights do not apply to everyone within our borders, including “terrorists” … then they can be suspended for us too.  It really is an all or nothing deal … if those rights do not apply to everyone, then they can at some point be suspended for anyone.

What happens when they come for you?  Don’t you want to have those protections?  I know I do.  The Miranda rights do force our justice system to work harder in order to successfully prosecute a case against an offender and we find people who are innocent sitting on death row.  It is not infallible so the ordinary citizen (including suspected terrorists) needs to have as many protections against the almost overwhelming power of the state as they possibly can.

A New Year – A New Look
Jan 4th, 2010 by Sonja

Wow … it’s been two months since the last post.  If you’ve come around lately you’ll see a new look here.  I’ve been doing some housekeeping, and finally upgraded my WordPress from 2.3 to 2.9 … a task that’s been on my list since August.  Of 2008!

So I’m working on this space.  It’s not finished yet, but it’s good enough for now.

Some things that have happened in the last two months that are noteworthy –

Our beloved Sam died very unexpectedly one late October afternoon.  He’d had some gum surgery about 10 days prior and the wound did not seem to be healing quite right.  When I took him to the vet at about 3 that afternoon, he was lethargic and his abdomen was distended.  The vet ran a test or two, took some x-rays, and came back with a diagnosis of hemangiosarcoma (also often called the silent killer).  The only thing our vet had difficulty determining was the size of the tumor and how much it had invaded Sam’s system.  He could only accurately make that determination with surgery.  So, after a very emotional and troubled two hours, Sam went into surgery.  BlazingEwe and her three LambChildren were with all four of us.  The vet came out within 20 minutes (teary-eyed and barely able to speak) and told us the devastating news; Sam would not survive the surgery.

We are still recovering from that.

For Thanksgiving LightHusband’s parents came to visit for about 8 days.  We were very busy during that time and it ended with LightGirl excelling as her team’s goalie at a nearby tournament.  Two days later she was sick and couldn’t eat.  She had severe stomach pain, nausea, dizziness.  We began the process of attempting to discover what the source was.  Ultrasounds, endoscopy, C/T scans all came back normal and/or unremarkable.  Nothing was wrong … physically.  So we’ve made some lifestyle changes and that seems to help.  She finally went back to the rink after a month long absence right after Christmas.  It was a hard pull, but I think we’re on the upswing.

In the midst of LightGirl’s mysterious illness, LightBoy had H1N1 flu.  And there was one day when LightHusband thought he was getting ill as well.  I threatened to run away and that seemed to cure whatever ailed him.  LightBoy is still coughing, but is back to his normal, slightly ornery self.

Christmas was the usual blur and New Year’s hit like a train.  LightGirl turned sixteen this January 1.  So we had to have a party.  A largish party that was amazingly fun and there were lots of young folks there with their sparkly faces and snappy wit. 

So … Happy 2010 to all and I’ll end with this prayer:
May there always be work for your hands to do.
May your purse always hold a coin or two.
May the sun always shine upon your window pane.
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near to you and
May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

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