Thank God I'm A Country Boy

                Why in the world did I move to a rural county?  Occasionally, I ask myself this question, not because I doubt the choice, but because I want to be reminded to prevent frustration.  I never really enjoyed living in the city, and when I was about finished with seminary I asked God if I could please live in the country?  I consider this place the answer to that prayer.

                I still have some city expectations hiding in the crevices of my psyche, though.  So, once in awhile I have to remind myself consciously of the reasons I requested this life in the first place.  I do this in the line at the local market when the people in front of me are taking too much time because they are talking to the clerk like they are friends catching up on each other’s lives.  That, of course, is because they are friends catching up on each other’s lives.  So, I take a breath and thank God I live in a place where people generally care about one another.  When the fire engine siren jars me awake at 3:00 A.M. as it lumbers down a completely deserted street, I remind myself that I asked to live in a place where volunteers (who love to make the siren wail) man most of that apparatus.

                I was thinking about this answer to prayer the other night as I was visiting with my son’s family in Shingle Springs.  After arriving mid-afternoon, I took my grandson out back to shoot bb’s at makeshift targets.  I could hear my wife giving a piano lesson to one of my granddaughters up in the house.  The geese were making a racket out on the lake.  A nervous Red-Tail Hawk squawked and flew off to the east to distract us from the nest high up in a Valley Oak.  When it was time for my grandson to have his piano lesson, I got the John Deere mower out and trimmed up a half-acre, waving to the teenage boys walking by with their fishing rods.

                After parking the mower, I walked past two of the granddaughters getting good use out of the trampoline.  My wife and daughter-in-law were getting dinner ready when I entered the kitchen.  The youngest granddaughter wanted up.  We read a book together.  Then it was outside to push a three-year-old on the swing hanging from a big oak branch.  The seat was 18” off the ground, but when I pushed her she swung out as the ground dropped away, giving her the sense of sailing off into the blue sky above.  Daddy got home from work and took over as the official swing pusher. 

                It was enchiladas for dinner.  The two oldest kids set the table, with the oldest girl deciding who was going to sit next to Pappy and Nana.  The 9-year-old boy put away two large enchiladas, then set one aside for later. 

                After cleaning up a little, we all headed out back to see where this year’s vegetable garden was going to be planted.  We walked past the chickens, holding the 3-year-old’s hand.  She’s been skittish ever since the rooster jumped on her back a few months back.  After checking out the future garden spot, the adults began to conjure up ways to get a camera into the hawks’ nest.  Mylar balloons, remote control helicopters.  Nothing seemed practical.  We walked along the pond catching and releasing tiny frogs.

                Sitting on the front deck in a padded, gliding rocker, I watched the 1 ½-year-old dance and run back and forth while the adults talked.  The two oldest ones argued as first one and then the other sprayed water on each other.  It seemed the proximity of the one holding the hose was the focus of the fairness disagreement.  The Springer Spaniel decided he wanted to play, so he ran in circles, barking and trying to avoid being tagged by the stick my son was wielding. 

                The sun was setting.  The temperature was dropping a little.  We had to go.  As we yelled our good-byes to our grandchildren (we didn’t really want to hug them, since they were rather wet), and headed to the truck, I consciously snapped a photo with my mind’s camera of this bucolic scene that had been our afternoon and evening.  And I thanked the Lord once again for this blessing he has given us.

                The lesson for us Ionians: Slow down.  Take it all in.  It’s too easy to miss out on it all when we make the mistake of trying to rush what shouldn’t be rushed.  And it would be a shame to neglect any gift God has given us.