Brenda Knight Graham's Blog, page 8
October 18, 2023
Flicker at the Feeder
While enjoying broccoli cheese soup for lunch we were aware of the comings and goings of birds at the feeder. A cardinal in bright red with his black mask perched on the edge and cracked sunflower seeds, discarding the husks to the ground below. A chickadee joined him hopping down inside the feeder so his little black head bobbing up and down was all we could see of him. Modest, simple titmice fluttered in and out. A tiny brown wren with perky upturned tail flew in after waiting for the crowd to clear. All of these were our usual visitors whom we appreciate and thoroughly enjoy. Then a flicker showed up.
When the flicker lit on the swinging feeder all the other birds flew away. Maybe they were a little afraid of his domineering presence. Maybe they just highly respected him and considered he deserved to have the feeder to himself.
The flicker is slightly bigger than cardinals and mockingbirds. He is startlingly beautiful with colors of red, grey, black and white, even a little yellow. He is a woodpecker equipped with a sharp hammer of a beak which does not work well in a feeder. I suppose that’s why he seldom lights for a snack. Instead, we catch glimpses of him on the trunk of an oak tree or a tall pine. To see him up close at the feeder is a thrill.
Though he isn’t equipped for eating at the feeder where eating is so easy for most other birds, the flicker still comes on occasion. He is comical twisting his head to make his sharp beak lift seeds instead of pounding out holes in hard wood.
Aside from the surge of delight at seeing the flicker on the feeder, his activity also made me think about how we too have to perform tasks sometimes for which we’re not equipped. We take a deep breath, say a prayer, and plunge into the job. We’re not as pretty as the flicker and probably far more comical. But we get the job done.
The flicker flew away not to be seen at the feeder again for many days. I can hear him sometimes high in an oak tree tippety-tapping for his highly delicious insect lunch. I try to spot him following the sound, but seldom see him. Though I do love to see him I know he’s happy up there at his own “table.” When he gets a strong urge for tasty sunflower seeds he will be back. In the meantime, we’ll enjoy our faithful little feathered friends–cardinals, wrens, and titmice–who fly in and out of the feeders every day.
I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me. Phillippians 4:13
October 11, 2023
Ruby Red and Butternut Gold
Autumn is here. Not as bright as it is in the north but lovely all the same. Charli is excited with me as butternut gold leaves fall from the Indonesian cherry tree. The mulberry is still mainly green but many bright yellow leaves sift down when a cool breeze drifts through. “I love fall,” Charli exclaims as she does one of her cheerleading twirls. At the porch a ruby red hummingbird takes a long draft at the feeder, probably storing up for his long southern flight. Amanda finally snapped a picture of the illusive little guy.
Under certain favorite pine trees squirrels have dropped debris from their pine nut feast. I am amazed at the industry and skill of the squirrels. The very day after Charles D blows our driveway nice and clean it will be scattered thickly again with half eaten and wholly stripped cones. Sometimes I hear the little rascals high in a tree munching away and dropping fingernail size pieces of cone. It must be as hard for them to eat pine cones as for a mule to eat briars or a western cow to eat cactus leaves.
Near our mailbox a monarch butterfly flits from burgundy zinnia to golden lantana, sipping as he goes. One last bright orange canna lily blooms over the tops of azalea bushes, and there’s a crape myrtle bloom at the very top of the tree by the bird bath. The blue plumbago is brightly dressed thinking the party is still in full sway while camellias are loaded with swelling buds preparing for their winter show.
Our tiny garden is a-tumble with weeds. Okra stalks measuring seven feet are still making pods that are delicious sliced, floured, and fried in an iron pan. Jane Poole has become our faithful okra picker. Bell peppers are ready to pick anytime we want one and sweet potatoes ready to dig. If it’s like last year we’ll be finding potatoes for months after harvesting a five gallon bucket full. The big difference between last year and this is that Charles is unable to harvest the garden he energetically planted in May. Leukemia and lymphoma have sapped his strength so we’re depending on Will and others to dig the potatoes.
Moving into a chapter of chemotherapy is definitely not something we would have chosen. It is very hard to be unable to do even the simplest things you’ve always loved to do. Or to watch the one you love so dearly beset by such discomfort and weakness. But there are blessings all along the way–the help of friends and family, the sincerity and deep concern of doctors and nurses. Also we have a sharper awareness of things like the changing of seasons, the enjoyment of squirrels munching on cones and a hummingbird preparing to fly south.
The biggest blessing is in knowing God is holding us in the hollow of His hand. We pray for healing and are thankful for so many who are praying for us. We are surrounded every day by His peace, wonderful peace. It is indescribable, a gift to those in the valley.
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23
September 26, 2023
Kindness Has a Face
We didn’t consider ourselves poor. In fact, we felt very rich. We were expecting our first child. Charles was happy working as a veterinarian in Cairo having just graduated from the University, and we had a church home, First Baptist Cairo, with many good friends. What could be better? But, though not poor, we didn’t have much money.
Shopping for groceries was quite a game. I chose items so carefully, studying the prices, doing the math in my head, hoping not to go over the $25 in my pocket. One Saturday I miscalculated and came up short $1.00. I stood there at the counter doing a quick assessment deciding which item I would leave behind.
The grocer, Mr. Harrell at Big Star, waved a hand over my collection and said, “You know you can just bring me a dollar next time you’re in. No problem.”
If there hadn’t been a counter between us and if I hadn’t been so fat I could have hugged that sweet man. His kindness made an impression that has lingered all these years. And I can think of so many other moments of kindness, moments when kindness had a face.
I was stuck in an awkward parking space the other day and a stranger, seeing my dilemma, stepped up and began patiently directing me, one turn at a time, until I was free to go. Interestingly, that very afternoon I was talking to my son Will who was on the road when he suddenly said, “Mom, I’ve got to go. There’s a lady having some kind of problem.” I chuckled thinking that my son was paying back the kindness I’d just been shown.
Just a kind tone of voice from a stranger on the phone answering my dumb questions, or a merry greeting from a clerk, or someone holding a door for me, or picking up something I dropped–all those little kindnesses perk my day up, make me want to pass on kindness to others. You don’t have to look hard for opportunities to cheer someone.
Have you been a recipient or giver of a kindness lately? A kindness can be so subtle as to be hardly noticeable. Or it can make the difference between a bad day and a good day. Small kindnesses ease the pain of much bigger hurts just as a mother’s calm voice and gentle touch can soothe a child’s broken heart or skinned knee. Try letting some tired person go ahead of you in check-out, or listen to a child’s story of his day, and feel the glow of God-given kindness.
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, KINDNESS, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Galatians 5:22
September 19, 2023
Crusoe
Some mysteries can never be solved. How did he get there? Where did he come from? Where was his mother? Even after all these years I wonder.
We were playing around the pond that day instead of in the meadow or far off in the woods. The water was shallow at the upper end of the pond and there was a world of interesting creatures there to catch, examine, and release–pollywogs, minnows, frogs, and turtles. My two older brothers, younger sister, and I, barefoot and summer-happy, waded in the water feeling smooth silky mud between our toes. We thought at first that the squeaky cry we heard was some kind of bird, then maybe a weird frog. It sounded like a puppy but it couldn’t be a puppy out in the middle of the pond.
The boys rolled up their britches and waded towards the sound coming from a tiny island. The island appeared to be all bulrushes, the whole little entity no bigger than Mamma’s iron wash pot. My sister Suzanne and I watched in eager excitement to see what in the world the boys would find.
When Charlie held up something that fitted in his hands we still weren’t sure what it was until Stan called out, “It’s a tiny puppy, a little whining puppy.”
I think we named him on our way to the house to get him some milk. There was no doubt Mamma and Daddy would let us keep him. Who could turn away a cute little scrap of puppy who’d been left on an island? We’d all been enthralled by the stories of Swiss Family Robinson by Johann Wyss and Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. It really wasn’t hard to agree on a name for a puppy shipwrecked on an island. His name, of course, was Crusoe.
Crusoe grew to be a neat, almost plump, brindle bulldog cross with a sweet, teachable nature. He attached himself to Suzanne but tolerated the rest of us. Suzanne was his mistress and his responsibility. If we ever in play seemed to be tussling with his mistress he was ready with a warning snarl. Suzanne taught him to sit up and beg, roll over and play dead, and other cute tricks. He became a constant tagalong, along with our other two dogs, in all our adventures.
The mystery as to how Crusoe arrived on that island is still not solved today almost seventy years later. We speculated, of course. Did his mother swim him out there and then leave him? Did someone paddle a boat through that murky shallow water to deposit that one little puppy on an island? Did a hawk pick him up from his litter mates and then drop him? He was way too little to swim out there himself. In our wildest fantasies we could not think how this puppy with his eyes barely open became abandoned on a tuft of bulrushes in the middle of our pond.
However he came, the little rescue dog became a vital part of our family for many years. In the annals of our many family pets there were others who just showed up and made themselves at home. But Crusoe was the only one who came to us by way of an island. We were all so glad we’d chosen to play by the pond that day. Crusoe was a much better catch than a few pollywogs.
September 12, 2023
Toby the Unteachable Cat
Toby was just a wee kitten when Charles brought him home from the animal hospital. His coat was tortoise shell design and he had bright big eyes and perky ears. Julie, our daughter, named him Toby. Right away her brother William and his friends renamed the cat Ybot. Seeing that Julie was irritated, the boys teased her even more. They hid Toby in a dark closet, lifted him high as if offering him to the moon, and were always ready to pick fights with the feisty little cat. Maybe all that boyish attention is what made Toby/Ybot so unteachable, so roguish.
I’d never known a cat who couldn’t learn that it wasn’t permissible to stroll around the kitchen counter taking nibbles of whatever they wanted. But that was Toby. No amount of scoldings, exiles to the outdoors, water sprays, even spankings made one dent in his determination to try whatever appeared on the dining table. He regularly climbed the curtains, too, and ambushed me with sharp claws as I walked past a bed.
He was a cute cat, no doubt about that. I can just see him now poking his little face out from under a straw hat one of the children put over him. But I can also see him looking up with mischievous amusement from licking a nice new stick of butter making sure to leave tongue prints on the butter and footprints on the tablecloth. There wasn’t anything Toby wouldn’t try. He licked tomatoes, tore into a loaf of bread, and made himself totally comfortable on top of the refrigerator where he could pounce on an unlucky passerby (mainly me).
The only way to put dinner safely on the table was to set someone in charge of keeping Toby on the floor. I guess Tom and Margaret, guests of ours, didn’t quite understand their instruction. From the kitchen I heard hilarious laughter. When I rounded the corner to see what the joke was, there was Toby in the middle of the table helping himself greedily to a piece of fried chicken.
Unfortunately, Toby didn’t learn his outdoors lessons any better than he learned his table manners. He couldn’t be happy just birding and squirreling in his own yard. No, he was prone to cross the street to investigate the pecan orchard where he could chase lots of squirrels up the trees.
One morning after the kids had gone to school, I found Toby smashed and bloody, dead in the street. I scooped him up and sobbed as I hauled him to the pet cemetery beyond the fig tree. When I broke the news to Julie that afternoon, we both cried over his little grave. The boys were somber and I caught them wiping their eyes on their sleeves.
We loved that cat. No matter how unteachable and mischievous he was, we loved him dearly and still talk about him fondly. Thinking about him, I’m reminded of how thankful I am that God loves me too, in spite of all my faults.
September 5, 2023
View From Lassen Mountain
Climbing a volcanic mountain was not on our itinerary that summer of 1988. But we were intrigued by the sign pointing to Lassen Mountain as we drove south in northern California and decided to follow it. When we’d driven as far as the road would take us and saw that it was only a 2-mile hike to the very top, we couldn’t resist. Quickly changing into hiking clothes in hot little porta toilets, we grabbed water bottles and a bag of banana chips and began the climb.
It was a hot August afternoon. But soon we realized it would only be hot on the sunny side of the mountain. The trail wound back and forth. On the shadowed side of the slopes snow still iced the trail and a cold wind ripped through our scanty summer clothing. We were struck with how barren the mountain was, how different from our Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia and North Carolina. No fir trees, no laurel or rhododendron. Occasionally we saw one little pink flower growing in a rocky crevice. There were a few scrubby, stunted knee-high bushes and a very scarce windblown conifer hardly taller than we were. Other than those there were only rocks and more rugged rocks by the rough pathway.
We stopped to catch our breath and drink some water. A tiny striped pica popped up on a rock at my elbow, the first live creature we’d seen. We offered him banana chips and he eagerly ate them and sat waiting for more.
When we arrived at the top we looked with awe over the edge of the crater far down into hardened lava depths. A sign assured us the mountain had not erupted since 1914 and that it was an oozing type of eruption, not sudden and violent. All the same, after taking pictures, we quickly began our hike back down. We’d met only one other hiking group as we came up and now we were totally alone on the trail. Clouds had formed and the icy side of the trail was colder than ever.
We stopped to sit on a rock and watch the storm brew in the distance. Another pica came along for chips. Far in the distance lightning zigzagged to the earth. It was so far away we couldn’t even hear the thunder. In only a minute fire broke out where the lightning had struck. As we watched, mesmerized, a plane flew over the fire dropping fire deterrent. This happened more than once within our wide vision of mountains and plain, our view unimpeded by foliage. We went into competitive mode to see who could capture a picture of a lightning streak. Charles won and we still have his picture. We watched from our mountain perch as weather patterns formed and dispersed, as firefighters flew over. Lightning never struck near us. We never felt a drop of rain.
When we slid back into the safety of our old Buick we knew we’d never be quite the same again. We had viewed a strange mountain up close and taken in miles of landscape and unbelievable weather activity, tremendous examples of God’s power and man’s attempt to protect the forests.
We have a picture of Charles with one foot propped on the edge of the volcanic crater. We have pictures of the pica and that one little brave flower. And we have that picture of a streak of lightning like a brilliant snake cracking a steel gray sky.
It was an adventure we love to talk about. Recently we’ve become even more aware of God’s omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence as we face medical challenges. I think of Lassen Mountain from which we could see so far and watch tragedy overcome by rescuers. As we give our burdens to the Lord and wonder sometimes why He seems not to answer, I realize He can see the whole picture of our lives, of our world, from ancient days to distant future. I rest in the promise that He sees “the whole view” and knows what is best for us.
August 29, 2023
I Got You
There’s a public service clip on these days that shows a dad responding to a nighttime cry of fear by taking his laptop work project to lie on his son’s lower bunk to be near, to calm his fears. Remember teaching your child to swim holding him in your hands to learn to float? Remember his jumping into your arms from a tree limb or a high wall? He knew without a doubt that you would catch him. Such is perfect trust and security.
Jan Karon, bestselling author of the Mitford series, writes about a forsaken child who is adopted by a young couple. The title of the novel is “To Be Near You.” Fears and past abuse cause much disturbance for the family but, learning as they go, the parents patiently work with this little boy to assure him they will be there for him, whatever happens. The little boy expresses his greatest need when he says, “I just want to be near you.”
Recently I received such a sweet video from my country singer nephew Neil Dover. He and his wife Katie have just had a baby boy they named Michelangelo Clapton (maybe he’ll be an artist as well as a guitarist!). Neil, in his forties now, is thrilled to be a first time dad. In the video I see this adorable baby, lips puckering into a cry, fingers of his dad gently stroking him as he croons, “I got you, I got you.”
Children need security. People of all ages need security. Perhaps those who staunchly claim they need only themselves are most insecure. Even our pets seek security.
Neil’s words to his little son remind me of how much I depend on God. Those who trust in Jesus have not only security for today (“I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.” Hebrews 13:5) but for eternity (“But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children’s children…” Psalm 103:17)
God assures me that, no matter what, “I got you.”
August 22, 2023
Heartache in Hawaii
SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURESTelevision views of Lanai City reduced to ashes bring tears to my eyes. My sympathy swells for those who tell their stories of the wildfire’s devastation. One of the saddest scenes is that of a cadaver dog hunting amongst the ashes and rubble for the bodies of almost 1,000 still missing after a known 111 have been found. The broken blackened beams of what used to be sweet comfortable homes, a charred clothes dryer, the remains of hundreds of cars–all these move me to say a prayer for the people of Lanai.
This little city of over 3,000 is the commercial center of Lanai Island, the smallest of Hawaiian islands in Maui County. Lanai Island has one hospital with 24 beds, one school for kindergarten through 12th grade, and almost no paved roads. The island, or 98% of it, was purchased in 2012 by billionaire Larry Ellison for $300 million. He saved the historic district, developed by pineapple developer James Dole in the 1920’s, from being razed for building new commercial structures. Now it is burned to the ground.
We have not been to Maui, or its companion island Lanai, but have visited O’ahu and Kauai. The incom-parable beauty of the islands is unforgettable. We saw pineapples on the stalk and tasted the unbelievably juicy fruit right from the field. We visited a macadamia nut plantation, climbed Diamond Head, and walked on Waikiki Beach. We took a helicopter ride around Kauai to see spectacular waterfalls, gorges, and remote untouched beaches. Everywhere we went the people were friendly, gentle and kind from the hotels to the roadside stands to the restaurants and even a quick visit to a veterinary clinic. We ate macadamia pancakes, papaya fried pies at McDonald’s, and an array of beautiful tasty food at a real luau. Soothing Hawaiian music is still drifting through my mind as I remember the swaying of hula dancers, lush colorful flowers, and old weathered palm trees.
My memories of Hawaii are totally unrelated to the present devastation in Lanai as seen on the evening news. But I’m sure this little, beloved to many, was very beautiful too. Now it has been destroyed by the worst fire in over 100 years.
This tragedy would not have been so bad if: 1) water had been available (a politician says water must be “revered” instead of used for saving lives); 2) debris had been cleaned from under power lines as requested; 3)warning sirens had been turned on so that many more could have escaped the inferno. The lack of help in their time of need brings added sorrow to the victims, especially those who lost family and friends.
But the strong townspeople of Lanai City are not giving up. I heard one Hawaiian official state that the town will be rebuilt, that it belongs to the people who live there and will be built back in the way they choose. A resident when interviewed by a reporter said that no matter how hard it becomes, they will build back, that his home had been owned by his family for 200 years and they would not leave.
I’m glad that so many able responders are going to help these Hawaiians, that we all have good avenues for giving, though we can’t go. This thought plagues me, though. If I were face to face with these heartbroken folks, what would I say? “God knows your sorrow”? “God will bless you through this horror”? “Good always comes out of bad to those who trust Him”? Or would I do as Job’s friends did when they first arrived after his overwhelming tragedies. Would I simply sit with them, say nothing, just mingle my tears with theirs?
Would I do as Jesus did when arriving after the death of Lazarus? Jesus wept.
August 16, 2023
Song of a Hummingbird
Everyone knows hummingbirds don’t sing. They are totally amazing, the tiniest birds in the world and so colorful. But they don’t sing. Yet, to me, they do make music.
I’m no expert on hummingbirds. In fact, I would lose in any hummingbird trivia competition. We don’t even have many come to our feeders because we have not concentrated on growing the flowers they prefer. But they have been gracious to visit us anyway. I set the grandchildren to watching with cameras in hand to get a picture of one of our ruby throats, but none of us could be quick enough. I had to rely on “borrowing” a picture (above) from Pixel!
After looking up a few facts gleaned by researchers who tag these tiny little fellows and get information other ways as well, I’m even more amazed by them.
I learned that their migration is the longest of any bird considering their size and miles traveled. They migrate from Alaska to Mexico twice a year, a trip of 3,000 miles. The birds from our area fly nonstop across the Gulf of Mexico, about 500 miles. They have a fantastic ability to remember where the best nectar is, even from one year to the next, where the feeders hang, even which flowers they’ve already harvested and how long it would take for those flowers to fill again with juicy nectar. They can, according to a 2020 study, see colors undetected by the human eye, such as a certain purple. They have to eat every 10 to 15 minutes so they’re constantly on the move. Yet they can store fat for those long 18-20 hour flights across the Gulf. They can fly as fast as a car and they migrate in groups known as charms instead of flocks.
The sounds they make are the humming of their wings and a chirpy, squeaky sound of pleasure when they’re drinking nectar. A ruby throated hummingbird’s wings beat 70 times per second in direct flight, more than 200 per second while diving. They’re the only vertebrates capable of sustained hovering. They can fly forward or backward or even upside down, real aerial acrobats! To hear their chirpy little squeak of pleasure as they hover at the feeder you have to listen intently.
If you look up hummingbird songs online you will find songs about hummingbirds, not by them. Why am I writing about a hummingbird’s song?
Because hummingbirds, with all their abilities and beautiful colors make me want to sing. The sight of a ruby throat stirs joy in my heart. Their swiftness and humming wings and darting movements cause Charles and me to leap out of our lethargy and exclaim “Hummingbird!” Even 300 miles apart my sisters and I can share the excitement of seeing hummingbirds at each of our porches as we chat on the phone. Just seeing one little ruby throat instantly cheers me.
The hummingbird’s song is all but silent but it makes us wake up to God’s gifts right at our windows or porches. And what beautiful music it is!
How many are your works, Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Psalm 104:24
August 1, 2023
Curiosity Wins Over
Dingy the cat was not impressed when we set Red the turtle on the porch. He totally ignored the tortoise who was scratching around the perimeter of the porch. Red stretched his neck out and inspected Dingy as he passed him but didn’t linger. Who would want to spend time making friends with someone so stuck up he wouldn’t even acknowledge your presence with a lift of a paw, a meow, or even a flickering glance?
But after a few minutes Dingy showed cautious signs of curiosity. After all, isn’t there an old saying that goes “Curiosity killed a cat and curiosity might kill you”?
The two continued to avoid each other, but to cast casual looks at each other. We laid a little cat food down, a treat for the turtle who mainly fends for himself in the wild. The sight of Red eating or at least nibbling at what was normally his dinner, disturbed Dingy. He edged closer. What or who was this hard shelled critter who dared to come into his territory and even eat some of his own food?
The interaction between the two such different of God’s creatures was quite amusing to watch. The turtle never hid in his shell as you might think he would. The cat respected that reptilian head and didn’t move too close. They skirted around each other. It was over food they finally got close enough to eye each other and come to some sort of alliance. They did not become cozy but developed a semblance of a friendly relationship.
Dingy was glad, I think, when we released Red to roam the yard. I know Red was relieved. But he will come back as he has for years. Sooner or later he will come to our back door, beady eyes taking in the foreign landscape of our patio. Whoever thought that a turtle, too, could be curious?
A favorite book of our children, superbly illustrated, has as its theme: “All God’s critters got a place in the choir; some sing low, some sing higher; some sing higher; some sing out loud on the telephone wire; and some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they got…”
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