COUSINS 8: The Old Cold Shoulder . . . .

SOME SMART SOMEBODY (SHAKESPEARE, I DO BELIEVE) SAID THAT THE "BAD PLACE" HAS NO FURY LIKE THAT OF A WOMAN SCORNED.  IT SEEMS EVERY MAN MUST LEARN THIS TRUTH SOONER OR LATER . . . .

Even a young woman can be angry enough
to treat you like dirt!  (Especially a younger
woman.)

Bill and Jack entered the second week of their visit.  But things were different -- at least for Bill.  He noticed a certain coldness and quietness from Jill.  She would speak to him if spoken too; but she stopped asking what he wanted to do, and she didn't offer to do things together any  longer.  Bill knew why.  Their conversation the previous Sunday afternoon was received by Jill as a rejection of her advances.  He thought she might be acting out of the embarrassment of that moment in her treatment of him now.

If so, she wasn't alone.  Her sister, Danni, was definitely treating him less friendly than she had been; though he sensed that with Danni she was fighting against her main desire to be close friends with him.  On Monday, for instance, he had asked Jill if she wanted to go swimming again after the chores were done.
"No thank you," she'd said.  "I think the water's cold now."
He'd asked Danni if she wanted to throw the frisbee about an hour before supper that evening.  Jill had been in the room at the time, and he noticed Danni looking over toward her sister before she answered.  "I think not right now," Danni said with a toss of her brown curls.  "It's too close to supper time.  And I believe I am to assist Mother with preparations for our meal."
"Oh, is that what you believe?!" he asked with a grin.  "And what, may I ask, are you and Aunt Margaret preparing for this wondrous repaste?"

She couldn't play because she was going
to cook?  Oh, Come on!!

Danni looked at him in some surprise.  She had to remind herself, that her older cousin probably knew many more bigger words than her.  She was sorely tempted to be nice, but she remembered the request of her older sister.  "I don't recall, Cousin Bill, what Mom is planning on for this evening's repast.  But I shall learn in due time . . . ."  She quickly left the room so that he couldn't ask any more questions.  But he did poke his head into the kitchen a little later to see if his younger cousin was helping her mother cook.  She wasn't.

On Tuesday, Bill noticed that he and Jack were working by themselves without the girls.  Uncle Glenn had given them the task of sorting and stacking the odd bits of lumber and firewood in the back of the garage.  "Wonder where the girls are?" Jack asked, anticipating the question Bill wanted to ask.  "Yeah, I guess they're working on something else."
He found out later that his aunt had gone shopping that morning, and the daughters had both begged to go along this time.  It looked real suspicious, since they usually never left him to go shopping anywhere.
On Wednesday, he was walking downstairs, and Jill walked right past him in the opposite direction.  "Hey!" he called out.  "Hey, Jill, got a minute?"
She paused at the top of the stairs and looked down at him blankly but said nothing.
"J-Jill, can we talk?"

Even though Bill "wasn't that into her", he
still wanted to be good friends.

"What about?" she asked coldly.  He turned and walked up the stairs slowly to join her.  "I -- I just thought something might be wrong between us."
"Nothing's wrong!" she said with heat.
"Well, I mean I just sense a distance between us in the last few days."
"All in your mind," she said as she turned away without looking at him again.
He followed her.  "Well, I mean like that.  Just now.  You were friendly when I came.  We were friends.  Now, you're treating me like a stranger.  Or maybe like someone you don't want to know."
"Maybe I don't!"  answered Jill. 

She was stalking away to her room trying to hold back the tears.  She didn't like herself for the way she was treating him, but couldn't help herself.
"Oh, you can't mean that.  Jill, we are cousins, and friends!  Let's get back to the way it used to be."
She stopped at the door of her room, but would not face him.  "Oh, I think that is just pretty impossible now."  Then, under her breath Jill added, "You don't want what I had to offer."
"Well, just because I don't believe I should be your boy friend, doesn't mean we can't hang out and have fun -- like we used to," he repeated.
"Maybe I just need some space," she said -- and quickly slammed the door behind her.

All of this was not lost on the Simpsons.  Gene and Margaret both had made separate observations of the interactions between their daughters and their oldest nephew.  Finally Margaret felt compelled to speak out.  She went into her kitchen and prepared a steam kettle

A cup of tea suddenly sounded
really good to Jill . . .

for some hot tea; then got her daughters attention:  "Jill, a word with you please." 
"Are you making tea?  In the summer?"
"Tea's good any time.  You know that.  And anyway, you can throw some ice in yours once it's brewed if you like."

Jill knew what was coming.  Tea or no tea, she was going to have to listen to her mother -- even if she chose not to answer back.
"Jill, Darling, I've noticed the way you've suddenly begun to treat your cousin."
"Which one?" asked Jill forcing herself to stare out the kitchen window and trying hard to sound as if she didn't know what her mom meant.
"You know perfectly well which one.  Look at me, Jill."  Jill complied reluctantly.  The water was hot and Margaret made the tea for them both.  She set it down in front of her daughter; she couldn't help herself as her heart filled with love.  Jill reminded her so much of herself at that same age.  Jill looked at her cup of tea, then over at the sugar bowl.  She reached for the latter and dipped out a heaping spoonful of sugar, stirring it slowly into her hot cup.

"I'll be blunt, Dear.  Since Sunday afternoon, you've been I treating Bill almost as if he has the plague.  You're not spending hardly any time with him, and the times I've heard you talk you don't even sound friendly to him."
Jill shrugged and sipped her sweet tea.  She was glad she was drinking it hot; it sent a rush through her whole system -- sort of a cleansing radiance.  She heard herself answering, "I'm mad at Bill."
"Okay," nodded Margaret.  "Now, we're getting somewhere.  I think I know why, but I can't read your mind, and I want to hear you tell me."
"He hurt my feelings, Mom."  Margaret nodded.  She was so grateful that even in these first throes of adolescence her daughter would still talk to her quite honestly.  "And how exactly did Bill hurt your feelings?"

Jill just needed a good cry . . . .  And she got
herself one!

Jill nearly burst out in sobs, "Ooohhh, Mom!"
"Was it because of what happened at church?" she asked.  Jill shook her head.
"After," she sniffed, with her face down on her arms.
"And what happened after?" she probed gently, taking another sip of the good, black tea.

"Oh, Mom," she repeated.  "I told him something I probably never should have.  And I -- I embarrassed myself."
Margaret put her arm around her daughter and hugged her.
"You know, Jill, when I was about your age, there was a special boy -- older than me.  Like Bill."
"Oh, Mom!" she said again, "my life isn't like yours!"  But she couldn't bring herself to roll her eyes.  She actually wanted to hear this story.  Margaret knew that and continued.
"I did special things for this guy.  I talked to him in a special way.  I dropped plenty of hints to let him know how I felt."  Margaret laughed as she remembered.  "I even found an old pair of his gymn socks and washed them for him!"
Jill's mouthed gaped open, and both were laughing at this memory.  "Oooohhhh, Mooooomm!!"  After a good, long laugh, Margaret's face grew more serious.  "But none of it worked," she continued.  "He didn't feel the same way toward me.  In fact --," she paused.  Jill looked up expectantly.
"This special young man already had a girl closer to his age that he liked a lot."
"I bet he wasn't your cousin," shot Jill.
"No.  No, he wasn't related to me, that's true.  But what I'm saying is I know how you feel -- at least a little bit."
Jill said nothing, but nodded and sniffed again.  That was the funny thing about crying.  You couldn't just stop whenever you wanted.  You had to let it run its course.

She'd put a damned old frog
in the guy's locker at school.  Sheesh!

"And sooo, my dear -- you know what I did?"
"What?"
"I suddenly started treating him like an enemy.  We had been at least friends -- though not close.  And suddenly I stopped speaking to him; or if I did speak, I was abrupt and even rude."
"What did he do?"
"Well, Jill, I think he was baffled at first.  But then he just went on with his life; because after all I just wasn't really that important to him."

Jill was quiet, gripping her tea like she needed the warmth badly.  "So you were sad a long, long time after that.  And I bet you felt like a fool."
"I was sad.  And I was embarrassed."  Margaret paused, wondering to herself if she should tell the rest of this story.  A queer look grew on her face.  "But I wasn't finished either!" Margaret added.  And she couldn't hide her sly smile.  Jill looked at her curiously.
"You weren't finished telling me?  I'm sorry, Mom, if I butted in . . . ."
Margaret laughed out loud and touched her daughter's hand.  "No, Dear, you didn't butt in.  I meant I wasn't finished with him!"
"Wha -- what do you mean?  What did you do?"

Margaret could barely stifle a giggle.  "I got my brother to catch a big frog.  And we put it in his locker at school -- when he wasn't looking of course!"
Jill laughed in spite of herself, just imagining the shock of that young man when he opened the door and encountered the frog.  After a minute both had calmed down somewhat.
"Soooo -- you're suggesting I should do something surprising to Bill to get even with his not feeling the same?"
Margaret laughed again.  "Of course not!  Though I can see how you might draw that conclusion."

Margaret assured her daughter, "If
you'll just be yourself plenty
of guys will notice and like you!

They sat quietly together for awhile longer.  Margaret wanted her daughter to be the first one to speak after this, and she did.  "So.  So, what should I do?"
"You should just continue to be yourself, Dear.  I mean your real self.  The Jill who is sweet,
helpful, friendly, lovable, smart, and funny.  That self."
Jill pushed her cup away and looked out the window again.  "I thought I was myself -- just angry at Bill and probably showing it."
"You were definitely showing it on purpose.  You might be embarrassed now, but you'll get over it.  Remember all of the things about Bill you like.  And tell yourself it's okay to be close friends, and --"
"And nothing more," finished Jill with a great, big sigh.  "It still feels awkward . . . ."
"That will pass," encouraged her mom.  "Now, there's plenty of daylight left.  You haven't played tennis in awhile.  Go get your racket and invite Bill and Jack to play you two in doubles."
Jill thought to herself, "that would be fun . . . ."
"Hey, Billie Boy!" she called out in that funny, hick voice he always liked.

LBC

TREASURE -- FOUND AND LOST!

Shortly after we moved to West Texas my dad fulfilled a dream: he took us all down to Big Bend National Park to camp out in the Chisos Basin. He'd heard about it from others who had lived in West Texas all their lives.  But now, he finally had a chance to see it with his family.

If you haven’t been to the Chisos Basin, you should know that it is one of the prettiest views in all of North America, with those high desert mountains surrounding a central valley. The tent camping section of the basin is actually lower in altitude than the main ranger station and visitor facilities. So we drove down to the campground, found a good site, and started setting up the big family tent we had borrowed.

When we got done, I started exploring around the edge of the camp site. I was looking under bushes for snakes, and found something else which fairly took my breath away! There under that bush, right on the edge of our camp site was a fossilized ammonite as large as a dinner plate! It was shaped like one of those ancient chambered Nautiluses, with large spaces between each ridge or chamber. You can see a picture of one at any number of web sites (such as this one: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sellingonebid/3492167695/ )

No kidding, this thing was huge!   Of course since it was big and thick, and a fossil, that

The Chisos Basin was a beautiful place
in every season . . . .

meant it was made of limestone, so it was thick and heavy. I cleaned off the dirt and brought it into camp to show my brothers and parents. They also were amazed at the size and detail that belonged to this limestone memento of prehistoric life. Soon after finding it though, a transformation began to work in my life:  I became so possessive of this beautiful fossil, that I could not bear to part with it.  And by the end of the weekend I resolved to take it home with me.

Now, back then there really was no well-publicized rule that one could not remove objects from national parks (so lots of people did)! Yet, when I ran this idea past my father, he frowned on it, though he could not offer any strong arguments against it. But when I saw how full the back end of the station wagon was, I knew I was going to have to leave this treasure behind. What to do? I couldn’t put it back in the same place. That was too obvious and easy to see.   I mean if I found it simply by accident, then others might too. So I carried it down the slope to the next line of (mostly) empty camp sites. I found a place far under an even “bushier” bush, and gently laid down this stone antiquity. I said to myself, “we will come back here again some day. And when we do, I will be better prepared to carry this back home. Then it will be mine forever to show my friends!” That is what I thought, as I marked off the spot in my mind. I got to return came about a year later. I went back to the spot where I thought I had left this large fossil – but gasp!

Once I had it, I found it was very
hard to give it up.

 It wasn't there!  Or perhaps, just perhaps, I had simply forgotten which bush I had placed it under. I looked around in a quandary. The landscape appeared to have changed even in a year’s time. I went from one tent site to the next, and it was either buried, overgrown with grass, or – someone else had found it and taken it!

From that day to this, I have wondered where that beautiful fossil went (or if I had simply missed it in the search). The treasures we come across in this life are also like that. We find some object, some person, some job, some activity which strikes us as the most important, precious or beautiful thing. We cling to it as if we cannot live without it.  But then, sometimes

The beauty of the Chisos Basin
is something I will always have in my
memory.

suddenly, it is gone. Just like that! Life moves on, circumstances change, or maybe we forget where we placed such things.

This event of loss itself tells us of the transient nature of life itself. There is so much here we find appealing or want, but it is not, nor was it ever intended to be permanent, or to belong solely to us. So I thank the Lord Jesus for His stern but righteous reminder to us all from Matthew 6:19-21: 19 “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; 20 but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” The man who said that is Himself the treasure worth finding.  Fortunately for us, He is also very easy to keep!

LBC

THE NASTY PREACHER Chapter XV: The Open Door

SOMETIMES WHEN GOD CLOSES A DOOR, HE OPENS A WINDOW!

She heard the doorbell ring.
It was the district superintendent.

Betty answered the door swiftly wondering who it might be.  Bob of course had his own key, and always let himself in; but he usually showed up just after five p.m.  To her surprise it was their district superintendent, Richard "Dick" Blarney himself.

"I was in the area, and I called your husband to see if he might be available after work.  He told me he'd meet me here.  I hope that's okay?"
Betty's natural hospitality kicked into gear (even as her baby kicked inside her stomach!).  "Of course, please come in!  Would you like some coffee?  I have it ready to brew for when Bob usually gets home."
"That'd be great, please.  Thanks for offering!" 

She showed the superintendent into the den just as the phone was ringing.  "Hello?" said Betty.  "Hi, Honey," said Bob.  "I'm on my way home just now.  And I hope you don't mind.  Our Superintendent Pastor Blarney wanted to see me, and my shift was ending early today, so I just invited him here."  She took the phone into the kitchen to start the coffee as she answered.  "I don't mind at all.  I wonder what's up?"
"We'll soon find out.  Be there in a minute.  'Bye."

She got the cups and saucers down, along with the other coffee things.  She remembered the superintendent liked artificial sweetener, so she put several packets on a tray.  Then went out to visit while the coffee ran through.
"That was Bob -- he's on the way."
"Great.  And I guess the big day is coming along pretty soon for a new addition.  How have you been, Betty?" he asked.
"Oh, I've felt well the last few months.  Really incredibly well.  I exercise regularly, and I think that has really helped."

The coffee was almost ready.

"I'm glad to hear it.  I understand this was sort of an unexpected surprise."  And when he saw her wondering who had given word about this, he added, "Bob told me in an earlier conversation.  And you've got people in your prayer circle that gave us a call at the district office whenever they knew a baby was on the way."

She blushed and smiled just as the front door knob turned.  In a second Bob was in, and at her side planting a quick 'hello' kiss on her lips.  "How are you?  I'm sorry I didn't give you any more notice than I did."
"It's okay -- I don't mind at all.  Dick is welcome any time," she beamed sincerely.
"I do appreciate your flexibility, guys.  I just wanted to bring you both up to speed on a new development.  Considering the job you've done, and your evident enjoyment of the work at St. Mark's, I thought you'd want to hear of this directly from me."
"Sounds good to me," nodded Bob, shaking Dick's offered hand.
Betty heard a gurgling sound from the kitchen.  "Coffee's ready.  I'll be right back."

Both sat down again to wait for the coffee.  "First things first!  Tell me about your other job:  

how's it going?  I already know the church assignment's been going well."
"Work's good.  I stay busy.  I'm down to 25 hours a week now at Samson's Hardware and
Lumber because of my duty's at St. Mark's.  But my boss is a good guy about it.  As long as I'm

Bob had a good part time job
at Samson's Lumber and Hardware.

willing to work some odd-ball hours during the week, it all comes out okay."
Dick nodded, and they both thanked Betty for the coffee -- and some oatmeal cookies she had put on the side.  She started to leave, but he stopped her.  "Betty, what I want to say, I intended for you to hear too.  If you're not too busy, please have a seat."

She sat by Bob while the superintendent continued.
"I wasn't just asking about your other job to make small talk, Bob.  I wanted to know if you're work there is still satisfactory -- from their point of view as well.  And I wanted to know if it has been all right with your employers at Samson's Lumber to work on the side as a pastor.  Sometimes your main employer can feel cheated when you shift to fewer hours.  They worry about your efforts falling off due to concern with the other work opportunity."
Bob shook his head.  "I did struggle the first couple of weeks.  But I was able to work out a good deal with both the church and Samson.  The guys at Samson know I'm doing my best, and I'm not slacking off."

"Well, that's good!  Because, as I said before, you've done a fine job at St. Mark's.  You've given them some hope.  You've definitely fed the flock with your sermons and teaching.  And you did what I asked you to do back at the beginning:  you kept them strong and got them ready for somebody permanent.  You know Gene and his wife will be coming along in about six weeks."
"Yes, sir.  And I'm working with the trustees to make sure the parsonage is ready."

Browning Lane was a Congregation
a few miles out in the country.

Dick nodded.  "And that's another thing.  You've been a real big help in working with the church to make the improvements they needed to make.  We all really appreciate that, Bob," he said sincerely.
"You're welcome, Dick.  I was glad to be of help."
"Well.  Now to the main reason for my coming.  You've done such a good job at St. Mark's part time, that it occurred to me that maybe you'd like to keep your hand in a little longer."


Bob and Betty looked at each other in surprise.  "What exactly do you mean?  We both know Gene Guidry's coming to St. Mark's . . . ." 

Dick waved his hand.  "I'm not talking about St. Mark's.  We've got a situation out at Browning Lane.  It's about 20 miles from here, just out in the country.  It's a church with real potential in an area that's starting to draw a lot of people."
"Wait a minute," started Bob.  "Browning Lane.  I've heard of it.  Isn't that the place where old
William Barrett died a few months ago?"
Dick nodded somberly.  "I've been staffing it with lay speakers, and I've been going there myself for the last several months for communion.  I need someone to take it permanently -- well, at least for the next two years or so."
Bob nodded.  "Poor Will.  He was already retired when he was serving there, wasn't he."
"Oh, yes.  Will retired nearly five years ago, but asked to come out of retirement part time.  He and Louisa actually moved into the parsonage of the Browning Lane church; but you wouldn't have to do that -- especially with the baby coming due."
"You're asking me to take Browning Lane?"

Dick nodded and smiled.  "I am.  It's part time.  You could keep your present job, I'm sure.  I know the folks at Browning Lane Church would all understand.  It's a half-time appointment. 

The district superintendent had
a real good idea.

The commute's not bad.  And the parsonage there is clean and empty, if you wanted to spend
weekends there, and travel over on Wednesdays.  I'm sure we could work something out with the leadership there to accommodate your work schedule.  And I know they'd love to have someone of your skills on a regular basis.  What do you say?"

Bob looked at Betty and laughed.  "You know, St. Mark's has been God's way of showing me my calling all over again.  The Lord has certainly shown me what I've missed.  Normally you give us at least an hour to think about it and talk it over."
Dick got up and smiled -- but not without helping himself to one more cookie.  "I'll give you a day, if you need it.  Call me tomorrow with your answer."
"Wait!" said Betty standing up too.  "If it's me you think you need to hesitate about, think again.  I missed being a pastor's wife all that time.  And I like being one again.  I like an adventure.  And I'm saying yes!"
Bob stood and smiled as he hugged his wife.  "And I'm saying yes too!"
Dick smiled and offered his hand in a good-bye.  "That's fine -- from both of you.  But you know the system.  You still go ahead and think about it.  Talk and pray about it.  And call me tomorrow, if you've changed your minds."
"I don't believe we will," nodded Bob.  "But I'll call you at break time tomorrow for sure."

Dick picked up the hat he had left on the stand just inside the door.  "Do one more thing too, if you don't mind.  If you're sure of this, then write me a letter of acceptance to Browning Lane, Bob.  It's a formality, but we'll need it for the records."
"The old paper trail," Bob nodded.  "Will do.  Good-bye, Dick!"

When the district superintendent had left, Bob looked into Betty's eyes.  "Well?"

She was ready for him to
write that letter of acceptance
right then.

She kissed him and smiled.  "Well what?  I'll get the stationery so you can start writing that letter of acceptance."
"But what about our new baby?  Will it be okay for me to travel away from you for a couple of days a week to tend to matters at Browning Lane?"
"If I need help when you're gone, we have all these church friends -- and now from two churches!"
"That is true," he allowed.
"And besides," she added, still in his arms.  "If they want to be served for the long term by a really talented younger pastor, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to make such allowances with their new preacher becoming a father all over again."
"Yes," he said, watching Dick drive away.  "I'm sure they will."

THE END

LBC

DAYS OF IRON. Chapter 2: Surprise Meeting

HE KNEW FREE HUMANS WERE RARE.  HE'D WANTED TO SEE ONE AGAIN, FACE TO FACE . . . OR DID HE?

There was only the dim light of
moon at the entrance to the tunnel behind
him.

Tom was still breathing hard, and crouching low in the dark of the tunnel.  He wanted to speak, but he didn't trust himself -- or the voice he heard.  What if it was a trap?  He had, over the years, become very good at smelling out traps for humans, and this looked suspiciously like one.  He was trying hard to see in the gloom of the vast round hole into which he had run; the only thing he was aware of was the fact that now he was shaking as if from cold when in fact the night had been warm. 

"I'm here," a figure said, and rose as the words were spoken.  It was a tall, slender, athletic figure that arose from the gloom ahead and to his left.  "Here," it repeated, raising a hand.  His eyes had adjusted, and he nodded silently, still refusing to speak.  "Follow me further in.  We'll be safe further down.  Come!"  And as before, with that brief order she turned and ran off down the tunnel. 

Tom didn't trust his footing to run; he suspected the place would be as usual strewn with the refuse of his kind:  wanderers who left their trash where each had been as soon as their materials became trash:  bits and pieces of plant stalks and other refuse.  "Come!" he heard the voice repeat, this time further off.  He stopped and cast one last look over his shoulder.  Suspending his breathing he listened to see if anything might be following from where he had

His surprise companion
had had time to run ahead and light a
candle.  Very suspicious!

been.  He heard or saw nothing, and so he turned back toward the voice.  Tom felt fairly compelled by it, so hungry had he been for human company.  And the company of a woman, no less!  Who could have expected that? 

That's just it.  Tom couldn't expect it; yet he was irresistibly drawn by her voice and the hint of her figure.  He felt almost like a man, already caught in a trap, and being drawn away by ropes tied firmly about his hands and legs.  He walked swiftly in a ducked position down into the tunnel.  Well, he thought, if he was to die tonight by some half-expected betrayal, he had lived as good a life as he could have for the last ten years of his freedom.  And he had beaten them so many, many times.  He grinned at the thought -- the trail of damaged or ruined equipment he had left in his path.  For all they were was equipment:  equipment that he found operational, and left inoperable and usually beyond repair. 

Nevertheless his instincts led his right hand to close on a large rock in his bag, should he need a quick weapon.  He also had some sharp hunks of metal there.  He had obtained these knife-like items from the "corpses" of the units he had disabled; and then with some skill and effort, had fashioned them into lethal, surgical implements.  Useful for "repair work" at close quarters.  The elastic sling was handy as well right where he had left it.

He couldn't even remember
the last time he had seen a chunk
of bread. 

Tom had been here before, though not often.  He tried not to use the same approach or escape route when he came to this field.  But he knew at a certain point the tunnel would bend to the right, and he followed it in that direction, then back to the left when it swerved again.  Finally there was light ahead from what appeared to be a small candle standing low to the ground.  Tom saw the light but nothing living around it.  He drew near, but remained in the dark.  "Show yourself!" he called, thinking it was high time he gave an order that would be obeyed.  Almost instantly, as if in anticipation of his summons, a lovely, lithe young woman stepped from out of nowhere toward the candle.  He could see her body though not her face that clearly, since the candle sat on some kind of cylinder, low to the ground.  "And you," she said, barely breathing hard.  Tom got up from his crouching position and walked slowly to the light.

He could make out some features of her face now.  He had to squint to look and he could hardly believe his eyes.  Her facial features were smooth and lovely.  He was struck by how attractive she was.  Her long, brown hair was bound up in a pony tail at the back of her head; she even had nice, full lips, and deep, dark eyes.  "Who -- Who are you?" were the first words out of his mouth, inspired by an overpowering and baffled curiosity.  She stared at him with a curious smile.  "I will not tell you my name.  Neither will you tell me yours.  But you may call me Kira."

He nodded and drew a step closer, still holding his rock.  "Call me --," he began.  "What?" he asked himself.  He had not thought of a useful nick name in a long while.  "Thomas," he said,

She had a smooth,
clean face.  It made
him look twice.

thinking of nothing else, and believing it probably would not do any good anyway to practice deception.  She stood in the candlelight still, but extended a hand, never once blinking or lowering her extremely wary eyes.  "Greetings," she offered.  Tom was about to take her hand, but thought better of it, raised it instead, and waved.  "Hi, Kira.  You're -- you're not like the others."

That was just it, wasn't it?  He had seen only a few women in the last ten years, and the ones he had seen were not this cleancut or well-dressed.  Their hair was usually long, scraggly, and pulled off to the side in a sloppy pony-tail, or even chopped off uneven and short.  Kira's hair looked combed, neat, and clean.  The other women had dry, scabbed, rough faces.  Their clothing was rough, thread-bare, or torn and patched.  Her clothing looked barely used; even a casual glance in this gloom showed there were no rips or patches in it.  But how would she react to his less than friendly reply?

Kira dropped her hand, but the smile on her face barely flickered.  "You're right to be careful.  Sit with me -- if you like.  And if you trust me," she added.  Tom stood still, watching her as if he'd heard nothing, still shocked by how unusual this all seemed.  So Kira sat down first near the candle, as if to show she was harmless.  He still stood over her.  "The units know of this tunnel, of course," he said.  "They've come down it before.  They might again.  Any time."  He stepped back, and looked behind him in the dark; but his eyes could not adjust to the darkness.  It must be close to midnight now, though really not much time had passed since his initial approach to the field outside.

"I don't believe they will tonight," answered Kira.  "And how would you know that?" he asked, suspiciously.  She looked away briefly in the opposite direction, still smiling.  "Oh, it's just a feeling.  I saw you give them a diversion.  That should tie them up for awhile."  Before she

Tom knew it was getting
late.  He was tired, but he
dare not sleep.

finished speaking, she was already opening a pouch he hadn't seen before.  "Here.  I know you got some food, but this is better, and it's ready now."  She pulled out a thick slice of brown bread and offered it up to him from her seated position."

This did nothing to allay his suspicions; yet he reached out a cautious hand and took the bread quickly.  "Thanks," he nodded.  "And where, Miss," he asked himself, "did you ever get bread?" 
Because for him in just that moment, his thoughts were again divided:  he was ravenously hungry for the bread (he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had it in any form); but he also knew "things" were not what they seemed.  Tom watched her out of the corner of his eye as he ate quickly.  She was kneeling now before him, but at a respectful distance.  Kira was studying him as if to remember every feature, every item about him; as if she were photographing him with her eyes over and over.

"So that's it," he said to himself.  "I wonder if she's on the network now, or just storing the information for later.  And why the frock am I calling it 'she'?"  And he began to know just then what he had to do -- if physically he was able, that is.  "How did you come to be here?" 
"I was searching for food -- just like you.  But you got to that particular field first I thought the least I could do was to help you out.  To help you escape."

"That ties it," he said to himself as he nodded to 'her'.  "It's not even the way we mostly think.  We always help ourselves, and never each other," he thought.  "I wish it weren't that way, but it is.  It's what we've all become."
"And where do you come from?" he asked aloud, staring into her eyes intently for the first time.  She hesitated, as if consulting within something or someone beyond herself.  Another sign of

From what he'd seen and heard there
was definitely more of machine here
than human.

machine activity.  "I cannot tell you that.  You should know . . . ."
He made no response other than to say, "thanks for the bread."

He finished munching with his eyes on her, and hers on him.  "So -- what next?" 
"Next?" he repeated.  "Same as usual.  You go that way, and I go this way.  We disappear into the night; or into the shadows."
She nodded, but what she said showed she did not agree:  "Well, I was thinking maybe we could stay together.  You know:  work as a team."
He tried not to choke on the last of the bread or react as if this was utterly bizarre.  Never had he even heard of such a suggestion from another human.  Only back at the very beginning had a few of them tried to work together in groups.  It had only made it easier for them to be found.  And captured.  "Work as a team," he repeated in shock.
"Yes, so maybe we could stay together -- you know -- to get food.  To protect each other.  For companionship."
She seemed to be trying to argue him into it.  But what other choice did he have -- at least for now?  If he declined, she would just follow -- and likely give him away.  If he ran, she would chase him; that also would call attention to them both.  But no:  he wouldn't have to wait for that.  She would catch him and turn him in.

He had never once heard of any humanoids that had gone renegade; that were truly on the side of the humans; that were running away from the Authority, like him.  That was the problem.  He had to think of a solution . . . .

LBC

FOUNDATIONS FOR ECONOMICS, Part 2: SHELTER

IT WAS ONE THING TO EAT, ANOTHER TO REST.  BUT ONE COULD NOT SIMPLY REST JUST ANYWHERE!  THESE WOODS WERE TOO DANGEROUS FOR THAT . . . .

The spring he had found came from near the
base of a high cliff.

At first, Gron simply thought to lay down along the crevice where the rock wall met the sloping forest floor, not far from the spring.  He dozed uneasily for a few minutes.  But the sun was dropping toward the far horizon above the trees.  He knew other creatures came out at night -- many of them for water at this spring.  Yes, surely they would come here!  Some of them were large and dangerous, or at least unfriendly to man; this much he recalled.


He arose and took up his weapons, and his sack.  He must find another, better place.  Gron walked along the edge of the high red cliff to another place where the ground suddenly dipped down again.  He followed the contour of the land downward with his left hand against the rock cliff.  At the bottom of the next depression, Gron found the ground was moist, but there was no standing water.  The towering cliff actually hung well over this area, and a natural cave was formed underneath it.  In the dim light he quickly explored what there was to the cave and found himself grinning.  The back of the cave was many hands wide and nearly as tall as he.  There was just enough light remaining for him to see that it pushed far back into the cliff, ending in a small niche into which he could easily squeeze.  He explored the rest of this, but had to stoop low to reach the back end of the cave, finally getting down on his hands and knees before he came to a dead end.  Yes, this would work -- at least for this night.  Gron had found his first true shelter! 

Taking his stone knife he began
to hack off small branches . . . .

Making his way back out he found some low trees, and quickly sliced off the lower, thin limbs that he could use for back support and a more comfortable bed frame.  He also pushed together pine needles and leaves, and carried those in hands-full back to the cave itself.  Six trips did the job, hauling the needles and the branches.  He was tired and thirsty again.  He walked back to the spring to refresh himself, then walked further away and downhill to relieve himself.  While his urine ran down the slope he thought about his food pouch.  There were a few berries left he had saved.  They would be his late supper.  While he was finishing Gron heard the roar of a large animal, and the hair stood up on the back of his thick neck.  It sounded like that of a saber tooth tiger!  Not only could they move quickly, they were nearly three times the size of a man, and weighed as much as a large boulder.  Would his small cave be a safe place to spend the night, or merely a dead-end where the beast could easily trap him and finish him off?

Where he was peeing he found a number of large, flat stones.  There were more of these back at his cave, so he ran back there to its entrance.  Noticing the moist soil again at the front of the cave, he dug down, to see if it would fill with water.  When he saw that it did, he smiled again, then turned to the most important task before he could sleep.  With fear lending him an energy he had not experienced in awhile, Gron began hauling large, flat rocks, one at a time.  He carried them back to that place, far within the natural cave and placed them along the front of his small sleeping quarter.  It took many trips and it was nearly dark, when he had finished.  His eyes, however, had adjusted well to the oncoming night, and his weariness and sense of accomplishment pushed his fear to the background now. 

Gron went and got one last drink at the muddy hole he had dug, then covered it also with smaller, round stones.  He didn't want to attract other creatures to this second water spot, quite close to where he was sleeping.  Finally he checked to make sure he had everything he needed, and crawled through the small hole he had left.  Before he sealed himself in completely, he went to work on his bed, arranging the branches, then quickly covering them with pine needles and the leaves he had gathered.  Testing the bed he found it adequate and even comfortable, though as tired as he was, he doubted he would have any trouble sleeping. 

Gron found a small cave at the base of the
cliff.  He would make this
his first base camp for the night.

Finally he filled in the hole behind and above him with more of the large, flat stones.  He had sealed himself inside, yet not so completely that through some of the upper cracks he could not see the stars. 

It was a clear night, and these shone bright, as in the dark, he felt for his pouch.  From it he ate the last of his berries, chewing them each slowly, enjoying their full taste.  He was still breathing hard when he lay down in a reclining position.  As his breathing became normal, his exhaustion from the day's endeavors, and the long way he had come, began to catch up with him.  Gron's eyelids were heavy and closing as he relaxed into his man-made nest.  But before he slid off to sleep he heard the mighty howl of the beast he had heard earlier.  Surely, it was the same creature, though just as surely, further away.  He made sure his weapon was in his hand, as he settled down to rest.  He had learned to sleep lightly, but his make-shift couch was so comfortable that, after so much work, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.



LBC

FOUNDATIONS FOR ECONOMICS: Part 1: Food

MAN DOES NOT LIVE BY BREAD ALONE, BUT BY EVERY WORD THAT COMES FROM THE MOUTH OF GOD . . . 

Bread is a gift from God
for this life.  But He knew
we all needed more than this.

These great and famous words were first written by Moses in a sermon directed to the Israelite people as they were entering the land of Canaan.  That land was promised to their ancestors, but Moses' generation got to realize the fulfillment of this great promise.  He paraphrases God, in Deuteronomy 8:3 with this assertion.  Much later Jesus Christ quotes from Deuteronomy 8 in Matthew 4:4.  This is in the midst of the Lord's verbal battle against the Tempter.  Indeed man does not live by bread alone; but he must have bread -- which is to say food -- in order to survive at all as a living being in this world.  This alone will not satisfy his deepest needs as a creature before Almighty God, but it will satisfy him in the short term on a day to day basis.


This raises the question about primitive man, living in the greater middle east and north Africa, millenia before Abraham came to Canaan.  How did those people acquire food?  Primitive man knew somehow from deep within himself that he would grow weak swiftly and die without nourishment taken into his person from the outside.  For in fact most humans can live no more
than about two weeks -- not a long time at all.  Yet early man knew something else was even more crucial than that:  water.

So picture him then, some 100,000 years ago, walking about in the forests of what was then Northern Africa.  Picture one representative of the small tribes of primitive humans scattered across that region where Homo Sapiens in all of its genera, first arose.  He goes out on his

Rocks were a primitive but effective
weapon at short range.

own one cool autumn morning armed with very little.  He has an animal skin vest, a loin cloth, a pouch at his side, and a short spear -- a primitive weapon, which he has learned to use with considerable skill.   He launches out on his own this day because he must:  he has lived 17
complete turnings of the sun, and is a man now.  It is his tribe's custom for young single men to test themselves against the elements.  They must prove they can take care of themselves for at least the number of sunsets that may be numbered with all the fingers on both hands.  (To return home sooner than that would be considered a shameful thing.)  Only then can they be trusted to care for a family and take their rightful place among the hunters of the tribe.  We shall call him Gron.

Gron has the advantage, of course, of having grown up with others who have learned
something of how to cope on their own, how to find what one needs to survive.  But there is a sense in which every man must learn this lesson for himself, while on his own.  He cannot learn it by enjoying the fruits of others labors, nor by hearing his elders discuss their searches

He had hunted with others.  Now he
must hunt by himself.

and discoveries.  Nor can he learn all that he must by accompanying others with experience and observing what they do to kill and capture food or to gather that which grows in the wild.  He has not truly learned these lessons unless he can do them by himself and on his own.  His tribe and its chiefs have known this since their very existence.  And now Gron must prove that he has learned such things -- by surviving on his own. 

So he goes forth.  Gron is fully fed when he begins, and clothed with an animal skin his mother provided him.  Gron knows what he must do first:  he is to walk without stopping until the sun is over his head.  Only then may he begin his search for that first thing necessary for his survival:  water.  He knows he can go days without food before he becomes too weak to hunt, but only a couple of days at the most without water.  Gron looks up to see the sun far overhead.  Now begins the search for water.  If he finds food along the way, then that is good.  But he must secure a water supply for himself.

The birds led him to the berries.
This would do for awhile . . . .

Gron was traveling with others once, not many moons before, when it became necessary for the group to find water.  He imitated what he remembered his father doing then:  he found the places where the land sloped downhill, to that place where the bottom of one hill joined another.  There they followed that small crease of land downward until they came to some pools of water left over from a recent rain.  He would locate the same thing now on this journey of his. 

As he walked downhill, Gron saw the birds scurrying about a particularly colorful bush -- one with bright red berries on it.  The birds were eating the colorful berries.  He made note of the type of bush that it was, and drew near to fill his own hands full of the fresh fruit.  Gron ate one handful relishing their moisture content and tart flavor.  Then, thinking ahead, he carefully placed the other heaping handful in his side pouch.  Though not entirely adequate, this was both food and drink, and he would at least survive in a weakened condition for several days if he could find a couple of hands-full of these each day. 

He continued walking downhill, and noticed the forest about him became thicker and bushier.  It was in the deeper, lower parts of the forest that water would sometimes appear.  He didn't find

Gron knew that even dry stream beds
could sometimes contain a little water.

it, but he found a place where he could see that water had flowed not too long before.  The ground had small, parallel waves in the dirt -- telltale signs of the flow of water some days earlier.  He broke off a dead branch from a nearby bush, sharpened it on a rock, and began digging.  Before long, the hole he had dug began to drip full of dark, muddy water.  He touched a finger to it, then to his lips and smiled.  It did not taste good, but it would do until he found something more. 

Exploring the ground again, Gron could tell which way the water had been flowing.  He followed the current marks upstream from where he stood, though he could have gone in the direction of the current, and perhaps found something.  Yet a sixth sense told him he should go upstream this time.  The ruts of a former transient stream showed through the piles of dead leaves, as the forest grew even thicker about him.  As it was autumn many of the leaves were orange and red now, and many had already fallen.

It was here also that he knew he needed to be wary:  for in the dark parts of the forest were some of the larger wild creatures, hiding during the day.  They might well be ready to attack any of his kind especially if they found them wandering far away from their own camps.  Warily then

The forest was growing deeper and darker.
It was where the wild things lived.

Gron searched the dry stream bed for pebbles; he found two sharp, hand-sized rocks, one for each hand as weapons for defense should the need arise.  And of course his spear was also at the ready.


The dry creek bottom became smaller, and more narrow, but sure enough ended in a tight corner up against a rough rock wall.  There in a hollow at the base off the wall was a small pool of the precious liquid, colored dark by the shadows and the moss which grew about it.  There he filled his hands, and drank several draughts.  Gron would make his first camp near here, until he could determine how to carry water with him for long distances. 

By now it was early afternoon, and Gron was hungry.  He had seen many birds in the woods through which he had passed; he hefted the rocks, and stuck them inside the belt about his loin cloth.  There was also a fold in the animal skin he wore to keep his upper body warm, and he filled it with small stones as well; they were readily available there around the spring he'd found.  To make it easier to drink from, Gron scraped away some of the weeds, moss, and reeds, which grew thickly right around the pool.  A good supply of water!  And on the first day.  This was a very good thing.  Now he would look for birds.

He grazed a pigeon with a rock, bringing it, flapping,
down.  Then he fell on it hungrily . . . .

Walking back down the hill, he did not have far to go before he ran into a flock of small chirpers in a low bush.  These were pigeon-like creatures, and they looked like what he had seen others catch back among his tribe's skilled hunters.  Quietly Gron slunk close to the bush from downwind, and hefted a rock in each hand.  With hardly a sound, he hurled three stones in quick succession and downed a fluttering bird.  In an instant Gron was on it and began plucking its feathers.  He was so hungry that eating it cold was easy, and surprisingly refreshing.  He found more stones, stalked another bird a few minutes' pace away from his first success, and wounded another.  After eating the second bird, he felt much better.

Then he had a shock.  Where was the spring of water from whence he had come?  He studied the ground to find his own foot prints.  Trying to remain calm, he retraced his steps back to the first bush.  From there he made his way to the spring, up against the dark, reddish rock wall.  He made a mental note as to the landmarks he'd found along the way.  Casting a long look back down the creek bed, and then up to the forested heights from which the spring arose, he gave way to the weariness that was now encroaching and let forth a long yawn.  Gron could nap for awhile, then perhaps look about some more before night fall.

It wasn't much but it was a start:  water and food.  He felt sure he would survive.






LBC

FOUNDATIONS FOR ECONOMICS: Introduction

IT ALL STARTS WITH FOOD, CLOTHING, AND SHELTER:  MAN'S SEARCH FOR THEM, AND THE ASSURANCE THAT HE CAN SUPPLY HIMSELF WITH THESE AT NEED . . . .

In our case, Uncle Sam
has brought us hard times
from over-regulation and
freedom-stealing.

Today's confused world has gotten itself into the kind of economic jam.  And, if history has taught us anything, the mess we are in now, nationally and internationally, will likely only be resolved by intense hard times and possibly even civil and/or international war.  As is so typical it is we humans who have done this to ourselves.  We, by way of our political leaders, and their blind, thoughtless, self-centered followers have done this to us.  We did it by electing (or allowing to come to power) stupid leaders who love power and are clever at obtaining it and keeping it. 

These leaders in our country and in many others currently  do not know how to do anything but tax the producers in society, and then redistribute the money with ruthless, pointless, unplanned spending.  This they do (and our president and Congress most certainly do) with the verbal promise that this will create more jobs and reduce the high numbers of unemployment. 

These wrong-headed beliefs on the part of the leftist, liberal, elite are slowing choking off creativity in this country along with the desire to discover, invent, and take risks to try new business endeavors.  Companies, large and small (whether they are incorporated or not) are hesitant to try anything new (and subsequently invest anything more) if they know that in a few months, they will be paying more in taxes.  To those companies, large and small, this uncertainty simply means they dare not hire anyone new, and they made yet need to fire more of the people who are currently employed.  This, they feel they must do in order to have sufficient funds to pay the anticipated new taxes.  Additionally such companies are in the process of relocating themselves and their manufacturing installations to other country's in the world where there is 1.)  a stable government operating under the rule of law, and 2.) low taxation and regulation of businesses.  This of course brings additional suffering to the United States as it reduces the number of available jobs.

This is always what happens when the free market is jammed up with rules, regulations, and taxes.  It's like a man who could be healthy, if only his parents would feed him a normal diet. 

Taxation was originally permitted to
supply the basic requirements of a free
government, such as supporting
a standing military.  It was never
intended to "create jobs"!!

But, even when this normal diet is ready to hand, the parents insist on serving him a steady diet of potatoes, so the poor man remains constipated, and practically unable to "move" (literally or figuratively).

Thus there is now a crying need for all who would consider themselves truly educated to recover some foundational ideas about how a nation's economy actually works.  We would do well to ask, what lies at the heart of it all -- the heart of man's productivity in the first place?  That is the question we must -- and we will -- answer, in the following pages (and articles).

The best way to answer that question from the foundation up is to answer the related question about man's basic needs.  What are those base needs or elements that all humans seek and look for when left to themselves?  To say it another way, what would you do, what would you seek to keep yourself alive, if you were the only person living on a desert island, or within a few square miles of primeval forest?

Indeed this question has already been answered in real history, by millions of prehistoric human predecessors who had just this very matter to attend to on a daily basis.  For them answering this question correctly, sufficiently, and routinely was the difference between survival and death.  They answered it by seeking the basics and essentials of food, clothing,
and shelter.  We shall, in the next three articles, explore how that was done.  We shall use the gift of imagination plus what we know of prehistoric humans to see them as they go out into their world. 

Man has always asked, "What are the basic
necessities for my survival?

We shall recreate for ourselves scenes from our own ancient past; we shall watch as our ancestors in some particular detail answer for themselves the question, "what must I do to survive?"  For (to say it most explicitly) it is that survival instinct which moves and drives all humans; and "doing" by those free agents was the way to answer that instinctive question.  In our own day many millions of people know where their next meal is coming from, they know what they will wear each day, and they know where they will sleep at night. 

So many of us in fact take all of these things for granted, but in fact, we should not!  The actual day by day process of realizing our basic needs and looking for ways to fulfill them is something all first humans had to learn if they were to live for long.  It is something we should consider anew today for ourselves.  For in fact, in the times which are now coming upon us, we shall find that we shall have to learn -- and learn swiftly! -- to do what they learned and did so well long ago.

In reality, the actual search for food, clothing, and shelter, is something that primitive man learned to do all at the same time.  In other words, the search for one of the three often led him to discover features of the other two which could assist him at the moment; or which he

This is the right attitude.  If we know
God has given us these basics,
we must learn to be satisfied
with this expression of His love.

would remember to make use of in the near future.  His mind, even 100,000 years ago, was particularly well-developed when it came to seeking out, observing, discovering, and utilizing items, objects, and animals from his immediate environment which would assist in his survival.  Thus, in seeking food of a certain kind, he might stumble across implements or materials useful for tools or clothing; or he might discover some temporary, or permanent shelter.  This is the sort of thing which commonly happened. 

However I shall here deliberately concentrate on his discovery of each of these basic needs, one at a time, beginning with food.  We shall see what comes from such discoveries, and what other benefits might accrue from the practices of hunting and gathering.  Then we shall move on to brief discussions of clothing and shelter, respectively.  I will do this with one big eye on the Bible, and particularly on our Lord's life and teaching with regard to these three.

So read on, feed on, and enjoy!

LBC