LAST WEEK WE WENT CAMPING WITH OUR FRIENDS, JOSH AND EMILY WHITE

On Thursday, while everyone else was napping, Bowden and I went on a bit of an explore. Keeping a sharp eye out for rattlesnakes we crossed Hurkey Creek (jumping from stone to stone) and scrambled up a steep hill. The view from the top with Garner Valley spreading out in front of us, was worth the climb.





Bowden wanted to photograph all of the different flowers we saw on our hike.
There were yellow ones...
white ones...
red ones...
sort of creamy colored ones...
and purple ones...
I didn't know that Lupines smelled so good.
Sarah took a bunch more pictures from our camping adventure with the Whites so you will have to keep checking in on PotentTates for more.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR BEST FRIEND (AND DOCTOR)- LISA RICHARD!!!!

The Tates love Lisa!!!

MY MOM IS CANCELING, OR HAS CANCELED, HER ACCOUNT WITH AOL, SO MY AOL E-MAIL ADDRESS (barefootkangaroo@aol.com) IS NOW, OR WILL BE, DEFUNCT.

Be advised, my e-mail address for all future correspondence is:

barefootkangaroo@yahoo.com

Meet Tom Ping.

KICK- INSTALLMENT #5

Kick settled into the familar business of fishing. He was a man of well traveled paths. There was seldom anyting about Kick that would strike you as new or different. He always wore the same tired clothes, and if they gave out he replaced them with similar ones. He always talked about the same things, watched the same TV shows, and meal after meal he ate the same foods. It seemed that in every facet of life he had long since settled into a well worn rut, a predictable channel.

His mind was no different. Criss-crossing his mind were the same old paths that had been there for years. Fishing, the shop, money, girls... the woods between paths were untrammeled, unexplored. There had been other paths when Kick was a child, but those had long since been swallowed up, reclaimed by the forest of a clouded mind. Only the faintest trace of them remained.

Through reptition, the mechanics of fishing came as naturally to Kick as lifting a spoon. It was not an activity that he needed to think about as he did it, and, as he fished, his mind wandered down the old path of lust and longing. Jenny was a new flower that had bloomed along that path, but to be sure it was the same old path. There had been other girls before Jenny.

All paths should have a destination, but Kick's ran in a loop, doubling back, and covering the same ground over and over again without ever going anywhere or accomplishing anything. Paths which should have served to access marvelous things had become an end to themselves, a mind numbing and tedious circle, bringing him within sight of things that he never actually experienced.

Sometimes it takes something wildly unexpected, something totally out of left field, to chase a man off of his established paths, and into the forest. As Kick reeled in his line for the last time that day he had no idea that just such a thing was about to happen to him- something brand new.

Here are some thought of mine on evangelism, which made their original appearance on the blog for the North Chittenden Wesleyan Church, where my Brother Joel is the pastor.

I have been thinking a lot about evangelism recently. I am most comfortable, personally, with the sort of evangelism that proposes marriage. I think that when Christ calls a person to himself it is nothing short of a marriage proposal, and like most relationships it begins with an introduction, which morphs into a time of pursuit, and, when the time is right the proposal is made.

I wonder if the church does Christ a disservice when they approach unbelievers, invoke the horrors of hell, and then offer Christ as a means of escape. Wouldn't that be the equivalent of walking up to Sarah, whipping out a shotgun and saying "marry me in Vegas or you're dead.' She might go with me. She might mumble "yes," but her heart would not be mine, and isn't that what Christ wants- our hearts. Too many evangelists, in my opinion, are in the business of this sort of evangelism. I see it all the time at Camp.

I watched a documentary recently which told the story of a volcanic eruption on a small caribbean island. The island's government had been monitoring the volcano with the help of a team of foreign scientists, and when they became convinced that the volcano was about to to blow they went to the airwaves warning the islanders. At first most heeded the warnings and fled to safety, but as days turned into weeks and the volcano didn't erupt they began slowly trickling back to their homes and farms. When the volcano finally did erupt many perished as the pyroclastic flows raced down the side of the mountain and filled the valleys.

I once saw Billy Graham during a televised crusade tell the audience of thousands "You're gonna live forever the only question is where." It seemed to me that a great many people went forward following that chilling piece of information, and I wonder all these years later how many of those villagers have trickled back to their homes and farms.

Some may say,"...but I came to know the Lord that way." I would answer such a person by pointing out that by God's grace, such conversions are used as a beginning, but that doesn't justify them. There is something healthier and closer to God's heart.

Of course, we should always be honest and unashamed about the consequences of rejecting Christ, but invoking hell as a means of evangelism strikes me as lazy, and smacks of an attitude that goes something like "Christ doesn't actually sell- it's hell that brings them to their knees." It seems to me that many evangelists don't actually believe in the product they are selling, or maybe the problem is that they frame it that way- a product that needs selling. Christ sells himself.

Lord of the Starfields, Anient of Days
Universe Maker, Here's a Song in Your Praise
Voice of the Nova, Smile of the Dew
All of our yearning only comes home to You!
Oh Love that fires the sun, keep me burning.

Bruce Cockburn

Dear Bowden,

What should I do if I see Bigfoot in the woods?

Sincerely, Wondering
_______________________________________________

Dear Wondering,

Go home.

Sincerely,

Bowden

PORN AT THE DUMP

I took the recycling to the dump today. It probably could have waited, but due to the recent rain we've received the cardboard was getting soggy, and I thought it would be a good idea to get rid of it before it liquified entirely. So I hooked up the trailer, threw some bags of plastic and tin on top of the cardboard, and drove to the dump. they have two big containers there reserved for recyclable material. One of them is strickly for cardboard and the other one is neatly labeled "MIXED RECYCLING." I took my bags of plastic and tin in both hands and headed over to the container for mixed recyclables.

As I neared the dumpster I noticed a large stack of discarded magazines just inside. I am always on the lookout for cool (free) stuff at the dump, and I was curious what sort of magazines they were. I'm a believer in the old saying, "One man's trash is another's treasure." After throwing my bags noisily against the metal back of the dumpster I walked over to inspect the magazines. Initially, I couldn't make out what they were, but as I picked one up and flipped it over I found myself face to face with a Playboy.

Oh, the ancient siren song of naked ladies! Like David on his rooftop I gazed down at the magazine in my hands. I looked right. I looked left. Nobody around. I looked back down at the magazine and beyond it at the discarded stack. I felt a stirring in the pit of my stomach...something truly indescribable. My mouth went dry and my heart quickened. I could never bring myself to walk into a store and buy porn, but here was a whole stack of it promising anonymity. Nobody would know. Just open it- look inside- take it home and hide it. I felt like an animal.

Like Gollum, I stood holding my "precious"- utterly torn between the flesh and the spirit- my mind a cloudy mess- ambushed.

Somehow, the Spirit clawed His way to the surface of my mind, and allowed me a moment of lucidity wherein I sensed the peril of my position. I felt the weight of God's conviction pressing me down. I tried to suppress it, to tune Him out, but He woud not be denied, He would not be mocked. I could not do this wicked thing and feel right with God. Years ago I had purposed in my heart not to entertain the view of Bathsheba again- not to linger on the rooftop.

I set the magazine down, turned, and walked numbly back to the trailer. I unloaded the soggy cardboard, got back in the Explorer, and drove away.

As I drove home I thought about my kids. What kind of men did I want Bowden and Jack to grow up to be? ...and how could I impart to them what is not patterned in my life? I must be the man I want them to be. I must be the man I want Lucy to marry.

Earlier today, while I was walking up to the tabernacle, I saw three deer in the bottom of the gully pulling on the grass down there- Two bucks with velvet stubby antlers and a doe. Before I could snap a good picture they bounded off up the hillside. The picture below is the only one I got.

I gave chase in the hopes of getting a better picture, but I only succeeded in some blurry shots that aren't worth posting. The deer didn't want anything to do with me. I enjoyed the walk back down through the drip-droppy woods. I love days like this.




Unbelievably, they are calling for a possibility of snow tonight.

What?!?!

Dear Bowden,

What do you do when you have to do something that makes you scared?

Sincerely, Scared

Dear Scared,

Just try it. One time when I was at my friend Jordan's house he had this slide thing that went down into some water, and I was scared, but I did it and it was soooo much fun. Just try it.

Sincerely,

Bowden

THIS JUST IN...

Steve Maxon is considering a visit to the Western Tates in July (possibly).

IT HAS BEEN A COOL DRIZZLY DAY HERE IN IDYLLWILD, AND, FOR SOME REASON, THAT'S MY FAVORITE SORT OF DAY.

DUST BUNNIES

These two dust bunnies rolled out from under our fridge, and due to laziness we allowed them to grow, and now they are just taking over. They are cute though.

QUESTION OF THE DAY

What percentage of cell phone users have used their phones as a makeshift flashlight in the past week?

*bonus question of the day

What percentage of cell phone users experience "phantom vibrations" causing them to think their phone is vibrating even when their phones are not in their pockets?

Joel, the trees you planted in the north end are blooming beautifully.

I'm reminded of you every time I go up there.

Lisa, I have finished the schedule for this weekend, and you're not on it.

This is broken...

so I used this...

to make this,
>
this,

and this.

Bowden helped.

Just when I am tempted to think I have accomplished something though- this humbles me.

KICK- INSTALLMENT #4

Gone Fishin' Bait & Tackle was a slightly dingy looking doublewide a couple of houses back from the boat access at Benson landing. There would have been little to identify the trailer as a place of business were it not for an old Pepsi machine set up on some cinder blocks to the right of the front door, and, of course, the weathered sign that hung from a post at the end of a loose gravel parking lot. The shop, as Kick called it, doubled as his home, with a few rooms in the back reserved as his living space.

The front two rooms, which comprised the shop, were crammed with fishing equipment of all sorts, and aquariums for live bait. The spaces on the walls which were not covered with displays and items for sale boasted dusty mounted fish and fading yellow photos of men with fish. A large cooler containing sodas and such hummed next to a counter and cash register at the far end of the largest room.

The shop did fairly well, owing largely to its proximity to the landing, but also due to Kick's encyclopedic knowledge of fishing. The other reason the shop did so well, was that Kick had diversified his business, which is to say that he also sold marijuana. A lot of the guys liked to smoke a little weed when they went out on the water, and it was just convenient for them to pick a little up at Gone Fishin' before putting in.

I can't stop doing the McCain wave.