Church Fire

"It's a living thing. It breathes, it eats and it hates. The only way to beat it is to think like it. To know that this flame will spread this way…not because of the physics of flammable liquids, but because it wants to…The only way to kill it is to love it a little." - "Shadow" Rimgale in the movie "Backdraft" 

I have passed by the old First Methodist Church, then Sanctuary of the Holy Spirit, on the corner of Center and Candler Streets nearly every day for the past 22 years. The lovely old majestic structure is a few blocks from my house and is on my path to almost anywhere and back home again. Now it is gone - destroyed by a ravenous fire that is believed to have been started by the brief and vicious lightning storm that happened around 10:30 p.m. last Thursday night.    

We were watching a movie, but paused it to go outside and marvel at the lightning. A few minutes later we heard sirens, so went outside again. The street was filled with thick gray smoke; something big was on fire. Clad in pajamas and slippers, I grabbed my camera and headed for the fire. My plan was to stay in the shadows, catch a few shots of whatever was going on then return home to the movie. As I neared the old church I could see thick, dark brown smoke pouring from the crack between the walls of the side towers and the sanctuary. It didn't look bad and there were a lot of firefighters and equipment on the scene, so I figured they'd have it handled in no time.   

By the time I rounded the corner of Center and Candler Streets I could see the fire licking at the stained glass windows in the front of the church. A few moments later, tendrils of flame began peering up over the roof line. There were two pumper trucks, one on either side of the church, pouring a torrent of water onto the fire. Firefighters from Winder and Barrow County had multiple hoses aimed at the structure, but it became clear very quickly that this fire's intent was to burn out of control.

As I moved around the scene, staying in the shadows and out of the firefighters' way, I marveled at how quickly and quietly they moved, in unison, with minimal talk and no drama. It was as if they were all reading from the same script, a script they had rehearsed so many times that when it came time to perform, their stage being this horrific fire, they knew exactly what to do and they did it without pause or hitch. There were men on hoses and men on the ground. A couple of men manned the well-lit equipment panel on each pumper truck; a few more, dressed in full firefighting regalia, hovered at the bottom of the ladders on the pumper trucks, waiting to do whatever it is firefighters do from high above the fire.   

The fire spread so quickly. Within minutes it blasted the stained glass windows out of the church and was chewing on the thick, once ornately-carved front doors. What once had been the sanctuary was now a bright yellow inferno. The flames grew taller and taller, engulfing the roof and reaching high, high into the sky. It became obvious the fire was going to destroy the building - it already had. In what seemed like only a few more minutes, the attention shifted to containing the flames and protecting the structures nearby.

The firefighters continued to work quietly and efficiently, without pause. An eerie yellow-orange light from the flames illuminated everything within a block or two. It looked like a movie set and reminded me of "Backdraft," a 1991 movie about fire and firefighters that has always been a favorite of mine. Only this was no movie set; the heat bellowing out of the building reminded us of that, as it blasted our faces and shot out into the night.

Bystanders gathered, but seemed so startled and mesmerized by the fire's voracious dance they remained quiet, humbled, respectful. No one even tried to sneak past the Winder Police officers who guarded the scene. I was as mesmerized as everyone else, standing across the street from the front of the church, watching it burn, burn, burn. The two towers fell, as the flames continued to engulf the sanctuary and reach to the sky. It was as if that fire couldn't get its fill; it just kept eating and growing and eating and growing.

The smoke was also quite eerie. It hovered and swirled, slithered and danced like a “Smoke Monster” on TV; it was as if it had a life of its own. It was so vicious and vital, at times, I swear, it looked like it had evil yellow eyes.

I went home before the fire finished its nasty work. I couldn't bear to watch the destruction anymore. As I walked, tears welled up in my eyes, which surprised me. It wasn't my church; I'd never even set foot inside. It was, however, such a beautiful old structure, only recently, so painstakingly and lovingly restored by the congregation of the Sanctuary of the Holy Spirit…Imagine all the tears, prayers, hopes and fears that have hovered between those walls since it was built in 1904…Weddings, funerals, christenings and celebrations…God’s energy, love, light and blessings, comforting and touching so many…and now it’s gone.

There’s no explaining why lighting strikes a historic and holy place like that; but it did. May the memories of all that happened in that church comfort those who will miss it so sadly. I will try to focus on that as I drive by it’s sad shell. Loving memories…sometimes that has to be enough.    

It's Mater Sammich Time!

"It's a smile, it's a kiss, it's a sip of wine...it's summertime!" - Kenny Chesney   

I just ate the first hand-picked tomato/cucumber sandwich of the season and hung a new hammock in the backyard. Summer has officially begun. The bright taste and rich deliciousness biting into a piece of fresh garden produce brings makes memories of summer pleasures past come flooding back and for me, most of those memories are tied to scents.

The childhood summers smelled of chlorine and sun and bright blue swimming pools. Those were the days before sun screen, so we slathered ourselves with suntan oil that smelled of coconut and spent hours in the sun, going from pool to beach towel and back again. I remember the feel of the warm concrete under my wet beach towel and the hot sun on my face. When I was a child, I was blonde, so by the end of summer my hair had turned green from the swimming pool chlorine, but I didn't care. Back then, all of us blonde kids had green hair in the summertime.

The summer I was seven I learned how to flop off the high dive. I never mastered diving, but I had a pretty good flop and a decent cannon ball. I still remember the fear and exhilaration of looking down at the water, so far below, wondering if I had the courage to jump, taking that final deep breath, then slamming into the water, tapping the bottom of the deep end with the tips of my toes, water in my nose, bubbles surrounding me, then float, float, float to the top and do it all again.

There was a faint cherry, berry, intensely sweet smell of popsicles in the swimming pool air. My favorite were those red, white and blue bullets. They still sell them and I bought one a while back. It didn't taste anything like I remembered, but then summers were larger than life back then.  

One of my grandmothers planted petunias all around her house, every summer - red petunias, purple petunias, pink petunias, white petunias, all kinds of petunias. By mid-day, when the sun was really hot and high overhead, the perfume from those petunias filled her yard. To this day, a hint of hot petunia on the wind sends me back to my Gramma's porch swing, where I lie happily smelling the breeze with my head on her lap. I've planted petunias many times, but mine never smell as good as hers did.

When I was a young mother, my favorite summer smell was the scent of my children's sweaty heads, hair all curly and wet, a bit of dirt, somehow, always mixed in. I loved sitting with my kids, holding them close, pressing my cheeks against those precious little heads...Such a sweet, earthy, poignant aroma, like hope and potential and innocence, all wrapped into one whiff.     

The parenting year summers were full of campfires and roasted marshmallows. There was the scent of the summer rain and the sea and the shore. The gentle hum of the ceiling fans, the whir of the hard-working air conditioner, cicadas buzzing, tree frogs chirping and the low happy sound of voices, talking and laughing outside provided the soundtrack for those days.  

These days summer smells like the warm spicy odor my tomato plants give off, as I walk between their tightly sown rows. Honeysuckle, jasmine and gardenia, a hint of rose, the clean coolness that mist from the garden hose brings as it blows across the breeze. I have a lovely, deep-toned wind chime; from here on out, hearing it will bring these summers back to me. And, there are birds, so many birds of all kinds, flocking to the feeders and bird baths I provide. Sometimes their cheerful chirping, chattering and song is so loud, I have to just stop and marvel at it. So much life, so much joy...it's the sound of summertime.

There have been wonderful summers and ones not so great. There have been fantastic vacation trips and summers where it felt like all I did was yard work. If money were no object, I'd put a swimming pool in, just to experience the smell of chlorine and turn a few of my hairs green again. If time could be turned back, I would sit on my grandmother's lap and smell her petunias again. If memories could be relived, I would spend an afternoon holding my sweaty-headed kids, breathing the scent of their youth again.  

Whatever summer is for you, I wish you the best of it. Enjoy these next few hot, lazy months - the tastes, the scents, the sounds and the memories they evoke. I hope you get a chance to create some new memories with adventures you take and things that you do. We have a fine, full summer planned and our garden is huge and verdant, so there will be no shortage of memories made or tomato/cucumber sandwiches eaten this year.

Which Muppet are you?

 

 

 

"Life's like a movie, write your own ending." - Kermit the Frog

The Muppets are back and this time it's not in a television show or a movie. It's in a personality theory. Dahlia Lithwick, a senior editor at Slate magazine and contributing editor for Newsweek, has come up with something she calls Unified Muppet Theory and for those of us who love the Muppets (and/or who love personality theories) it's pretty interesting stuff.

She poses that each of us can be classified as either an Order Muppet or a Chaos Muppet, and once we figure out which we are, "it all sorts itself out from there."

Order Muppets are highly regimented, hyper-organized, adverse to surprises and tend to be a bit neurotic. Examples would be Bert, Kermit the Frog and Beaker. At times Order Muppets resent the weight of the world on their shoulders, (think Kermit's "It ain't easy being green...") but they also know they keep the show going and in that they take not so secret pride.    

Chaos Muppets are brilliant, emotional, volatile and often out of control. They are the life of the party, examples being Cookie Monster, Ernie, Grover, Gonzo and Professor Honeydew.

As with all things, in Muppet Theory, balance is the key. Harmony, whether it be in a relationship, a marriage, a family or the workplace comes when there is a blend of Chaos and Order Muppets. Too much order? Things get rigid and stuffy; creativity is lacking, humor, too...Chaos rules? Good luck getting anything done because that's just one hot (even if hilarious) mess.     

For the most part, I'd identify myself as an Order Muppet, all into control, routine, habit, with more than my fair share of neuroses, and no surprises, please! If good marriages are made when opposites attract, that would make Mr. Clark a Chaos Muppet. And, while he is not emotional or volatile, he is often unorganized. He is more brilliant than me. He is always open to an unforeseen adventure or a surprise change in pace. He has also been known to be the life of more than one party.   

Since marriage goes on forever (or so it seems...) there is plenty of time for surprises and twists and turns in the road. After years of keeping order and routine in our home (at least, that's what I thought I did...) I have become the Chaos Muppet who seems to have the attention span of a gnat and can't seem to get anything done, while Mr. Clark has become the Order Muppet who keeps us both on track.

He's taken to determining what we do on weekends, in terms of balancing chores with pleasure. He keeps our ongoing "get the house in order" campaign on track and does the same with the garden and yard. Things I find to be insurmountable (like cleaning never before cleaned closets) he tackles cheerfully and actually gets the job done. All I have to do is take out the bags of trash, deliver a few things to Goodwill and sweep up after him. In classic Chaos Muppet style, I melt down emotionally a few times and yell a bit, while Mr. Clark just keeps whistling, clearing and cleaning. It's a blend of Chaos and Order that would make even the Muppets proud.

I can only hope on down the road we'll swap roles and mix things up again, just to keep things interesting. In the meantime, I'll keep channeling Cookie Monster (with a touch of Miss Piggy thrown in), while Mr. Clark acts like a combination of The Swedish Chef and The Count...Wait a minute! We didn't figure out which type of Muppet Miss Piggy, The Swedish Chef or The Count is.

Maybe Muppets, like people, defy stereotypes or maybe Muppet Theory is more complex than it initially seemed. Is it possible to be Faux Chaos - all crazy, creative on the outside, but hard, rigid and inflexible inside? What about Almost Order, which would be organized and together on the outside, yet also a little nuts? Obviously, there's a lot more work to do on this Unified Muppet Theory...In the meantime, so far, what kind of Muppet are you?

 

learning to ride the rain...

"Worry is a misuse of imagination." - Dan Zadra

Gaining wisdom from a mosquito on a rainy day? That sounds like a stretch, yet it happened to me today. I like listening to NPR and on this rainy morning I heard a piece about how mosquitoes deal with raindrops, which to them are like three ton comets pummeling them from the sky. Needless to say, there's no mosquito umbrella big enough or strong enough to protect them from that, so how do they survive a storm?   

Well, according to a team of mechanical engineers at Georgia Tech, mosquitoes don't dodge raindrops, they ride them. The researchers found this out by firing jets of water at mosquitoes while filming them with super-high-speed video cameras. What happens is the mosquito rides the raindrop until the wind catches its wings, which act like tiny kites and pull the mosquito off the raindrop and back into the wind; then away he or she flies. Apparently, they do this over and over again until the storm ends, with each raindrop ride lasting about 1,000th of a second.

One of the researchers, a man named David Hu, described it as "rather than resisting the raindrop, they basically join together." How Zen is that, especially for a mosquito? I don't know that much about being Zen, but I do know resistance is never part of it.  

This riding the rain business is not without risk, however. If the raindrop is close to the ground when the mosquito hops on and the wind doesn't catch its wings before the raindrop hits the ground, kersplat! Dead mosquito. Of course, the mosquito doesn't know about this risk, so rainstorms must present a series of thrilling rides for those nasty little pests. After all, unlike people, bugs don't worry, right?

This notion of riding the rain rather than resisting it appeals to me and got me thinking about my approach to life's rainstorms, both literal and figurative. I am a worrier whose glass is always half empty. If I were a mosquito, I'd be the only one in the whole swarm buzzing loudly and frantically about how the sky is falling and we're all going to end up smashed on the ground. And, in the process, I'd miss out on all of that lovely rain riding...not much of a life approach for a mosquito or a person, really, when you think about it.  

Since I've always lived life on the gloomy side, I don't give changing my approach much thought. Sure, I admire happy-go-lucky types and people who dance in the rain, but I can't imagine being one. Not until recently, when I started thinking it may be time to change my view.

Maybe it's age - it takes a lot of energy to worry all the time; or maybe it's the beginning of wisdom (another symptom of age.)  Anyway, lately I've grown tired of always looking on the dark side and have been consciously trying to focus, instead, on the light. It turns out, this is easier to do than I imagined it would be.

This notion of positive focus is not new. From Phillipians 4:8 ("Whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely or of good report; if there be any virtue, any praise, think on these things") to Oprah and Dr. Phil, the power of positive thinking is a known phenomenon. For some reason, it's just taken me my whole life to try it.

I find that if I empty my mind of the chatter and brain brick-a-brack, breathe, focus, listen and feel, the good stuff just starts flooding in. And, I experience things I never thought I'd spend much time feeling, like calm, contentment, peace, happiness and optimism. (Doing something mindless and repetitive like weeding, vacuuming, jogging or mowing helps, as it seems to keep my brain from going back to tensed-up mode...) This all is a welcome change and so far, I'm impressed with my progress.

Like all changes, this positive attitude thing involves one or two steps forward, then a step or two back, but in general, it's getting easier to focus on the bright side and worry less; and, it turns out, I don't miss worrying at all.

The Story People are some of my favorite philosophers and their take on this is, "I once had a garden filled with flowers that grew only on dark thoughts but they need constant attention & one day I decided I had better things to do." Like those mosquitoes, I may learn to ride raindrops and/or dance in rain yet...

This column appeared in the 6/6/12 edition of the Barrow Journal. 

words to live by...

"When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one and a lily with the other." - a Chinese proverb

bad trends and sad situations at the animal control shelter...

"The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated." - Mahatma Gandhi

If you can judge a county using the same criteria, then Barrow County has work to do, starting with the resources and attention our community and our county government pay to Barrow County Animal Control.   

The first issue is funding. In 2008, before the economy tanked, the Animal Control budget was $587,000. In 2011, it was $438,500; that's a 25 percent cut in four years. This year's budget is $420,200, an additional $18,300 slashed since last year. During the same period, calls for service remained basically stable at around 4,000 per year. (There were 500 less calls for service in 2011, as compared to 2010.)

This means the people at Animal Control are having to do much more with much less and this is taking its toll on the quality and quantity of services we receive, as well as our public safety. Compare 2011 figures to those from 2010, and you'll see about a 42 percent decrease in vicious animal (179 Vs 313) and cruelty to animal case investigations (271 Vs 453.)

You will also see the number of citations issued cut in half (329 Vs 650.) Court fines (income for the county) fell by 52 percent ($17,494 in 2011; $36, 443 in 2010.) Requests for compliance, were also down 33 percent (444 Vs 718.)

What this means is we are getting less service, both animals and people are getting less protection, and the people at Animal Control are increasingly stuck between a rock and a hard place, due to cuts in payroll funds and overtime allowances. (Salary expenditures for Animal Control have been cut by 24 percent since 2008 and overtime has been slashed to almost nothing.)

Shelter visits were up by 500 in 2011, yet only 32 cats and 183 dogs were adopted during the whole year. Some 617 dogs and 985 cats were euthanized; that is a kill rate of 48 percent for dogs and 82 percent for cats. Of course, no one at Animal Control wants to kill pets. A major responsibility to spay/neuter pets, keep them confined and identifiable (collar, rabies tag, microchip), reclaiming lost pets and adopting shelter pets falls squarely on the community's back.

Yet, there are some things at Animal Control that could be changed to help maximize adoptions and reclaims, such as offering evening or weekend hours. Barrow's shelter is the only one in the area that is only open during working hours - Mon., Tues., Thurs., Fri., 8 a.m.-5 p.m. For most people, even visiting the Barrow shelter means taking off work. Realistically, how many people are going to do that?

The Barrow shelter does work with other agencies to arrange rescues. In 2011, 247 shelter dogs went to rescue organizations. Sadly, that was down from 459 dogs rescued in 2010, a 47 percent drop. Cat rescues also fell in 2011, 37 percent, from 459 to 247. Recently, I hear that rescue organizations are having an increasingly hard time transferring animals out of the Barrow shelter. In several incidences, this was because there was no one available to open cages or assist with the transfer paperwork. This is not acceptable, especially given Barrow's high kill rates.

     

Reports of people from the community being treated rudely by shelter staff are also on the rise. I do the "Pets of the Week" feature for this paper, which means visiting the shelter every other week and "talking pets," while out in the community. Sadly, I am hearing more stories that do not shine a positive light on the Barrow shelter visit experience. A look at donations to the shelter also indicates some changes in personnel or policy may need to be made. In 2010, the shelter received $1,275 in donations; that fell to $195 in 2011.  

Let me be clear; I am not criticizing the Animal Control officers or desk personnel. The buck stops higher than that. It stops with the current management and ultimately with the chairman and the board of commissioners. The animals obviously can't speak for themselves, nor can the officers who value their jobs and their benefits. It's up to those of us in the community who care about animals and value public safety, to make it clear to our commissioners that we expect better service from Animal Control.   

Barrow County Roads & Bridges does not have to make a public plea for asphalt donations; nor, do other county departments ask for paper, pens or ink cartridges in order to do their work. Yet, Animal Control makes ongoing requests for basics, such as cat litter and pet food, to stretch their tight budget a little further. Even in a still-troubled local economy, there is much wrong with this picture, especially if you're the dog or cat hoping someone donates food or litter so you can be a little more comfortable until you, in most cases, are euthanized. 

There is only one long term solution to decreasing the local unwanted pet population. It is spay/neuter. Leftover Pets is a local, low cost, non-profit organization providing those services. They also rescue cats and kittens from the Barrow shelter. (ww.leftoverpets.org) Pup & Cat Co. is another local, non-profit rescue that saves animals from the Barrow shelter. (www.pupandcatco.com)  Both could use support. Please, do it for the animals.  

This column was in the 5/16 edition of the Barrow Journal.

"feeling His light on my face..."

"I've found that worry and irritation vanish into thin air the moment I open my mind to the many blessings I possess." - Dale Carnegie

I suffer from what I call "brick-a-brack of the brain." It's the feeling that I have a head full of thoughts, swirling and churning about, and not a one of them is worth thinking. Brain clutter. Noise. I don't know how common this is, but for me it's a near constant state.

Whoever said, "God is in the details," was wrong. Flat out wrong. The details are where the Devil lives, taking our minds off the important things and pricking us with worries, negative thoughts and forgetfulness about our blessings. But, ever so often, the light shines through...    

The other night I was driving back from volunteering as a social worker at Mercy Clinic, a free clinic in Athens, for people without money or insurance. As always, it had been a busy and blessing-filled shift. Many of the clients at Mercy have difficult lives full of challenges beyond their medical conditions. Most of the staff at Mercy is particularly in touch with the Lord. So, you can imagine the miracles that happen there, on an almost  daily basis. I've never been in a place where God's hands are so clearly on everything as they are at Mercy Clinic. Big revelations, small epiphanies, physical and mental healings, spiritual awakenings, all couched in the form of free medical care. It's amazing.

That night I was feeling sad, lonely and a little remorseful. My problems are clearly so small - nothing like a shift at Mercy to make that clear - yet they were overwhelming me. The Devil was along for the ride, pricking my brain with that tiny pitch fork of negativity he uses, telling me to focus on the wrong things, distracting me from looking on the bright side, beating me up for not being in touch with my blessings, making me feel small rather than secure and thankful.

It was raining and I was driving along sobbing, wondering what exactly what I was sobbing about. So, I started praying, more like talking to God, asking him for clarity and calm, a sense of direction and peace, a more clear recognition of all that is right in my life...Sometimes when I do this, I imagine my prayers sound like needy static from an old radio, floating up to Heaven. Other times, God clearly hears and reaches down to calm my heart, slow my mind, and commune with me.    

This particular night He was there and the thought that filled my mind and soothed my sobbing was a simple one. It was that the Lord's love, like the warm light of the sun, is always shining down on me. When I don't feel it, it's not because He's not there. It's because I'm in "brick-a-brack of the brain" mode. My lack of focus, not His.   

That might seem like a minor realization, especially to those who are closer to God, clearer in their faith or more spiritually aware. But to me, it was a new thought and a powerful revelation. He's always there, always. All I have to do to feel his warmth on my face is tune down the static in my mind. Easier said than done, of course, but it's a thought I've been trying to keep close and in many ways He's been helping me.

Relay for Life is coming up and I'm doing a series of stories on this year's honorary ambassadors. There are three each year, people whose battles, fights or journeys with cancer seem to particularly embody the spirit of victory. Last year the ambassadors' stories were fascinating, inspiring, uplifting and encouraging. This year's ambassadors'  stories sound like they will prove to be the same.

The thing about the cancer survivors and their families who I've talked with is how lit up with faith they are, how strong they stand with their Lord, and how He gives them the strength to do things they never, ever thought they could do. There is no "brick-a-brack" in their brains. They have more important things to focus on and their strength, determination and conviction is incredible.

I never liked the notion (1 Corinthians 10:13) that God will not test you beyond your strength. That makes it sound as if people like these strong cancer survivors brought their fight or journey upon themselves by being strong. It also allows people like me to take secret solace in our weakness. The second part of that verse holds the key: "but with your testing He will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” Problems huge and insignificant, His light is always shining on our faces; our challenge is to remember that.