HONK, HOOOOONK! The Wild Goose Speaks

Hard to convey the haunting tone, much less the meaning that the Gaelic's heard in the winged image of the Holy Spirit.

Same today.  When God speak in His "Still Small Voice," those of us used to following the whirlwind and the fire,  might as well be hearing those mysterious tones that we don't understand clearly.  It's not Him, it's us.  After all, as Jesus departed to return to Heaven, he left the Holy Spirit to live in each life who made Christ the savior their new master.

This is not sermon.  It's a reminder.  To me.  I chatted with my lifelong friend and mentor on the ranch last week.  We both recognized how in this "finish well" leg of life we walk and work at so much a slower pace.  It's quieter.  We now hear things we were suppose to hear earlier, but the whirlwind of service and changing the world was too alluring.

Carolyn and I travelled with our young Pettit family to join their cousins in Woodland Park nearby our old Windmill Meadow Ranch.  Count 'em: nine children, one house  The cacophony and the mothers and fathers streaking about is a painful reminder of my early life of ministry, and it's a fitting reminder of the beauty and grace of the older, slower, reflective, wiser (?) life he's allowed us. 

Cancer continues to advance, but slowly.  It gives this wonderful period of knowing the Glorious End is within reach, and that I will surely cheat
 the growing current chaos.  I'll see The End from On High.

There are smiles and tears at this stage, both of them in the joy of knowing more and more intimately this beautiful-beyond-description Father whom we will all who've made The Choice meet and fellowship with face to face.

"Haunting" becomes a cherished tone that used to be harsh.  I believe I will hear the strains of the  Wild Goose lullaby in the sidebar of the Heavenly Choir.