Wild Gray Goose

Celtic tradition identifies the Holy Spirit as a Wild Goose. He is the wings of a Wild God best followed by the wildest of men. I'm gray. I'm wild. Like He, I am not always predictable, rational, or safe. I believe my full life and my still maturing years of Walking With God offer both heart and substance for younger lads to consider. Now with 4th stage prostate cancer, following the Wild Goose has a different pace and perspective worth reflecting on...and sharing.

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Location: Full Time RV, mostly near Temecula, California, United States

I'm a young fella not far from 73 who's made it to the far and frayed edges of the adventures I‘ve been hankering for since boyhood. The age thing and my pursuits are relevant since I now have advanced 4th stage cancer, moved from unsuccessful chemo treatment to oral med...and they seem to be working. Now, after selling the ranch, my beautiful life-mate of 48 years and I live and travel in an fifth wheel RV we call our "covered wagon". The new and rich development of 2012 is our purchase of ranch in the marvelous plateau above GRAND JUNCTION at the head of the Colorado National Monument where my young family with six children run a whole-family therapy ranch, DEEP RIVERS FAMILY RANCH.

Saturday, June 02, 2012

The Goose Rests Quietly in His New Nest

To clarify for my saddle pals and others, Wild Gray Goose is more my personal journal.  Gendads reflects the journey with my family and elements of the book, Generational Fathering, I am compelled (assigned?) to write as my life under advanced cancer narrows in length and scope

In the thin margins of reality prompted by chemotherapy—they call it “chemo-brain”—the Wild Gray Goose, the cowboy fighter pilot, stirred awake with a tear.  “Amazing love, how can it be, that thou my God shoulds’t die for me…me who cause His pain.”  The words greeted me from the CD player as I ended my first wee little nap, now to be a routine. 

There is something about the sendor of quiet, even if it’s forced upon me, that takes me to places my busy, productive, visionary life doesn’t provide for.  Oh, and the hearing of things normally out of the hearts “hearing range.”  While I’m not maudlin on an EOL(end of life) scenarios, I am addressing the reality that not all medical interventions fulfill their hope.  There is a certain quiet pleasure, something like I reflected in posting the bonding image of my grandson—a belonging, a warm connection snuggled to God’s back—that suddenly is accessible.  The small, less busy moments, like the overwhelming image of the God who died for me, can now come alive.  I'm posting, below, the same grandson, different father (quite "grand"), different role.  It's as if God were holding, comforting, giving a haven for quiet.

What does the Wild Gray Goose  have to offer his comrades who are healthy, strong, busy and not so quiet?  Don’t wait for “chemo brain,” should that day come for you.  Take a walk with Jesus and David down the very rocky path that suddenly turns to quiet restoration:  Psalm 23 (Msg)1-3 God, my shepherd!… You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from.  True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction. 4 Even when the way goes through Death Valley,   I'm not afraid when you walk at my side." (or lay with me in the meadow or the office chair).


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