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.

Friday, July 05, 2013

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.


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mattncari@scinternet.net, marvbowers@gmail.com, bigmuff@aol.com, carolyn@newseason.us, beckerkel@gmail.com, cookingham@juno.com, gary@newseason.us, mpettit@theaspenranch.com, glivingstone@fimltd.org, thepauper@apauper.com

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