SLO Adventist Church

Daily Encouragement

April 3, 2020

fire and ice by larry smith

There are times when we are faced with situations where there is no good choice; dammed if we do and dammed if we don’t. What then?

I was looking at this capture of extremes and wanted to discuss indecision with my wife. So, I asked what she thought about the subject. She answered, “I haven’t thought about it”.  I had to laugh at the point made.   

It was mild the morning this picture was taken , but the sunrise colors were warm, contrasted against a cool background. Kicking back in a warm tub feels so good, but life often calls for extremes. The angel of Revelation 3 had a message for Laodicea, the last of the churches. “I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing; not knowing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked” (Revelation‬ ‭3:15-17‬).

Then verses 18 and 19 give the solution to slothful lukewarmness; “Therefore I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, that you may be rich, and white garments to clothe you and to keep the shame of your nakedness from being seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and chasten; so be zealous and repent” (‭‭Revelation‬ ‭3:18-19).‬ ‭ These symbols require further exploration.

Trust, Hope, Love

April 2, 2020

Guess who?

Some Ideas to Help You Survive & Thrive Through the Epidemic

Thanks to Brian Starr for sharing this list in the HSM email!

1. Declutter your house. Is your clutter getting out of control because of your busy life? Use this time to get organized. Go through the papers and unnecessary objects in your house and sort it and get rid of some detritus. It will feel so good. It’s you taking control in an uncontrollable situation.
2. Learn a new language. It has so many benefits. It not only improves your brain, but it also connects you to a different culture and that is a good thing in today’s world.
3. Write. Writing, no matter what kind you do taps into an expressive, thoughtful part of your inner self. Have you had an idea for a novel or a memoir? Is there a part of your life that you would like to remember? Some unprocessed painful memory? Write about it.
4. Clean the small spaces in your home. You know those little corners behind furniture, under furniture, window sills or the tops of windows and doors? Now is a great chance to attack those. You’ll feel so good about it.
5. Improve your cooking. Cooking is a form of creativity and it’s also a way to practice self-care.
6. Explore new music. It’s easy to fall into a rut of listening to the same artists or styles over and over. Get yourself out of it and try something new.
7. Sharpen a music interest or talent. Always wanted to learn the guitar or how to sing in tune? Now’s your time.
8. Improve your relationship with an important person. This might be anyone who you’ve always wanted to have a better relationship with. Amazing progress can be made when you have the time and energy to focus on it.
9. Practice and learn meditation and mindfulness. This will help you find your center better and control your own brain, both of which are helpful when dealing with stressful situations.
10. Make a list of the strengths that got you through previous life setbacks. I know you have some. Being aware of them allows you to consciously call upon them when you need them.
11. Be grateful every morning when you wake up healthy and alive. Be grateful for the lives and health of your loved ones. Gratitude has been found to be a major contributor to life happiness. No matter what is going on around you, there are, without a doubt, some genuine things you should still be thankful for.
12. Think of a goal that’s achievable now that could not have occurred to you in the pre-Covid world. This might be anything positive and healthy.
13. Reach out to someone you cared about before but lost track of due to hectic life. An old childhood friend, a cousin, aunt or uncle, or a college buddy. Reconnection is enriching and enlivening.
14. Practice or learn a new skill that applies to your career. Take an online course or read a book. Or simply practice what you already know to get better at it.
15. Choose an intimidating exercise you can do at home and do it every day. For example, 10 push-ups or pull-ups/day. Tailor it to your own body and abilities.
16. Give. Find a way to help in person or online and offer to help them. Like gratitude, research shows that helping others makes a person happier.
17. Let your mind wander. There is a great shortage of this simple pleasure in today’s world. Just sit. Ponder. Let your mind go. It’s good for you, I promise.
18. Read a challenging book. This could be any book you’ve wanted to read but haven’t had the time or energy for.
19. Reach out to someone you wronged in the past and apologize. Virtually everyone has a nagging sense of guilt about having behaved in some negative or harmful way in the past, even if unintentional. This is your opportunity to wipe your guilt away by offering an explanation or apology. Or, if you cannot reach out to the person, think it through, learn a lesson from it, and put it behind you.

April 1, 2020

Golden Glow of Pismo by larry smith

There are two “golden hours” each day for photography; the hour after sunrise and the hour before sunset. There’s something special about the warm, horizontal light during those hours.  But, you can take a picture anytime. Photographers like to have their camera with them all the time because unique photo opportunities can occur anytime. That’s a big advantage of the iPhone camera. It’s almost always with you. Photographers live life in pictures.

There are other things we should always have with us, or always do. . . like breathing. We pray at certain golden times, and we are admonished to pray without ceasing. It just becomes a part of who we are. You live prayerfully. A positive attitude is a good lens to look through. . . one of the be-attitudes. Wake up on the right side of the bed and walk on the sunny side of the street.

Consider this: “From the rising of the sun to its setting the name of the Lord is to be praised! The Lord is high above all nations, and his glory above the heavens!” Psalms‬ ‭113:3-4‬ ‭

Have a cinema day holding goodness in view as you practice social distancing and enjoying the joy of the Lord.

Larry Smith

March 31, 2020

artwork by cristina sweatt

Recipe shared by Beth

“I found this recipe after a very fun family trip to an Asian grocery store. It is from Simple Green Meals by Jen Hansard.” — Beth Rogers

Miso Veggie Bowl

1/4 cup organic white miso paste

1 tsp sesame oil

5-6 cups low sodium vegetable broth

1 Tbsp coconut or olive oil

1 cup thinly sliced scallions

1 Tbsp finely minced fresh ginger

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 cup sliced mushrooms, calls for shiitake but I like baby bella

1/2 cup shredded carrots

4 cups cored and very thinly sliced baby bok choy

1 serving whole wheat soba, udon or other Asian noodle, calls for 1 spiralized zucchini but I use noodles instead

1/2 tsp Sambal Oelek or chili paste, more for spicy

1 boiled egg per serving

In a small bowl, stir together the miso and sesame oil. Add a little stock and stir to remove any lumps. Set aside.

In a large pot, saute scallions, ginger and garlic in oil.

Add the mushrooms and carrots. Stir for 3 minutes, then add the bok choy and saute briefly.

Stir in the miso mixture and remaining broth. Cook for a few minutes, add the noodles and cook for allotted time. Add Sambal Oelek to taste.

Ladle into bowls and top with sliced boiled egg.

March 30, 2020

A Handful by larry smith

The world faces a caldron of tangled issues. I took this pic recently and see a right hand in this cloud formation, holding a measure of burning glory. Perhaps it could be an appropriate symbol of God reaching down to fulfill a promise in our time of need.  “I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” Isaiah 41:10

I keep hearing spokespersons appropriately encouraging us to stick together... “We will get through this.” That’s good, but insufficient. We cannot pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps. Let’s also rely on the promises of God, and peacefully, confidently trust Him. This of course assumes we know, and have a relationship with Him already. If you don’t, it’s never too late. Go for it and remember, ‘By their fruits you will know them’.

There’s a lot of fear-based shepherds out there pushing fake news, not good news, although claiming it to be. The only essentials are knee pads, scripture and time. Be a seeker of truth. This is a journey where good teachers, guides and friends are wonderful accessories, but you must do your homework and knee-work. Just sayin’ and prayin’. Be blessed, my friend.

March 29, 2020

Part 2: Church Memories by larry downing

The previous account ended with the establishment of the SLO SDA elementary school. The teacher, Mrs. Smith, was put in a situation that tested her teaching and disciplinary skills.
There were approximately eight or nine students in that first year, scattered from grades 1 to 8. Linda, my sister, and Freeman Richards were in the first grade; Elvin (Sonny) Wical may have been a second grader. Same with Ruthi Ortez. I was the only 3rd grader. Darrel Richards was a 6th grader and Larry Richards was in the 8th grade. Keith Richards, a kid of probably 13 or 14 years of age, was a special needs person who suffered from epilepsy. He attended school but I don’t think he was assigned a grade.
On occasion Keith experienced what he called “A Spell.” His arms would tighten as he pulled them tight to his chest. He would drool and his eyes would close as he lost consciousness. At any time he might announce, in his difficult to understand speech, “I’m going to have a spell.” The person closest to him would hurry to his side to ease his collapse. After a few minutes the
“spell” would ease and Keith would look around, stumble to his feet, and continue his activity. The experiences with Keith provided a quick introduction to people with disabilities. I do not recall any one teased him or made him uncomfortable.
Keith had a unique hobby. The Richards family lived across the street from the railroad tracks at the end of what is now Bullock Lane. Then it was an unnamed gravel road. Keith noted every caboose that passed the Richard’s home and wrote down the serial number printed on the side of every caboose. He had pages filled with caboose numbers. I’ve wondered what happened to those hundreds of pages filled with mysterious numbers.
Our SLO address was Route 2 Box 129. Our mailbox was in a row with others along Broad Street. Our street, now Rockview Place, had no name. Like many others outside the City Limits, the street was unpaved.
The telephone company that served San Luis did not have a dial system. We had a black Bakelite “candle stick” phone with the receiver hanging from a hook at the side. When we made a call, we lifted the receiver, an operator said, “Number Please,” and we told her the number.
Our phone number was 965. “Doc” Freeman’s number was 335. The Richard’s phone number was 10F2. The Richards had a wooden wall phone with a large dry-cell battery nestled in a box at the base. The phone had a hand crank on one side, the receiver on the other side and a mouth piece at the end of a stick that stuck out from the front of the wooden box. To make a call, one lifted the receiver, turned the crank, and waited for the “Number Please.”
The line that served our house, Dad’s business and several other people in our neighborhood was a partyline. A partyline enabled anyone else on the line to listen to conversations of all those who shared the same line. A major complaint from partyliine clients was that only one party at a time could use the phone. If a partyline subscriber spoke for a long period, another person on the line may say, “That’s enough.” Great arguments were common among partyline clients.
Neither the church nor the school had a telephone. Made life easier for us students. If a kid got out of hand, and some of our classmates had made amazing progress in the art of causing a ruckus in a class room, it was not possible to call a parent or support people.

March 28, 2020

memories from february

It is difficult

to get the news from poems

yet men die miserably every day

for lack

of what is found there.

—William Carlos Williams

March 27, 2020

batman has landed by chris blake

On two occasions one summer I found myself surprisingly motivated.
Scene 1. The first occasion took place at Tsali State Park in North Carolina, on one of the nation’s top mountain biking trails. I was riding with local mountain men Steve and Bill, attempting to coax my flatlander legs to keep up.
The previous day I had climbed a different trail fairly effortlessly before
careening downhill with sheer abandon. At Tsali, we climbed gradually for eight miles on rugged single-track, bumping over rocks and roots. I was doing all right, I thought. Then the real climbing began. We ascended the next three steep miles, and I discovered in a soulful, intimate way the meaning of a relatively new word.
Bonk (bongk), v.t., v.i. Slang. to become exhausted, depleted of energy: “run
out of gas,” “hit the wall,” “stick a fork in me; I’m done.”
I bonked at mile ten. No mas. I couldn’t walk my bike up the incline. My
driving pistons had morphed to Play-Doh. Bill handed me two Power Bars, and I munched them slowly, bending over, wheezing and gasping. I threw down the bike like a bad habit, staggered to an old rotting tree stump, and sat on it. No way I’d be moving anywhere for a long, long time.
In less than eight seconds I was up, kicking and yelling and jumping around
like a cross between a Turkish dervish and a teenager pogoing in a mosh pit.
Boundless energy captivated me. Exhaustion was the last thing on my mind.
What happened? No, the Power Bars didn’t kick in for another fifteen minutes. Instead, I had become energized by dozens of giant red ants that were racing up my legs like the start of the New York Marathon.
Scene 2. The first week of August, our family enjoyed family camp at Camp
MiVoden in Northern Idaho. Late one evening, I was reading on the cabin bed with my back propped against two pillows before an open window. The cool mountain air whispered about us. Yolanda sat knitting beside, and our sons rested, reading and talking. A tranquil, happy scene.
I felt something light on my hair, just the weight of a feather, and I carelessly
brushed it forward. A black bat landed on my chest, wings spread, its weaselly eyes fastened on me.
“Yoww!” Instantly I broke the world’s record for the sitting long jump. Yolanda performed even better. She spurned the law of gravity as she flew across the room and out the door. I have never seen her so inspired. The room emptied of all humans in approximately 0.3 seconds.

Motivations
What is it that energizes us? Some of us are energized to exercise by a fold of fat around our middles. Others are energized to buy eyeglasses to buy eyeglasses when we can’t read a map. What we see in our dominant reality as our immediate need motivates our response.
However, most people tend to see only what they’re looking for. Hairstylists
spot uneven bangs. Dentists and dental assistants (about half our congregation, it seems) detect receding gums. Baseball scouts pick out curveball weaknesses. Police officers notice suspicious behavior. Followers of Jesus see . . . what?
Christians need to see with new eyes. To look for inner beauty, listen for
hidden cries. These motivations are literally everywhere. In addition, we need to train our noses for the scent of angel wings.
O, that we could be energized out of our comfort zones not by the ants and
bats of hell—or by COVID-19 worries and fears—but by the love of God. The apostle Paul writes, “Do you not know that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4). (Apparently, some Romans didn’t.)
What will energize us on the New Earth? No more terrors then. How about
adrenaline-addicting deadlines? Probably not. Showing up an adversary? No.
Without fear or hatred, what will be our motivation? The same motive that should drive us now: love for a kind God and for God’s creations. Love is the one and only godly motivation.
When I was much younger, cleaning slimy, disgusting dishes grossed me out.
What could be worse than sticking your hands into someone’s crusted leftovers?
Then Yolanda and I had children. Amazingly, at that point I chose to clean their soiled diapers and little bottoms. Virtually nothing grosses me out after that. I have been to the valley of the shadow of death. As John tells us in his first letter, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” Love set me free.
At this time of “shelter in place” and washing hands fifteen times a day and
concerns about underequipped workers and overcrowded hospitals and economic meltdown, it’s still love that motivates us to take our next breath, to live with defiant optimism, to instill hope in the eyes of a child. Just one basic motivation.
Love.

March 26, 2020

artwork by adela soo

Nature provides me with a vast wealth of inspiration . Most of my art incorporates images or lessons I’ve learned from the natural world.

This painting of the bee, entitled “Thread lightly, please”, reflects the vital, yet fragile balance between humans , bees and our environment. This is what bees taught me:

• lighten your eco foot print on this planet,

• respect your position as caretaker of this land

• live sustainably

• don’t pollute

Tread lightly, please, on this beautiful Earth!

A few summers ago I attended the graduation of my son in Oregon, where
he received an MFA degree in poetry. He already has a good job as a judge in
the California Superior Court system, but it does not seem to fulfill all of his
yearnings. The commencement speaker, a woman from Australia, recounted a
conversation with a little girl she had, while playing with her on the living room floor. The child unexpectedly held up her left hand and said to her, “That’s five.”
“I already know that,” the speaker teased her.
Undeterred, the young one held up her right hand and said, “And that’s also five.”
Again the speaker joshed her with, “I already know that too,” then added, “And if you put two hands together that makes ten. Five and five equals ten.”
”No it doesn’t,” the little one objected. Then holding up her ten fingers
together in a flapping motion said, “Five and five makes a butterfly!”
So which is the right answer to this finger adding business? Butterflies or
mathematics? In my view, both are right. One answer pertains to mathematics
and the other to imagination, and we dare not discard either.
In mathematics we have a logical system that gives us access to hypothesis about the universe that we can then try to falsify by experiment. We cannot understand our world without it. Moreover logic saves us from superstition and old husband’s tales. It convinces us that to break a mirror does not result in seven years of bad luck, and that nothing untoward happens because a black cat walked under your ladder. Thank the Lord, we know what a non sequitur is!
But imagination is also crucial for living because it urges us to attempt the
impossible, to run in a new direction, to grasp beyond our reach, to see things in a new way, to see beauty as real, to exercise faith. Humans simply shrivel and die without it. We are programmed to imagine. This seems to me to be what Jesus meant by saying, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it will obey you.” (Lk 17:6) On the face of it, this is a ridiculous notion. There is no historical account of such a thing ever having occurred, and we all know that trees have no volition to obey human commands.
Nevertheless this is a clear invitation to consider the absurd option, to think
outside the box, to allow our minds to go to that silly, undreamed of place, to
conclude that five and five also makes a butterfly. The mulberry proverb is really much more about doing something with our own heads than with trees. It’s about finding the courage to say the wonderfully frightening words, “What if ….”
Try to imagine yourself looking the way you want to. Maybe a new mustache or a glam look. A tattoo? Well maybe. Who knows? Imagine what life would be if you gave up your sense of inferiority, or your stubbornness, or your negative whatever. Imagine what you can do with wood and fabric, beads and sequins, words and music, string and sticks. Endless possibilities are out there for you to explore. But you cannot embrace any self-generated change until you have imagined it. Nothing is too outlandish to consider. What would others think? Who cares! We are intimidated by our own structures. We forge our own shackles.
The Romantics were a group of poets that reacted against the Enlightenment which was basically a new era of science that swept the world.
They feared we were giving up our very ourselves by becoming wholly reasonable, logical, scientific. They emphatically rejected the notion that what
cannot be measured cannot be true. I present a poem by William Wordsworth for your consideration. I hope you feel his outrage at our great loss. I hope you see what’s lost! Please don’t just brush it off as poetry but read it.

The World is Too Much With Us
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed out worn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

March 25, 2020

Letters of the Law by Bob prouty

Once upon a time there were six vowels who went to church: A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y. It was an orderly little church with 26 members. Other than the vowels, the rest were consonants.
The consonants were the strict ones. They loved rules. “Mind your ‘p’s and ‘q’s,” they would say.
The vowels were easygoing and carefree. They’d sound one way in one word and different in the next. They followed rules, mind you, just as the consonants did; but the results just didn’t come out the same.
Take their approach to worship, for instance. The consonants went to church King James style. Thees and thous. Same pews every week. Music in a key that no one could sing.
But the vowels went to church like a modern version. They sang special music with a beat and asked questions from the heart. Sometimes they even skipped church altogether and went hiking in the park.
You wouldn’t think that, with such a different approach, the vowels and the consonants could ever get along, but somehow they seemed to understand that God had brought them together on purpose.
For the vowels reminded the consonants that worship is an active, living process, not a collection of lifeless rules laid out in a book. They liked to quote Isaiah, who knew something about vowels himself. Isaiah didn’t believe in empty worship. “This is not the worship I desire. I seek justice. Defend the cause of the fatherless. Plead the case of the widow” (see Isaiah 1).
The consonants liked the book of Psalms. “I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord” (Psalm 122:1). “O come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the Lord our maker” (Psalm 95:6). They were a reminder to the vowels that Jesus Himself said, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). And there was no doubt, as the years went by, that He was indeed in the midst of them, Jesus—the Living Word.

The small controversy
One day, for reasons no one ever quite understood, the vowels started to argue about which of them should be first. They say it was A who started it all.
“I should always be first,” declared A. “Look in the dictionary. Look at the alphabet. I’m always first.”
“Just a minute,” said I. “Don’t forget that little saying we learned in school. I before E.”
“Except after C,” retorted E angrily, “or when it says ay, as in neighbor and weigh.”
And just like that, before anyone else even knew there was a problem, the vowels were no longer on speaking terms—even A and E, who’d been inseparable for aeons. This made it hard for them to talk, since they absolutely refused to cooperate in any way. A would use only words with “a”s in them. E would use only words with “e”s, and so on.
“If I’m right, I’m right,” said I.
“O knows,” said O.
“We ‘E’s,” said E, “we’re perfect.”
“Truth,” muttered U. “Truth, truth, truth.”
“And that’s that!” added A.
“Hmmpff!” said the consonants. To their credit, they knew the vowels couldn’t get along without them, and they couldn’t get along without the vowels. So off they went to find the preacher.
The preacher pleaded with the vowels. He quoted Hebrews 10:25: “’Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together . . .’
“None of us can do much by ourselves,” he pointed out. “What kind of witness can we bear? What kind of worship can we offer? And you’re all caught up with who is right and who is wrong. Remember, ‘true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth’ (John 4:23). There are two parts to true worship. The letter of the law and the spirit of the law. After all, you can’t share the Word if you don’t share yourselves.”
But the vowels were having none of it.
“Never,” said E.
“Uh-uh,” said U.
“No go,” said O.
“I’m with him,” said I.
“Why try?” asked Y.
“A man can stand what a man can stand and that’s all that a man can stand,” said A.
“All right,” said the preacher, who had decided it was time to try a different approach. “Contest time! Let’s see what it’s really like to live life on your own. You’ll start off standing, and if you can’t answer my question, you’ll have to sit down and admit you were wrong.”
“Perfect,” said E. “We ‘E’s never need help. We’ve never even needed these lesser letters. We’re the best there’s ever been.”
“Not so,” said O. “’O’s know how to go on nonstop. Don’t look for old O to go down so soon.”
I disagreed with both of them. “If I’m in this thing, I think I will win it,” he said. “I think I will finish first.”
“Fat chants,” said A, hoping nobody noticed the spelling.
“Shut up!” demanded U.
“My, my,” said Y, who was secretly wondering how far he could get with words like “crypt” and “gypsy” and “rhythm.”
“Question number one,” said the preacher. “What’s your favorite hymn?”
“Hymn?” said Y.
“Redeemed!” said E.
“Gulp,” said U, sitting down with embarrassment.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” said I.
“Oh-oh!” moaned O. “O not do so good on own.” And with that, he joined U and Y, who had already taken their seats.
“That’s a land that stands ajar,” muttered A, hopelessly muddled.
“Bringing in . . .” started I, before stopping in confusion. “This is . . .” he started again. “I, I . . .,” he stammered, and then sat down.
Question number two,” said the preacher. “What’s your favorite Bible text?”
“What, and shall a man stand at Canaan land?” said A.
“Very good,” said the preacher, “but I don’t remember that verse. Where’s it found?” But A was already sitting down with the others. Only E was plunging bravely ahead.
“Esther seven three,” she said with ease. “When Esther entered Xerxes’ presence, he extended the bejeweled scepter where she knelt.”
“H’mmm,” said the preacher. “What version of the Bible are you using?”
“The newest,” replied E. Yet she knew there was no such version, and meekly sat down with the others. Now all the vowels were silent. It was the preacher who spoke.
“I think we’ve learned a lesson,” he said. “You can’t put limits on God’s Word. You can put limits only on yourselves. You have argued about words. You have boasted about words. Now it’s time to put all of that behind and be ‘doers of the word’ (James 1:22). That’s what true worship is.”
Well, it was a red-letter day in the church’s history, with a subdued group of vowels and consonants who had a lot to think about. And ever since, the little church has been a different place. It’s still not letter-perfect, but its members are worshiping together in spirit and in truth and finding that when Christ comes first, everything else is as easy as ABC.

March 24, 2020

Remember When? by Larry Downing

In 1945 my family relocated from Salinas to San Luis Obispo. We soon became members of the SLO Adventist church located on NE corner of Santa Rosa Street and Buchon, across the street from what is now Mitchell Park. The building was converted to an apartment. (It was easier, so it seems, to convert a building than it was to convert people.)
The sanctuary was small, I’d guess it held 65 to 75 people. The rostrum, as it was called, was on the North wall. A small room on the NE side of the rostrum served as a children’s division. A small room that ran the length of the south wall served as another children’s division and would later house the elementary school. The two small restrooms were on the outside on the North
end of the building. (This is how I remember the building. No guarantee it was exactly as stated, but who is around to set the record straight?)
My first school experience began with Kindergarten followed by grades 1 & 2 at the old Hawthorne School. Sometime before my third grade the church members decided to start an Adventist elementary school. Mrs. Smith, an elderly woman, probably in her mid 50s, was the first teacher. She had the responsibility for grades 1-8. That first school year left an indelible
impression upon those of us in the student body. Opportunity may be available at a later time to extend the story of SLO SDA elementary education: a study in student anarchy.

A poem to think about today... from the book “All Along You Were Blooming.”

March 23, 2020

prayer

P is for peace and thanks for food.

R is for restore heart of sing praise.

A is for angel watch over us.

Y is for you give me strength, healing.

E is for each day protect us.

R is for release fear, you comfort us.

hug, pray Nancy (Hiett)

March 22, 2020

A Small Help Goes a Long Way by Alec Bleher

Even in the best of times, my mind is always turning. I’m always trying to figure out how to do this thing called life, always trying to puzzle out how to be a positive force in a broken world. Still, I am but one man and the scale of the current crisis has driven that fact home for me.

I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling so very small and powerless in the face of something far larger than any in my generation have had to face. This is only made worse by the fact that we have to isolate ourselves in our homes, separated from our community.

However, as time goes on, more opportunities are emerging for us to make a difference. I wanted to take a moment to share one opportunity I’ve been able to take advantage of.

As you might imagine, scientists around the globe are studying this disease. Stanford University in particular has a program called Folding@home. This program studies the function of proteins in various diseases in hopes of using this information to help combat them. Naturally, a lot of their efforts are focused on COVID-19 right now.

A lot of this work involves running complex computer simulations and is thus limited by the computing power available to them. That’s where people like me come in.

This past Christmas, I purchased a gaming PC with a decent amount of processing power. Thanks to the internet, I was able to download a program that makes my computer part of Folding@home’s extended processing network. Whatever processing power I am not using is being used by Stanford to help in the fight against COVID-19.

And in this difficult time, it feels incredibly good to be able to help in this unexpected way. I am glad something I purchased for my own entertainment is able aid in this effort. I pray we all continue to find ways to help one another and spread God’s love to our community here and around the world.

Music Helps the time go by

March 21, 2020

10 positive updates on the covid-19 outbreaks from around the world

it is well

the climber by maylan schurch

One step and my left foot was on the solid ledge; another, and the ledge turned rotten. My weight had swung too far out, and there sprang into my chest the great panic of the climber who knows that he is about to fall, and that no matter how much he scrambles and screams and prays he will continue to fall, tumbling and bumping and bouncing down the mountainside to smash to death in some dark crevasse below.
The ledge broke, and my foot kicked savagely down. I tipped, and the sun and the sky and the mountain wheeled twice around me. I made no sound, because I thought I was dead.
But then my chest was caught and squeezed by a rough fork of branches, leaves slapped my face, and after a great shuddering had stopped I saw that I was caught in a gnarled bush growing from the cliff below the ledge.
I twisted my head and looked downward, and far below I saw misty-green meadows and a silver river. Around and above me was the blue afternoon sky.
I called and called, and each time I released my breath I felt like I was slipping and each time I gulped in more air my chest pained. I called until my voice was raw, and still I rattled the breath in my throat in case someone should hear.
But the rest were far from me. In the early afternoon I had dawdled behind them and then slipped away along an ascending path, delighting in the sunshine, trailing a nimble goat for a while, scarcely looking down, always climbing. And then I had reached that narrow ledge, and taken one false step.
And now, since there was nothing to do but see the meadow darken and the sun depart, I watched them to take my mind off the pain in my chest and the numbness in my lower body. Once I tried to move to get more comfortable, but a heart-stopping crack among the branches warned me not to move again.
I looked down again. A shadow covered the meadow below. I fancied I saw something moving by the river. Were the others there already? I called out to them, gathering the shreds of my voice and sending scream after painful cream down into the valley. But how could anyone hear?
“Don’t move,” said a familiar quiet voice above me.
Great spurts of blood flooded into the veins of my ears. My heart leaped with the voice, and I twisted among the branches.
“Don’t move,” said the voice again. There was a scraping above me, and I felt cool gravel and a few sharp stones strike my head.
“Don’t struggle.” The voice was very close now. “I’m almost there. I’m going to lift you up. Do not struggle. Do you understand?”
And I felt His hand clutch my fleece. I was lifted, and my hooves crushed against His chest as He embraced me, and together we sobbed in the night.

March 20, 2020

March 14 at Pismo Preserve

At Julie and Byron Davises’ home (sipping before SIP—”Shelter In Place”)