DEAD MANS HANG 2.0

   Dead Mans’ Hang

        “And there I find You in the mystery.” Hillsong, 2012

       Water’s impact on our bodies:

• Composes 75% of your brain.
• Makes up 83% of your blood.
• 22% of your bones are water.
• Protects and cushions vital organs.
• Regulates body temperatures.
• Helps carry nutrients and oxygen to your cells.
• Moistens oxygen for breathing.
• Helps convert food to energy.
• Helps absorb nutrients.
• Makes up 75% of your muscles.
• Cushions your joints.
• Removes waste.

       Contemplate water. As a substance, as an element. Without it we cannot live, our bodies nor our world. Salt water is remarkably similar to the very lifeblood coursing through your veins. It is the defining element, the one thing those who seek life on other planets and worlds initially look for, because again, without water, life as we know it is just not possible. It is the only element that exists naturally in all 3 states; liquid, solid and gas. One of the most erosive forces that helps shape our world, water forms, along with mountain ranges, natural borders and barriers affecting animals and humans alike.

       We know less about the deep underwater places on this planet than is known about outer space. We still find creatures unknown to us down there. I’ve never been on the open sea during a storm (does Priest Lake qualify?), but I’ve stood on shores and vantages at times during sometimes severe weather events, gazing out in awe at the malefic motion of water and air, wondering how it must be. I would not want to be out on the water at these times; in fact rarely, if ever, have I felt the urge to explore this frontier or use it as a means to travel to distant lands. Something about all that water beneath that gives me pause.

Being out in the middle of a large body of water can mess with me; make me feel vulnerable. I feel with immensity the vastness of the natural container I’m in, the vessel for all this water. I can mentally project myself above, way up and look down at where I am and really try and feel and understand the scale of things. Life is, amongst other things, a constant re-calibration of our sense of scale. Each new event can cause a change in perspective. I’m a small life-form floating in this elemental mass of organic life and death.

        

The Survival Rule of Three states:

• 3 minutes without air,
• 3 days without water, or
• 3 weeks without food,

and the average human will cease to exist.

       Now, most of us could do without food for three weeks; might do some good. Some of us need to shut up for three minutes, actually breathe that air we should be getting. But none of us can go very long without water; the long-term effect of constant dehydration is harmful.

      Water is also dangerous. So very final in the way it can take your life. I’ve never been comfortable around water; in it actually. I can be around it all day long with no ill effect. It’s when I get in, submerge myself for 30 or 40 seconds; that’s when it happens.

      I step outside for a moment to check on the weather; make sure the stars are still in their places. Someone needs to. The wind whispers things to me through the trees.

      When I was younger, 12 or 13 years of age, I went on a summer outing with our church, a picnic social at Mica bay around Coeur d’Alene Lake. The day was hot and there were a lot of kids, all yelling and splashing and having fun. A couple hundred yards offshore was an isolated dock; some kids were out there already. Although I was not a particularly strong swimmer, I thought I could make it out there. My mistake was not telling anyone.

      The swim out took longer than I thought. It also took more out of me than I thought, and I rested mightily upon reaching the little floating island, muscles not used to this. After a while it was apparent I was going to have to try and swim in. The other children had gone, and I was left alone.

      Halfway to shore I realized I was not going to make it back, that I should have rested longer. I remember somewhat calmly accepting this and objectively trying to decide what to do about it. At that very moment, I remembered something I had read called the Dead Mans’ Hang. Essentially the last resort, when you feel you can go no farther, take the biggest breath you can and stop. Stop moving, kicking, struggling, everything… just stop. My head slipped no more than a few inches below the surface as my body found balance, and I hung there in the cool water thinking… about what? It became surreal, quiet; a couple of air bubbles snuck out of my nostrils and tickled my eyes on the way by. Fear.

       When I could take it no longer I began letting out air and kicked to the surface. I lifted my head, took a big breath of air, and yelled: “Help!”. No one seemed to hear or was even close as I slipped under the surface again. This time I was prepared for the lonely quietness of it and went zen, trying to conserve strength. I do remember the feeling of weightlessness, just suspended there, muscles numb with tension, listening to the pounding of my heart. I could hang here forever, I thought, if I just didn’t have to breathe!

        I erupted out of the water a bit more serious the next time, barely able to keep my head out as I took another breath, and once more slipped beneath the surface. I began to panic; more fear. It was not so quiet under the water this time. I had reached a point where I understood this couldn’t continue. I needed oxygen more than I needed rest and began struggling to perform a dog paddle of sorts. The 3rd or 4th time I came up there was this thing in front of me, an inflatable mattress. The old cheap ones with the long tubes of air and the integrated air pillow. This one was olive drab and a girl about my age… no, an angel about my age was at the helm, pushing it towards me. I grabbed on, breathing hungrily. I was exhausted. We slowly kicked back to shore, not speaking much. I don’t remember what we might have said; I hope I said “Thank you!”, or something to that effect. At some point I hauled myself further up on the mattress, shamelessly letting her kick and paddle the rest of the way in. I’d like to meet her someday, and thank her properly. I believe we told someone when we got back to shore, I can’t remember. At that point it mattered little; I was just happy to be alive.

        Water. Jesus offers in John 4:10, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” (NIV)

      Has Jesus ever asked you for a drink? What did you say? He asks all of us, in one way or another; at one time or another. I responded with my usual Viking tact.

      “Get your own damn drink.” I did not make a good first impression. Nor a second; or third… In fact, I continually fail to impress God. But we can please Him. Hebrews 11:6 states, “But without faith, it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.” (NKJV)

      What does God expect of us? Essentially, believe that God is who He says He is, and pursue Him with all your energy. To seek Him first, and to have faith in Him. To love Him with everything, and others as ourselves. And on second thought, maybe I can impress God. I can perform that task no one else seems to be able to master, finally get to something my mate asked of me; how long ago?

Scott A. Lewis

When They're Away

  

When They're Away

Mom and the kids went to Grandma and Grandpa’s overnight. It’s too quiet here. I’ve grown used to the noise, the chaos; the mayhem. Our small abode is at times a madhouse, with three children; I can only imagine four.

      I have an uncle who tried seven times to have a son; not a one, so the story goes. Can you imagine the din at their house around feeding time? Any time? Another of the family, my father’s sister Gwendlyne, I believe, bore and raised ten children; I’ll bet she was busy.

      I have four siblings of my own. Not an overly large family, but busy as well. Mom and Dad spread us out over fourteen years. A group of three initially; Roger, the eldest, my sister Sonia, then me. Seven years later came David, and three years hence, John arrived.

      It’s too quiet, when they’re away. But at times, when we’re all here, I seek to get away. Off alone, by myself, to be quiet. Why this paradox; this conflict of emotions and desires? I struggle with giving myself, but this I must do, for a time. I am to leave my father and mother and be joined with my wife. My relationship to Alisa is to be as unique as a fingerprint, the product of our union to be one-off representatives of humanity.

      I can get caught up in the simple rituals of life. My daily routine, such as it is, has been constantly refined and adapted over the years to fit my environment and time frame (schedule is such a difficult word); but it is my time. Or is it? The only thing I’m given, besides my breath of life, and coinciding with it, is my time. How much of it do I have? Not sure; therefore, I should use it wisely.

      If one were to make a study of my life, it would soon be apparent that this was not always the case. Is not. Long stretches of time were and are used for selfish interests and… what; just what do I spend my time doing?

       In the course of an “average” day, a concept I’m convinced does not exist, I use several hours doing selfish things. I normally and naturally wake early, and spend an hour or two on coffee, fire, heating water, waking up, etc. I try, and am often successful, to read the Word and pray; write or read.

      Then breakfast. Go outside, climb the ladder to our unfinished addition to retrieve potatoes to boil, then cut up in a hot skillet (iron), along with flapjacks (Scottcakes), brew tea. This can and is done simultaneously, as I scurry and drift about the house doing things I feel need done; helping the family, getting myself ready for the day. Regardless of what I’m doing, what am I doing it for? For whom am I doing these things, and who gets the accolades?

      Ultimately, it is about self; it’s all we know. It’s the most important thing we have, along with time; remember, they go together. But if our selves don’t include others, then it’s selfish. With that in mind, how we conduct ourselves does matter. How we use our time and what we pass on becomes a product of our self.

      In the end, I really do enjoy their company. We read and write and draw and talk and wrestle and fight and tickle and read some more. We play video games and build fires and play tic-tac-toe, cut dolls and stars from paper and make popcorn to eat and for the Christmas tree; hike and bike and walk to the library; more books to read.

      Do you do this with your children? It is good for them; you as well. I have learned that our children, all children, are very capable of grasping rather complex activities and games and patterns; designs; concepts of logic and reason, even at a young age. And not all in the same fashion. Every one of our children challenge me in various ways; so very wonderful and unique are their lives.

      Speak intelligently to your children, honest and respectfully; to their mother as well. Encourage others to do the same. Engage them in conversation. Often. I began speaking plainly to our children at a very young age; almost immediately. Yes, you can play and be silly with them; yes with funny words. But the change in the voice and tone and the goo-goo ga-ga stuff doesn’t do it. You know what I’m talking about. Besides literally slowing their development; nay, just developing unnecessary stuff, it only shows them you’re incapable of speaking your own language. People, myself included, are constantly amazed by the articulate nature of our children.

      Have you made fire with them, shown them where fresh water can be found? Where they can go and hide. Teach them how to steer a car; then let them. Show them how to use a saw; any tool, all of them. Get out with your kids and work; yes, play with them, but show them, teach them to work and be strong. This is good for them and our families; our communities and country; humanity as a whole.

      P.S. I no longer have to imagine the noise of four children.