Day 13: Living Water

I biked 70 miles today (missed the road I was supposed to turn on and had to backtrack 2 miles) and enjoyed almost every pedal stroke. The weather was excellent, the roads smooth, and there was even a coffee shop with cinnamon rolls on the way.

Speaking of cinnamon rolls, I stepped on the scale this morning at the school gym in Ontario. So far I've gained more than 5 pounds. Yes, I'm burning a ton of calories, but I'm eating a ton and a half of food. The cooks have done an awesome job. Last night they fixed meatballs, mashed potatoes, and that bean casserole with crunchy onions on top. How can you not get seconds? On everything. Later that night we went to a local coffee shop, named "Jolt and Juice", and I got a large smoothie. I reasoned that I didn't get dessert (chocolate pudding and I don't eat chocolate) so I could splurge. After stepping on the scale I figured that I better cut back just a bit-so I only ate two pancakes this morning and split my cinnamon roll with my riding partner. Pretty admirable don't you think? That's the kind of discipline that is going to get me over the Rockies, especially with the extra weight I'm carrying.

The most striking thing about the land is how dramatically it changes. One minute you're riding through fertile fields and the next you're in sagebrush desert and then back again. The surprising thing is that the desert and the field have the same soil. The difference is water. When the government opened up the lands and invited settlers they advertised this place as fertile agricultural land. I can imagine the surprise when people stepped off the train and saw the desert. How can anything grow is this dust? According to the museum I visited yesterday, many of the settlers turned right around and went back east. The ones who stayed learned how to add water to the dust and discovered soil that was perfect for onions and potatoes and corn.

The museum I visited was fascinating. It was funded by reparation moneys that Japanese Americans wanted applied to a museum to tell the story of their internment in WWII. The "Four Rivers Culture Center" told that story well. The biggest irony? ONe of the fiercest divisions in the American army was made up entirely of second generation Japanese. It was called the "Purple Heart Brigade" because so many died in their fearless fighting in the most difficult situations. While they were sacrificing their lives, their families were being kept in internment camps. Mystifying! But then, racism always is.

The museum told other stories, like how the Northern Paiute Native Americans were forced off the land, or rather, confined to a limited part of land, which completely changed their lives and their culture. This quote by an American general was revealing, "The hardest thing is to fight against a people you know are in the right." The general who said it? General Crook. I kid you not. What a name for a man who spearheaded the injustice against the Northern Paiutes.

I also had a great theological discussion with the three year old daughter of the director of operations. She was intrigued by the cross I wear around my neck.
"What's that?"
"A cross"
"About God?"
"Yes, Jesus."
"Is Jesus on the cross?"
"No, this cross remembers what Jesus did a long time ago."
"So, Jesus is not on the cross?"
"No, Jesus is not on the cross."
"That's why there's nothing on the cross?"
"Yes, that's why the cross is empty."
"Because Jesus isn't on it anymore."
"Right."
She was satisfied and bounced away to look at something else. I thought, "Already a Protestant, by the age of three."

Riding through this land of contrasts does make Jesus reference to himself as living water come alive. Our barren times (and lives and communities) are like the sagebrush dessert. We don't need new soil; we just need to irrigate. It's amazing what can grow out of seemingly "useless" soil when the grace of God in Jesus Christ is added. Many years ago, when I cowered before the diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, God said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Water on dry land.

Time to do my wash. There's a laundromat about a mile from here. I'm hoping to do it all in one load. It breaks all of Cindy's rules about separating colors and using the proper temperatures, but, asI said a few blogs ago, "She's not here."