pedadidact

2010 March 7 - Day 22
Bear Creek Campground

Three weeks out, today. To my disappointment, unlike the previous two Sundays, I would not be attending corporate worship. This was on account of ignorance as to where a decent Christian church was, and of being fifteen miles from even a small town, under the pour of rain. The weather let up, however, and I was pleased to sit under the sun with a sermon by venerable Charles Spurgeon. His exposition was first-rate and, thanks to the Spirit, my soul was not only taught but nourished. The sermon centered on the many benefits granted to us by God, and of His provision for the issues of death.

Plagues of death around me fly,
Til he please I cannot die.
Not a single shaft can hit
until the god of love sees fit.

What though a thousand at thy side,
at thy right hand ten thousand died;
Our God his chosen people saves
amongst the dead, amidst the graves.

Whatever occurs around us, we need not be alarmed: we are immortal until our work is done. And amidst infectious or contagious diseases, if we are called to go there, we may sit as easily as though in balmy air. It is not ours to preserve our life by neglecting our duty. it is better to die in service than to live in idleness, better to glorify god and depart than rot above ground in neglecting that He would have us to do. Unto God belong the issues from death. We may therefore go without temerity into any danger where duty calls us.

These phrases were of no little comfort as I questioned the safety of my trip - even familiar State campgrounds take on new and perhaps sinister dimensions when alone in them for days, whether for fear of injury or for assault - and I speak as one once mugged in a very public place. Besides, there is yet in my heart a yearning to go out beyond the normal bounds of the suburban West, even to third-world and hostile places, if for God's sake duty should ever pull the compass needle in such a contrary direction.


Tapatio and Green Tabasco exchange their glass for plastic.


A well-packed bear canister.

Apropos to my present situation, Spurgeon also said in the sermon,

A man ought to be the best of company to himself. It is one reason why we should be well acquainted with the word of God, that if ever we are left alone we may be good companions to ourselves. Commune with your own heart and be still. Hush that babel, let God speak. Get to your bed away from the noise of the streets and lull of the traffic. "Commune with your own heart upon your bed and be still." Some men cannot bear their own stillness. The quiet of their hearts disturbs them. There must be something very rotten in the state of a man's life who wants not some seasons of solitude. Some of us are less alone when we are alone, and some of us more at home even when others count themselves abroad.

Light rain started again but not without enough warning to evacuate gear into the vestibule. I waited the out the weather by designing a nautically themed camper-trailer, called Nautilus, or some-such name. The dimensions would be 10' x 7' x 7', with the center beam of the roof at 9'. A forward bench would unfold to a 5' wide bed, suitable for two. Running starboard and port would go authentic portholes in place of windows. Also a port side tuck-away table, under-bunk drawers and overhead rail-storage; miniature pantry and perhaps generator-run refrigerette. The aft would feature dual electric burners, but with reserves to alcohol stoves. Most importantly, a raised wood stove over a corner of brickwork would make the trailer more than seasonal. When not otherwise employed, discrete speakers would ship a quiet ambiance of ocean sounds, shore-birds, and the occasional sailors' shanty. I estimated the vessel could be self-built for under $7000, perhaps a good deal less, and sold for a fair penny more if stylized nicely enough.



My fanciful afternoon reverie was rewarded with a break in the drizzle which lasted all evening. A large pile of dry wood jettisoned by another camper afforded an effortless roaring fire until, in want of another voice, I retired to read Vos in my tent. Then, if I had my way, to afterwards dream of sailing to some warm and untamed exotica.