After the Cataclysm

AFTER THE CATACLYSM

by

Crystal J. Ortmann




Over 1000 feet of mountain exploded in just a few moments. A mere geological finger snap and a large part of a majestic snowcapped peak was reduced to rubble and fine ash. Mount St. Helens had erupted.
After 20+years the devastation still amazes me and the eerie stillness makes me want to whisper.
A proud forest now fills a greater portion of what was once a blue mountain lake. The dead trees are clustered together at one end like so many corpses.
Other skeletal remains of trees stand starkly--gray upon gray from the all-pervading dust. I want to weep.

As if sensing my mood, clouds start spilling over the mountain’s lip and
the wound in its side. The wind blows harder and spits stinging raindrops. It’s August and yet, in the mountains, it still feels like winter, so I hurry back to the protection of the truck.
It’s only an afternoon ride, but I feel I’ve been to the other side of the moon.
The creature comforts of warmth and shelter take on new value. I revel in them as I ride the s-curves back to a more hospitable world.
During the descent, I observe lush ferns and green shrubs with heightened
appreciation and awareness. The scent of fir trees soothes me. It’s raining heavily, yet with softer drops. They gently course down the wind-shield, washing away the grime that once was a mountain.
I am thankful for the way He brings new life and hope out of calamity and destruction.
Psalm 46:1-3 (NASB) “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.”

The Crippled Crow

THE CRIPPLED CROW

by

Crystal J. Ortmann




“Frank, come and look at that crazy crow,” I called to my husband. “He’s trying to hang on the suet feeder by flapping his wings like a hummingbird.” We laughed at the incongruity of this enormous bird trying to act like such a small one.
He flew a short way and tried to land. At that time we noticed that one leg was bent backwards and he didn’t have all his tail feathers. He flapped and teetered, trying to gain his balance. It was comical yet tragic.
“He won’t last long with only one leg working. He’s huge. How will he ever feed himself?
We didn’t expect him to last through the winter and certainly didn’t expect him to become an inspiration to us both.
The poor battered critter showed up sporadically at first. Before long, he was a
regular, taking advantage of the goodies in our birdfeeders.. Each time, he struggled valiantly trying to stand upright. He ended up leaning against the tree for support. His flapping wings brought us running to watch.
Our backyard was a certified wildlife habitat (We have since moved to an apartment). We observed all sorts of birds, but this crow became very special to us. His tremendous struggle to get food left us full of impotent compassion for there was no possibility of getting near enough to help him. He’d have probably pecked us if we tried.
That winter passed and we were sure he would die. Yet, each day, there he was, big as
life, going about the business of getting enough food for the day. What a guy! Admiration mingled with sympathy. He didn’t go off in a corner and whine about his condition. He didn’t decry the fate that left him crippled. This crow simply went about the business of finding food and tending to his daily needs with a bravery I envied.
There are some crippling things in my life too. Things don’t always go my way.
I struggle with problems and defects. It is so easy to give in to self-pity; yet, this crow taught me something very important.
He took each day as it came, getting on with what needed to be done. He didn’t
waste his time feeling sorry for himself. There was no complaining from him about how easy the others had it. He had to find food, regardless of his weakness.
I heard him cawing as I wrote this piece. Yes, he was still alone years after we first noticed him. He’s letting me know he’s on his way. His favorite peanut suet waited for him. I felt I owed it to him.
After all, my crippled crow taught me a lesson about getting through a hard
winter in my life. He showed me that handicaps needn’t prevent me from living a full life.
In fact, I found out HE was a SHE when she arrived one year with
her young. She fed them with no thought of eating first. Her attempts to find food for them and watch out for their welfare were nothing short of heroic. I never dreamed I’d learn such a lesson in courage and perseverance from a crippled crow.

HOW GREAT IS THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY! A Photo Essay

LORD, YOU ARE THE AUTHOR OF EVERYTHING LOVELY AND FILLED WITH POWER! YOUR CREATIONS RESOUNDS WITH JOY!

A Little Fellow and His Shoes

©Crystal J. Ortmann, 2004









A LITTLE FELLOW AND HIS SHOES

by

Crystal J. Ortmann



A single mother sat with her little son and read Bible stories to him. They made a habit, although he was only four years old, of daily prayer and Bible reading. It was a precious time for both.
The child, Dean, was a full-of-life little boy with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. He loved to pray and learn about God. He had a calendar where his mom drew a little picture of whatever good deed he did that day. His calendar was packed with them. She wanted him to learn how to put his faith into practice and that’s just what he was doing.
For months, he and his mother had been putting together a missionary cupboard. It was a ramshackle bookcase that wasn’t quite even. They painted it bright orange (that was his favorite color). A map of the world was tacked up over it.
He reverently placed knick-knacks from various countries on the shelves. Dean was allowed to put colored stick-pins on the map of the countries where the curios originated. He loved the one in India the most, because he and his mom supported a very poor child there. That boy was so poor; he didn’t even have a home. Dean prayed often for that child who lived far across the ocean.
He loved to stand in front of the bookcase and dream. Dean didn’t know he was also poor, because he had almost everything he wanted—a warm home, his mom and the fun they had together. He loved God and liked going to Sunday school and church--well, more the Sunday school part, because he was an active little guy.
One Sunday, he was very excited about going to church that night. When he was in Sunday school, the teacher told him a missionary would be coming to the evening service.
When it was time to go, he scurried back to his room and came out with a rumpled brown bag. His mom thought he was bringing a quiet toy, so she didn’t check to see what was in it.
They left a little early and were some of the first people there. The church was nearly empty when they arrived, so they sat near the front where they could see and hear well. It was hard for Dean to sit still during the service, but he tried extra hard to be good. He wanted to see the missionary that loved children.
Above his forehead, his cowlick stood at attention and his blue eyes and pink, pudgy cheeks glowed with excitement. Finally, the worship music was done and the missionary was introduced. Dean sat up and quit fidgeting. He leaned forward to hear every word. He’d never seen a real missionary before.
The man talked about people in faraway lands who didn’t know Jesus. He spoke about Jesus and he talked about the children. He asked the congregation to pray for those people.
At that point, Dean slipped out of the pew and started up the aisle with his little rumpled bag. His mom didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to make a scene.
“Where are you going?” she whispered.
Dean turned and looked at her and said aloud: “I want a poor child to have some shoes, Mommy.”
The missionary watched him and started down the aisle to meet him. Dean pulled some scuffed shoes from the bag and held them out to the man.
“Why, what’s this?” he asked Dean as he took the shoes.
“These are for the poor children,” Dean replied. “I want them to have shoes.”
The man stood there, holding them. He was deeply touched and his face softened as he looked at this little fellow offering up his very best.
He gave Dean a hug and turned him around to face the congregation. “This is what it’s all about,” he said. “This young boy will be a missionary one day.”
Dean didn’t know he was poor. He just knew he had more than some of the children he prayed for. The little guy was reaching out to those in need. The shoes had been given to him second-hand because he needed them. He loved those shoes. Yet, he chose to give them to someone more in need than he was. Dean was living his prayer by helping provide for someone who had nothing.
Dean’s mom was so proud of him, she thought she’d burst. She continues to treasure that moment and will for the rest of her life. I know she will, because, I am that mother. My son Dean was the compassionate little fellow with the shoes.

So Lonely A Story for Teens

Crystal J. Ortmann Story for Teens

So Lonely

The school bell rang. Clusters of kids, talking in tight groups, groaned and sluggishly headed toward their classrooms. Some yelled obscenities at each other and others walked closely together, deep in conversation.
Angie was new. It was another new school, one of many during her young life. She had no friends and wasn’t sure she wanted any. Just when they seemed to become special, she had to move again.
What’s the use of making friends? It’ll just hurt again when I go to another school.
She was a quiet, well-mannered girl. Angie was pretty and a few of the guys had given her a good look-over. Some of the girls stared at her, taking in her not-so-in clothes.
She knew all the looks by heart. Since she was a small child, she’d always been an outsider. Her straight blond hair hung in her face and over her blue eyes. It was a good thing because she didn’t want anyone to see the tears filling them.
Intelligence and looks didn’t make up for being the new one. Loneliness engulfed her as she walked into the classroom and reported to the teacher. The noisy room became very quiet, and all eyes were on her as she said her name. Angie wanted to shrink down into her shoes. She hated being inspected like meat.
Her teacher told her to grab an empty seat and make it quick because they needed to get started. She looked up at the stony stares of her classmates. No one appeared the slightest bit friendly. She stumbled over someone’s foot, and many of her classmates laughed. Her backpack fell and opened its contents onto the floor. Not one student offered to help as she groped for her belongings.
Angie chose a seat toward the back of the room. No one could watch her without having to turn around. How she hated first days!
Angie was a sensitive, intelligent young woman. She was attractive and had a nice shape, but, she was an outsider . . . always an outsider.
Somehow, she made it through the day. She ate her lunch alone, stood alone, felt alone. She was in the midst of so many people and yet, she felt as though she didn’t exist. Small groups of girls stood chatting. They looked over at her and snickered.
Angie wanted friends in the worst way. She longed for someone to like her. Lord, please, let someone like me.
Each day was agony. At night, alone in her room, she cried herself to sleep. She covered her head with her pillow as yet another of her parents’ frequent fights started.
“Why was I even born?” she cried. Her sobs were muffled by the pillow.
She got involved in a youth group at church, but they were much the same as the other kids at school. They all had their special friends. She was left out again.
As the weeks wore on, she continued going, and one of the youth group leaders started paying special attention to her. Angie was shy; fearful of being hurt again, but, this lady was so nice. She always had time to talk and didn’t seem to think Angie was stupid. Bit by bit she began to tell this leader about her terrible loneliness. They prayed together and Angie accepted the best Friend she would ever have. It was much more than the young teen had ever experienced in any other groups. The nights when the youth met at church became the most important moments of her life.
Soon, it was time to move again, just like always, but, this time Angie took something and Someone very special with her. She had a Friend and the youth leader cared and promised to stay in touch.
“If someone cares here,” she told herself, “maybe I’ll find another friend in the next place and never be so lonely again.”

Unemployed but So Wealthy

UNEMPLOYED BUT STILL WEALTHY

(True story)

            Following four layoffs in nine years, Frank and I worked hard to reduce our mountain

of debt, accrued through illness and a few emergency situations and no job.  My husband

enjoyed going to his job each day and we rejoiced over each and every paycheck.

            The nightmares of being unemployed multiple times seemed to be over and life returned

slowly to normal. However, Frank called me early one day.  It surprised me and an icy hand of

fear touched me.  No, Lord.  Not again! 

“I just received my pink slip and as of today, I’m no longer employed,” he told me.  “I’ll be home soon.” 

The Lord gave me grace to be supportive and I murmured platitudes about how we would

make it through this.  Following the call, the impact of his news hit me.   I took it straight to God

and poured out my panic.  For years we had lived on a shoestring budget, trying to make ends

meet.  We hadn’t bought new clothes or splurged on anything during that time.  Vacations

or even eating out once in awhile were not options.  Financial blow upon blow kept raining

down on our family.  Why, God?  Why us?  We’ve tried so hard to be faithful.

            As I prayed, cried and thought about the situation, I sensed a peace of sorts.

Still, it bothered me.  We faced an unknown future with no health insurance, no 401K and had no

idea of how long this situation would last. 

            Frank worked hard and gave his best being diligent and loyal in every job.  I’ve never

known anyone with a better work ethic.  He desired to be the breadwinner and take care of our

family.  Yet, once again, he lost his job.  It just didn’t make sense.

            He inspired me as he set the alarm and got up each morning, showered and prepared

himself as if he were going to work somewhere.  He then started the onerous task of searching

for jobs online and sending out resumes and applications, which is a full-time job in itself.  His

perseverance and uncomplaining attitude never failed to impress me.

            This current layoff came one month before the events of September 11, 2001.

Little did we know that we would face 19 long months of joblessness.  Thankfully, we lived one

day at a time, just focusing on surviving that day.  We had refinanced our house during a  

previous layoff, just to stay afloat.  It helped, but now we were carrying a larger mortgage. 

Eventually, we had to sell our house to get out from under the increased house payments.

The housing market then was iffy and we wouldn’t have made any money on it if our

realtor hadn’t reduced her commission significantly, allowing us to make a small profit under

$500.00.

People volunteered help with the repairs on the house.  In fact, godly brothers and

sisters in the Lord poured out their resources.  They helped us with food, clothing, cash and

helped us move to an apartment and clean the house we were leaving.  The landlord accepted us,

even though we weren’t working (I had been sidelined from work outside the home for years due

to a chronic illness).  In fact, the manager actually gave us a rebate for moving in.  The rent was

hundreds of dollars less than our  mortgage payment, which helped enormously.

One couple offered us food if we wanted to pick it up.  When we arrived we found a

freezer filled to the brim with probably more than $1000.00 worth of frozen food.  Then they

told us to take the freezer too!

            In spite of all the offerings, we still needed help.  Prayer and faith bolstered us through

that awful time.  But, God blessed us with a lack of tension, in spite of the fearful circumstances,

and we worked well together, not taking our frustrations out on each other.  A number of

meaningful discussions took place, however, and we tried hard to communicate well and often.

            One day the phone rang.  My brother-in-law in Germany called to inform us of Frank’s

mother’s death.  We had no money and no way of going to Germany.  In Sunday school, one

man came to us and said he wanted to help us and gave us enough frequent flyer miles to let both

of us go to Germany to be there for our brother. 

            “Do you have any spending money for your trip?” one of my fellow altos in choir asked.

“You’ll need some.”  She then gave me $300.00.  This act of kindness blessed me greatly

because I knew she gave sacrificially. 

During that same time, we had to declare bankruptcy.  The process humiliated us, but

didn’t break us.  God became more real to us through those dark months.  He spoke to us through

our family in Christ through their loving generosity as they sought to help us emotionally,

financially and spiritually.  Their actions showed  His compassion and care more than any

words.

            We didn’t lose anything of significant value, though we lost a lot of pride, material goods

and other non-important things.  Our marriage grew stronger.   As we looked bankruptcy in the

face,  God gave us grace to submit our belongings to His care.

            In spite of great losses, we gained so much more.  Submitting to God in the midst of the

most frightening experiences of life, in our case, our very livelihood, we fell into the arms of a

loving and living God.   

           

Life continues to be a financial struggle as we strive to get out from under debts incurred

during that time.   But, one thing I know: we possess true riches, no matter what our bankbook

says.    

Endnote:  My husband has a wonderful job that fits him in every way and we were able to take our first vacation in years.  What a blessing!

           

                                                 

It's Hummer Time

                                                           Photo by Frank Ortmann

"It's 'hummer'time and 'for them', the living is easy."  A slight variation to the song "Summertime."  I had an interesting encounter this afternoon with one of our resident Anna's Hummingbirds.  There are several that make our feeding station their own private Smorgasbord, especially during the winter months.

Cooking up a new batch of nectar (1 part sugar to 4 parts water) and letting it come to a rolling boil, I waited for it to cool enough to fill the feeders.  I went to the smaller red feeder and reached for it. BZZZZ!  I had a mini-mig fighter jet right at my hand.  She glared at me as though I were doing the unthinkable and then I did.  I took the feeder inside to clean it with a bottle brush and refill.  A whole lot of nervous hovering was going on by the other feeder.  When I reappeared with fresh food, the little fighter was there again.  Next, I took the larger feeder and more of the same.  Anna's hummers are known for their pugnacious attitudes, so I asked her politely to cool her jets.  She wouldn't consider it.  I was hoping the newly filled feeder would sidetrack her.  It did, but I somehow had the feeling I was being very carefully watched.

One time, I took the feeder down and the hummer followed me right inside the house!  They do take their food very seriously.  I have had so much entertainment and outright laughter at their antics.  They don't consider me their only enemy--they chase each other with equal vengeance.  In fact, I read somewhere that if you don't want birds to eat your berries, put a hummingbird feeder in the midst of the berry patch and the little watch-hummer will keep other birds at bay.  I've never tried that, but it sounds very entertaining.

It occurred to me how much like the hummingbird I am.  God provides everything I can ever need, He is always there to clean up my messes when I ask, and He gives lavishly.  Yet, if He removes something from my life, even just to make something better for me, I get all shook up and have the equivalent to a hummer hissy-fit.  Then He replaces it with something better and I often forget to thank Him.  Hummingbirds have no sense of decorum.  I have yet to be thanked for all I do for them.  God must feel that way sometimes, yet, He continues to do what's best for me, no matter how many hissy-fits I throw and I will continue to care for the hummers, no matter how much I hear the sound BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.