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Posts tagged with: Wolf

A story to teach us how to conquer racism and differences.

I read many things everyday. I recently came across the following true story. I forwarded it to myself to make sure to remind me to post this to my blog. I have no idea where I got it, who wrote it, and don’t know who to give the credit to. I really don’t care about all that. I only hope the following story will encourage us and teach us many things about this crazy life. Enjoy.

One spring morning many years ago, I had been prospecting for gold along Coho Creek on southeastern Alaska’s Kupreanof Island, and as I emerged from a forest of spruce and hemlock, I froze in my tracks. No more than 20 paces away in the bog was a huge Alaskan timber wolf—caught in one of Trapper George’s traps.

Old George had died the previous week of a heart attack, so the wolf was lucky I had happened along. Confused and frightened at my approach, the wolf backed away, straining at the trap chain. Then I noticed some­thing else: It was a female, and her teats were full of milk. Somewhere there was a den of hungry pups waiting for their mother.

From her appearance, I guessed that she had been trapped only a few days. That meant her pups were probably still alive, surely no more than a few miles away. But I suspected that if I tried to release the wolf, she would turn aggressive and try to tear me to pieces.

So I decided to search for her pups instead and began to look for incoming tracks that might lead me to her den. Fortunately, there were still a few remaining patches of snow. After several moments, I spotted paw marks on a trail skirting the bog.

The tracks led a half mile through the forest, then up a rock­-strewn slope. I finally spotted the den at the base of an enormous spruce. There wasn’t a sound in­side. Wolf pups are shy and cautious, and I didn’t have much hope of luring them outside. But I had to try. So I began imitating the high­-pitched squeak of a mother wolf calling her young. No response. A few moments later, after I tried another call, four tiny pups appeared.

They couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. I extended my hands, and they tentatively suckled at my fingers. Perhaps hunger had helped overcome their natural fear. Then, one by one, I placed them in a burlap bag and headed back down the slope.

When the mother wolf spotted me, she stood erect. Possibly picking up the scent of her young, she let out a high­-pitched, plaintive whine. I released the pups, and they raced to her. Within seconds, they were slurping at her belly.

What next? I wondered. The mother wolf was clearly suffering. Yet each time I moved in her direction, a menacing growl rumbled in her throat. With her young to protect, she was becoming belligerent. She needs nourishment, I thought. I have to find her something to eat.

I hiked toward Coho Creek and spotted the leg of a dead deer sticking out of a snowbank. I cut off a hindquarter, then re­turned the remains to nature’s ice­box. Toting the venison haunch back to the wolf, I whispered in a soothing tone, “OK, Mother, your dinner is served. But only if you stop growling at me. C’mon, now. Easy.” I tossed chunks of venison in her direction. She sniffed them, then gobbled them up.

Cutting hemlock boughs, I fashioned a rough shelter for myself and was soon asleep nearby. At dawn, I was awakened by four fluffy bundles of fur sniffing at my face and hands. I glanced toward the agitated moth­er wolf. If I could only win her confidence, I thought. It was her only hope.

One snap of her huge jaws and she could break my arm ... or my neck.

Over the next few days, I divided my time between prospecting and trying to win the wolf’s trust. I talked gently with her, threw her more venison, and played with the pups. Little by little, I kept edging closer—though I was careful to re­main beyond the length of her chain. The big animal never took her dark eyes off me. “Come on, Mother,” I pleaded. “You want to go back to your friends on the mountain. Relax.”

At dusk on the fifth day, I delivered her daily fare of venison. “Here’s dinner,” I said softly as I approached. “C’mon, girl. Nothing to be afraid of.” Suddenly, the pups came bounding to me. At least I had their trust. But I was beginning to lose hope of ever winning over the mother. Then I thought I saw a slight wagging of her tail. I moved within the length of her chain. She remained motionless. My heart in my mouth, I sat down eight feet from her. One snap of her huge jaws and she could break my arm … or my neck. I wrapped my blanket around myself and slowly settled onto the cold ground. It was a long time before I fell asleep.

I awoke at dawn, stirred by the sound of the pups nursing. Gently, I leaned over and petted them. The mother wolf stiffened. “Good morning, friends,” I said tentatively. Then I slowly placed my hand on the wolf’s injured leg. She flinched but made no threatening move. This can’t be happening, I thought. Yet it was.

I could see that the trap’s steel jaws had imprisoned only two toes. They were swollen and lacerated, but she wouldn’t lose the paw—if I could free her.

“OK,” I said. “Just a little longer and we’ll have you out of there.” I applied pressure, the trap sprang open, and the wolf pulled free.

Whimpering, she loped about, favoring the injured paw. My experience in the wild suggested that the wolf would now gather her pups and vanish into the woods. But cautiously, she crept toward me. The pups nipped playfully at their mother as she stopped at my elbow. Slowly, she sniffed my hands and arms. Then the wolf began licking my fingers. I was astonished. This went against everything I’d ever heard about timber wolves. Yet, strangely, it all seemed so natural.

After a while, with her pups scurrying around her, the mother wolf was ready to leave and began to limp off toward the forest. Then she turned back to me.

“You want me to come with you, girl?” I asked. Curious, I packed my gear and set off.

Following Coho Creek for a few miles, we ascended Kupreanof Mountain until we reached an al­pine meadow. There, lurking in the forested perimeter, was a wolf pack—I counted nine adults and, judging by their playful antics, four nearly full­-grown pups. After a few minutes of greeting, the pack broke into howling. It was an eerie sound, ranging from low wails to high-pitched yodeling.

At dark, I set up camp. By the light of my fire and a glistening moon, I could see furtive wolf shapes dodging in and out of the shadows, eyes shining. I had no fear. They were merely curious. So was I.

I awoke at first light. It was time to leave the wolf to her pack. She watched as I assembled my gear and started walking across the meadow.

Reaching the far side, I looked back. The mother and her pups were sitting where I had left them, watching me. I don’t know why, but I waved. At the same time, the mother wolf sent a long, mournful howl into the crisp air.

Four years later, after serving in World War II, I returned to Coho Creek. It was the fall of 1945. After the horrors of the war, it was good to be back among the soaring spruce and breathing the familiar, bracing air of the Alaskan bush. Then I saw, hanging in the red cedar where I had placed it four years before, the now­-rusted steel trap that had ensnared the mother wolf. The sight of it gave me a strange feeling, and something made me climb Kupreanof Mountain to the meadow where I had last seen her. There, standing on a lofty ledge, I gave out a long, low wolf call—­something I had done many times before.

An echo came back across the distance. Again I called. And again the echo reverberated, this time followed by a wolf call from a ridge about a half­ mile away.

I had no fear. The wolves were merely curious. So Was I.

Then, far off, I saw a dark shape moving slowly in my direction. As it crossed the meadow, I could see 
it was a timber wolf. A chill spread through my whole body. I knew at once that familiar shape, even after four years. “Hello, old girl,” I called gently. The wolf edged closer, ears erect, body tense, and stopped a few yards off, her bushy tail wagging slightly.

Moments later, the wolf was gone. I left Kupreanof Island a short time after that, and I never saw the animal again. But the memory she left with me—vivid, haunting, a little eerie—will always be there, a reminder that there are things in nature that exist outside the laws and understanding of man.

During that brief instant in time, this injured animal and I had some­how penetrated each other’s worlds, bridging barriers that were never meant to be bridged. There is no explaining experiences like this. We can only accept them and—because they’re tinged with an air of mystery and strangeness—per­haps treasure them all the more. — End of story.

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If a man can conquer his “racism” towards a wolf, we as mankind can practice many of the same principles to conquer our “racism” of each other, all the while realizing it’s not nearly as dangerous. –Trent


Sheep, Sheep Dogs, Shepherds, and Wolves…What the Church can learn from 9/11

This writing is a modification of segments of Dave Grossman’s book titled, “On Killing.”

I hope my bringing attention to his book, helps him sell a few more.  If you’d like to buy his book, “On Killing” just click this link, or click the picture to the right.  Anything in “italicized quotes” below will be direct quotes from the book.

If you’d prefer to simply watch me preach this exact post…just click on this link. Advance the video to the 7 minute mark to get right to this material.

This post is meant for the Church, aka… followers of Jesus. Its a direct look at the roles that are played under the umbrella of christendom.

Its important to start by saying…Holiness never grows old. Holiness makes the heart, soul, mind, and strength of a human…Whole.  There is nothing quite like the created, living as the Creator intended.  To be a follower of Jesus sometimes means social disapproval, public scorn, hardship, persecution, or, in many parts of the world, the ultimate sacrifice of a martyrs death.

With a quarter century of Church leadership in my rearview mirror…I have learned to identify 4 types of people in and outside of the church body.

Most of the people in christendom are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive people who mostly only hurt one another by accident.  What this means is that the vast majority of Church-goers are not inclined to hurt one another.  I suppose, if you’ve listened to enough stories, one might think that Churches are full of hypocrites, hucksters, and hurtful people.  Its simply not true.  Those stories are just more fun to tell, because our human-ness, oddly, is magnetically attentive to the gore stories.

The stories of christian hypocrisy would have us believe that we may well be in the most dysfunctional times of Church history, but the facts are… Church harm is still remarkably rare. This is because most christians are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. The title is fitting…sheep. I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. The Bible calls them sheep, too. Sheep, after all, are wonderful creatures.

The other spectrum beholds the wolves.  Wolves feed on the sheep mercilessly. There are evil people in the Church, and in the world, and they are capable of evil deeds. Lucifer is undoubtably the leader of wolves.  The moment you forget there are wolves or pretend they don’t affect you, you become a sheep.

 

In the middle of this riddle, there is also the shepherd.

Jesus, while on earth as a man, was the Great Shepherd.  There are some in the Church that are shepherds as well.  These shepherds are wonderful people.  The shepherd is a protector-gatherer.  The shepherd uses voice to protect and gather, shepherds are willing to lay down their life for the sheep.  The shepherd is absolutely a wonderful person.

Then there are sheepdogs.  The sheepdog lives to protect the flock of sheep from harm of any kind…especially from the wolf.

If you have no capacity for violence and are a healthy contributing Church goer, then you are remarkably a sheep or a shepherd.

If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for people, then you are an aggressive or even a passive aggressive sociopath, a wolf.

But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for those inside and outside the body of Christ? What are you then? You are a sheepdog.  Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal realm of human dread, stare the wolf in the eyes and not look away, and end up walking out with scars of glory as evidence of being a sheepdog…you probably even walk with a limp, and some sheep, confuse it to be a strut. It is no strut…it is a limp. The greatest sheepdogs walk with a limp.

The sheep, shepherd, and the wolves are always alert as to the sheepdog’s location. The shepherd needs the sheepdog and the sheepdog needs the Great Shepherd.

We know that the sheep live in an innocent form of denial, that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to face, or for some sheep, acknowledge, that there is real evil in the world. They can accept the fact that sin causes problems, which is why they want recovery groups for those people, youth Groups to save their kids, and secure Church buildings to gather as the flock, so they can be fed by a good shepherd.

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. A sheepdog looks kinda like a wolf. The sheepdog has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not, and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The Church cannot work any other way and it is clear in 1 Corinthians 5.  It can be very easy for a sheepdog to turn into a wolf.  This is why the sheepdog needs The Great Shepherd in close proximity as all times.

Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep and makes the shepherd nervous. The sheepdog is a constant reminder that there are wolves nearby. The sheep would prefer that the sheepdog didn’t tell them where to go, or warn them of impending dangers, here, or in eternity. The sheep would prefer the sheepdog didn’t direct them towards obedience to the commands of The Great Shepherd.  The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog grind down his fangs, purchase a sheep costume at the local Goodwill, zip himself up in it, and make sounds of, “Baa,” and fit into the flock a little more submissively.

Until the wolf shows up.

Then the entire mob of sheep tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.

The local shepherds, typically are impactful at feeding the sheep.  The sheep under ordinary circumstances stay in the middle of the pasture and do their job as sheep. They are good sheep that feed the hungry, cloth the naked, love the orphan and widow, pay what is necessary to do more of such.  In their sheep-ness, they don’t have the time of day for the sheepdog.  Until the wolf pack comes within sight. The sheepdog nearly gets dog piled by the sheep as they seek to be safe.  This is how the sheep and the shepherd act towards the sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.

Please understand…there is nothing superior about the sheepdog; it is just what someone chooses to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a carefully distant creature.  The sheepdog is always looking at the edge of the woods, the horizon, just over the hill, out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, looking into the dark, staying on the edges, and always prepared for a righteous battle.

Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, they don’t plan for it, talk about it, or even like to think about it.  The sheepdog knows the wolf is close and has been prepared for an attack every since the day it decided to become a sheepdog. For a different perspective… “After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep and shepherds, that is, most citizens in America said, “Thank God I wasn’t on one of those planes.” The sheepdogs, said, “Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference.”

Once you choose to become a sheepdog, you make a decision to truly invest yourself in all that a sheepdog is about.  You want to be there when the wolf shows up. You want to be able to make a difference.  After all, eternity is at stake, and heaven and hell are in the balance.

I repeat…there is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, but it does have one real advantage. Only one. The sheepdog is never attacked by the wolf.  Wolves target victims by their body language. slumped walk, passive nature, lack of awareness to surroundings…Sheep.  Sheepdogs stand tall, head up, shoulders back, aware, keen, sharp, armored up like Ephesians 6:10-18 demands!  Truly living under the shield of “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

On a side note…some might think they remember seeing a sheepdog getting attacked by a wolf.  Nope! If you think this, you just didn’t notice the wolf was actually just a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Oh yes, you heard that right.   Wolves don’t attack the sheepdog.  Only sheep who pretending to be a wolf are dumb enough to attack a sheepdog. However… There’s really no such thing as a sheep in wolf’s clothing…there’s only wolves.

Some people may be naturally lured to be sheep and others might be environmentally conditioned to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I’m encouraged to say that more and more followers of Jesus are choosing to become sheepdogs like the forefathers of the faith…the ones referenced in the Hall of Faith found in Hebrews chapter 11 of the Holy Bible.

“Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, “Let’s roll,” which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers – athletes, business people and parents. — from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.”

A critical point to make is this… “In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn’t have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you choose to be a sheep, shepherd, sheepdog, or a wolf. It is a conscious, moral decision.” 

“If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to resist you and make you continually flee with your tail tucked between your legs, you will have no safety, no trust and you will eternally hunger for love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior’s path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip, and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door…you are always preparing for that moment! 

And so the sheepdog must strive to confront denial in all aspects of life, and prepare themselves for the day when evil comes. If you are sheepdog who is immersed in the Double Edged Sword called the Holy Bible, and you, for even a short moment, forget, ignore, and reject your weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the wolf will not come today. In this spiritual world we live in, there is no down time when it comes to carrying your weapon with you.  Even when you rest, you must rest on, in, and with, the Word of God, within your heart, soul, mind, and strength.  If you disagree with me about this, all I ask of you is tip your head back and say this…

“Baa.”

This business of being a sheep, a shepherd, or a sheepdog is not a yes-no ultimatum. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice.

It is a matter of degrees, a pendulum swinging. On one end is the head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate sheepdog. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between.  For instance…Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial.

Followers of Jesus have recently taken a step up too.  When the US government became so bold as to redefine what marriage is and redefine what your biological sex is, it woke the Church.  It woke even some sleeping sheepdogs.

These shifts in time caused the sheep to take a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their sheepdog warriors, and the sheepdogs started taking their job more seriously. The direction to which you swing in this pendulum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will thrive, spiritually, physically, emotionally, socially, in your marriage, your parenting, and your finances.

What is it for you? It is your choice.

Sheep

Shepherd

Sheepdog

Wolf.

It is a choice with huge ramifications. Choose wisely…I remind us all….our choice on this influences the populations of heaven and hell for eternity.