A few months ago I gave money to a homeless guy who was soliciting funds at an intersection in Tempe. A while back I gave some money to a young woman at a freeway onramp. And last week I gave money to Mike, a worn-out guy who shows up from time-to-time at 35th Avenue and Interstate 10.
I wasn't always generous towards the homeless, used to pass them up regularly with the idea they should 'get a job'. So why do I mention this? Will I be remembered as being generous to the poor? Probably not; an occasional buck or two or five isn't going to gain me any measure of recognition. But it did make me think about those who are not like me.
Many people survive under difficult circumstances. Some of the body of Christ live on the streets. Not all of us are middle-class Americans, with green lawns and Toyotas. It reminded me of the story Jesus told in Luke chapter 16 about Lazarus the beggar and the rich man who lived only for himself.
Lazarus was a homeless man who survived by begging at the city gate. If Lazarus was living today he'd be camped on a freeway overpass somewhere in Phoenix or some other big city with a cardboard sign that would say, "Need work/Vietnam Vet/God Bless". Just another bum to many of us.
But when Lazarus died, he went to what's described as "Abraham's side". The other guy in the story, the man with the lawn and a Lexus and status wound up in hell.
I'm not here to diss people with a green lawn and a Toyota or a Lexus (since I am one of them--minus the Lexus), but to draw attention to those people whom we perceive as not having value or merit, who are unvalued in this world. Next time you dismiss someone who is down and out by the side of the road, remember Lazarus. Not much to look at, probably smelled, but he was God's child. Sure, some of these folks are on the take, or they may have made decisions that landed them out there. But let God work that out. Be generous in the name of Christ.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
The Lessons of Willbank's Well
I've made a number of trips with friends deep into the deserts of Arizona, to mines that went bust, to abandoned mountaintop observatories, and to ghost towns, and I always come back knowing I'm hopelessly spoiled. I drive to these places in my modern four-wheel-drive vehicle, equipped with a two-way radio and air conditioning. Such comforts detract from the rugged macho image I am trying desperately to project. The ranchers and miners of past years had no such dilemma. They traveled in horse-drawn wagons--at best--and worked much of the time with hand tools in the hot, dusty desert or in dangerous dirty mines, and afterwards came home to a shack and a plate of cold beans. I admire their grit.
Our objective (January, 2014) in the Kofa Wilderness in western Arizona was Wilbanks Well, home to a family of the same name, that operated a cattle ranch from the 1930's forward. We had visited the wilderness some months before in March, 2013, going to the abandoned homstead of the Hovatter family. The Hovatters were miners that operated a manganese mine in the area from the 1940's until the early 1970's. Except for a few graves and the remains of the arboretum on which Mrs. Hovatter toiled there's little left of their compound. An explosion from a leaky propane tank in the late 1960's killed one of their daughters, severely burned another, and not long afterward they gave it up.
Though rough and bumpy by city standards, the road we traveled to the Hovatter digs wasn't bad. Since this was in the same general area, some in our group thought this trip might be "boring". It wasn't.
After departing the waypoint of Kofa Cabin, a few miles south of I-10 we got our first surprise--more roads than were mapped, and no way to know which to follow. After a short hesitation we applied Yogi Berra's timeless advice: "When you come to a fork in the road, take it." We turned left, and by luck of the draw it was the right choice.
If one is headed to Willbanks Well, logic would seem to dictate taking Willbanks Road. Although correct (actually there are two ways in; more on that in a moment), it was by far a more difficult trip than the Hovatter run. The map registered landmarks that were hard to discern, sometimes not evident at all. Straying a bit we went up Alamo Wash, and a wrong turn took us to nowhere. With some difficulty, we got turned around and found the trail a half mile to the rear and up a rocky hill, which even in four-wheel-drive took some engineering and guidance on the part of my son Mark. Progress was slow, and I began to wonder if we would have enough daylight to make it all the way through, but we had by then entered Bighorn Pass, and we were beyond the halfway mark (I might have said, "point of no return", but that sounds, you know, kind of like "dead").
Some people think the desert to be dull and uninteresting. Maybe it's because they're dull and uninteresting. Rugged, colorful, arrogant and unforgiving, but never dull; never uninteresting. Bighorn Pass is a spectacle, with ragged ledges, towering mountains and natural bridges. Thanks to recent rains the desert was a green purgatory of bizarre shapes and terrain. We came out of the pass to a marshy area that looked like like the devil's own golf course: Trees and brush, grasses and the muddy footprints of all manner of wildlife, of bighorn sheep, mountain lions, deer and the like. Though none were seen by us this day, we were surely seen by them. Multi-colored outcroppings, fields of teddy bear and cholla and sahuaro cacti were everywhere.
Several hours of crawling through Bighorn Pass brought us to Mid Well,, one of a number of watering spots maintained by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. We were pretty bushed, but our map told us the Willbanks cabin was only about a thousand yards away, so we backtracked a bit and found it on a bend in the wash.
The wash is wide and runs hard when there's a significant rain, but despite its near location the cabin still stands as it has for eighty years. Years ago there was a barn, but a carelessly tossed cigarette took care of that. The house (read: shack) is small even by the standard of the 1930's--maybe three hundred square feet, including a kitchen, and a bedroom, enough room to squeeze in the five Wilbankses. The shower stall was on the front porch, and it must have felt awfully good to get wet after a summer day's work in the dust and sand. Winter showering might have been problematic. There are still a few cabinets, a couple of bedframes and an old iron stove in the place. Iron stoves seem to be the last thing to leave anywhere. There's also a binder of reminisces and remembrances which have been placed by the Wilbanks kids for your enjoyment.
The Willbanks family lived at the ranch through the 1930's, but eventually moved to Vicksburg where there was a school. The years have taken their toll on the cabin, and "you could throw a cat through the south wall", but it has a good roof, and it's available for camping on a first-come first-served basis, as are a number of cabins scattered about this remote area.
We followed Kofa-Manganese Road out. If you want to bypass the difficulties of Bighorn Pass, this is the easier way to get in and out. Easier, but boring.
A worthwhile adventure, and I recommend it. It's a real lesson in how much easier our lives are today compared to what many of the pioneer-types put up with. I'm eager to go again, and perhaps spend the night out in a cabin or under the stars. A word to the wise adventurer: Don't go without reliable four-wheel-drive vehicles, take plenty of water (I take about five gallons), and make sure you tell someone on the outside where you're going--and then go there. There is no cell phone service, and we saw no one else the entire day of travel. Allow plenty of time to get anywhere. I've found the maps to be less-than-accurate, and it's easy to inadvertently rabbit-trail yourself off the road. Did I mention taking plenty of water?
Our objective (January, 2014) in the Kofa Wilderness in western Arizona was Wilbanks Well, home to a family of the same name, that operated a cattle ranch from the 1930's forward. We had visited the wilderness some months before in March, 2013, going to the abandoned homstead of the Hovatter family. The Hovatters were miners that operated a manganese mine in the area from the 1940's until the early 1970's. Except for a few graves and the remains of the arboretum on which Mrs. Hovatter toiled there's little left of their compound. An explosion from a leaky propane tank in the late 1960's killed one of their daughters, severely burned another, and not long afterward they gave it up.
Though rough and bumpy by city standards, the road we traveled to the Hovatter digs wasn't bad. Since this was in the same general area, some in our group thought this trip might be "boring". It wasn't.
After departing the waypoint of Kofa Cabin, a few miles south of I-10 we got our first surprise--more roads than were mapped, and no way to know which to follow. After a short hesitation we applied Yogi Berra's timeless advice: "When you come to a fork in the road, take it." We turned left, and by luck of the draw it was the right choice.
If one is headed to Willbanks Well, logic would seem to dictate taking Willbanks Road. Although correct (actually there are two ways in; more on that in a moment), it was by far a more difficult trip than the Hovatter run. The map registered landmarks that were hard to discern, sometimes not evident at all. Straying a bit we went up Alamo Wash, and a wrong turn took us to nowhere. With some difficulty, we got turned around and found the trail a half mile to the rear and up a rocky hill, which even in four-wheel-drive took some engineering and guidance on the part of my son Mark. Progress was slow, and I began to wonder if we would have enough daylight to make it all the way through, but we had by then entered Bighorn Pass, and we were beyond the halfway mark (I might have said, "point of no return", but that sounds, you know, kind of like "dead").
Some people think the desert to be dull and uninteresting. Maybe it's because they're dull and uninteresting. Rugged, colorful, arrogant and unforgiving, but never dull; never uninteresting. Bighorn Pass is a spectacle, with ragged ledges, towering mountains and natural bridges. Thanks to recent rains the desert was a green purgatory of bizarre shapes and terrain. We came out of the pass to a marshy area that looked like like the devil's own golf course: Trees and brush, grasses and the muddy footprints of all manner of wildlife, of bighorn sheep, mountain lions, deer and the like. Though none were seen by us this day, we were surely seen by them. Multi-colored outcroppings, fields of teddy bear and cholla and sahuaro cacti were everywhere.
Several hours of crawling through Bighorn Pass brought us to Mid Well,, one of a number of watering spots maintained by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. We were pretty bushed, but our map told us the Willbanks cabin was only about a thousand yards away, so we backtracked a bit and found it on a bend in the wash.
The wash is wide and runs hard when there's a significant rain, but despite its near location the cabin still stands as it has for eighty years. Years ago there was a barn, but a carelessly tossed cigarette took care of that. The house (read: shack) is small even by the standard of the 1930's--maybe three hundred square feet, including a kitchen, and a bedroom, enough room to squeeze in the five Wilbankses. The shower stall was on the front porch, and it must have felt awfully good to get wet after a summer day's work in the dust and sand. Winter showering might have been problematic. There are still a few cabinets, a couple of bedframes and an old iron stove in the place. Iron stoves seem to be the last thing to leave anywhere. There's also a binder of reminisces and remembrances which have been placed by the Wilbanks kids for your enjoyment.
The Willbanks family lived at the ranch through the 1930's, but eventually moved to Vicksburg where there was a school. The years have taken their toll on the cabin, and "you could throw a cat through the south wall", but it has a good roof, and it's available for camping on a first-come first-served basis, as are a number of cabins scattered about this remote area.
We followed Kofa-Manganese Road out. If you want to bypass the difficulties of Bighorn Pass, this is the easier way to get in and out. Easier, but boring.
A worthwhile adventure, and I recommend it. It's a real lesson in how much easier our lives are today compared to what many of the pioneer-types put up with. I'm eager to go again, and perhaps spend the night out in a cabin or under the stars. A word to the wise adventurer: Don't go without reliable four-wheel-drive vehicles, take plenty of water (I take about five gallons), and make sure you tell someone on the outside where you're going--and then go there. There is no cell phone service, and we saw no one else the entire day of travel. Allow plenty of time to get anywhere. I've found the maps to be less-than-accurate, and it's easy to inadvertently rabbit-trail yourself off the road. Did I mention taking plenty of water?
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