Category Archives: White Rock Lake Images

Saint Francis of White Rock

He walked along the shore pouring out a large bag of feed (50lb?) for the hundreds of ducks at Pelican Bay and then sat to feed whole grain bread to the geese. He told me he’s been doing this every day for years. Next time, I’ll get his full name, which probably includes “Saint” and “Francis.”

Below is a video I took of those hundreds of ducks on another day. Now I know part of the reason that they all congregate here. “Saint Francis of White Rock” tells me that he used to feed them over at the Bath House. When he began feeding them at Pelican Bay instead, the ducks somehow spread the news of where to find him.

The Not-So-Noble* Tree

I started with a relatively silly presentation: Fifty-three feet now I’ve grown, reaching straight across the lawn. A few more years, five feet or so, and then I’ll reach my goal: to poke the people passing by. Believe me, I can hardly wait! Haughty men will shriek, teenage punks will yell, and snotty brats will cry. Oh brothers, that will be so great!

Half-way through the same night, after reading a troublesome Facebook thread (rude remarks from John MacArthur and others, concerning Beth Moore), a more serious presentation:
*When I first noticed this giant, with its long-reaching branch, I thought, “What an admirable tree, in a row of admirable trees! Brothers, as it were.” But then, one stormy night, one of his brothers was felled by a mighty wind. What once stood proud, and seemingly sound, was broken off three feet above the ground. Walking there soon after, I stopped to puzzle how this had come to be. Standing next to the fallen giant, I looked down and saw the cause: a hollow core. Not mere rottenness, but a wholly missing heart, whose absence left a void far below the surface. What happened? The wind held court and a shattering hulk was the verdict. A sad, but thought-provoking end!

The Path

This is one of my favorite places on the path around White Rock Lake. The path goes through some trees and then turns right to an open area that overlooks the entire lake. It is close to the Bath House.

Here, for those who insist on the truth, is the original photo. But do you really want the truth? The picture below is NOT what I truly experience when I am on this section of the path. Because of the magnificent way God designed us, we take in a scene with stereoscopic vision (try closing an eye and looking into branches to appreciate what this means). We hear and smell, look around, and the brain combines everything into an image that greatly surpasses what can be captured in a still image… no matter how good the camera! So, I must edit photos to convey what I EXPERIENCED, not merely what the camera captured in a thoughtless moment of time.

You’re Never Too Old for Counseling

By the way, the words I quoted were from a young lady with tremendous promise. This is not the first time of late that a younger person has pointed me in the right direction. My joking response was that old Scottish men solve their problems with Scottish drinks, but I DID hear what she was saying. I love being part of the family of God, where His Spirit makes significant use of old and young, male and female, rich and poor. Bless you, younger sister.

Horse Nettle Fruit (NOT Edible!)

Horse Nettle fruit (NOT edible!)

Last year, I wrote this Strange, Belated “Happy Birthday” to My Sister, Cindy DeBoer:

Walking at the lake today, I encountered a young family. The mom was picking what looked like wild green tomatoes from the weeds by the path. I stopped to admire the pile of fruit. The husband came over. Short and shirtless, he had the sort of build that told me “this man fears few things.” I asked, “Do you eat these?” Smiling, he answered, “Yes, we eat these in our country.” “What is your country?” “Nepal.” “Oh, so you lived at high elevation?” “Yes, we have the tallest mountain in the world.” “You cook these before eating them, right?” (I recognized them as some form of nightshade). “Yes.” “Well, God bless you.” I resumed my walk and sighed, “God, let me meet them again in Heaven.” Later, it occurred to me that if I do meet them in Heaven, they’ll probably say, “You’re Cindy DeBoer’s little brother, aren’t you!” By then, she’ll be known Heaven-wide as the one who loved strangers well, and did more than ask rudimentary questions. She’s my big sister, and I still have a lot to learn from her.