"FUZZLES"

"There, did you see that? It moved."  "What?"  "That moss hanging from the spruce limb, it moved."  "Probably the wind."  "It's calm."  "Aw, come on your seeing things."  

They turned and continued to walk along the game trail.  We call the moss old man's beard.  It's fairly common here in southeast Alaska.  Most people hardly notice it.

Behind their backs, the moss came alive and scurried about on the branches.  Lively bearded creatures giggled to themselves behind the two men's backs.  

One of the men felt a sudden sensation to look back so he whirled around.  Nothing there, nothing moved.  He continued walking, but couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

The little bearded creatures again joyfully scrambled over the limbs laughing to themselves.  The Fuzzles, that's what they call themselves, live in the Alaskan rainforest.  No one knows of their existence, no one that is except me, and the animals.

The instant humans enter the forest they freeze.  Just hair-like moss hanging from a limb.  No other human has ever seen them moving about.  I love to sit and watch them play in the branches.  The Fuzzles talk to me about their secret lives and giggle constantly.  Their lives are a continuous joke played on people.

Never take any of the old man's beard home.  Fuzzles love to play tricks on people.  Even when camping in the woods they will mess with your stuff.  Like when your knife wasn't where you were sure you had left it.  
I remember the first time I saw them.  I was hiding under a thick spruce tree heavily camouflaged moose hunting.  I had fallen asleep for, I don't know how long.  I awoke to soft noises and the flicker of movement in the trees around me.  I didn't move a muscle, just my eyes.  These little bearded creatures were jumping from limb to limb softly giggling.  
I said, "Hello, who are you, where did you come from."  Instantly they froze becoming nothing but moss hanging from the trees.  
"I know you're there I saw you.  It's okay, I won't hurt you.  Please come out and talk to me if you can."  Nothing...  "I know I look like a bush, but I'm a man."  
A soft voice, "We can't trust you.  Humans are evil.  They kidnap us and we hear them talking about making medicine out of our bodies."
I said, "Look into my heart.  If what you see is good then you will know."  
Silence...  Then a movement here another there. Soon the little bearded creatures started moving toward me.  
"Let us see you," a soft voice said.  I took off my camouflage and sat up.  Voices everywhere.  "Eeee it is a man!"  
"Please don't be afraid.  I want to be your friend."  
"But you're a human."
"Yes", I said, "I know you have no reason to trust me.  I guess I'm asking you to have faith that I mean you no harm."
I stood up and walked out into the open.  The Fuzzles froze and vanished into moss.  
"Please trust me," I said.  You're all so wonderful."  
I don't know how long I had been standing there when I noticed a piece of moss hanging off my shoulder.  I didn't move.  A while later another piece of moss was hanging off my hat.  Very slowly more pieces of moss began to hang from me.  
"See I won't hurt you.  I want us to be friends," I said.  
Whispers all around me.  Then a giggle.  Then a movement.  "We've never let a human see us before.  You must promise not to tell anyone."  
I said, "Don't worry no one would believe me, but please, I would like to write a little story about you for my grandchildren.  A make-believe story as if you didn't really exist."
It took me a lot of visits with the Fuzzles before they finally agreed to let me write about them.  Though they trust no other humans we have become close friends.  
They have shared many forest secrets with me that I will never tell.  You have no idea all the things you don't see when you walk in the forest.  It is a wonderfully magical world.  At least in my mind.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren                    

        

POEMS
by Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

OTTERS

I saw two otters swimming in a ditch.
One called the other a son of a...

They got into a fight,
But neither could win.
So they forgave each other,
And continued to swim.

PERSPECTIVES

I saw.
You saw.
We saw. 
They all saw.
Among them all they saw it all,

But no one knew just what they saw.

My Song of Africa

In the predawn darkness, I lie on my cot secure in my mosquito net; the smell of night lingering in the air.  I hear the sound of a large white blossom falling from the baobab tree next to my hut.  The low buzzing of bees hum from their hives in hollows of its limbs.  The dawn breaks as the sun leaps into the sky, shattering the darkness with unexpected suddenness.
The silence, as well as the darkness, is broken.  Sounds erupt.  Baboons, my ever squabbling neighbors, start their raucous chattering.  A warthog grunts as it leaves its burrow to start foraging.  I hear a leopard cough and the baboons send a warning through the bush that he is still on the prowl.  The giant baobab explodes with shrieks and squawks as dozens of parrots fly from their nesting holes.
Birds and monkeys add their voices to the sounds but through it all, I hear my song.  Every day, all day long, I hear the song of the mourning doves.  Their soft cooing cuts through everything and touches my heart.
I emerge from my cocoon and start a fire.  There is still a chill in the air, but it will soon be gone.  By the time I finish breakfast the day will already be heating up.  The song of the mourning doves is the only sound that will remain… What song of Africa will they sing for me today?
As head of security for Coutada 5, District of Machanga, Sofala Province, Mozambique, I started my day hunting poachers in the mopane forest of central Mozambique, about thirty-five miles from the Indian ocean.  As I moved through the bush I cut the trail of a Nyala bull.  I decided to follow the animal.  The grass was about a foot high with scattered leaves on the ground.  As I slowly crept along the mourning doves suddenly ceased their singing, the bush fell silent. I froze.  The song of Africa had stopped. It is as if the birds and animals were warning me something was about to happen.  Everything was holding its breath and watching.  My heart pounded as I looked around.  Then, as if it materialized from nowhere, there it was, three feet in front of me.  The sinister coil of a huge puff adder.  Its brown and grey leaf pattern made it almost invisible.  They hunted by lying await in ambush.  One of the deadliest snakes in Africa.  In another step, I would have been dead.
The puff adder was as big around as a man's arm and four feet long. 
As I eased back and circled around the snake I heard the Nyala before I saw him.  The snake had distracted me, ruining my stalk.  He was a nice bull, and with his horns laid back he ran through the thick forest with amazing ease.  In a flash, he was gone, but I was still alive.  Bush sense had saved my life.  That and my doves with their song of Africa.
In Africa, there is no such thing as being “at the top of the food chain.”  Everything, man included, is both predator and prey.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

BEAR WITH IT

Every winter I go with a couple of my grandsons, Caleb and Jesse, to run their trap lines.  They trap marten, mink, beaver, and wolf to supplement their summer income.  I guess I better say something right now.  If you don’t approve of trapping stop reading, lest you be offended by my story.
Okay, so we made some beaver sets in an area of heavy beaver signs.  The beavers had built several dams causing flooding of the forest and road that led into the area.  Our traps are the type that kills instantly, not the leg hold type.  The boys had found a place back east that would tan and shear them at a good price.  They want to make hats and mittens from the pelts.
The boy’s made three sets along paths the beaver had traveled. They use unbaited sets called blind sets.  The animal simply blunders into the trap.  We were in dense alder thickets with large spruce and cottonwood trees.  The beaver had felled half a dozen cottonwoods for food and the dams were an engineering marvel.
We waited a couple of days then went to check the traps.  It was early December.  This time of year the days are short.  Once into the forest visibility wasn’t the greatest, but we are used to that.  I carried my .375 H&H rifle, just to be on the safe side, you know like wearing a life jacket in a boat.  Grandson Jesse had a .44 magnum revolver and Caleb was unarmed.  By December the bears have normally hibernated so we weren’t concerned.
The first set was empty so we moved on to the next one.  It was fairly hard to get to so Caleb and I waited while Jesse waded the stream to check the set. We couldn’t see him or the set so were surprised to hear him yell, “Hey, we got a wolf.”  We took off for the set.  This was really good news.  Wolf pelts are worth a lot of money.  Suddenly, at the same time, Jesse started yelling and a bear started bawling.  “It’s a bear, we got a bear in the trap.”  What, no way we could catch a bear in a beaver set.
Jesse rejoined us very excited.  We were all talking at once.  I went on high alert.  Caleb kept saying, “I’m never coming into the woods again without a gun.”  We carefully approached the set.  Sure enough, there was a brown bear with its right front leg in the trap.  The trap was too small to hurt the bear, but he couldn’t get it off.  The trap was chained to an alder tree that acted as a fishing pole.  From the looks of things, the bear hadn’t been in the trap very long.  The bear was young enough that the mother could possibly still be around.  We were in a very dangerous situation.  My head was like a swivel looking in all directions at once.
After a short conference, we decided to go back to the car and call the Fish and Game Dept.  It took over an hour for them to decide what to do.  The final word came down, “If you think it is safe enough would you go back in and dispatch the bear.”  We didn’t want the bear to suffer all night or have a brown bear running around with a trap on its arm so we agreed to “dispatch” the bear.  That’s Fish and Game parlance for “kill it.”
On the trip back in we decided to make plenty of noise in case the mother was still around.  We had found out that the day before, in this area, a bear had chased a couple that just barely got back to their car ahead of it.  Anyway, we sneaked up on the bear, it had stopped bawling and just sat looking at us.  With a heavy heart we “dispatched” the bear.  The boys skinned it and are holding it for Fish and Game to pick up.
The story continues.  Several miles away we also had a wolf set.  Upon checking it we found that a brown bear had destroyed the set, stole all the bait and had a picnic.  The ground was all torn up where he had buried what he couldn’t eat for a later time.
I remind you this all happened in early December.  They’re supposed to be sound asleep by then.
Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

RA 18462812

This is a number I will never forget.  I wore this number around my neck on a tag. The U. S. Army called them "Dog Tags", probably not politically correct this day and age.  Never the less I was government property and that number was my serial number.  My MOS was 111-01, meaning Airborne Infantry (Paratrooper).  I swore an oath to protect my country and the Constitution of the United States of America from all enemies, both foreign and domestic.  I took that oath seriously.  Though I served my six years a long time ago I still take the oath seriously. 

When I took that oath I said, "So help me GOD".  God has been this Democratic Republics' foundation since it's conception.  To me "In God we trust", is not just a motto, it is a way of life.  I am not alone in my beliefs.  There are millions of men and women still willing to fight to preserve our constitution, our beliefs and our historical way of life. I fight by praying, speaking out, voting and let the winner have his turn at bat.  

The father of socialism, Karl Marks, said armed revolution was an extension of the political process.  We are pushing the limits of civil democracy.  Please, people, wake up to what you're doing to our country; to the direction we're headed.

Warren, Marshall K.

RA 18462812

0 Pos

  

TRACKS

Carolyn and I were living aboard our troller in old Thompson harbor in Sitka, Alaska.  It was, I don’t know, around 1996. Our children were living aboard their boats as well and we all made our living fishing.  One day my son Dev and I decided to go target shooting.  We took my fishing boat, the Tianna, a salmon troller built on a double-ended sailboat hull called the True North. We found an island with a long stretch of beach, anchored, and launched our skiff.
Pulling the skiff up on the sand, we unloaded our shooting gear and rifles and carried the skiff to the high tide line.  There was a log lying nearby that would make a good shooting rest, so we put our gear and rifles on it.  I used my range finder to locate another log a hundred yards down the beach, so I got a couple of targets and we headed for it.
We chatted away as we walked through the soft sand to the log.  Using my stapler I attached the targets, then we headed back to our shooting position.  We hadn’t walked twenty-five yards when there in the sand were huge brown bear tracks on top of our tracks.  At that point, it had turned and headed into the tree line.  We backtracked for maybe fifty yards to the spot it had come down out of the woods and followed us along the beach.
That bear had watched us, followed us down the beach, I mean right behind us, then lost interest and headed back into the woods.  We had no idea he was there.  I couldn’t help but wonder how many times I had been in a bear's crosshairs only to be spared by their change of mind.
We are so ignorant of the multitude of times death was just a second away and one little change of circumstance prevented it.  I guess if I were to moralize this story it would be to say, “Where you’ve been can be just as dangerous as where you’re going.”

Marshall Kimbrough Warren     

Our Children.  Oh, how I loved those days.  Living on a lake. waterskiing, swimming, and hiking with the kids.  One day Christy and I were walking along beside the lake.  She kept leaning over looking down.  Finally, I asked her, "What are you doing?'  She answered with the question, "Daddy, what keeps my eyeballs from falling out?"  Oh, how I loved those days.  

Kelly, Christy, Devlan

FERRY LAND

Carolyn and I live in a land of islands.  Travel between towns is by air or boat.  Thankfully we have the Alaska Marine Highway System, which means we have ferries connecting the towns.  Ferries large enough to put cars and trucks on.  One day in 1993 the ferry LeConte provided us with a most unexpected and greatly appreciated service.
That year we decided to get into commercial salmon trolling.  Since we had no experience we started with hand trolling.  We bought an old wooden 34ft shallow draft gill-netter, that had been converted to a hand troller, along with a hand troll permit.  The boat had the catchy name of “Sea Wing.“  Our preparation and learning curve is a story in itself, so I’ll just begin with this one incident.
We left Hidden Falls, headed north up Chatham Strait, after moderately poor success, then turned west down Peril Strait, south at Hoonah Sound, continued along Dead Man’s Reach and anchored in Poison Cove for the night.  We left early the next morning in order to arrive at Sergis Narrows at slack water as the tides rip through it at up to eight knots, faster than our boat.  This can be a dangerous place and I was always glad to have it behind me.  When we entered Salisbury Sound it was calm so I raised the trolling poles, these are 35-40ft long outriggers we attach our fishing lines to as well as stabilizers that drag in the water. Coming back into the pilothouse I asked Carolyn to take the helm for a few minutes while I rested.
In a matter of minutes I felt the boat jolted by a heavy wind gust.  Then another accompanied by rain.  Carolyn yelled, “You better come up here.”  The rain sounded like BB’s hitting the boat and the wind started hammering us badly.  Salisbury Sound looked like a washing machine.  I cursed myself for raising the trolling poles.  The weather continued to worsen and as the wind increased the boat rigging started howling in protest.
We were in trouble!  The wind was blowing so hard that if I let the bow slip out of the winds eye it would lay us on our beams end.  I told Carolyn to get our survival suits ready as I fought the helm.  Every wave tried to knock us down.
The wind was roaring out of Neva Strait, which was where we were headed.  To our left up ahead was St. Johns Baptist Bay.  I knew it had a safe anchorage, but there was no way for me to turn out of the wind and head for it.  Suddenly the radio crackled, “Sea Wing this is the LeConte coming up on your stern.  What are your intentions?”  I told him we were in trouble and just barely able to keep from being knocked down.  He replied, “We show the wind to be a steady 55kts with much higher gusts.  Do you know the anchorage in St. Johns Baptist Bay?”  I said that I did.  He said, “I’ll pull up beside you and put you under my lee to block the wind.  You stick close to me and I will lead you into the anchorage.”  I rogered his instructions and thanked him.
As I fought the helm our starboard windows filled with blue ships hull.  I sucked up to within ten feet of him and he led me in.    Dropping behind him we scooted into the sheltered anchorage.  By the time I had dropped the hook the LeConte had turned around and was passing in front of us.  He was blowing his horn and the port rail was lined with passengers shouting and waving.
After the sudden storm system passed we continued to Sitka.  It was still unpleasant, but safe.  The next day we sold our paltry number of fish, bought bait, got fresh ice, refueled and headed out again.
This isn’t the end of our story.  It was only the beginning.

Marshall Warren (former fisherman) 

Why Not Gills?

· 

I have belonged to a writers group for several years. They have taught and inspired me with great patience. One member, I'll call her Abigail because that's her name, has a Ph.D. in Behavioral Science. In spite of this, she still befriends me. Abigail recently wrote a poem about the ascent of humans which inspired me to ask this question...Water covers much more area of the earth than land and has an inhabitable water column. Land, on the other hand, is susceptible to many natural disasters, and we are restricted to surface living. Therefore, I ask why didn't humans develope as marine (ocean-dwelling) people? Since science says we started out in the ocean it seems logical to have remained there and developed.
While most people waste their nights sleeping I spend hours contemplating such important questions as this.
Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

THE COWARD

I was going through basic training at Ft. Ord, Calif.  At 18 years old it was the first time I had been away from my home in Texas. I had never seen an Ocean, so one weekend three of us hiked over to have a look at the Pacific.  We found a pebble beach about 200 yards long with large rocky outcrops at each end and an ominous sign that read "DANGEROUS CURRENTS-NO SWIMMING".  Disregarding the sign we waded into the surf.  I could feel the current ripping the gravel from beneath my feet so I stopped.  The soldier next to me had gone a little further out when he suddenly vanished under the water.  The other soldier yelled, "Get outa the water!"  We hurried out pulling hard against the current.  Just as we cleared the water our buddy popped up about 40 yards out yelling for help.  I was frozen.  No way was I going back in that water.  However, the soldier with me jumped into action.  He yelled, "Help me with this log."  He was pulling a large piece of driftwood towards the water.  I ran over and grabbed one end of the log and we dragged it into the water.  He then swam out pushing the log in front of him until he reached our drowning buddy, who grabbed the log.  Then the two of them fought their way against the current back to shallow water.

I helped them out of the water and they collapsed, completely spent.  As I sat beside them I realized that I would have let him drown.

Marshall Warren    

Just a Thought

 If aliens were to view the earth from the vantage of space/time would they see us as carbon-based infestations devouring its host planet? And if so what do you think their solution would be in order to save the planet?

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

“This world was never my home.”

I have always had a restless, wandering spirit; looking for, I now know, a place of contentment for my soul.  This world has never been my home.  To me, it is just scenery passing by as I travel along the road of my life.  From time to time I pass a place and think “This place has promise, I’ll stop here for a while”, but alas, it could not hold me.  The water always seemed too shallow.
For the last sixty years of my travel, I have had only one companion, my wife Carolyn.    I am her world and as her world turned she moved with it. How blessed I am to have her with me.  I trust no one else. 
There was a place where once we stopped.  Oh, how wonderful it was.  I felt I had arrived home, there in the African bush, a hundred years from any place.  This was a place of beginnings.  I felt as if I had been made from this very soil. 
The Southern Cross was the cross on the steeple of my church. I understood the songs of the birds, baboons were my squabbling neighbors.  The swishing noise in the grass warned me of the Black Mamba or Cobra on the hunt.  The lion and leopard respected me as I did them.  Hippo’s, always angry and aggressive, prowled the river banks.  And the Crocodiles who, lying in wait for the thirsty, have no rules.
I loved it there, in central Mozambique, along the Indian Ocean, but sadly it was not to be.  I found this place too late.  Eventually, my health drove us back to the USA.
We are both approaching seventy-nine years old.  I have a bad heart.  Broken by what, just bad health or regrets?  My travels have stopped.  My health has anchored me.  Now my past is able to overtake me.  I have time to reflect on past sins, as do other people.  “Remember what you did to me thirty years ago?”
Soon, a month, a year or two, who knows, my life will end.  The bruised souls of people I injured will be free of me.  But for all of that, there are those that love me still.  Those that know the inestimable value of being forgiven and the wondrous liberty of forgiving others.
To my wife and companion of my travels, I say don’t let my leaving distress you.  We have been separated for short periods before.  This journey of ours through eternity is really just getting started.  I have a sneaking suspicion that what I've been looking for is just over the next hill.  That makes me smile.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren           

Aww, The Memories of Africa.

Like warm bath water, the memories of Africa slowly cleared my mind of life's problems.  I remember the nights Carolyn and I would sit, watching the Southern Cross move across the sky.  The nights were so clear.  In the African bush, there aren't any man-made lights to intrude into the darkness and without the preamble of twilight, night falls.

We were 200 kilometers from the nearest town, but civilization was still evident.  Satellites crisscrossed the night sky.  Each night we would count them.  The one night record was 14.  

With the cool of night, the mosquitos would disappear, the day noises would stop and silence would descend on the bush.  Then, ever so slowly, the night sounds would begin.  They were more subtle, softer and elusive.  "Listen, hear that?"  A spider scurried over the sand.  We picked our feet up until the sound subsided.  

From the giant baobab trees came the low buzz of bee colonies that lived in them and the soft flutter of wings as parrots settled in their nesting holes.  An occasional "plop", like a wet sponge, when a large white baobab flower fell from its heights. 

The night is the time of predators; from the lion to the smallest insect hunting mouse.  The cobra and mamba silently glided through the grass, while the vine snake prowled the trees looking for roosting birds, and the puff adder lay in ambush.  Spiders, scorpions, centipedes, and beetles, turned the ground into a battlefield. 

When it got too creepy outside we would move into our thatched roof living area and turn on the one overhead light bulb.  The light would attract our nightly friends.  Bats flying around the bulb catching, whatever.  On the dirt floor were our friends, like Fast Freddies, large spiders that moved to fast to step on, hunted.  Lizards stalked their prey.  Beetles of every description scurried aimlessly about, never seeming to accomplish anything.  Over time we all became accustomed to each other.  

By ten o'clock we would retire to the safety of our net enclosed bed and fall asleep to the buzz of life going on around us.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren         

       

I LOVE IT!

In my 78 years, two of the greatest experiences in my life are the inexpressible joy of being forgiven and the wonderful peace and freedom from bondage that comes from forgiving others.  Oh that everyone could enjoy the transformed life these two simple gifts from God bring. 

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

CANYONS of SOULS

Walking along the floor of the narrow canyon, with its towering dark walls, I hear the familiar hum. I look up at the ribbon of stars above me, I walk past crossing canyons going, who knows where.  I feel at peace.
  I hear footsteps, five young blacks surround me.  “What are you doing here?” one asks angrily.  “Enjoying the peace and quiet of the night.”  They look at me for several seconds, then he asks, “Aren’t you afraid?”  “No, I enjoy the night.” “No, I mean, aren‘t you afraid of us?”  “No”…..He‘s puzzled. “ Who are you?”  “I’m an airline Captain.”  “Do you fly those big airplanes?”  They all want to know. “Yes.”  “What’s it like, flying airplanes?”  “Very fun.”
Walking and talking about my flying to many places we come to another cross canyon, they stop, “This is as far as we can go.”  “Okay, I understand.  You guys take care of yourselves.” They slowly disappear as I walk on to places they think they can never go.  Sad how these canyon walls can be a prison.
Continuing along the canyon floor I become aware of the hum again.  The sky is showing a little light, the stars are dimmer, features are gradually taking shape...The hum fading.  In the dawn light, I can barely make out the Park Sheraton.
A louder noise is replacing the hum as I listen to millions of souls that live in the canyons of New York.  Awake during the day or asleep each night, the city hums with life, as if it is itself a living thing.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren         

JUST AROUND THE CORNER OF TIME

Though time was created by God in Genesis and terminated by Him in Revelation; to us, it isn’t linear.   The rising and setting of the sun don’t in itself constitute the passing of time, only the earth rotation.  The hands of a clock don’t measure time; simply rate of movement.  Without memory, there would be no consciousness of the past.  Without perception, there would be no thought of a future. 

God gave us the sun and moon to regulate the hours, days, weeks, months and seasons.  These for resting, husbanding cattle, sowing, and reaping.  The only evidence of time we have is growth and decay.  

Time is our most valuable asset, yet we cannot save it or store it up.  All we have is now.  No one knows what is just around the corner of time.

Marshall K Warren     

THE ONLY HOPE!

The only hope for humanity is the Messiah, Jesus.  The Body of Christ must band together out of love for our Lord and each other. We must build each other up; encourage each other, help restore each other when we sin, help each other be Godly people.  The world has gone insane with sin.  Christ alone is our sanity, our safe haven, our hope for all the tomorrows.  

Wake up, people!  Look what has happened since we took God out of our schools, our government, our businesses, and our families.  Now we are killing full-term babies.  Tomorrow we will kill the old, the infirm, the deformed, the mentally ill.

Wake up, Christians!  It isn't about politics or religion.  We must become loving, caring forgiving people.  The Body of Christ(the Church)must set an example for the human race.  Our time is short.

Marshall K Warren    

         

African Puff Adder

 As head of security for Coutada 5, District of Machanga, Sofala Province, Mozambique, I was hunting poachers in the mopane forest of central Mozambique, about thirty-five miles from the Indian ocean, when I cut the trail of a Nyala bull.  I decided to follow the animal.  The grass was about a foot high with scattered leaves on the ground.  As I slowly crept along the doves suddenly ceased their singing, the bush fell silent. I froze.  The song of Africa had stopped. It is as if the birds and animals were warning me something was about to happen.  Everything was holding its breath and watching.  My heart pounded as I looked around.  Then, as if it materialized from nowhere, there it was, three feet in front of me.  The sinister coil of a huge puff adder.  Its brown and grey leaf pattern made it almost invisible.  They hunt by lying await in ambush.  One of the deadliest snakes in Africa.  In another step, I would have been dead.  

I know that no one ever sees small snakes.  They are always huge, but this puff adder was as big around as a man's arm and four feet long.    
As I eased back and circled around the snake I heard the Nyala before I saw him.  The snake had distracted me, ruining my stalk.  He was a nice bull, with his horns laid back, he ran through the thick forest with amazing ease.  In a flash, he was gone, but I was still alive.  Bush sense had saved my life.  That and my doves with their song of Africa.  
In Africa, there is no such thing as being “at the top of the food chain.”  Everything, man included, is both predator and prey. 

Marshall K Warren

  




                  

Africa, My Song

In the predawn darkness, I lie on my cot, secure in my mosquito net cocoon.  The only sound is that of the large white baobab blossoms as they fall to the ground like wet sponges. The dawn breaks as the sun leaps into the sky, shattering the darkness with unexpected suddenness.

The silence, as well as the darkness, is broken.  Sounds erupt.  Baboons immediately began their raucous squabbling.  Warthogs grunt as they emerge from their burrows to start foraging.  I hear a leopard cough and the baboons warn the bush that he is still on the prowl.

The giant baobab next to my tent explodes with shrieks and squawks as dozens of parrots fly from their nesting holes, forming a group they head off into the bush.  Every morning they fly off in the same direction, returning at sunset.

Birds and monkeys add their voices to the morning sounds, but through it all, I hear my song.  Every day, all day, I hear the song of the mourning doves.  Their soft cooing cuts through everything and touches my heart.

I emerge from my cocoon and start a fire.  There is still a slight chill in the air, but it will soon be gone. By the time I finish breakfast the day is already heating up.  The song of the mourning doves is the only sound that remains..... What song of Africa will they sing for me today?

Marshall K Warren

I am a Christian

I feel the need to say something. I am a Christian. Among other things that means I am trying to follow the teachings of Jesus and His Apostles, as given to us in the New Testament. Please take time to read it. It's a short book, not much bigger than the average Louis L'amour book. Whether you believe in God or not these teachings can transform your life and our country. If you haven't read the New Testament, all the way through, you may be very deceived about how we Christians are supposed to be living. The fact that I fail sometimes, okay, maybe a lot, doesn't take away from the great truths found in Jesus and the New Testament.  These truths are all wrapped up in one giant package called, LOVE.

Marshall K Warren

STRONG WOMEN

A strong woman provides a stable loving home for her family.  She raises Godly moral children and is a helpmate for her husband; helping him be a Godly husband and father; a man of character.  She joyfully gives of her time, herself and her love.  The saddest day in a persons life is when we outgrow our mother's lap.

Women of America beware of your pride and arrogance; it will be your downfall.  We men have fallen far from our created role.  Truly strong women are helping us get back on track, not usurping and condemning us.

Gods will will be done.  Like it or not, believe it or not!

Marshall K Warren

Weather Madness

Oh that the clouds would part, giving way for sunlight to relieve my tormented mind...The unfairness, sunlight traveling ninety-three million miles, only to be stopped a few thousand feet from my house by a layer of clouds.

Marshall K Warren

UNFORGIVENESS

by Derek Prince

I pointed out on the basis of The Lord’s Prayer and several other passages of the New Testament this vital principle that we can only claim forgiveness from God in the same measure that we forgive other people. In The Lord’s Prayer, Jesus said, “Forgive us our trespasses [or our debts] as we forgive those who trespass against us.” He tied us down to not expecting forgiveness from God in a greater proportion than we forgive others.

And then you remember, we looked at the story—the unforgiving servant—the parable, who was forgiven a tremendous debt of six million dollars but refused to forgive a fellow servant a petty debt of 17 dollars. And we saw three great lessons. First of all, that unforgiveness is wickedness. Secondly, that our failure to forgive provokes God’s anger. And thirdly, that our failure to forgive causes God to deliver us to the tormentors.

And I pointed out that many, many professing Christians today are in the hands of tormentors. They’re undergoing various kinds of torments—the physical torment of arthritis or ulcers or migraine. The mental torment of confusion and fear. Spiritual torment sometimes of accusations of Satan that God hasn’t really forgiven them or they’re not really saved or they’ve committed the unforgivable sin. I’ve met Christians in so many different kinds of torments. And I’ve learned by experience and from Scripture that many times the reason that they are in the hands of the tormentors is that they have failed to forgive others.

Now when confronted with this requirement that we have to forgive others as we want God to forgive us, I’ve often heard people say, “I can’t forgive.” But this arises from a misunderstanding of the nature of forgiveness. Forgiveness is not an emotion; it’s a decision. You can’t work up the emotion, but you can make the decision. This means that you can forgive if you know how.          

                                                                                                                           

WHAT IS A FRIEND?

A friend suffers long and is kind.

A friend does not envy.

A friend does not parade himself.

A friend is not puffed up.

A friend does not behave rudely.

A friend does not seek his own.

A friend is not provoked.

A friend does not think evil of others.

A friend does not rejoice in others hardships.

A friend rejoices in the truth.

A friend bears all things.

A friend believes others.

A friend is always hopeful.

A friend endures all things.

True friendship will never fail.

Sound familiar.

Marshall K Warren