Between the Thieves by John Haramia
THE THINGS WHICH I HAVE SEEN
You have sent to John and he has testified to the truth. - John 5:33
And I John saw these things and heard them. - Revelation 22:8
We spend our years as a tale that is told. - Psalm 90:9
When I was young, every day was as the beginning of something new.- Eskimo saying
I was born in San Fernando, the Mission City, in the year of our lord, 1953. It's hard to believe now, but there was a time when this San Fernando Valley just north of Los Angeles had blue skies instead of brown clouds, shining down on bountiful orchards of fruit, not uncountable rows of houses; but that was awhile ago. Some of my first memories as a youngster are of putting on blue jeans in a room that was painted an ugly, ugly green. And right across the street my friend, Jeff, and I built bottle cap streams down his driveway using the discarded tops we collected from the boxes beneath the openers in the old soda machines. Each week Jeff and I after our collections would line up the different bright, shiny, worthless objects on his driveway creating a race between the Bireleys and the Hires and the Nehi, etc. I suppose that's the point when a child fully steps out of Eternity into time; when he learns how to count and to tell time and to race (because it seems like there's not enough time). Up in heaven there is no counting, no accounting (who's dishonest)? No score is kept of good and bad, no racing around. It's down here that we do all that. It's bad news, because eventually people at some point in this frenzy begin to add up their good works, their net worth, their righteousness, (they inventory their barns) and it's just at this point in time that they lose sight of Him and His good news. What is His good news? It's that they are innocent (at no small cost to Him). So what do people lose? They lose their innocence. Jeff and I were experiencing that. We were in His presence up until that time when we learned how to count and mark (it wasn't really writing) and to tell time. In actuality we learned how to kill (crucify) eternity by dividing it up into littler and littler and littler bits: hours, minutes, seconds. Like an ear of wheat splitting into individual kernels time is divided until there was really nothing left to enjoy except the deadlines and death itself as some sort of relief. No, once you enter that frame of mind, there is only interval for marking time, recording time and filing it away. While all the while remembering that "time is money," but never fully comprehending that money can't buy a second of time. We definitely never recapturing the ability we had as children to live eternally in His presence. Is it any wonder that He says, "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." - Mark 10:15
Some of my first memories as a youngster are of putting on blue jeans in a room that was painted an ugly, ugly green. And right across the street my friend, Jeff, and I built bottle cap streams down his driveway using the discarded tops we collected from the boxes beneath the openers in the old soda machines. Each week Jeff and I after our collections would line up the different bright, shiny, worthless objects on his driveway creating a race between the Bireleys and the Hires and the Nehi, etc.
I suppose that's the point when a child fully steps out of Eternity into time; when he learns how to count and to tell time and to race (because it seems like there's not enough time).
Up in heaven there is no counting, no accounting (who's dishonest)? No score is kept of good and bad, no racing around. It's down here that we do all that. It's bad news, because eventually people at some point in this frenzy begin to add up their good works, their net worth, their righteousness, (they inventory their barns) and it's just at this point in time that they lose sight of Him and His good news. What is His good news? It's that they are innocent (at no small cost to Him). So what do people lose? They lose their innocence. Jeff and I were experiencing that.
We were in His presence up until that time when we learned how to count and mark (it wasn't really writing) and to tell time. In actuality we learned how to kill (crucify) eternity by dividing it up into littler and littler and littler bits: hours, minutes, seconds. Like an ear of wheat splitting into individual kernels time is divided until there was really nothing left to enjoy except the deadlines and death itself as some sort of relief.
No, once you enter that frame of mind, there is only interval for marking time, recording time and filing it away. While all the while remembering that "time is money," but never fully comprehending that money can't buy a second of time. We definitely never recapturing the ability we had as children to live eternally in His presence. Is it any wonder that He says,
We've got to become like the children. We need to regain that innocence, that presence, that present, that original gift. What it comes down to is that we need another gift. We've squandered the first one, just like prodigal offspring. I also had another friend in kindergarten, a little dark-haired girl named Ann. She was always kissing me and then she moved far, far away, to a place called Anaheim, near Disneyland. I can remember that it took almost forever to get there something called an hour! Then years later I made a similar move with my family to the beach, not too far from Disneyland. The time of life was junior high and there were good things awaiting me, good grades and sports and physical growth, but already I was stunted in expressing my inner feelings. I relied instead on sarcasm, for I had already learned at that tender age that when you don't care, you are not hurt (it's kind of like being dead). Oh sure, there were moments of joy in the surf or with girls or with the guys on safaris and trips, but those moments seemed to grow further and further apart. And always there were the practical jokes, for wasn't life one! But there was also so much emptiness, so long between weekends and summers and ladies. And then as high school ended and choices were made, there emerged a hardening between friends, the beginning calluses of greed for most, while others experienced a slow rape of their psyche due to a fear of the future, a fear of the unknown. As for my group, we just all tried to keep on laughing as we hid from the decision of what to do with our lives. It certainly seemed like much too important a decision for me to be making. For me came college and being oh-so-stoned, a not uncommon hiding place for my generation. We were trying to escape the reality of growing up, but we were being fooled. The exact opposite was happening. Dope does that; it quickens the aging process and the cynicism. The laughter became much more cynical. I suppose we all laughed until we cried, until we cried, each in his own way, in his own time, on his own path. My turning point came at age twenty-three after graduation from college. It was then that I learned that He had been ever present --- waiting since I left Eternity as a youngster, for me to return --- to ask for His forgiveness and His help! And when I did, He responded, "Don't forget the sun on this earthly merry-go-round, and the lesson that it teaches. The Son is Light and Life. He's the miracle you need. The one to match the gift of life you already received. You have much to learn. Your life and His gift of 'eternal life,' these two must become one, just as the seed and the ovum must become one to produce greater life. The ovum needs the fertilization of the seed in order to continue on, avoid a bloody judgment. And you need God. This is the way, the truth and the life, to open up and to trust. Every bride needs a groom and you need Me. Don't hide behind the veil. Throw away those fig leaves. Come into My chamber! You see, this life, it is only the question (Do you love me?), the friends and places, only punctuation, pauses on the way to your destination. I am your destination, your answer, and I will reveal to you your mission, what you shall do with your life. And then you will have more than questions, even more than answers. You will have what happens when those two become one. You will have understanding; for I will be standing under you. Come into My chamber!"
I also had another friend in kindergarten, a little dark-haired girl named Ann. She was always kissing me and then she moved far, far away, to a place called Anaheim, near Disneyland. I can remember that it took almost forever to get there something called an hour!
Then years later I made a similar move with my family to the beach, not too far from Disneyland. The time of life was junior high and there were good things awaiting me, good grades and sports and physical growth, but already I was stunted in expressing my inner feelings. I relied instead on sarcasm, for I had already learned at that tender age that when you don't care, you are not hurt (it's kind of like being dead).
Oh sure, there were moments of joy in the surf or with girls or with the guys on safaris and trips, but those moments seemed to grow further and further apart. And always there were the practical jokes, for wasn't life one! But there was also so much emptiness, so long between weekends and summers and ladies.
And then as high school ended and choices were made, there emerged a hardening between friends, the beginning calluses of greed for most, while others experienced a slow rape of their psyche due to a fear of the future, a fear of the unknown. As for my group, we just all tried to keep on laughing as we hid from the decision of what to do with our lives. It certainly seemed like much too important a decision for me to be making. For me came college and being oh-so-stoned, a not uncommon hiding place for my generation. We were trying to escape the reality of growing up, but we were being fooled. The exact opposite was happening. Dope does that; it quickens the aging process and the cynicism. The laughter became much more cynical. I suppose we all laughed until we cried, until we cried, each in his own way, in his own time, on his own path.
My turning point came at age twenty-three after graduation from college. It was then that I learned that He had been ever present --- waiting since I left Eternity as a youngster, for me to return --- to ask for His forgiveness and His help! And when I did, He responded, "Don't forget the sun on this earthly merry-go-round, and the lesson that it teaches. The Son is Light and Life. He's the miracle you need. The one to match the gift of life you already received. You have much to learn. Your life and His gift of
You see, this life, it is only the question (Do you love me?), the friends and places, only punctuation, pauses on the way to your destination. I am your destination, your answer, and I will reveal to you your mission, what you shall do with your life. And then you will have more than questions, even more than answers. You will have what happens when those two become one. You will have understanding; for I will be standing under you. Come into My chamber!"
Having therefore obtained the help of God, I continue unto this day witnessing both to small and great saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come, that Christ should suffer and that He should be the first to rise from the dead. - Acts 26:22,23
Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. - 1Thessalonians 4:16
Look, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, "I am the Alpha and the Omega,' says the Lord God, 'who is, and who was, and who is to come," - Revelation 1:7,8
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
The end has come! The end has come! It has roused itself against you. It has come! - Ezekiel 7:6
'Tell us,' they said, 'when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?' - Matthew 24:3
It is the summer of my eighteenth year and the setting is the Eastern Shore of the Pacific Ocean. --- We called it the End. It was located in Corona Del Mar (Crown of the Sea), California. It was one of the two rock jetties that created the entrance to Newport Harbor. It was about a quarter mile long. The waves had to get up over ten feet before they would start breaking at the end of the jetty. I suppose the End was the closest thing to a religion that I had when I was growing up. My family was not religious, or anti-religious for that matter. We were a-religious. Religion was something we joked about, nothing to get worked up over. We used to sacrifice rafts off the cliffs of Corona Del Mar as an offering to the God of the End, hoping that he would stir up some waves. Of course, the rafts were used. We weren't that serious! We even wrote a poem on the sea wall where the jetty met the beach: Hail O' Foamy One When your triangle twangs and the buoy rings its' chimes, You know we'll be out there blowing our minds. We'll be making point takeoffs, doing thirty go-behinds. But until we reach the ropes, the foam will keep us blind. We'll sideslip buoy one, 360 Bonsai Rock, turn the shore break inside out before it's six o'clock.
We used to sacrifice rafts off the cliffs of Corona Del Mar as an offering to the God of the End, hoping that he would stir up some waves. Of course, the rafts were used. We weren't that serious! We even wrote a poem on the sea wall where the jetty met the beach:
Hail O' Foamy One
When your triangle twangs and the buoy rings its' chimes,
You know we'll be out there blowing our minds.
We'll be making point takeoffs, doing thirty go-behinds.
But until we reach the ropes, the foam will keep us blind.
We'll sideslip buoy one, 360 Bonsai Rock,
turn the shore break inside out before it's six o'clock.
THE PRE-DAWN POINT PATROL
If the surf was up, we'd be out long before sunrise, even before first light. And we'd stay all day, each day, until the swell was gone. One time we knew from weather reports that a swell would be arriving the next day. President Nixon was also arriving tomorrow at the Orange County Airport, so we went to the airport the night before and left a sign: Mr. President, Sorry we couldn't be here to meet you, but the surf's up! It made the papers. Often we'd get in the paper for rescues, mostly of each other. The waves could very easily take you into the jetty, knock you silly and cut you up pretty badly. One time I got in the paper for two rescues in one day. I pulled out a friend who had been knocked out. Then later in the day I took to shore a Chinaman who had been washed off the end of the Jetty while he was fishing. We even made it into Surfer Magazine, although we didn't get much respect. They called our canvas rafts (with fins) "Rubber Ducks". When there was a chubasco (Mexican hurricane) out there, we'd stay up all night watching the late news, listening to the weather service, driving over to the Jetty, listening and peering into the night. Sometimes, we couldn't wait. We'd go out in the middle of the night if there was enough moonlight. On occasion the foam was phosphorescent, a whitish-lime green, very eerie. The best swell to ever hit though was not from Mexico. It wasn't even from South America. The rumor was that it had come from the Tasman Sea near Australia from a storm that had rampaged two weeks earlier. The swells had traversed the whole South Pacific and then due to the rotation of the earth they had made a hard left upon reaching South America. They came straight up the coast at us for these jetties, even though they were on the West Coast, faced south. It lasted for four days, the sea raging and the waves roaring. I can remember that on the first morning the waves were so big and consistent that for the first and only time we were not able to get through the shore break. This was a real Tasmanian Devil! Fortunately, the tide was low enough so that the waves were not completely washing over the rocks, and we walked out the quarter mile to the end of the jetty. Still, the waves were so consistent that we couldn't get safely off the end. We agonized over the missed opportunities and waited. After about twenty minutes, suddenly all was quiet. A large swell was still running, but nothing was breaking. We jumped in and paddled out even further than the end. It was 5:30 a.m., sometime in May 1971. I was eighteen and this was heaven. A big swell was here. I had classes at college that I really didn't need to attend. The weather was beautiful; the sunrise magnificent, golden on the water. We waited; there was silence in heaven for one-half hour. The anticipation was incredible! We knew the swell had not gone away. It just gave us little time to stop and savor the drama that lay before us on that morning, what a feeling, what a reverence! We rarely rode on the inside of the harbor entrance, because it was against the law, but as we waited that morning, I and a few others paddled around to the inside. And that's when all hell broke loose. The Tasmanian Devil had arrived in full force and we were going for the ride of our lives. It was the famous (?) 6:03 set. It hit the bell buoy a quarter mile off the end of the jetty. Normally, if the buoy went down two thirds, we knew the wave would be large enough to break. This time it sank like a rock. We didn't see it for another hour, the waves continued to tower so high in front of us. We scrambled, paddling further out. It looked like the whole harbor entrance would close out, and it would have if the center of the channel hadn't been dredged so deeply. On the seventh wave of the set I took off, a good seventy-five yards from the jetty. There was no danger from the rocks. It was a massive mountain of water shining golden in the morning light like it was on fire, like a great star burning as it were a lamp upon the waters. What a ride! My only concern was avoiding the tourist fishing boat that was attempting to cruise out of the harbor. It was the only wave I ever caught inside the channel. If you were caught, the authorities would give you a ticket for speeding in the harbor; the waves moving at about 35 m.p.h. But on that day there wasn't too much to worry about. The Rock was turning that mountain of fire into overflowing grace. It was foaming all around us. There was no way that the law could get near us.
It made the papers. Often we'd get in the paper for rescues, mostly of each other. The waves could very easily take you into the jetty, knock you silly and cut you up pretty badly. One time I got in the paper for two rescues in one day. I pulled out a friend who had been knocked out. Then later in the day I took to shore a Chinaman who had been washed off the end of the Jetty while he was fishing. We even made it into Surfer Magazine, although we didn't get much respect. They called our canvas rafts (with fins) "Rubber Ducks".
When there was a chubasco (Mexican hurricane) out there, we'd stay up all night watching the late news, listening to the weather service, driving over to the Jetty, listening and peering into the night. Sometimes, we couldn't wait. We'd go out in the middle of the night if there was enough moonlight. On occasion the foam was phosphorescent, a whitish-lime green, very eerie.
The best swell to ever hit though was not from Mexico. It wasn't even from South America. The rumor was that it had come from the Tasman Sea near Australia from a storm that had rampaged two weeks earlier. The swells had traversed the whole South Pacific and then due to the rotation of the earth they had made a hard left upon reaching South America. They came straight up the coast at us for these jetties, even though they were on the West Coast, faced south. It lasted for four days, the sea raging and the waves roaring. I can remember that on the first morning the waves were so big and consistent that for the first and only time we were not able to get through the shore break. This was a real Tasmanian Devil! Fortunately, the tide was low enough so that the waves were not completely washing over the rocks, and we walked out the quarter mile to the end of the jetty. Still, the waves were so consistent that we couldn't get safely off the end. We agonized over the missed opportunities and waited. After about twenty minutes, suddenly all was quiet. A large swell was still running, but nothing was breaking. We jumped in and paddled out even further than the end.
It was 5:30 a.m., sometime in May 1971. I was eighteen and this was heaven. A big swell was here. I had classes at college that I really didn't need to attend. The weather was beautiful; the sunrise magnificent, golden on the water. We waited; there was silence in heaven for one-half hour. The anticipation was incredible! We knew the swell had not gone away. It just gave us little time to stop and savor the drama that lay before us on that morning, what a feeling, what a reverence!
We rarely rode on the inside of the harbor entrance, because it was against the law, but as we waited that morning, I and a few others paddled around to the inside. And that's when all hell broke loose.
The Tasmanian Devil had arrived in full force and we were going for the ride of our lives. It was the famous (?) 6:03 set. It hit the bell buoy a quarter mile off the end of the jetty. Normally, if the buoy went down two thirds, we knew the wave would be large enough to break. This time it sank like a rock. We didn't see it for another hour, the waves continued to tower so high in front of us. We scrambled, paddling further out. It looked like the whole harbor entrance would close out, and it would have if the center of the channel hadn't been dredged so deeply. On the seventh wave of the set I took off, a good seventy-five yards from the jetty. There was no danger from the rocks. It was a massive mountain of water shining golden in the morning light like it was on fire, like a great star burning as it were a lamp upon the waters. What a ride! My only concern was avoiding the tourist fishing boat that was attempting to cruise out of the harbor. It was the only wave I ever caught inside the channel. If you were caught, the authorities would give you a ticket for speeding in the harbor; the waves moving at about 35 m.p.h. But on that day there wasn't too much to worry about. The Rock was turning that mountain of fire into overflowing grace. It was foaming all around us. There was no way that the law could get near us.