S'more Parables from Paradise

By Kenneth W Smith and Melba Tipton

Hawai'i is more than tourist facilities on the sandy beaches of the blue Pacific Ocean. Behind the scenes there are real people, of diverse cultures with great historical sequences. S'more Parables from Paradise explores the people, the cultures, the flora and the fauna of the tropical islands.

A parable is an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. Behind these parables of paradise are bits of spiritual sustenance that enable a person to grow spiritually. Join the author that through his eyes and ears you may experience a new Hawai'i. Fall in love with an Aloha that binds many together and makes Hawai'i a very special place and event.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 16, 2003
• ISBN: 9780595753840

Kenneth W Smith

Kenneth W. Smith was Pastor of Hawaiian, Japanese and Haole Churches on the island of Kaua?i for 13 years. He was deeply involved in the lives of the people on the Islands in loving congregations.

Book preview

E:\Eissel\FRQA\3-2-12\118980\media\image1.jpeg

S’MORE PARABLES FROM PARADISE 

The definition of a parable is, An earthly story with a heavenly meaning. Jesus used parables as a favored teaching device. Not only did the parable convey a message but it also was a memory device, for when a person saw, heard or did something that had been used in a parable, the story and its meaning returned.

In the previous book, Parables from Paradise, the parables were centered in the present day life and society of Hawai’i with only a short excursion into the past of the State of Hawai’i, that was at one time a kingdom.

Every individual who has spent time in the wilderness has experienced the twist, that piece of dough that has been twisted around a stick, and normally is raw on one side and burned on the other. Then he, or she, has eagerly gulped down the canned beans that are alternately cold or burned. Next he, or she, has consumed either coffee or cocoa, that has wood ash liberally sprinkled over the top. Then, possibly, he or she, has even eaten a wiener that is alternately burned on the outside and still frozen on the inside. There is but one saving delicacy, a S’more.

E:\Eissel\FRQA\3-2-12\118980\media\image2.jpeg

This delightful concoction consists of a roasted marshmallow, retrieved from the dying embers of the cooking fire, placed upon the lone surviving piece of chocolate, sandwiched between two graham crackers and eaten with lip-licking eagerness. All remembrances of the other culinary disasters are forgotten and the meal is a success. The S’more will be followed by a campfire and taps.

The literal delicacies in this second volume of Parables from Paradise hopefully will enhance your awareness of the Islands of Hawai’i, and also your desire for devotional sustenance as physical people, places and events in the life of the Islands are matched with spiritual suggestions. I urge you to create, in your time and in your way, parables from your person that you will share with others, not only that we may glorify God but also enjoy the world that he has given us.

THE LADYBUG 

"You are forgiving and good, O Lord, abounding in love to all who call to you.

Hear my prayer, O Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. In the day of my trouble I will call to you, for you will answer me."

Psalm 86:5-7

It had been raining all morning and the shafts of sunlight plunging through the clouds and then the palm trees displayed a mist of super heated air that left a dampness that could be sliced with a knife. A small blur came through the trees and landed at my feet. At first I though that it was a scratch on my glasses lens that had tricked me, and I even took off my glasses to wipe them on my tee-shirt, but then I saw it on the ground. The blur retreated into its shell-like enclosure of wings and the ladybug headed for the road.

Now, I don’t know if a ladybug is a lady or a gentleman but for the sake of this experience let’s suppose that it was a she. I consider all golden brown ladybug-appearing insects as she’s. Slowly but surely, she headed for the highway, a two-lane macadam strip that still carried the morning’s deposit of rain. Probably the warm wet pavement was enticing to the bug for she was determined to cross the highway. Her first escape came from a tan Toyota. Fortunately the Toyota did not want to spray me so was journeying down the center of the road. With the passing breeze the wings of the bug fluttered but she kept on her beeline (or was it a bug line) across the highway.

A bicyclist who was totally unaware of the bug, but who did wonder what I was doing in the center of the road, came next. He dodged me, and also the bug, both of us now being on the center yellow line of the highway, and fortunately, the cyclist did not stop to ask what was the matter with me. Some people feel that the center of the highway is a dangerous place, but in reality the cars passed by in both directions, wondering about me, but unaware of the bug that was, by this time, a very close companion to me. I still could not understand why a fly-able bug wouldn’t fly in a situation like this; but this bug was determined to walk across the highway. The worst was yet to come.

As luck would have it, the next obstacle to pass along the road was Da Bus. Probably no math scholar with a deep understanding of calculus could have better synchronized Da Bug and Da Bus. Death was certain as the huge tires sped over the pavement and I made sure that I was at the side of the road, but somehow the inevitable became the incredible. The bus went on its way with a tagalong spray and the bug, rolling from the wind sheer, found its feet on wet pavement and was again on its way headed toward me at the side of the road.

One smaller Datsun was the only other encounter and was almost anticlimactic compared to the bus encounter. With nary a glance in my direction, and not realizing that I, in a sense, had been its savior, the bug crawled up the handicap ramp, paused for a moment to really comprehend what it had done, flexed its wings and took to the air. The blur was gone.

Now the miracle of passage was one thing, but the reason for the bug taking the long hard route, unnecessarily, when it had the ability to fly, was more than I could understand, and the bug was not about to tell me.

I paused to wonder while I waited for the next bus. It dawned on me that often we follow the inexplicable path of the ladybug. We manage to tackle impossible jobs using all of the human faculties at our command, except for the obvious one of asking someone, who is greater than us, to assist and guide us. We risk so much, while not asking God to let us use that, which is so obvious, the power of his presence. Then, when we finally achieve what we wanted to achieve, when we have come through the danger, the sorrow, the difficult moment, then it is that we forget that God is the one who protected us from harm’s possibilities.

I admit that the ladybug had no way to communicate with me. If it said something I certainly could not hear it. It did not fly to my arm to stare into my eyes with that bug-look of appreciation. It was totally unaware of the influence that I had exercised on its behalf.

Most of us are bug-like in our understanding of how God works in our lives. We have not contemplated all the horrible things that could happen with and to us and from which God spared us. If there is something bad that happens, then we can call it an Act of God and possibly collect an insurance claim. When something good happens we should be reminded that it is also an Act of God, for which we should thank him. Possibly someday, we will realize all those things that could have happened to us, our families and our friends—but which never did happen because of the silent intervention of God on our behalf.

Possibly our evening prayer time should include a word of thanks to God for the accidents that did not happen. We should be thankful for the diseases that we did not catch, the wrong path we did not take, the bitterness we did not feel, the tests we aced and did not flunk and the deep understanding of others that we were given.

E:\Eissel\FRQA\3-2-12\118980\media\image3.jpeg

Gracious God, for being at my right-hand side even before I had a right-hand side, I give you thanks. For the life you are giving me, the cementing of old friendships, the joining of new friends and for everything for which I have neglected to give you thanks, I now give you thanks. In your son’s name I pray. Amen.

RIDING THE TUBE 

Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.

Psalm 37:5-7

The roar of the surf inundated us as we sat at the edge of the forty foot deep coral bed. We could see the surf and each time it hit the reef, we were lifted up off the bottom and yet struggled to keep our place waiting for the wave.

We had no boards. We were not body surfing. We were very particular. There had to be just one acceptable wave in the large set that came roaring at us. Though at this point we could peer down in to the deep water just beyond us, we were not masked for deep water but were ready for a thrill ride. The reef at this point had several channels that extended from where we were perched toward the shore, each one with a width possibly of four feet and anywhere from four to six feet deep. The small fish watched us, for this was their territory, and they wondered just what these intruders were doing. Every time we moved they darted into, and then again out of their holes in the coral. Though we were together, really, we were on our own. When we started our ride, we wanted no one with us for there was no room for anyone else in our fast track to shore.

Finally we caught the right wave and lowered ourselves into the water and aimed toward shore. Behind us the compacted wave exploded at the end of the channel and we were on our way speeding down the narrow coral lined express way struggling to keep in the center of those white, sharp, razor blades of coral. To stay at the center not only meant that we escaped the scratches of the coral but also guaranteed that the coral would be there tomorrow, unscathed by our passing. A gulp of air and we continued on our way.

Startled eels shrank back; fish exploded in front of us and then darted out of the way of this large predator. There was no way we could have done anything else but keep in the center of the channel and ride the roller coaster of high pressured water to its termination, possibly one hundred and fifty feet away. Only at the termination of our fantastic ride did we come up to the surface and exclaim, Wow, wonderful!

♦            ♦            ♦

Many years before, the plantation had hired engineers who would figure out passageways that would bring water from the drainage of the Alaka’i Swamp to the cane fields below. Sometimes the passageway was a ditch, then an aqueduct twenty to thirty feet high. The ditch then switched back to a tunnel, then to a ditch and possibly into a black pipe that would receive the water, transfer it down a valley wall to a crossing. The black pipe then would go up again on the other side and deposit the water in another ditch for its continuing trip down to the fields of cane. Fortunately there were iron bars across the ditch when it came to the deep transfer across the valley for no one could hold air long enough for that part of the trip. But we are ahead of ourselves.

Our ride today was a tunnel, possibly four feet high with three feet of water in it. Slowly lowering ourselves into the ditch we sped away, feeling the tunnel wall but trying to stay in the center of the stream. We knew the tunnel was safe, but there was no way we could return to the intake. We were committed to the pitch black. Fresh water shrimp dashed for cover. The telopia, that universal fish, that happened to notice us, were too scared to do other than dart ahead of us as onward we sped gingerly feeling our way down the black tube of rock, sometimes swimming, sometimes floating, sometimes stumbling, at one with the flow of plantation water.

Finally rounding a bend we could see the light at the end of the tunnel and we knew that our ride would soon be over. We also kept our eyes open and still with no swimming, merely the adjustment to placing ourselves in the center of the tube, we rode on. Exploding into the sunlight we knew that it had been a ride to remember. We had scratches and slight bruises but the excitement and exhilaration of the ride had dulled our senses to the beating that our bodies had taken along the fantastic waterway.

How often have we found that life is like the reef-channel or cane ditch ride. Once committed to the path that God would have us travel, life manages to speed by, changing our bodies, and our minds and our spirits but still offering us the thrill and excitement of knowing, God’s straight and narrow, and the exceptional thrill of staying in the middle of it. There are times when we can not see the opening at the other end of the tunnel and indeed there is no reason for us to see it to enjoy the ride. But there is no way that we can swim against the current as long as we are going to enjoy the ride. If we try to climb out of the channel midstream, then we face excessive cuts and bruises. The swiftness of the water, that keeps us going, is detrimental to us if we try to get away from it. Within the cane tunnel there is no other place to go. The only channel is the one to which we are already committed.

With both trips, we know that we will bump against the sides of the channel. Yes, we will have some scrapes and, of course, lots of scars from our trip, but we now know the thrill of speeding along propelled by the pressure of a wave, that has had three thousand miles to build up. The inflow of water from the, wettest spot on Earth, that has been collecting rainfall for thousands of years, is mind boggling. It sure beats sitting on a board and waiting for an occasional wave to push us a few feet so that we can paddle out again to wait for the occasional wave.

How shallow of us to wait for a small religious trip when we can totally commit ourselves to God for the long haul. Admittedly, we do not always know the ultimate destination, nor is it necessary to know it. Some folks seem intent on knowing every step of the way, as if they were the God who planned it for us. Planning is necessary but, of more necessity, is the planning to be in God’s will.

We do so depend upon some sort of goal in our life. We want to be someplace at some particular time rather than just being in