Two fists full of cackus and a dog named Llama
When owners and possessions flip-flop roles
My youngest child, like many toddlers, used to have a thing for crackers. Ritz, Saltines, or good ol’ grahams, all were included in the generic category of ‘cacku’ in the 18-month-old vernacular.
One chubby little hand would reach up toward me and pump open and closed several times, demonstrating its emptiness.
“Cacku.”
If I was lucky, it was followed by “peez.”
As soon as I filled the grimy fist with a cracker, the other little hand was presented to me. Same pumping open and closed.
“Cacku, peez.”
The implication was clear: In case you haven’t noticed, Mother Dear, this hand is also empty. If I was slow in responding, the request was repeated more clearly—just in case I’d misunderstood the assignment.
“PEEZ. Cacku. PEEZ.”
But here is where my kiddo was perhaps different from yours. Mine had no desire to eat the crackers—at least not in any immediate time frame—my child just wanted to possess them.
Ownership felt like power.
Handing out a couple of crackers was a no-brainer for me as a weary young mom. With both fists full, the child was content and wandered off. From experience, I knew when those little hands were filled with crackers, peace and safety would reign in our home for the next many minutes in a row, sometimes even more. Both hands, after all, were occupied. No fun adventures or intriguing mischief could happen when both hands were full.
Spoiler alert
I flashed back to my little two-fisted cracker coveter when I got to know Llama, the trim and long-legged Airedale terrier mix with a wiry black and tan coat who lives on the property where we are currently camping.
Llama has two obvious strengths. First, her wiry coat doesn’t shed much. That is always a plus. Second, she’s a good watch dog. She will bark every time anyone approaches—even if the person is not a stranger at all—like me, after camping here for three weeks. Llama is not a menacing guard dog, but she is a good doorbell. After announcing the intruder’s presence and being told by her owner to pipe down, she’s content to retreat to her favorite shady spot under a vehicle and go back to being aloof.
Then there’s Blue, another dog on the property. Blue is a black and white Border collie mix—or maybe Aussie? Maybe both? He has a heftier girth that will never win him any agility competition trophies, polka-dotted1 legs, a perpetual long-tongued smile, and two mismatched ears that each have their own opinion on how things ought to proceed.
Blue might give a singular bark if a stranger enters the property, but mostly he just wants someone to play with him. Once a human being has acknowledged him, Blue acts the part of a baseball umpire and announces (appropriately for someone called Blue) PLAY BALL, with his actions and posture.
Blue’s favorite rubber ball is, of course, the blue one. The orange one appears identical to me in every other way, but Blue knows them apart and shows a clear preference. He will fetch that ball every single time it is thrown for him, then drop it politely at the thrower’s feet with great expectation. What Blue lacks in athleticism, he more than makes up for in passion and enthusiasm.
But just as Blue gets warmed up and is approaching Best Game of Fetch Ever status, Llama whooshes onto the scene. Every time.
Llama is the Great Spoiler.
Blue is fast, but his stocky frame is no match for Llama’s athletic build and long legs. When the favorite blue ball has been thrown, Llama is just faster.
But Llama has no fetch instinct. She will chase a ball, but she doesn’t bring it back. And she won’t release it, either, even if commanded directly. She only wants to possess the ball.
Cacku.
No problem, right? There is another option. In a pinch—when it means the difference between fetch or no-fetch—Blue will chase the orange ball.
But then, whoosh. Again. A blur of black and tan wiry fur speeds past like some kind of canine Usain Bolt.
Llama will grab the orange ball, too. She has a deceptively large mouth for such a slender dog, and with some effort, she can hold both at once. Again, she doesn’t want to play ball. She only wants to possess them. Cacku.
Ownership feels like power.
Blue, who apparently ranks below Llama in the pack, can only watch from a distance and whimper.
But Llama, overstuffed with two rubber balls, can’t do anything until she releases her bounty. She can’t run around. She can’t go on any fun doggy adventures like barking at guests in the yard or communicating veiled threats through the fence to the dogs in the neighbor’s yard. In order to preserve her power and possessions, she just holds the balls protectively. Eventually, she appears to get bored with the monotony of guarding them, and no one else seems to be impressed with her accomplishments, but she doesn’t know how to get out of the captivity she created for herself. She worked hard to earn those rubber balls, but now what?
Just like my little cacku-hoarder from so long ago, Llama’s possessions tie her down and keep her from truly enjoying life.
Possessions tend to do that
We work so hard to acquire things, but then they tie us down. They possess us. In just this past two weeks, I have met or heard about half a dozen different people who feel trapped by their lifetime accumulation of possessions. The most commonly used term in these conversations has been buried, as if the weight of winning so many things has forced them into early graves, crushing them beneath the load.
To all these people (as well as Andy and me, in our younger years) ownership felt like power—until the reality sank in:
The owner of the possessions is beholden to them.
Owners must protect, maintain, store, and care for their things, at the cost of going out and actually living an unencumbered life.
Keeping up with the Joneses, or the Garcias, or the Lees is an exercise in futility. It’s a race to see who can bury themselves first.
I can’t tell you how free my husband and I feel, having reduced the sum of our earthly possessions to what we can comfortably carry in Walter, our big yellow truck. It’s as if each category of our prized possessions was attached to us with a tendril or, worse yet, a shackle.
Snap. There goes the furniture.
Snap. All the pretty serving dishes.
Snap. Farewell to the collection of books.
Snap. The closet bloated with clothing.
Snap. The barn piled high with beautiful lumber.
Snap. Goodbye tools.2
Snap. There goes the house. And the barn. And the RV pad. And the shop. And the flower gardens. And the firepit. And the towering pines who nurtured me as I grew up.
It’s all gone.
With the shackles released, our hands free from cackus, and no rubber balls to protect, we are free.
At least for us, ownership was not power, after all.
Inhabiting the Snuggery
This week, we finally moved into our truck. The camper box we’ve built on Walter’s strong shoulders is called the Snuggery. The electrical and plumbing are not functional quite yet, but the bed is finished, so we have a place to sleep. The closets and cupboards are finished so we can put away our clothing and kitchen wares. The windows all have screens, so we can enjoy the cooler night air without the hum of mosquitoes in our ears. Our gracious hosts allow us to use the toilets and kitchens (when it is cool enough to cook, at least) in their RVs.
Living in Walter’s Snuggery is far from deluxe, especially at this early stage. It’s dry camping, that’s for sure. Every day this month, the mercury has hovered around 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 Celsius), and in the last week, we added smoke from a nearby wildfire, still 0% contained. We work outside all day with nowhere to escape the fierce sun and smoke, and we relish our late-night showers at the gym, two miles away.
But at least we are free from the shackles of our previous lifestyle.
I’m not saying everyone should be a nomad. We realize it is counter-cultural in this modern era. And to be lacking in material wealth and living without a fixed address BY CHOICE is truly a privilege, not akin to those who must do it out of desperation—those whose basic needs are not being met like ours are.
But I am saying, to all my fellow materialists, consumerists, hoarders of cackus and brightly colored rubber balls: possessing more and more stuff is not all it’s cracked up to be. Snapping at least a few of your shackles might feel better than you can imagine. Digging out from under what has buried you might allow you to breathe a little more freely. Try it. You might like it. And once you get started, it gets easier and easier.
Play ball!
7 Questions
My guest this week is Mary Larsen, a woman my husband knows from his growing up years at a church in Santa Barbara, California. I first met Mary in Bangkok, Thailand, in late January of this year. She helps run one branch of the Santisuk English School and invited us to come for a visit to witness the operation for ourselves.
From our lodging in a different part of town, Andy and I took a series of trains and subways, then walked a few blocks through the fashionable glass and chrome urban canyon of skyscrapers. Finally, we reached the Pilot building, headquarters for the Pilot pen company, a historic building recently transformed into an architectural wonder on the famed Silom Street in the heart of Bangkok’s financial district. We took an elevator to the tenth floor and traded our street shoes for clean-soled slippers, as is the perfectly logical custom, then entered the school.
Santisuk Silom is a haven for children, teens, college students, and business professionals. Anyone who wants to significantly improve their grasp of English and is willing to work very hard to do it is welcomed with open arms, snacks, and a sense of caring community. Many students choose to come back on the weekends for informal Bible teaching times. Santisuk Silom is staffed by full-time instructors like Mary, as well as short-term volunteers from all over the world who come to work as part of the vibrant community.
After a brief tour of the facility, Andy and I were drawn into conversations and table games with the students who were early for the evening’s classes. Then, we split up to join in on some of the unconventional class sessions—so fun for us as former teachers and lovers of cultural exchange.
After class, we joined the staff and volunteers for a late-night dinner at a small street-front restaurant a few blocks away. We pulled several small tables together on the sidewalk, only inches away from the passing traffic, and enjoyed an adventurous meal, punctuated by rich conversation and much laughter. It was magical and infectious. We would go back. Maybe you’d like to go, too.
But enough of my storytelling. Without further ado, here’s Mary Larsen:
Where were you born and where do you live now?
I was born in Santa Barbara, California, then lived in Cebu, Philippines, for 26 years. More recently, I have lived in Thailand for the past five years.
Of all the names and titles you have answered to over the years, do you have any favorites, and why?
Mary, Mare, Miss Ma’am, Ate (big sister in the Philippines), Pi (big sister in Thailand), Teacher, Mommy, Big Mama. I have enjoyed the terms of respect and familial relationships in Asia. Even though there are no blood ties, we love each other like family (I have 17 orphans whom I feel God gave me to help).
Can you tell me about one person who has had a significant positive impact on your life?
My friend Diday stuck by me during good and bad times. She almost lost her life saving mine. It's a complicated story, but basically, a hit was made on her life to make it look like I had killed her in order to cover up a child trafficking ring we had uncovered. This was at a time before there was international awareness and justice for such things.
What feels most like home to you and why?
Having lived in a few countries, I’ve learned to feel at home wherever I have decided to be at home. I can do this with God’s help and calling.
What is one thing that makes you ridiculously happy?
Besides seeing my “kids” happy—especially when they see joy through God’s handiwork—I’m ridiculously happy swimming with turtles.
What is one thing that makes you terribly sad?
Seeing the elderly being neglected by family.
What is one important thing you have learned over your lifetime?
Not everyone’s mind works like mine. I need a healthy curiosity to understand how to belong and how to be a good friend.
Finally, I asked Mary to provide me a photo of her choice and she sent me this peaceful sunset scene—living the life she loves best:
Thanks, Mary. I do hope our paths cross again at some point. And who knows? Maybe someday we will come back to Thailand and volunteer for a season as English teachers at Santisuk.
Leaving it all behind, whether for a season or the foreseeable future, to do something entirely different, is not impossible. Mary has done it. We are doing it. If you were free from at least some of your shackles, friend, you could do it, too.
Drop the cackus and all the rubber balls. How can you be truly free to live as long as you insist on clutching them? And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world, but lose your own soul?3
Until next week,
Sherry
Ok, ok. I am sure the proper term is speckled or freckled, but isn’t polka-dotted more fun?
You might want to check out the video Andy put on our YouTube channel this week, the one about the bittersweet process of saying goodbye to his shop full of tools. Here is the link.
“Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it. And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul? Is anything worth more than your soul?” Matthew 16:24-26 (NLT)
I loved the analogy you used with your daughter and the crackers. You make some excellent points for those of us who might feel burdened down with too many possessions. We are not all called to do the same thing, as you point out. I think it's great that you're moving into the lifestyle you've chosen. I'm equally glad that isn't my calling.
Loved this! 🧡 u!