Stories

Searching for Jesus

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment
2017 Easter egg hunt group

Photo by Gloria Kobayashi

I told this story to the young people waiting to begin the Easter Egg hunt. I must say, for a group of children eager to find decorated eggs and candy, they were remarkably patient with the storyteller! They even posed for a photo.

You’re all here to hunt for Easter eggs that have been scattered around the church grounds. And what a lovely sunny morning it is to do it!

Some those eggs might look familiar, if you were here yesterday and part of the group that dyed them all these wonderful colors. These are real, cooked eggs. If you crack one open, well, you’ll find lunch.

You know, you make it into egg salad?

Some of them, though, are brightly colored, but not because they were dyed by people yesterday. Their color got molded right into the plastic. And I’m told that if you open the plastic eggs, you might find something sweet inside…

Money? Well, I don’t think these eggs will have money in them. Chocolate, now: that’s a real possibility.

On the first Easter, they didn’t go on an Easter egg hunt. Instead, some of Jesus’ friends went on a kind of Jesus hunt. That’s sort of like an Easter egg hunt, but a lot simpler. There was only one place to look, and that was the place where he’d been buried on Friday, after he’d died on the cross.

What turned it into a Jesus hunt was that he wasn’t there any longer. That’s unusual. Most people, when they die and are buried, tend to stay in the same place.

Easter eggs, now they can be anywhere. And suddenly it turned out that Jesus could be anywhere, too, except for the one place that they’d been certain he’d be. He had been dead, but he was no longer dead. He had been buried, but he was buried no longer. He had been in a grave, but now the grave was empty.

So a Jesus hunt was a pretty amazing one to do.

And it’s still something you and I can do. Jesus said that he pays attention to how people treat one another. In fact, he said that when you treat pretty much any person well, you’re treating Jesus well.

So: After you’re done hunting for Easter eggs, try going on something of a Jesus hunt yourself. Go looking for someone that you’d like to treat as well as you’d like to treat Jesus.

It won’t be hard. There’s a lot of people in the world, and there’s some Jesus in every single one of them.

Be good to them, and you’ll have found Jesus. Be good to them, and Jesus will smile.

Have a good time!

The Pueo Who Wouldn’t Cry

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

Asio_flammeus_-Hawaii-8_(2)A pueo sat in a tree, looking out over the world around him.

Which, I must confess, looked to him mostly like just leaves, since his branch was pretty sheltered. Still, there he was, looking out at things, and enjoying the day.

Down below his tree, he heard the voices of two people as they walked through the forest. I’m afraid, however, that they were saying some pretty foolish things.

One declared, “I never, ever cry. If you’re in tears, you’re weak.”

The other replied, “Right. I don’t cry either. Why, crying makes you look like a baby.”

The pueo thought about this long after they were gone. He, after all, didn’t want to look weak in front of the other owls. And he didn’t want anybody to mistake him for a baby. Er, a chick.

Now, like other owls, the pueo has tear ducts, but it’s just to keep their eyes from getting dry. When they’re upset, they don’t cry. They might flap their wings about, or ruffle their feathers (at this point I made a completely unsuccessful attempt to rustle my own feathers). They might make a sound (Hoo!) or they might stamp their feet. But they don’t cry.

Nevertheless this pueo decided that he, too, would not cry, like those human beings he’d overheard.

He decided that the problem was going to be blinking. That’s when the tear ducts would open, and his eyes would get moist. How to stop from blinking, though?

He could keep his eyes closed – that would do it – but that would make it awfully hard to find food. No, Mission Eyes Closed was a bad plan.

He could, however, keep his eyes open. So with eyes held wide (lest they blink by accident), he took up an unblinking gaze at the world.

If he’d had a toothpick to put underneath his eyelids, he would have tried it.

He’d been doing this for a while when an ‘io swooped in and perched on a nearby branch. He couldn’t help but notice the pueo staring wide-eyed out into space. Er, leaves.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked.

The pueo explained about overhearing the people talking about crying, and how he had decided never to cry, and to prevent it he’d hold his eyes open. The ‘io was skeptical.

If he’d been a television personality, he’d probably have asked, “How’s that working for you?” but he was a Hawaiian hawk, so he asked, “How’s it going?”

The pueo admitted that his eyes were feeling drier and drier and it was getting really uncomfortable.

The ‘io sniffed, and flapped his wings about in preparation to take flight again. “I thought owls were supposed to be wise,” he told the pueo. “It seems rather foolish to me.”

And off he soared.

Owls don’t have any teeth, either, or the pueo might have chewed this thought over for a time. He had to think about it instead. In the end, he decided that he’d have to risk the tears. In fact, not crying didn’t sound like great advice for the two humans either.

He chose to be wise.

If I could offer you some advice today, I’d suggest that you be wise, too. Tears keep our eyes moist, but they also keep our souls moist. They help us clear away what’s troubling us inside, and get us ready for the next thing, bad or good.

So let the tears come, and be wise, like the pueo (eventually) was.

Photo Credit: By HarmonyonPlanetEarth – Pueo (Hawaiian Owl)|Saddle Rd | 2013-12-17at18-07-587Uploaded by snowmanradio, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30241891

A Proper Dinner

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

Adélie_Penguin_regurgitates_krill_for_its_chick_(5917753158)Usually, I try to tell stories about creatures that live here on these islands (or in the seas around them), but not today. This story is about birds who live far away, on the shores of Antarctica, where it is distinctly colder than it is here.

It’s about penguins.

You’ve heard of penguins, I’m sure. They swim rather than fly, and they’re always well dressed. What other creature wears a tuxedo twenty-four hours a day?

Well, this penguin was a young one, and he knew what a “Proper Dinner” consisted of.

He knew that a Proper Dinner was important. After all, he was always dressed for it.

So. Here’s how a Proper Dinner goes. Mom or Dad appears at the nest after hunting for fish out in the water. And you, as the young one, you stand straight up and tall. You throw your head back and open your mouth, and Mom or Dad sticks their beak in your mouth and…

How do I put this?

Well, let’s just say that food that was in their stomach goes into yours.

If that sounds gross to you, it does to me, too. Which makes us people, not penguins.

In any case, that was a Proper Dinner for this young penguin, and after all, he was always dressed for it.

One day, though, when Mom appeared, she was carrying an actual fish in her beak. And when Sister put back her head and opened her mouth, mother put the fish in.

Sister swallowed it right down with every sign that she enjoyed it, but Brother knew that it wasn’t a Proper Dinner.

Sure enough, Dad appeared shortly afterward, and like Mom, he had a fish in his beak. Brother looked at it, and it wasn’t a Proper Dinner.

So he didn’t stand up straight. And he didn’t put his head back. And he didn’t open his mouth.

If he could have, he would have folded his wings across his chest, but he couldn’t, because penguin wings don’t do that.

Sister got the fish. And Brother had to wait until Dad went away, caught some more fish, and returned to feed Brother what he’d already eaten, so that he’d have a Proper Dinner.

This went on for two days, which is an endless amount of time when you’re a young penguin. Mom and Dad brought fish, and Brother wouldn’t eat them, and he’d wait, hungry, until they returned with a Proper Dinner.

Finally, Mom and Dad had had enough. They wouldn’t do this any more.

Has that ever happened to you? That Mom and Dad wouldn’t do something for you any more?

You, too, eh?

So they stood there and eyed him with the fish dangling from their beaks. And he stared back with a gaze that slowly fell away in the face of their united disapproval. He slowly raised his beak, and opened his mouth. A little. Then a little more. Until Mom tucked the fish onto his tongue.

He swallowed.

To his utter astonishment, he liked it.

“Well,” he decided. “I guess there’s more than one way to have a Proper Dinner.”

“And after all, I’m dressed for it, whatever comes.”

Photo credit: By Liam Quinn from Canada – Adélie Penguin regurgitates krill for its chick, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24444946

Moi Questions

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment
Sixfinger_threadfin_school

A school of moi.

Today I’m going to tell you a fish story.

I mean, literally. I’m going to tell you a story about a fish.

This fish was a moi, which are well known here in Hawai’i for being a fish that only the ali’i, the royalty, the most powerful people in the islands could eat in the ancient days. That’s not how the moi think of themselves, though. Who really think of themselves in terms of who is going to eat them?

There was one young moi who was always asking questions. I mean, always. He’d ask one question, and get an answer, and then he’d ask another.

“What’s that bright light up above the surface of the water?”

“Why are the corals different colors?”

“What’s that coming toward us, with all the holes? Should I avoid it?”

(Well, yes. It was a fishing net.)

“What’s that shiny thing on the end of the grass-like thing? Should I eat it?”

(It’s probably best not to eat the fishhook.)

Probably the most common question, though, was one he asked over and over and over:

“Is that good to eat?”

“Is that good to eat?”

“Is that good to eat?”

Let’s face it, that’s an important question when you’re a moi.

With all his questions came something else: He got to know the answers. Other moi started to ask him questions, because they thought he’d probably asked it already and knew the answer. Much of the time, he did.

When he didn’t, you know he’d turn around and ask that question of some other fish.

He always had moi and moi questions.

A decided groan greeted that last remark.

Moi swim in great schools, and if you’ve ever seen a school of fish, you realize that when the school turns, then a new leader emerges. The one who had been at the front is now at the side, and someone at the side is the new leader of the school.

All the other moi learned to feel very good about having this curious moi as their leader. When he was in front, they didn’t swim into fishing nets. When he was in front, he didn’t have them chase after fishhooks.

So his questions made him a valued leader among the moi.

That’s true of you, too. If you ask questions, if you seek after what you don’t know, if you keep learning, well, like our curious moi, you can be a success in school.

More groans.

Seriously. It will help you in school. But it will also help you make a better life. Ask questions, even when your parents, or your teachers, or even I start to look like you’ve asked a lot of them. It’s OK.

Because you’ll be learning, and thriving, and growing.

The Untidy ‘Elepaio

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

Hawaii_Elepaio_(Chasiempis_sandwichensis)_(26372854912)Most ‘elepaio, it seems, take a good deal of pride in their nests.

The ‘elepaio is a small songbird who lives out in the koa and ohi’a forests. It’s colored tan and gray, and it’s a curious bird who might just fly over to get a good look at you as you’re walking in the woods.

That has nothing to do with the story, by the way; it’s just so you might recognize one if you see one.

‘Elepaio mothers take a great deal of effort to build their nests in the tree branches. They weave their cup-shaped nests from grasses and bark and even spider silk, and they trim everything up so that it looks neat and tidy.

There was one mother bird, however, whose nests, while not actually being a shocking mess, nevertheless always looked… unfinished. Grass ends would stick up from the edges instead of being carefully tucked away. Bits of spider silk waved in the breeze. And in some places you could actually see the underlying structure of the nest.

The other ‘elepaio thought she was a pretty careless, untidy bird.

One of the younger ones, however, noticed something after a few windy days had gone by, and they’d endured some rain showers. When those things happened, everybody had to repair their nests. Rain and wind force you to do that sort of thing.

Most of the ‘elepaio had to undo a good deal of work in order to get to the thing that needed to be replaced or fixed. They’d untuck grasses and pull out bits of bark until the problem was visible.

The untidy ‘elepaio, however, always seemed to get her nest repaired before anybody else. The problem areas were easier for her to reach. She did less removing and more replacing.

So the young bird flew over to ask for her secret.

“It’s nothing special,” she said. “I just leave gaps in the nest where there will probably be a need. There’s always something. I’m just a little more ready for it.”

She left her gaps where the new needs might arrive.

I don’t always explain my stories, but today I will. Because this story is not about being messy and not picking up your things and putting them away. I could get in a lot of trouble with your parents if that’s what you decide, and for that matter, if you don’t pick up those plastic building blocks at night you’ll step on one when you get out of bed in the morning, and then nobody will be happy.

It’s also not an excuse for not finishing your homework. You should finish your homework. That will make your parents, and your teacher, and eventually you, much happier.

No, this story is about not seeing ourselves as finished. None of us are ever “finished,” we learn new things all our lives. This story is about making sure that you always leave a place in your life to learn something new, and grow some more, and become a you who’s more you than you were before.

Leave some places in you where the world, and where God, can help you learn and grow.

Amen.

The photo is by Dominic Sherony – Hawaii Elepaio (Chasiempis sandwichensis), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=52150176

Dolphin Tempted

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

dolphins-by-robert-youngThis story may sound like one you’ve heard before. Perhaps it will be a little familiar, even though it’s not set on land like the original. This one takes place in the ocean.

Once there was a shark who decided to try to tempt a dolphin away from its pod.

(Do you know what a pod is? You do? Yes, that’s exactly right: a pod is a group or family of dolphins. Well done!)

So the shark found a pod, with one young dolphin swimming along near the side and toward the back. The water was rather murky, so the shark was able to get pretty close without being clearly visible as a shark.

I don’t really want to tell you what the shark had in mind. What? No, I’m afraid it wasn’t friendship. You’re thinking of the movie, Finding Nemo. No, this shark was not following the twelve steps toward seeing fish as friends, not food. Or, in this case, dolphins.

So, okay, the shark had his mind on lunch.

Well, from out there in the murk, he said to the young dolphin, “Hey, come over to the other side of this reef. I found this amazing place to catch fish. You’ll eat until you can’t eat any more.”

The young dolphin was pretty hungry himself, so this sounded pretty good, but his pod leader hadn’t said anything about going to the other side of the reef. “No,” he said eventually, “I think I’d better not. You might tell the pod leader about it, though.”

That was the last thing the shark wanted to do, so he tried something different.

“The pod leader would want you to learn leadership yourself,” he said. “Not to worry, of course. Other dolphins will come along to keep you safe if there should be any danger nearby.”

Though not enough, he thought, to make a difference when the dinner bell chimes.

That sounded even better to the young dolphin, who certainly aspired to become a pod leader. Maybe this would be a good time to experiment, and to take a risk.

“Well, no, I don’t think so,” he finally said. “I wouldn’t want to make the other members of the pod choose between me and our pod leader. No. Definitely not.”

Oh, come on, thought the shark. So close and yet so far…

“If you come now,” the shark murmured, “I’ll make you into a pod leader. You’ll be the pod leader. Just follow me.”

Oh, that sounded awfully good to the young dolphin. To be a pod leader, and not wait! Wow.

Wouldn’t you like to be a pod leader?

Yes? No?

Well, about half and half.

Our dolphin, though, he did want to be a pod leader someday. But he decided that he’d trust in his own pod leader’s wisdom about when that time would come, and not the sweet words of this rather murky figure.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’ll follow my pod leader until it’s time to lead myself.”

It was at about that time that the pod leader up at the front realized that there was a figure in the shadows behind them that didn’t belong. He darted back through the swimmers, joined by other dolphins as he went, and together they chased the shark far away from the pod, clear to the other side of the reef, where the fishing truthfully wasn’t any better than where they were.

So, did that story sound at all familiar?

A little?

The title of that other story?

Why, it’s “The Temptation of Jesus.”

Photo by Robert Young. Used by permission under Creative Commons license.

Isn’t It Enough to Fly?

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nene-201611There is a sad shortage of kites in this story. I’m afraid that the ‘apapane fails to make an appearance. There isn’t even a mongoose.

You were hoping for a mongoose? I’m sorry. There will be other stories with a mongoose, I’m pretty sure.

A baby? Well, sort of. It had been a baby, just not a baby human being. Actually it had been a chick, and now it was a gosling. A young nene.

And this nene: Oh, how he yearned to fly. He wanted to soar above the trees, and learn all the secrets he was sure lingered in the clouds, and to see the whole world changed when he took to the skies. He was sure that flying would make the sun shine more brightly, and the rain fall more sweetly, and make food taste richer and even make his dreams deeper.

But he had to wait. When he was born, well, actually, he wasn’t born. He was hatched, from an egg, exactly like all of you weren’t.

He was hatched with feathers that are completely unsuitable for flying. They were soft and fuzzy and very well suited for keeping him warm at night, but they wouldn’t move air when he moved his wings up and down. So he had to wait to grow the new feathers.

He also had to wait for his wings to grow. There’s a limited amount of space in an egg, so his wings were very small things at hatching. But as he got bigger, so did they, and took on the shapes of flight.

He also had to wait for his muscles to strengthen. Flying takes a good amount of strength, and his newly hatched muscles hadn’t had any exercise at all.

So he waited while feather grew and wings took shape and muscles hardened, and then came the day to fly.

What can I say? He flew round and about just like this (only not like this because my feet are touching the ground and his definitely weren’t), and looked down on the trees and creatures and the other birds and It. Was. Amazing.

But he found that the world really didn’t change. The sun didn’t shine any brighter, and the rain didn’t fall any more sweetly, than it ever had. His dreams were about the same, and as for food, it tasted just like he remembered. In fact, he found himself more hungry more often, because flying is hard work.

So he went to see his grandmother to ask why the world hadn’t changed when he became able to fly.

“Ah,” she said. “Learning to fly doesn’t change the world. It changes you.”

It changes you.

Plenty of moments will come in your life that are times when you’ll fly in new ways: when you graduate from one school and go to another; when you make a new friend; when you graduate from school and go to work.

In each of these times, though, the world will go on much as it has. It’s you that will change.

Mind you, each of your changes will change the world, just a little bit. But each of the times of flying: they make you into you.

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Nene in flight over Halema’uma’u

Of Love and Kites

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

two-kitesToday’s story features the same little girl from last week’s story. You remember her, right?

You don’t?

Well, she was the one who wanted to fly a kite and wanted to know how she’d know when she was loved. Does that sound familiar? No?

Well, it’s on the Internet. You can look it up.

Anyway, this same little girl got up one morning and, once again, she had two things that she wanted to do with her day.

The first one was that she wanted to spend time playing with her neighbor, a boy just a little younger than she was, and a good friend.

The second thing was that she wanted to know how she’d know when she was being loving to someone else. You really have to admit that she liked to ask the Big Questions.

Since she knew it was a Big Question, too, she decided to start with the easier one, so off she went to her friend’s house and knocked on the door. He was perfectly willing to play with her that day, which meant she’d already accomplished one of her goals.

In fact, he wanted to fly his brand new kite, which was even better, because now she knew how to get a kite in the air, since she had been in last week’s story.

And it was nice and windy that day.

So they carried the package with his new kite to a nice open space, and she set out to get it unpacked. She’d done this in the last story, so she knew how it went. She laid out all the pieces, and got the spars together, and got the fabric tight over everything. She attached the tail, and fastened the string to the kite with a good strong knot. Everything was ready to go.

She handed him the assembled kite and told him to stand off a few feet, and when she started running, to toss the kite into the air. Sure enough, when she took off, the kite leaped into the air like it was meant to fly (which, of course, it was) and danced higher and higher into the sky.

He came over and reached for the string, but she said, “No, no, let me show you how to do it,” and that’s when he burst into tears and ran home.

Leaving her all alone in the open field with his kite in the air.

Well, she brought it down to the ground, and wound up the string, and walked it back to his house. She could still hear the crying from outside, so she left the kite on the porch, and went to find her Grandfather.

She cried a few tears of her own as she told him the story.

“Just to make sure I understand,” said Grandfather when she was through, “Did he ask you to put his kite together?”

Well, no, he hadn’t.

“Did he ask you to show him how to fly it?”

No, he hadn’t done that either.

“Did you ask him at all what he needed from you, or what he wanted you to do?”

Well, no.

“When you do the things that people really want or really need,” Grandfather told her gently, “that’s how they know you’re being really loving. So the only way for you to know whether you’re being truly loving is to ask.”

Oh.

She went back to her friend’s house, and this time she knocked on the door. When he came to see her (it must be said that his mother had to tell him to do it), she apologized for doing everything he wanted to do with his kite, and humbly asked, “What do you want to do?”

“I’d like to fly the kite with my own hand on the string,” he said, somewhat cautiously, because he wasn’t sure what she’d say.

“Then let’s do that. I’ll hold the kite while you run and get it into the air,” she said, and that’s just what they did.

The next day, there was wind again, so they both brought their kites, and soon there were two of them aloft. As they watched the two kites dance in the sky, both of them knew this:

They’d been loving to each other.

Love Like the Wind

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment
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Kite in flight

A little girl set out one day with two things on her mind; two things she was determined to do.

The first looked pretty simple: she wanted to fly a kite.

The second looked more difficult: she wanted to know how she’d know when somebody loved her. She was pretty sure that this was the more awkward question.

That meant that the kite came first.

She got it out of its package, and she put the sticks in their places. She stretched the fabric over it, and attached a streamer tail to the end. She got out the kite string, and attached it to the kite with a good knot. She was all set to fly.

Unfortunately, she’d chosen to go out on a day which lacked one critical ingredient: wind.

Wind is usually plentiful here in East Hawai’i, but not that day. It was one of the hot, still, and muggy days of summer. I guess there was a storm offshore that blocked the trade winds from blowing, and the storm’s winds hadn’t reached Hilo yet.

Whatever the cause, there simply wasn’t a breeze to be felt.

She gave it her all, though. She raced back and forth across her chosen field, letting the kite string out behind her, and gasping each time the kite seemed to take leap skyward on her leg-driven wind.

Each time she came to stop, though, the kite would sag in mid-air, and fall gracelessly to the ground. Sometimes it would plunge to earth even as she ran. All in all, it was really frustrating.

Nothing she tried would get the kite to fly.

Grumbling, she went to see her grandfather, hoping that he would have some wisdom that would get the kite to fly. She poured out her troubles as he listened, and he cast a glance at the trees, where the immobile leaves confirmed the problem.

“I’m sorry,” he gently said when her sad tale had ended, “but without any wind a kite won’t fly.”

Some tears later (she’d been counting on this, after all), she remembered her other question for the day. Rather hopelessly, given how the kite flying had turned out, she raised her other question.

“Grandfather,” she asked, “how do I know when someone loves me?”

Grandfather considered this for a few moments, and smiled.

“Think about your kite for a moment. Without wind, what does it do?”

“Nothing,” pouted the granddaughter. “It falls to the ground.”

“Love is like the wind that lifts the kite,” said Grandfather. “If you feel like somebody is lifting you up; if you feel like somebody is supporting you; if you feel like somebody has helped you to fly, that’s somebody loving you. That’s how you know.”

As she listened, the girl realized that, despite the sorrows that had brought her to her grandfather, she now felt lifted up. She now felt supported. She now felt like her soul had taken flight – a low, short flight (it must be confessed), but flying nevertheless.

So she gave her grandfather and big hug, and said to him, “You mean like right now?”

Grandfather looked at her, and inside he, too, felt like he was being lifted up, like he was being supported. He felt his soul flying. So he smiled his widest as he said:

“Yes, granddaughter. Just like right now.”

There may not have been a kite flying that day, but two souls soared on the wind of love.

Addendum: It was at this point that one of the young people said to me, “Could you please tell us that she was able to fly the kite the next day?”

Why, yes. As it happened, the wind returned the next day, and she was able to fly her kite. Even better, though, it was also a day when she felt lifted up by love as well.

And that’s the best kind of day of all.

The Mongoose Who Wanted to Be Salt

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment
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A Mongoose in Hawai’i

I know a number of you read my Pastor’s Corner this week, about seeing an ‘apapane, so you’re all prepared for a story about what kind of creature this week?

An ‘apapane?

This story is, in fact, about…

A Mongoose.

This mongoose lived right near a church, much like this one. In fact, he lived in a little hole underneath the roof beams, kind of like that hole right over there where a mongoose lives.

In any case, living outside the church the way he did, he had plenty of opportunity to hear the Scriptures read. One day, he was deeply impressed by a reading of Jesus’ words during the Sermon on the Mount: “You are the salt of the earth.” I don’t know why those words, in particular, made such an impact, but he determined to become salt, as Jesus said.

I’m afraid he had a rather literal turn of mind.

Because he started out by searching for salt. Mongooses, as a rule, do not have salt shakers in their burrows. He managed to find a paper salt packet that somebody had dropped from their carry-out tray, and set out to open it and eat it.

Have any of you ever eaten just plain salt?

It’s pretty unpleasant, isn’t it?

This mongoose didn’t like it much either. In fact, he had to go drink a sizable amount of the Wailuku River before he could taste anything but salt. All in all, it was pretty nasty.

He didn’t give up, though. If the salt wasn’t supposed to be eaten, he thought, maybe it’s supposed to be on the outside. So he set out to re-create an ancient way of harvesting salt: by taking sea water, letting it sit in the sun, and gathering the salt as the water evaporated away. But the mongoose wouldn’t use a hollowed stone; he’d use his own fur.

So he took a swim in Hilo Bay, which he didn’t like very much, and then climbed up on shore to let the sun dry his fur.

The problem was that this was Hilo, and as soon as he came out of the water, the clouds rolled in and hid the sun, leaving the mongoose wet, shivering, and unhappy for quite a long time.

Eventually, just as his teeth stopped chattering, the clouds parted and the sun beamed through. At last, he could dry his fur, and the water steamed gently away leaving the salt crystals behind.

It turns out that if you’re a mongoose, it’s really uncomfortable to have salt crystals in your fur and rubbing your skin, so the poor creature returned to the Wailuku River for another bath (this time in fresh water). As he emerged, the clouds rolled in again and drenched him further with rain, leaving him cold, wet, and completely discouraged.

So he did what he probably should have done in the first place. He went to visit his grandmother.

She spent the first part of his visit carefully grooming his fur, which was suffering from all these salt baths and rain, while he poured out his story. “How am I going to become salt?” he moaned.

Grandmother thought about this for a bit, and then said, “When you’re not eating a whole packet of it, salt makes things taste better, doesn’t it?”

The mongoose thought it did, though with the memory of the salt packet still in his mouth he was less sure than he might have been.

“Well, if salt makes things better, then perhaps that’s what you could do. You make my life better every time you see me, every time you talk to me. You’re kind of like salt that increases my happiness rather than dazzles my taste buds.”

The younger mongoose just listened.

“You just keep making my life better, grandson, and make your family’s lives better, and your friends lives better. That will make you salt; the very best salt there is.”

You are the salt of the earth.

Photo by Tony Hisgett, used by permission under Creative Commons license.