If you would rather listen than read, play the audio...only very slight variations.
Gold
(Below is one days work on the Klamath River, circa 1986 )
This all began as a dream in which I was diving for gold
in a northern California river. In this dream I surfaced from the river
with a golf ball sized gold nugget in my hand. “Here, Joyce,” I said,
handing it to my youngest child. “There’s plenty more where this came from.”
It was December of ‘71 and
I was the owner of a small prospecting and treasure hunting supply store in San
Jose, California. Because of a dream that I took as an omen—I knew (as so
many before me have known) that gold was going to make me a rich man.
Without a second thought, I closed my shop, made an eight inch gold dredge and
headed for the mountains of Northern California.
At that time I was a
bachelor father of three, and they went with me. We arrived on the banks
of Oregon Creek, in the Sierra Mountains, just in time to pitch our tent on the
already snowy ground at the beginning of a weeklong snow storm. This ice
bucket was to be our home for the next three months. Never have I been so
consistently cold for so long in my life. After finding virtually no gold
there, we moved on to the Yuba River. Intuitively I knew the Yuba was
where the gold would be. We camped about 5 miles above Yuba City until
early September.
It was next to impossible
for any miner with the type equipment I had to do as poorly as I did.
During that nine-month period I found less than an ounce of gold—about $130
worth at that time. However, some wonderful things did happen on that
trip—I rekindled my love of nature and beauty. And in that isolated spot I
discovered God.
It’s hard to describe the loneliness of living like
that. Except for my kids, there was absolutely no human contact. I
craved adult contact. I needed the sound of
adult human voices. Because of
the way our camp was situated, closed in between two steep mountains, I couldn’t
even get a radio station until about 8:00 in the evening. And, the only
station was a religious program—talk about a captive audience. Every
evening found me listening to Garner Ted Armstrong as he brought “The World
Tomorrow” to any who would listen.
Radio preachers were
always a turnoff. It always seemed they spent too much time asking for
donations to keep their “radio ministry” afloat. But this guy was
different. He never asked for a dime. Instead, he offered free books
and literature. Because I was lonely and he was a different type of
preacher, I listened. It didn’t hurt any that he was also a very gifted
and fascinating speaker. I’d often argue with him in my mind, but I
enjoyed listening to him.
This was the beginning of
my spiritual awakening. I’m sure it was aided by lying out under the stars
every night, surrounded by the grandeur of God’s mountains while being serenaded
by the sound of the Yuba flowing by. Altogether it added to the
genuineness of what I was hearing. It allowed me to better appreciate the
wonders of God’s universe—even though I had entered into the deep throes of
financial destitution.
It was September before I
finally came to my senses and realized I wasn’t going to be a rich man after
all. I also knew my children needed to be back in school. By this
time, however, I was so broke I couldn’t leave. I had no place to go and, even
if I did, I had no gas to get there on. (It never dawned on me until
writing this that we were homeless.)
One evening after Garner
Ted Armstrong was finished, I got out of my sleeping bag and walked over to the
river. Clad only in my under shorts, I stood on top of the steep, sharp,
rock cliff overlooking my dredge below. The night was clear and beautiful.
A billion stars lit the sky as the moon reflected off the river. In
contrast with all this beauty, my foolhardiness had finally hit home. I began to
cry like a baby as I faced what seemed to be a hopeless situation. Not just a
tear or two, either. No! I bawled.
And, I began to pray in
earnest:
“God, I know I
misinterpreted the dream and that I’ve been a fool” was the gist of what I said,
(although it took about an hour to say it). Then, perhaps, for the first
time, I asked for help in getting out of there and in finding a place to live.
Finally, exhausted with nothing more to say or do, I went to sleep.
The next morning I arose,
fixed breakfast and was just finishing putting on my wet suit, when a man came
by. “I’m interested in your dredge,” he said. “Are you interested in
selling?”
“I want $500 for it,” I
said.
He pulled out five big
ones and handed them to me.
Within an hour my truck
was packed, the dog and the rest of my gear was in the back of the pickup, and
my kids and I were were on our way to San Jose.
This event happened so
uneventfully and naturally that I hardly made the connection between my prayer
the night before and the buyer in the morning. Oh, sure, I remembered
praying, but I just assumed the man buying my dredge was just a lucky
coincidence. I mean, it wasn’t like it was a miracle. Or even an answer to
prayer. Some guy just wanted to buy my dredge.
Man was I lucky.
Right!
This is what I find
fascinating... I followed a dream into near oblivion. But, the dream
wasn’t wrong. I found the treasure in my dream, it just wasn’t what I
expected. And, as I told Joyce in my dream, there was “plenty more where
this came from.”
It was finding God that
started my children and I going to church and which finally culminated in my
becoming a Presbyterian pastor now serving in Reedsport, OR.
>>>>><<<<<
Addendum:
I never forgot the
relationship between God, man and nature that I discovered while mining. At
night when my children were asleep and I was alone, I was overawed by the
immensity and beauty of God’s handiwork. So awe-inspired, I couldn’t help
but worship.
For years afterwards I
hungered for the isolation of the mountains, the song of the river, and the
grandeur of the night skies. I hungered for the connection I found by the
river. So, about fifteen years later, I gave mining another try. This time
it wasn’t so important I succeed—I had no dream of excessive wealth. I was
going after the true treasure once again.
My son, Lloyd and I worked
for a full year, and once again we were camped alongside a beautiful flowing
river—the Klamath this time, not the Yuba. I’m pleased to report we did
much better.
During that last year when we once more lived in a tent, no one came up and offered to buy my equipment.
This time there was no
need.
