Meanwhile, Thirty Years Later ....

It's funny how things can go in cycles.

Here we are, June of 2016, packing up our worldly possessions and getting ready to move ... but we don't know to where. The ministry we have been doing for ten years is changing and God has opened the door for us to begin a brand new ministry, but the location has not yet been determined. Our oldest son is living with us and he is impacted by this move because it means he needs a place to live as well -- probably not where we will be living.

In June of 1986 our oldest son wasn't yet two years old and Joann was pregnant with our second child. We had just been "invited to resign" from a youth ministry position (did I say that politely enough?). We were living in a town that we enjoyed and we were feeling good about the ministry that was happening in the lives of the young people at church as well as many of those at the local high school. Seemingly, out of the blue, it all came to a screeching halt ... and we were faced with a move, but we didn't know to where.

Through the gracious invitation of a friend from our youth ministry life we were invited to work for the summer at a large denominational camp. We were no strangers to camp life having already done two other summers of camp ministry prior to taking our current youth ministry position. We were set for the summer: housing, food and an opportunity to continue in ministry. But what about September?

The summer was great -- good friends and fun at camp (who doesn't love camp?). And somewhere in the time at camp, I can't even remember the sequence of events, a friend I had gone to bible school with invited us to live with him and his wife in their large house in SE Portland. Interesting side note: his wife was also pregnant, due pretty soon after Joann! What could be better? Two college friends, two pregnant wives and a toddler?

Well, it really did go great. The time together went well and through several different series of events I ended up working full time for a local bank, we rented an apartment (later we were able to rent a lovely house) and this whole sequence put things in motion for us to move overseas a few years later.

Now, it seems we are back in a similar spot. Today there are four kids, three of them are married. We have a grandson, soon to be joined by a granddaughter and we are near that time when I think you are supposed to retire and play with your grand kids. But God has given us an opportunity to start something brand new.

We know that because of the kindness of a friend we have a place to live when we move in a few weeks, but we don't know much besides that. God has a hope and a future for us --  we are very confident of how He has led to this point -- but there are things that we cannot see just yet.

I haven't even looked into the possibility of camp yet!

Not a great time to be pregnant ....

In recent months we have learned that we will become grandparents (for the first time!) and that our first grandchild will be a grandson! All really great news.

Recently as I was reading about the events surrounding the birth of Moses, I thought of the moms and dads, the parents, the grandparents and how they processed all of the tragedy and drama during those days.

First, the Hebrew midwives were instructed to kill any male children born, but the bible tells us that they "feared God and did not do what the king of Egypt had told them to do ...". Having to answer for their defiance they told the king that the Hebrew women gave birth before they could arrive and carry out the order to kill the child.

So, then the situation worsened when Pharaoh instructed his own people throw every boy that is born into the Nile, but let every girl live.

What was that like? I can only imagine that there was an exodus of sorts out of Egypt by those who did not want to comply. Families that had rejoiced over the news of the pregnancy, had fretted over the growth of the little one, had coddled and pampered the mom to be .... what would they do now? How many babies were actually hidden from Pharaoh? How many people left the country and lived with family in other places until this storm passed over?

We know in the midst of this that Moses was born, was hidden and then adopted in the very family of Pharaoh himself; God had other plans for the life of this little one.

In my mind I fast forward to the time of Christ. Another jealous, fearful king. Another edict. Another exodus; this time to Egypt, not out of Egypt. A murderous king of this world had plans to rid himself of a perceived rival, but God had other plans for the life of this little one.

Staying Alive

Last week I celebrated my birthday ... something I normally enjoy doing, but this year gave me a bit of  a pause. I turned 55 this year and in my mind that is very close to 60 and for some reason I am afraid of 60. So, as I inch closer, I am not excited. Sadly I have a friend who did not make it to his 55th birthday. I know others near my age that have suffered from strokes and blood clots and other very serious things already.

But, then I decided that my focus was wrong. I need to look at what I am doing at 55 that I wasn't doing before or what kinds of things I have done so that I can make a strong showing at 60 and at 65 and at 70 and so on....

In 2007 I decided that life was catching up with me and if I didn't do something drastic, I was in for some real trouble. I joined Weight Watchers (good people) and over time lost about 60 pounds. That is a good thing. As a result of the encouragement from WW, my wife and I started buying "workout clothes" and we started walking on a regular basis. Since 2007 we have spent several hundred dollars on good shoes and have walked hundreds of miles. 

I began running some and working out with some friends and got to the point where I entered a half marathon. I could never have done that before. I have climbed South Sister, the third highest peak in Oregon, twice .... you can read about that in another blog post. In the past I have done P90X workouts and am doing them again with my new son-in-law. 

Perhaps the crowning achievement to this point was that my wife and I walked the Camino de Santiago this last fall; 500 miles walking across Spain. For us it was a 42 day trek; challenging and rewarding both. I could have never done that a few years ago. 

So, am I getting older? For sure .... but can I keep going, keep pushing, keep doing what I can do to be as healthy as I can be? Yes, because no one is going to do it for me. I am responsible for me. 

I think I remember that from my kindergarten teacher! 

Fighting My Demons All the Way up the Mountain

Just about a year ago my second son was in the wedding of a friend and for the bachelor "party" they climbed the third highest peak in Oregon, South Sister. Sitting in the Cascade Range in Central Oregon at a height of 10, 358 feet, the view is breathtaking but the hike is brutal. To quote one writer, "....the extremely difficult trail to the summit of South Sister gains a staggering 4900 feet of elevation in 5.5 miles ..." So, when they decided to put together another trip this year, of course I wanted to go.

Rewind a little bit: several years ago when we were preparing to go overseas with our mission organization we had a weekend of team-building activities, one of which was climbing a 30 foot rock wall. I climbed well for about 20 feet but didn't make it to the top. I tried again, climbed well at the bottom, but could not make it to the top. I have never felt good about that. Item two: just this last December there were several of us who had trained for a half-marathon and the day of the run arrived. I had hurt my knee a couple of weeks earlier and as a result I ran about half of the half before I had to quit because of the pain in my right knee. I still don't feel good about not being able to run the race.

So now it is Saturday and we have started the hike up South Sister. It is not too bad at the start except it is all uphill and it will never get better! I am carrying as much water as I can, a few energy bars and some basic survival stuff. My son had coached me that the best thing I could do was carry as little as possible because every ounce would punish me later in the climb.

We hiked and hiked and hiked and hiked. The summit is just over 6 miles from the trailhead, but that is the longest 6 miles that I have ever undertaken. We climbed through the mini-boulder field to the false summit and I saw for the first time the path to the top. How could I make it? It was so much further up than where we were at the time and I was already spent. Resting for awhile, drinking water, eating fruit and drinking more water helped to revive my spirits and I set out for the top. In the back of my mind were the two significant challenges that I had not succeeded at. I did not want this trip to be a third attempt and a third failure.

The final climb involves a field of loose lava gravel that might be likened to climbing a sand dune -- but a really steep sand dune. Every step forward resulted in some forward progress and some sliding back downhill. Add to that the altitude and the constant need for water (my mouth was like cotton) and progress was incredibly slow. I had to pace myself, one minute hiking, one minute resting. Every time I rested I looked up the slope and willed myself to take a few more steps. I am pretty sure that the whole way I was convinced that I wasn't going to make it another step.

Little by little, after about another hour of slow climbing I was at the top! I had survived and I was up there! There was no failure -- maybe there was even a little bit of redemption for things unfinished. In the back of my mind as I pushed up the hill was the voice of my son who had assured me several times that I would make it and I would feel great and I would be successful. His words of encouragement and his expression of faith in my ability to make it to the top pushed me step after painful step.

Together we enjoyed the view from the top.

Bono, Me, and the Kids

About a year ago I was going to go to Seattle to see a U2 concert.

Let me tell you more: my youngest son, as a Father's Day gift, purchased tickets that he and I (and two of his siblings) might attend the U2 concert scheduled for June of 2010. I was excited to be included and excited to be with my kids for an event I knew they would love.

Then there was the emergency back surgery. Not mine, but Bono's. He was in the Netherlands and had to have emergency back surgery which resulted in the postponement of the Seattle concert (and several others).

Now it is a year later. I am just recovering from my own little medical emergency, and the concert is at hand. The four of us drive to Seattle (I am driven by my children!), find what we hope to be legitimate parking and we walk to the stadium, dining along the way (sometimes a hot dog has to pass as real food). Along with thousands of others we enter the stadium and are overwhelmed with the scale and crowd and the stage and the everything else. It is an event and a large event at that.

The warm-up band plays and we enjoy it ... mostly. Then, the road crew begins to rearrange the stage and at 9 p.m. the show begins. We see the band enter, we are on our feet clapping wildly and cheering. They begin to play and we all go nuts and cheer more and clap more and we never sit down.

I can't begin to describe the joy of the evening: joy at being with my kids, the joy of knowing that they were doing something for me that they knew I would like, the joy of them being there and seeing the band play and soaking up the performance that was flawless and awesome. But most of all it was my joy in seeing my kids so enraptured, so entranced, so absorbed in music that spoke to them, that moved them. It brought such a joy to me to be with them, to be part of this experience, to be a part of their lives.

And that is the best Father's Day gift ever!

Live Music; it's Really Alive!

So, having just come home from a concert, I was asking myself "Why do people go to concerts?" I mean, after all, we can buy the CD's or download the songs and listen to them on our computers or some other more sophisticated sound system.

But listening live, now that is fun! It is a really stupid thing to say, but the music is so alive! The artists have the chance to share their stories, they talk about the music, they play extended versions of the songs and we as an audience get to interact with the artist and interact with the music as they share it with us.

So, after the cost of the ticket, the wait in line, the obnoxious fan, the sticky floor and the sigh at the end of set that seemed too short because I could have stayed all night -- it is fun to listen to the CD but it is great fun to be at the concert and listen, taste, touch and smell the experience.

Wooly Mammoth on the Grill

As Father's Day rolls around again, the discussion comes to food and I announce that I will grill. Now, on Mother's Day, the goal is to keep mom out of the kitchen -- to keep her from any type of food preparation at all, actually. But, on Father's Day the same does not hold true.

I discussed my intended menu with my wife and she (lovingly) suggests that I don't even need to grill the meat in question, I could cook it in the oven.

Wait a minute! In the oven? It is important for everyone to understand why men choose to cook outdoors on the grill.

Way back when our ancestors were barely surviving, the men would spend the day hunting the food that was essential to the very survival of the clan. They would track beasts all day, plan the perfect attack and then spring into action -- the poor beast was no match for their prowess and their pointed spears.

Now, with supermarkets and butcher shops, what is the modern day man to do? Most men don't spend the day with other guys patiently tracking down the "kill of the day" and grunting with pleasure when it is brought down and divided for all to share. Today, we walk into the market, look at what is ready to cook, pay for it and take it home to put on the grill.

But, it is in that act of starting the fire (alas, the ignition of the propane!) and the sizzling of the meat on the grill, that we feel again, in a small way, that we have provided for the clan. That the children will not go hungry, that our wife will look at us with pride and brag to the other wives about her husband's latest "kill" that was prepared for the family.

Yes, as the smoke rises from the grill, deep inside of me, I feel as if I have survived another harrowing day in this world and we will go to bed with full stomachs and a feeling of contentment in all that has come our way.

The Age of Plastic

We live in the age of plastic. Not as in credit card plastic, not as in an eon of world history, but in that nearly everything I just put into the dishwasher is made of plastic.

Of course at this stage, with little ones around slam-dunking dinner plates into the kitchen sink, plastic keeps us from replacing everything every other day.

In retrospect the age of plastic will probably be short-lived (though each day is an eternity). We’ll soon move into the age of mixed plastic and ceramic. And who knows, someday we may be able to set the table entirely with china and stemware.

The age of plastic has its own joys: first steps, feeding oneself (not a pretty sight!), first words, and enthusiastic discoveries of life and the world.

Maybe by the age of ceramic some of this joy and wonder will be gone, but I suspect that new discoveries will be part of every age.

So, for now, we enjoy what we have – serving guests with plastic tumblers, loading our vintage plastic-ware into the dishwasher and enjoying the little lives that make it all possible (should I say necessary?).

I love you kids.

Treasure Chests

Routinely we think of pirates has having treasure chests. Jewels and gold buried and later to be found with the aid of a map marked with an “X” -- I think pirates were not well educated.

Last evening I was watching “Little Women” with my wife and daughter. You may know this great traditional story but I knew almost nothing about it. Anyway, there is a sad time in the story (not to give anything away) and one of the daughters discovers the “treasure chest” of her younger sister. In the chest are articles and stories made up by the girls and preserved by the one sister.

It struck me that though I am not a pirate I have five “treasure chests”. My wife and my four children into whom I have the opportunity and responsibility to "store treasure": People who understand and can possess the riches of a relationship with Christ. People who understand and possess the riches of their family and heritage. People who can understand and possess the riches of their siblings.

These are my treasure chests. I must deposit the treasures. I must cultivate my relationship with them so that they will respect me and love me ... so that they will allow me to share gems and jewels with them and they will treasure it enough to keep it with them forever.

Are my children open to me “depositing gems” into their lives? Have I so injured them (physically or emotionally) that they cannot receive what I desire to give them? Have I caused them to be closed forever to what I know I should do? Will they have any treasures to pass on to their own children? Will they simply be empty chests, devoid of family, heritage, memories and godliness? Worse, will they be filled with the rust of bitterness, hatred and resentment caused by my not doing the things that I must do? What resources am I giving to them?

And the treasure chest of my wife -- I must not overlook the treasures that I impart to her. Do I communicate love and worth to her? Does she hear only criticism? See only unapproving looks? Do I say things that will encourage her? Build her up? Things that impart treasure to her? What "riches" do I impart to her that she can share with others?

Time will tell about the contents of these chests -- the things other people see in their lives, the things that they can share with others. No pirates here ...