Flying Free

"Everything"

2010-02-23T22:22:00.003-09:00

The youth group at the Juneau Church of Christ ministered to the congregation last Saturday night during our talent show. I was especially blessed by Katie Jones that night. What a blessing it was for all of us. Special thanks to Shawn and Rachel Phelps, Bill and Amanda Williams, and Geoffrey and Dana Wyatt for their love and nurturing of this group. Chris Lucas, thank you for showing us Jesus.

I hope to get this video up on You-Tube soon.

Watch and be blessed.

Rylan Piano Project

2009-08-21T21:03:00.003-08:00

He composed this tune himself. Notice the fine fingering skills toward the end of the piece. I am calling about piano lessons tomorrow!

Shannon's Shenanigans

2009-03-18T10:06:00.005-08:00

While I am still trying to cough out something meaningful to say, I thought you might enjoy the following link.

In celebration of the first day of Spring here is a blog written my Shannon Spring, a friend and brother in the Lord. He shares some funny moments of his life in rural Alaska last fall.

http://www.sunshinex.com/shannon/

By the way, Shannon cooks some gooooood beer batter halibut and homemade fries!

Peace and health to you!

Cough Out - Breath In

2009-02-27T13:55:00.001-09:00

Merriam or Webster, I am not sure which one, says that “coughing” means “expel air from the lungs suddenly with an explosive noise.” I have been doing this for nine days now and I think that along with all that air from my lungs I have also expelled all the meaningful insight my brain may have had. So, I don’t have much to offer the blog-o-sphere this week.

And I haven’t been able to hold my grandson either!

In times like this, when my own life energy is sedated by Alka-Seltzer Plus Night Cold Formula (yeah, I know, but it works fast), I find help and healing in praise and worship music. It is a tool God uses to remind me I am still loved by him and how much he loves you too! It fills the void left by coughing. I can breathe it in and let it take up residence.

So, here is a lyric by Graham Kendrick, the same Brit who wrote “Shine, Jesus, Shine”, that has helped me this week. I hope this is your prayer too.

To keep Your lovely face
Ever before my eyes
This is my prayer
Make it my strong desire!
That in my secret heart
No other love competes
No rival throne survives
And I serve only You.

Train Up a Child: Mac vs PC

2009-02-18T20:51:00.006-09:00

Proverbs 22:6 instructs us to “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.” As a grandparent, I have certain responsibilities to train my grandson in all that is good and right. Naturally, this means Rylan needs to learn which computer is best for him. So, I decided it wasn’t too early to do a little experiment by exposing Rylan to a PC and then to a Macintosh.

To begin this experiment, Rylan came to my office to check my PC. He found the PC quite uninspiring and quickly fell asleep.

At home I put him in front of my MacBook Pro and as you can see he had no problem getting the knack of the trackpad.

He was so excited about the Mac I couldn't get him off of it.

"Look Grandpa. this is a cool site!"

"Grandpa, did you know my birthday is coming up in just 11 months and one week. Can I get a MacBook Pro just like yours? Please!"

I AM SO PROUD!

Clearing Away the Debris

2009-02-11T22:40:00.002-09:00

Recently I had a day or two where it seemed like I was swimming against the rhythm and current of life. A different time zone. I had received some news that was both upsetting and hopeful, disappointing and a relief. It left me confused and anxious and silent and pacing the floor. Then I discovered that at some time on the previous day a large tree had blown over from the vacant lot next door, crashed through my fence, and landed on the roof of my house. Now, under normal circumstances this might have been upsetting, but on this day and in this rhythm, I welcomed the fallen tree.

I spend the next four hours climbing ladders, sawing limbs, breathing fresh air, getting wood chips out of my eyes, stumbling over mounds of snow, making noise, strategizing, and stopping to fix my underpowered chainsaw – again. I got to throw things and cut things and let things fall to the ground. When I was done I was rewarded with the realization that although a section of my fence was destroyed and the cutters torn off, my roof survived, still safely covering my brand new grandson. I was physically exhausted, but my mind and my heart were somehow renewed. I had conquered the tree, it had not conquered me. There is a part of me that believes God caused that tree to fall because on that day He knew that cutting down a fallen tree and clearing away the debris was the healing I needed.

Where in the Voyager is Beatrice Long?

2009-02-03T21:28:00.002-09:00

No doubt there will be more about my life as a grandfather, but for now let's get back to the Adventures of My Mariner in Law. I don't know how many of you have been on a cruise ship, but I thought you might like to see more of what these fantastic ships look like. Can you find Beatrice? (click on the photos for a larger view)

Let's start with the most important thing to happen on the inside - dessert!

Here is a partial view of one of the balcony staterooms. The Amundson's used this one. They remind me of bedrooms in one of those big, fancy Class-A motorhomes, but even nicer.

Here is a view of one of the magnificent stairways leading to the Promenade.

The Promenade had a cafe and multiple shopping "opportunities".

Looking up from the Promenade you could see the glass elevators. This was a view of the aft elevators from Deck 5 and looking up to Deck 11. Janet and I rarely took the elevator, opting instead for the stairs. The were faster and burned more calories.

There was a great walking and jogging track on Deck 12.

On the last day of the cruise we were entertained by one of the chefs doing an ice sculpture of an eagle. He carved this in less than 10 minutes!

Did you find her? For the first person who can correctly identify where Bea is, I will send you a free book by Eugene Peterson called, Traveling Light.

We interrupt this program!

2009-01-29T18:10:00.004-09:00

We'll return to the "Adventures of My Mariner in Law" after this, but first this message from your sponsor.

Please help me welcome my first grandson! Rylan Nello filled his lungs with air at 10:55 pm, Wednesday, January 28, 2009. Seven pounds, 15 ounces. He has already learned how to pee, poop, suck, spit up, burp, hiccup, vocalize (well...cry), and he scored 9 on the Abgar Test. All within his first 16 hours! Brilliant!

Mariner in Law, Part 2 "The Kiss"

2009-01-21T20:59:00.010-09:00

Aside from her two college age grandsons on the cruise with us, Bea was the only single in our group. So, we all had a little fun with the idea of scouting the other passengers for a distinguished eligible bachelor suitable for her. Bea found the cruise director, Eric, to be quite handsome (and funny). Below you can see her patiently waiting for his appearance in the LaScala Theatre on board ship. (click on each photo to see an enlargement.)

There were also some good looking and talented ice skaters on board, but she found them a little too fast and slippery.

Inside and in the middle of the ship was the Promenade. It was on a bridge over the Promenade that Bea first saw our Scandinavian captain. Young and handsome for sure, but he never came down from the “bridge”.

Even the towels in stateroom had romance on their mind.

Our first destination was Cozumel, Mexico and it was here that Bea’s luck turned around.

One of the things she really wanted to do was swim with the dolphins. Not only did she experience that, she got a kiss too!

There was no better way to celebrate that kiss than with a tasty tropical lunch on the beach. That scoop of ice cream in middle was even better than the kiss!

Stay tuned for Part 3 - “Where in the Voyager is Beatrice Long?

The Adventures of My Mariner-in-Law, Part 1

2009-01-16T12:36:00.003-09:00

The most comments I have ever received to a blog post was my last post about our visit to Space Center Houston – I think it was because it featured my mother-in-law, Beatrice Long, who is very popular. So, I think I will ride this wave of popularity right into the Caribbean and dedicate the next few posts to a photo essay of the adventures of Bea during our family cruise – a belated celebration of her 80th birthday.

The Voyager of the Seas is the third largest cruise ship in the world – over 1000 feet long, 15 decks above the water line, and room for over 3500 paying guests. It is too big to go through the Panama Canal.

Our boarding of the Voyager of the Seas was delayed due to fog, but as they say in Jamaica, “no problem”, there was still more than enough food available in the Windjammer Café on deck 11 and it was here that Bea received her birthday surprise – our good friends Dan and Amundson!

This floating community has over 1700 crew members representing over 40 nations, including Rolonda, our waiter from Lithuania, and our assistant waiter, Rego, from Costa Rica.

And it was an international cast who sang Happy Birthday!

Stay tuned for the next episode of “The Adventures of My Mariner-in-Law, where Bea gets kissed by a stranger!

"Houston, we have a problem!"

2009-01-03T20:35:00.007-09:00

I am going to be taking a break from my normal blogging effort for the week or so. This won't upset any of you, I am sure, but I do know many of you are missing Beatrice Long. So, here is a photo to let you know that she is alive and well and enjoying her family. Today we visited Space Center Houston, which is the tourist attraction adjacent to the real NASA Johnson Space Center. The trouble was we didn't have the time or strength to wait in line for a tour of the real NASA facilities. Maybe next time.

We board the Voyager of the Seas on Sunday afternoon and, as Royal Caribbean tells us to do, we are going to "Get out there!"

Bea's son and daughter-in-law join us tomorrow and unknown to Bea our special friends, Dan and Jill Amundson. The surprise should be fun.

The Christmas Eve Appearance

2008-12-27T12:25:00.004-09:00

On Christmas Eve this year I accompanied Amy to the hospital for some new pictures. Below is a profile of my grandson using the standard ultra sound technique.

At the urging of us all, Amy asked for the 3D images we heard were available. We all thought it was a different diagnostic imaging machine, but it turns out it is the same machine in the hands of a particularly skilled technician. The result is not a true 3D image, but it is rendered in a virtual 3D environment. The machine takes hundreds of scanned images in layers. Each layer is stacked on top of the another layer resulting in a virtual cube of images. The technician then cuts away portions of the cube that are not needed or are in the way to reveal what's inside. Amazing.

One of my best gifts this year was this opportunity to see God's continuing creative process at week 35.
What a creator!

The Same Old Prayer

2008-12-17T13:11:00.001-09:00

Well, I turned 52 last week, but I think my knees turned older than that. Mentally I don’t really feel old, but I do find that what my mind desires today is different than what it desired decades ago when I was “young”. I use to go to a bookstore and look for the newest author, but now you are more likely to find me in the dead authors section. In worship I normally prefer to sing newer “praise songs”, but the other night I found myself making a big deal about singing “A Mighty Fortress”, one of the oldest songs in our hymnal. The older I get the more connected I want to be with what and who has gone before.

In my last post, I made reference to the song O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Did you know that the lyrics of that carol originated from the Advent anthems of Christians almost 900 years ago! Each night, for seven days before Christmas, the Christians would sing one of these anthems, each preceded by a prayer which began with the Latin, “Veni, Veni, Emmanuel”. And the traditional melody was composed in 15th Century France, but was likely a reinvention of 8th Century Gregorian chants -- a long time ago!

Now, when I sing this song, I can join my medieval brothers who were looking back to Bethlehem as a reminder that the King has arrived, if we will but follow. This Christmas, my prayer is the same as theirs:

O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of Peace.

O Come, O Come

2008-12-07T18:17:00.001-09:00

Normally, I enjoy the Christmas season, but I am having a hard time getting into it this year. Sarah is not going to be here. Amy’s focus is a month out in anticipation of her new son. Our Christmas Eve will be different with my mother-in-law traveling and we will miss Angie dearly. While I can still look forward to calling my family on Christmas Day, my father won’t be there this time.

But, what hasn’t changed is the fact that one night a young father stood over a feed trough and peered into the eyes of his newborn baby. His son, but not his blood; his responsibility, but not his mission. A son bound to scandalous living -- a divine life reduced to flesh and blood. He would grow up to have dirt under his finger nails. My dirt. He would die in disgrace, but rise in glory, affirming the angel cry some 33 years before -- Emmanuel, God with us!

And so I resolve to sing with a new mind and a new heart...

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer 
Our spirits by Thine advent here 
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night 
And death's dark shadows put to flight. 
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel 
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

Let My Heart Be Broken

2008-11-28T13:00:00.007-09:00

Thanksgiving is over and already I am back to my old ways. I woke up this morning thinking about myself. It is the easiest thing to do. What do I need? How to my needs get met?

Well, one thing I needed to accomplish today was to go through a stack of mail and to pay bills. In my stack of mail was a new photo and the latest school progress report for Limani Kamwendo, whom Janet and I sponsor. Mail from Malawi is always a blessing. I am fascinated by Limani’s drawings and hand prints. I am encouraged to see his progress and the progress of his community, but it also reminds me that my needs are minor and few. So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I say, “Thank you Limani, for reminding me that there are so many more important needs to be met in this world than the needs I first thought about this morning.”

For over 30 years now, my church has used Thanksgiving calendars as a fun and creative way to encourage us to count our blessings and count our money. This year our collected offering is being sent through a ministry called Partners in Progress to help meet the needs of thousands of God’s-created who are suffering in cyclone ravaged Myanmar. So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, to those who organized the calendars I say, “Thank you for reminding me that there are families in southeast Asia who have much larger concerns than the ones that first came to my mind this morning.”

In the words of Dr. Bob Pierce, founder of World Vision and Samaritan’s Purse:

“Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.”

Leadership

2008-11-19T12:09:00.001-09:00

I’ve been thinking about leadership lately. We need good leaders to help establish some measure of order and direction for our collective existence, but choosing one we can live -- that is a hard and messy business. Sometimes I get careless about my choice and just hand over authority to the first person willing to take responsibility, so I don’t have to. I look for a person who will think for me and behind whom I can hide. I say, “Let the buck stop with you”, so it doesn’t stop with me!

If I weren’t so lazy, I would insist on someone who would truly lead me somewhere. I think I would follow the one who, through patience and wise counsel, guided me to the place where I can grow, not wither -- get stronger, not weaker. I would seek the one who, rather than build fences to keep me in the yard, would spend their energy building a home I didn’t want to leave. I would follow the one who willingly blew into flame the embers of hope and goodness lingering in my soul, rather than let me be turned away by the smoke of fear and doubt.

Good leaders are hard to find and even harder to choose.

10 Things a Grandfather-To-Be Needs to Know

2008-11-13T12:42:00.005-09:00

I am just about 10 weeks away from being a grandfather. I am sure I will be all teary eyed and blubbery when I am allowed to hold my new grandson for the first time, but to be honest, I’m not quite ready. I still have some questions to get answered before he arrives. So, here is a question for each of the remaining weeks before my grandson goes solo. Feel free to educate me!

1. Why don’t we have grandfather showers, you know, with dumb games and stuff?

2. Why does all the stuff moved out the house to make room for a crib and changing table have to go on my side of the garage?

3. Why isn’t registering at Home Depot or Best Buy just as good as Baby’s R Us?

4. Why is it that a baby is suppose to have all kinds of colorful clothes and blankets and things, but no one thinks they need 5.1 Dolby Surround Sound in the nursery?

5. Why do people ask me if my daughter is eating enough? How could I possible know?

6. Why isn’t a state-of-the-art high definition (HD) digital camcorder mandatory for every grandfather?

7. Why can’t I ever get away with blaming my behavior on a hormone flare up?

8. Do you think it is too soon to buy my grandson a new bicycle?

9. When the time comes, how can I tell my daughter to “push”, without being too pushy?

10. Why isn’t it about me anymore?

Back to That

2008-11-04T23:11:00.001-09:00

Well, I just spent a good part of the evening watching the election results. I know some of my friends are disappointed, some are happy, and the rest are just relieved the elections are finally over. I fall in the last group.

Now it is time to set aside our uncomfortable alliances, tone down our run away rhetoric, and take a deep breath. The truth is we still need each other. Let’s get back that.

The Shack: A Book Review

2008-10-29T21:03:00.003-08:00

Reading a book is a risky thing. If you are not careful a good story, even a fictional one, read by an open and thinking mind will change your life. God knew this. The “Good Book” is full of stories of great men and women of faith, epic battles, heroic deeds, evil men, family tragedies, and overpowering love. The parables of Jesus, though truly told, are fictional stories. And even though the book of Revelation is one big allegory full of imagery and metaphor, revealing biblical truth in an imaginative way is more than some people can bear. Often we have a hard time with any human author who uses imagination and story to push out the walls of our theological box and who dares tackle the ambiguities of life, especially faith life. So, beware of what I say next.

The Shack, by William P. Young, is a dangerous, wonderful, subversive story -- that everyone should read. As long as you don’t get caught up in the theological nuances’, and therefore miss the whole point of the story, this book will expose the crusty, lifeless, religious thinking that bends our understanding of the nature of God and replaces it with a fresh (and I believe Biblical) look at the triune God who “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son.” Where God’s voice has been reduced (by us) to just words on paper, this story will bring God’s voice to life. This book is not a systematic theology, nor does it say everything in perfect proportion; it is simply the story of one man’s struggle to find peace with God and with a world where tragedy, guilt, depression, anger, and doubt rule the day.

Read it if you dare, but only if you want to know more about a God who is “especially fond of you.”

(Note: If you do read it and would like to talk to someone else about it, let me know. If you are interested, I have a recording of the author explaining how the book came to be and why the story is told the way it is. I found it very moving.)

Only Two Kinds of People

2008-10-21T20:01:00.002-08:00

There are only two kinds of people in the world, those who agree with me and those who don’t.

What am I going to do about those who don’t agree with me? Now that we are down to the last weeks of a presidential campaign, I face this question constantly. Most news outlets (and especially talk radio) have seemingly given up even trying to be objective and have instead embrace opinion and the power of telling it slant. By example, they tell me that when I find anyone with whom I disagree I am obligated to make them out a villain. In so doing, I apparently get a license to take their words out of context, impugn their integrity, assume their motives to be evil, and call them names. Above all, it is now my duty to use fear to motivate those who are less “informed” than me, unless I want to be seen as weak and labeled a coward.

Fortunately, Jesus was not silent on this problem. In fact, Jesus had a name for the person on my right or the person on my left with whom I do not agree -- he called them my neighbor!

"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?"
Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments." (Matt 22:36-40)

Here and There

2008-10-15T15:03:00.001-08:00

Janet and I flew home from Wenatchee on Monday. We were on the “milk-run” flight, so I had plenty of time to think and meditate. Flooding my mind were the images and sounds and relationships that tell the story of my father’s transition from his old life to his new one. I continue to see crisp images of the recognition in my father’s eyes when a loved one came to visit, and the pale, lifeless skin of his body an hour after he had vacated it. I can still hear the laughter of last Saturday’s Celebration of Life when my father’s friend told one of Dad’s favorite jokes, and I can still hear the labored breathing of his last day. I will not forget the feel of my father’s right hand grip, while he still could, or the feel of my wife’s embrace when my tears finally came.

There is one image that comes more often than others. On Tuesday morning, when we entered the hospital for the last time, we all passed an inside window that revealed an empty room. One hour later, as we were leaving the hospital for the last time, we passed that same window, only now there lay a beautiful newborn baby. If the hospital walls had been thinner I think that at the moment my father’s earthly breathing fell silent I would have heard the first triumphant cry of this wonderful new life.

PRAISE to the creator of new life, both here and there.

A Life Well-Lived

2008-10-04T22:55:00.003-08:00

How do you measure a life well-lived? If you use financial wealth as a measure, my father’s own life was mediocre. If you use one’s status as a mover and shaker in the community, only one or two locals might think Dad’s life mattered. If you judge a well-lived life by considering athletic or political achievements, Dad hasn’t lived well at all. My father achieved little according to a culture that values self and superficial accomplishments, but I chose to measure my father’s life by one of his last conversations.

On September 27th, my father suffered a severe stroke that marked the beginning of the end of his life. It will forever eliminate his ability to achieve worldly success. But, on Wednesday it did not stop a half paralyzed man from remembering what he had invested his life in when, with slurred and broken words, he uttered, “I don’t know what I would do without my family.”

It is a rich and successful man who can spend the last days of his life affirming how it was love that ruled his life and love that shaped his family. In the Transitional Care Unit of the hospital, money, power, and prestige mean nothing, but love means everything.

I stroked my father’s face and kissed his forehead.
“I love you, Dad.”
His sleepy eyes opened again.
“I love you Son.”

A life well-lived, indeed.

The Incline

2008-09-25T13:39:00.002-08:00

Today is a rare, sunny, spectacular September day in Juneau. We deserve it. By all accounts, the whether in Juneau this summer was dismal and so was my bicycle mileage. After some early Spring miles, my bike was largely neglected, even during the three days of Summer we did have. To will yourself to ride in bad weather you have to have a goal and I did not.

So, I am making an appeal to all my readers -- hold me accountable for at least two fitness goals for next summer: (1) to ride the Apple Century Ride (100 miles) in Wenatchee next June 6th; and (2) hike to the top of “The Incline” in Colorado Springs.

The Incline is the remains of an old cog railroad bed that seemingly goes straight up to near the top of Rocky Mountain, a little brother to Pikes Peak. You can see the scar on the mountain from my daughter’s apartment complex. The combination of dirt trail and railroad ties rises 2011 feet in just one mile, with an average grade of 41% and steep parts at 68%. My simple math tells me that there has to be at least 5,280 steps - UP!

Growing into the Jesus-likeness is kind of like climbing the Incline. With each step of assent, we climb out of our old selves and into his nature. Sometimes it does take hard work and determination, but we are not climbing alone. Sometimes it takes a strength we don’t bring to the climb, but we find we are God-willed up, regardless. The climb is all about “working out” (exercising) the salvation we already have by grace through faith. It is not a climb of desperation; it is a climb of triumph already received.

Redemption and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance

2008-09-17T20:40:00.005-08:00

I enjoy and get some therapy out of building and repairing bicycles. One of the most satisfying things I have done in the last several weeks was to deliver to my friend, Dana, a bicycle that I restored. It made her smile and that transformed the bicycle into something more than the sum of its parts.

Last spring I resurrected the bicycle from its resting place in the mud beneath a pile of ugly, wet leaves and snow, where it lay all winter. From its outward condition most people would have sent it to the landfill, but I stopped to pick it up and take a closer look. It was just a Huffy, but it had hardly been used. There was a lot of dirt, but the paint was not chipped. The frame was straight, the wheels reasonably true, and the pedals still turned. There was a good deal of rust to remove and some parts to replaced, but it was all doable by someone who had the tools and was willing to put in the work. It had great potential, it just needed to be redeemed.

I am reminded that sometimes we feel and act like a bicycle abandon in the backyard. We know we were new once, but we haven’t been put to good use. We have parts that are covered with rust. Our joints are stiff from idleness and our minds are closed from neglect. We lie covered with a wet and heavy blanket of guilt and doubt. We lie waiting for someone to pick us up and care.

Imagine if we had a friend who refused to abandon us, refused to throw us out. Imagine if someone came along who could see our potential to be something greater than what our current thinking allowed. Imagine if that friend were willing and had the power to put muscle to our rust and make us like new again. What if we were redeemed from our current condition and remade into what we were created to be. Imagine moving again with power and purpose. Imagine if our friend made us shine like stars in the universe!

(Photo by G. Wyatt)

You Knit Me Together

2008-09-10T17:46:00.002-08:00

Today, I experienced a first, for me, when I was present for Amy’s (my daughter) ultrasound at the hospital. Profound is the first reveal of hands, and eyes, spine and face. Seeing and hearing the beat of a young heart is a spiritual moment. The developing miracle of life screams “Creator” and the beat of a young heart sounds hope in His Name. He is 19 weeks old.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.

When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.

All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

Psalms 139: 13-16

Give Me Your Eyes

2008-09-02T22:55:00.003-08:00

To get to work in the morning I typically use the busy Mendenhall Loop Road. If I arrive at the wrong time, I have to wait for a break in a long stream of cars before I can pull out safely. Sometimes, a good soul will intentionally slow down and let me in. I always wave back a “thank you” when I proceed into traffic. On a good day, I will remember the kindness shown me and will slow down for another driver on another street. I am inconvenienced for about maybe 5 seconds, not a big deal, but it does make be feel good to remember to see the need of another drivers. I need to learn to see better.

I don’t know about you, but lately it seems like there is more pain and hurt than normal in the lives of people around me. Just in the last month, loved ones have died, marriages have ended, and children are in crisis. Just this last month I have had friends tell me of debilitating health issues, alcoholic children, unemployment, custody battles, debt, broken relationships, cancer, depression, and unhealed childhood scars. It’s wearing me down and I am not the one going through it all.

One of my coping mechanisms is to shut my eyes to the needs of others. What I don’t see, I don’t have to respond to. Isn’t that how it works?

Well, I was convicted today by a new song I just heard. Here's the chorus:

Give me your eyes for just one second,
Give me your eyes so I can see,
Everything that I keep missing,
Give me your love for humanity,
Give me your arms for the broken hearted,
The ones that are far beyond my reach,
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten,
Give me your eyes so I can see.

(“Give Me Your Eyes”, Brandon Heath)

Lord, once you’ve given me your eyes to see, give me your strength to make my hands, my feet, and my mouth respond too.

When Grace Passes On

2008-08-26T21:59:00.005-08:00

I have been in her home and she in mine. I’ve listened to her stories, heard her sing, tasted her cooking, observed her worship, been defeated by her gamesmanship, and blessed by her encouragement to keep on doing what I do. I have watched her weave a gentle Spirit in and through the lives of those around her, caressing each with a profound and powerful presence. A divine grace.

I do not deserve to have been blessed by it. I do not deserve to have been blessed by a wife who for her entire life was also been blessed by this divine grace. But, I guess that’s what makes in grace after all. Aunt Angie was God’s grace on two feet and God’s grace in a wheelchair.

The question is, what do I do now? It is not enough to just be satisfied that I was privileged to know such a remarkable woman. To honor her, I must allow myself to be changed by her. I must allow her message, God’s message, of love, grace, faith, mercy, and compassion to become a part of my message, my life. She showed me how to walk -- I must follow in her steps. She told me how to live -- I must also tell. She lived grace in front of me and, I must live the same in front of you.

Grace has passed on, but I must not let it pass away. I must accept the challenge. I must embrace what I received and, like her, leave a legacy of grace.

In loving memory of Mary Angeline Long
October 19, 1919 - August 5, 2008

The Day Before an Independent Life

2008-08-18T19:12:00.013-08:00

On our final day in Colorado Springs, the rain finally stopped long enough for use to visit the Garden of the God natural area. It is a spectacular place. (click on each photo for a larger view.)

One of the most popular formations is the Balanced Rock.

We enjoyed spending the afternoon with Anna, one of Sarah's friends who has lived here for two years.

Here is Sarah and her friend and roommate, Samatha, outside their apartment.

Please continue to pray for Sarah's transition to an independent life. Now that we are gone, she will be able to focus on finding work and finding a Christian fellowship to be a part of. Pray for her relationships and her happiness. Pray that God will be free to work out His good will and purpose in her life.

Rain, Friends, and Transitions

2008-08-16T20:22:00.007-08:00

Wednesday took us to Anna’s to pick up Sarah’s boxes the Baird’s brought down with them, to the loading dock of Furniture Warehouse to strap a new bed on top of the CR-V, to Walmart to feel the difference between bed sheets with a thread count of 150 and 200, and to our first visit to a Sonic drive-in.

Thursday took us to the big Chapel Hills Mall, a Super Joann’s, the east side of town, the AT&T store, the closest Wells Fargo ATM, and our third visit to Target. While Sarah was enjoying dinner with her roommate Sam(antha), Janet and I enjoyed a spectacular lightning storm with nickel size hail.

Friday brought us a wonderful, but wet, visit with the Baird family, a cold and abbreviated visit to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, to Red Robin for some spinach and artichoke dip, and to the INDOOR pool with some WARM water fun with the kids.

Saturday took us all to the Focus on the Family Visitor’s Center with a three-story slide, the Adventures in Odyssey fun zone, and a big Christian bookstore. After saying goodbye to the Baird we found ourselves going 20 miles per hour on the freeway because the rain was so hard.

Please continue to pray for Sarah as she makes this exciting, but emotional transition in her life.

We Made It

2008-08-12T21:38:00.003-08:00

We made it! We arrived about 3:30 on Tuesday and had the car unpacked by 4:30 (MT). Our GPS reported total driving time of 53 hours, 35 minutes. By the end of the day we had logged 2960.8 miles.

More about Sarah and her new digs in future posts.

Goodnight from Colorado Springs.

The Longest Day

2008-08-11T20:25:00.005-08:00

Sarah traveled her longest day on Monday. Starting with an early morning in Burns, Oregon and ending in Rock Springs, Wyoming. 656 miles.

Here is one of the first big views entering Wyoming on Interstate 80.

I hope the Baird's like this picture Janet is bringing them. It keeps falling on Sarah.

Lord willing we will make it to Colorado Springs for dinner.
Good night from Rock Springs, Wy.

Maurice and the Other Kids

2008-08-10T20:48:00.006-08:00

Well, we had a great time with the Henderson family last week. This weekend was a great time at the Long family reunion. It was great to see Maurice so soon after the passing of Angie. He knows that there are hard times to come, but he is a strong man of faith and courage. I believe he was blessed to be with his siblings and they were blessed to be with him.

Good night from Burns, Oregon.

Home Free

2008-08-05T21:22:00.003-08:00

May I share this song-prayer with all of us who are mourning the loss of Mary “Angel”ine Long, truly an angel among us:

Home Free
by Wayne Watson

I'm trying hard not to think you unkind
But Heavenly Father
If you know my heart
Surely you can read my mind
Good people underneath the sea of grief
Some get up and walk away
Some will find ultimate relief

Chorus
Home Free, eventually
At the ultimate healing we will be Home Free
Home Free, oh I’ve got a feeling
At the ultimate healing
We will be Home Free

Out in the corridors we pray for life
A mother for her baby, A husband for his wife
Sometimes the good die young
It's sad but true
And while we pray for one more heartbeat
The real comfort is with you

You know pain has little mercy
And suffering's no respecter of age, of race or position
I know every prayer gets answered
But the hardest one to pray is slow to come
Oh Lord, not mine, but Thy will be done

Let it be...

Chorus
Home Free, eventually
At the ultimate healing we will be Home Free
Home Free, oh I’ve got a feeling
At the ultimate healing
We will be Home Free

Root Beer in a Frosty Mug

2008-08-03T21:41:00.009-08:00

We had a safe and uneventful day of driving (well, expect for that one attempt to pass an RV, but I don't want to talk about it).

Here is the view just a few miles before reaching Smithers, BC. I selected this photo because some of you in Juneau may have forgotten what blue sky looks like.

Traveling through Canada always reminds me of days living in Spokane as kid, when a visit to an A&W was a rare treat. You gotta love Canada, they have an A&W in every town. Dinner tonight was a childhood favorite - a Teen Burger and their famous root beer in a cold glass mug. Sweet!

It has been a long day, but we are thankful for a safe arrival in 100 Mile House, BC.

And She's Off . . .

2008-08-02T20:52:00.008-08:00

In just 48 hours, Sarah has...
helped us say goodbye to family friends moving to Spokane and then heard the same from her friends as she prepared to leave Juneau herself. She has packed up her car with incredible precision and equally incredible weight.

And she is off...

Sarah joined her mom and me for 10 laps around the boat deck, and discovered how expensive packaged cereal is on the MV Kennicott. She has endured parental conversation with a young Fairbanks man driving his Corvette to college, a motorcycle-miner from West Virginia, and a red-haired farmer’s wife from New Zealand who reports that “petrol” is over $10 a gallon!

And we all observed red tide, which a biologist on board says “means nothing but death.”

Sarah has already finished two books that she had started before the trip and she is already perfecting her back-seat driving skills in her usual dramatic way.

Keep praying for safe travel. Good night from Terrace, BC.

Tree Money

2008-07-29T22:32:00.006-08:00

If money doesn't grow on trees then why do banks have branches?  That’s a good question, I think. Ponder that one for awhile and get back to me.

In June of 1972, I graduated from Pioneer Junior High School (9th grade) in Wenatchee, Washington. Back then you could approach Pioneer school from two directions. If you drove up Orondo Street you would first pass the local football stadium affectionately called the “Apple Bowl”. More than once, as we drove by, my Dad tell me how he landed his first job as a teenager at a green house nursery that used to sit where the Apple Bowl is now. “I made 25 cents an hour,” he would say proudly, “and I was thankful for it.”

I am sure he knew firsthand that for all of the trees in the nursery none of them blossomed nickels in the Spring or produced tree-ripe greenbacks in the Fall. And I watched him work hard for his pay the rest of his life. In my growing up there was never any excess of money and I suspect many weeks were tighter that I will ever know. But, our home was blooming with love and I have been reaping that harvest ever since. I still am.

There is a similar love in the Christian fellowship for which I am a part and that was never more evident than last Sunday night. An ice cream social was held in honor of my daughter, Sarah, who is moving away on Friday. As a show of love and support for her, they organized a money tree to help her get a good financial start on her own. The result was very generous and Sarah was humbled and amazed. Janet and I are very thankful.

Now, I am thinking that maybe money can grow on a tree when the tree is rooted and established in love and watered with years of service and care. Thank you my friends, for loving and supporting Sarah for all these years.

Over the next several weeks, I hope to document Sarah’s journey to Colorado.

Flying Above a Spawning Fish

2008-07-22T13:28:00.006-08:00

If you are like me, you probably use the Google website to search for all kinds of information on the internet. “Google” is really the name of the company, a noun, but their search engine has become so popular even the Oxford English Dictionary added “google” as a verb. This week I have googled “how to get Superglue off your kitchen counter”, “hotels in 100-Mile House, BC”, and “how to replace a hard drive in an iBook computer.”

All of these searches had something to do with my daughter, Sarah. Since Sarah is preparing to move to Colorado soon, it thought it would be interesting to see what I got if I googled, “my daughter is moving away.” Instead of sage advice about how to manage and celebrate this transition in my life, I found (i.e., tripped over) this mother’s post to an on-line discussion for a woman’s magazine’s -- and, no, I am not making this up:

Subject: my daughter's moving out!
“Jordan announced that she's moving into an apartment with her college roomie and although I knew the day would come, when she'd leave home, I'm so sad. I feel like I'm being abandoned. Aunt Lula says I'm being selfish, but when I look at her I still see my baby carrying "bunky" and sucking her thumb. Has anyone else experienced this? Please help me.”

Believe it or not, she received about a dozen sympathetic condolences, like this one:

“Oh! Bless you. My daughter is only 18 months but I do dread the day. Here is a warm ((((hug))))... “. This came from a women named Sugah Britches with a tag line of - “Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit.” (Huh???)

Call me insensitive, but this makes me laugh. And to make it even worst, Jordan’s mother responds:

“Thanks for the hugs and words of encouragement. Right now, I wish I was a salmon. That way I could swim up stream, lay eggs, leave and hopefully get eaten by a bear. My girlfriend from FL gave me a book entitled "How to be a Jewish Mother". It's sooooo funny! I'm working on the chapter on how to do Jewish guilt. Those of you just starting in motherhood should read this. You'll need it later.”

I had to stop reading after that. I couldn’t take anymore.

My daughter, Sarah, is moving out in less than two weeks. No doubt, it will be very emotional to leave her in Colorado, but I know she is ready. And I have a suspicion that Sarah is very happy that her Dad is not a half-dead salmon trying to lay eggs in the River Guilt.

Go fly girl! Let God be your strength and you can leave your “bunky” at home.

Photograph by Karen Kasmauski

For Young Elijah

2008-07-16T12:44:00.005-08:00

(Elijah Hugh Wyatt, born July 13, 2008)

Welcome, young Elijah, to your part in God’s story,
It’s time, young Elijah, to live like your grand namesake,
Commit, young Elijah, to the ways of Jehovah,
Take refuge, young Elijah, in God-provided places,
Be sustained, young Elijah, God moves in the wildernesses,
Feed others, young Elijah, with flour and oil and Word;
Be heard, young Elijah, in your prayers for healing,
Stand firm, young Elijah, against deception and deceiver;
Pray bold, young Elijah, for divine power and light;
Pray thanks, young Elijah, when He drenches parched lives,
Listen hard, young Elijah, for His voice above the noise,
Witness, young Elijah, that Jesus is Yahweh.
Onward, young Elijah, His story awaits.

Divine Brushstrokes

2008-07-10T12:28:00.003-08:00

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That’s true of Juneau, where I live. If you don’t let the rain stop you and you get outside you can look up and out at the creation and see how spectacularly beautiful it is here. If you look down and close in, you can see colorful, divine brushstrokes. If you don’t believe me, check out the link to www.wyattjourney.com on the right.

But, living in this God-touch place comes at a price. If you let it, the constant rain will dampen your spirit. The remoteness will increase your anxiety. Giving up four seasons for just two will make you feel cheated at least twice a year. To live here you have to make peace with being chilled, buying expensive plane or ferry tickets, moss overtaking your lawn, and rust. But hardest of all, you have to get used to saying goodbye.

I often think about all of the people who have once lived here and who have contributed to the writing of my story. I have had many friends leave to be with family, pursue new careers, find the sunshine, or make a new start. More friends are leaving at the end of the month. I have kept in touch with a few, but not most, and I am lesser for it. To be honest, because so many have come and gone over the years, I find it difficult to emotionally invest it the lives of others, to be a friend, because they just seem to leave in the end.

At the ferry terminal this last Sunday afternoon I said goodbye to Bruce and Amanda Baird, and their four great children. They are my friends. Bruce and Amanda love God and they let God love them. They served me and let me serve them. They laughed at me and let me laugh at them. They did not pretend perfection and did not demand it of me. They encourage me to grow in the Lord and I watched them grow too. They made my wife happy.

It was a tough goodbye, but in this case I am certain we will stay connected. I am thankful that this time, by God’s grace, I stopped and looked into the hearts of Bruce and Amanda and I found God there, alive and joyfully painting with divine brushstrokes.

Symbols

2008-07-01T22:34:00.004-08:00

Our lives are filled with symbols. Symbols make it easier for us to say complicated things to each other without taking the time to say it all with words. Sometimes they warn us, sometimes they help us to remember. The red octagon means “stop”, while “55” on white reminds me of my limits. Waiving your extended thumb and little finger says “hang loose” in Hawaii -- add your index finger, hold it still, and its “I love you” to the deaf.

Our American flag reminds us of our nation’s fight for independence and the unity of the states. It testifies to the extraordinary human sacrifices paid for the sake of our freedom as a nation. It reminds us our liberty and the personal responsibility that goes with it. “Old Glory” waiving in the wind stands for the ideals of cooperation and unity, power and hope, strength and peace. It is a symbol of political freedom, but it is just a symbol. It is not freedom itself.

Religions of the world are overrun with symbols. Prayer wheels, menorahs, and crescents with stars. Comparatively, symbols of Christianity are few, but we have our share of cross’, fish, and an occasional palm branch or two. The Bible gives us the profound body and blood in communion and the death, burial, and resurrection in baptism, but even these powerful symbols are not the real thing, only symbols of the real thing. The real thing is that the God and creator of us all, personally extending his hand of grace to us through the life and death of Jesus, the Christ, and then mercifully gifted his very own Spirit to help us live a free and empowered life.

“For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.”
(2 Corinthians 3:17-18. NLT)

This July 4th I will raise “Old Glory” on my front porch and I will be thankful for the political freedom it symbolizes. But it is the New Glory hoisted in my own life that I really want you to see.

Like This Child

2008-06-26T17:47:00.002-08:00

Here is a curious scripture:
“At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: ‘I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.’” (Matthew 18:1-5)

Looking through the lens of our culture, this passage makes no sense at all. Children are loud and their noses run. They are dependent and demanding. Their timing is irresponsible and they say things we wish they wouldn’t. Worst of all, they are clueless about how their behavior effects the rest of us. So, we compensate by filling a child’s day with group activities and we make special places just for kids to go. We label it “enrichment”, but sometimes it is only about our convenience.

Unlike us, Jesus appreciates the innocence and embraces the mess. He desires those who are still free to be amazed at the wonders around them. He knows that it is the child who is always seeking, always knocking, always asking questions. It is the child who is willing to take my hand and let me lead her across the street. It is a child’s heart that is still tender and open, not hardened and closed by the disappointment and hurt that you or I might carry. It is in the hopeful, trusting, child-like heart that He can fulfill His promises. In the prideful heart of a cynic, His promises are ignored.

This scripture tells me that the kingdom of heaven it will be a welcoming place to all who, with willful abandon, reach out, grasp the Father’s hand, and cross the street.

It seems I have much to un-learn about what it really means to be a child of God.

What's for Lunch?

2008-06-19T13:41:00.001-08:00

For lunch today I walked two blocks down the street to a health food store. I purchase some vitamins and a slice of hot pizza made with whole wheat flour and topped with organic tomatoes and spinach. I am writing this post while eating it.

Hold on . . . let me take another bite . . . umm, umm . . . very tasty and it chases out the bitter taste of the migraine medicine I just took. No migraines in heaven, I am sure.

Many scholars of the Bible believe that Heaven means we will inhabit a new earth somewhere and that we will do so in our own bodies -- after they have received an extreme makeover, of course. Scholars say we will be able to recognize our friends and loved ones, and they us. Sweet! But, I am thinking that if we have our own bodies, we are going to need to eat something and I am curious what kind of food will be there. You might be tempted to say something like, “We won’t need food, we will just feed on the word of God.” Nonsense. We won’t need the Word to reveal God to us anymore; Yahweh will be doing that himself, in person!

I fully expect that our food will be full of nutrients, organically grown, great tasting, cold when it’s suppose to be, and hot when it’s not.

I wonder if Heaven will have a MacDonald’s restaurant? God forbid (please)!

I Am Afraid . . . Not!

2008-06-11T16:47:00.006-08:00

From our first breath, it seems, we are afraid. The newborn cries in fear for want of the mother’s breast. A child quickly learns to fear every unknown and then carries some of those fears into adulthood. Fear colors our decisions in stop sign red or caution tape yellow, and sometimes those colors blind us. Fear fills our veins with adrenalin and bends our thinking.

Fear makes me do things like lock my doors, horde my money, build high fences, keep secrets, be judgmental, honk my horn, lose sleep at night, and avoid the truth.

Fear keeps me from reaching out my hand, sharing my wealth, being honest, living by faith, making an effort, and loving my neighbor.

Fear, when I let it, makes me impotent and miserable.

Clearly, we are to fear the Lord, and in so doing give him the reverence and awe reserved for only him, because he is sovereign and his plan will prevail, but at the same time God is love, there is no fear in love, and his perfect love casts out fear. (1 John 4)

Whatever else heaven will be, I look forward the part where we stand in his presence and watch him throw fear over the edge.
Good riddance!

No Sunglasses Required

2008-06-05T21:56:00.002-08:00

Over 12 years ago now, after reviewing the offerings from several publishers, the fellowship I am in purchased new hymnals. We decided on the blue ones because they included all the old favorites (we thought) and a fair number of what at the time were contemporary songs and chorus. After receiving the hymnals, we discovered one omission that disappointed almost everyone. The classic song about being in heaven, “Face to Face (With Christ My Savior)” , was missing!

Our hymnal has other songs about heaven, but in my mind some of them have questionable theology. I think Face to Face gets the theology mostly right, especially in the second and forth verses:

Only faintly now I see Him,  
With the darkened veil between,
 But a blessed day is coming,
 When His glory shall be seen.

Face to face--oh, blissful moment!
 Face to face--to see and know;  
Face to face with my Redeemer,
 Jesus Christ Who loves me so.

Where is heaven located? Lots of different views on that one. Will there really be harps and pearly gates? Something much better than that, I suspect. Will our dog, Teko, whom we loved be there too? I can’t say for sure.

What I can expect is that I will indeed be face to face with my creator and savior. I will be able to stand in the presence of the Shekinah glory of God without hiding my face. How cool is that?! And, no sunglasses required!

The Arrival

2008-05-29T12:40:00.004-08:00

“Salvation” and “heaven” are two words that Christians use constantly, but are hard pressed to explain. We often talk about “salvation” like it is an item you can order from a catalog. The fact is that the Bible talks about salvation as something we achieve now, but also as something we have not achieved yet.

The concept of heaven is shrouded in great mystery and misunderstanding. I bet if you put 100 Christians in a room and asked each of them to write down what they think “going to heaven” means, you are likely to get 100 different answers. What will it be like? Will it really have gates of pearl and streets of gold, or is that description from Revelation just a metaphor for something so great we can’t even comprehend it? Living in the rainforest of Southeast Alaska, I would kind of like it if Heaven was a no-mosquito zone were the Sun shines everyday, but never gets too hot and never causes sunburn.

We are always talking about going UP to heaven, but my up is not the same direction as up would be for a believer living in Australia. So, where is heaven anyway?

Lots to think about. In future posts I hope to explore these two promises of God a little deeper.

I am reminded of the song “I Can Only Imagine”, which was wildly popular back in 2002, even on mainstream radio. The lyrics poignantly ask the listener to consider what it will be like when you get to heaven. Will you dance for joy or be so awestruck that you can’t say a word. Will you stand in honor or kneel in respect. Will you sing “hallelujah” or pray it instead? The song encourages us to use our imagination.

Okay, here is what I think it might look like when I arrive:

Photo by Graham Watson
2008 Giro d'Italia, Stage 6
VeloNews

Planting and Watering

2008-05-22T22:16:00.001-08:00

One of the more satisfying things in life is planting a tree. A few years back I planted three different trees across the front of my lot. I loved contributing to the continuing of a life and eagerly awaited the arrival of some beautiful Fall colors. Since then one of those trees froze to death, the other died of wind damage, and the one remaining tree looks like it would be more comfortable if it were living in a “nursery” home. I think it is suffering from a scale infestation; I can’t tell for sure. I don’t know much about scale insects, but I liken it to head lice for trees. Tonight I sprayed it with some organic insecticide, but it may be too late. I don’t think planting things are one of my talents.

I really admire people who are spiritual planters. You know the kind of people I mean. They will meet a stranger and in a matter of minutes they are sharing their faith with their new best friend. Personally, I think I’m better equipped to water what someone has already planted. I find it more natural to teach and to encourage my friends to dive deeper into their spiritual lives - where the water doesn’t just pool at the surface, but soaks in deep to nourish the roots of faith.

Planters and waterers are both needed in the community of faith, but I am reminded of this passage in 1 Corinthians 3:7 -

“So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.”

This is a relief. I am not responsible for another’s growth. The planter and the waterer have only one purpose, to ready those around us to receive a growth-giving God. I cannot give life, but I can point to the one who can.

O Preacher Where Art Thou?

2008-05-16T19:39:00.001-08:00

On most Friday mornings, before work, Bruce and I meet for coffee and prayer. I have been blessed by this. Bruce is the pulpit minister at my church and it has also been a blessing to watch him grow in this role. Unfortunately, family considerations are leading him back to Texas soon, so our small congregation is looking for a new preacher. The process of calling a new minister always requires some sole-searching on the everyone’s part as we all have our own preferences and our points-of-view.

Who are some of your favorite preachers? Free free to let all of us know by posting a comment below.

I know who I would like to have as our next preacher. The Apostle Paul! Unfortunately, I hear he is no longer available for personal appearances, so we will have to find someone else. Of course, this means we will have to make some compromises and extend a little mercy to whoever God does bring to us.

I like Paul because he was a radical. No soft-spoken platitudes here - he calls people out! If he were the preacher at my church he would get in my face and say, “Kevin, stop doing things out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than you!” And he would make it clear to me that I should “do everything without complaining or arguing” because he would want me to “shine like a star in the universe”, instead of being a stumbling block to you. And he would remind me in no uncertain terms that He who began a good work in me, will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Paul would go on and on about being thankful in all things, no matter what, and about a having a peace that I can’t explain, and about finding the strength to do things I could never do on my own, and about rejoicing - double.

Whoever our next preacher turns out to be, I pray that he will be the kind of person that would rather have had Paul get the job.

Seeds

2008-05-12T17:53:00.006-08:00

We have a bird feeder in our back year which has proven very entertaining this Spring. It has been teaming with the lives of Chestnut-backed Chickadees and Common Redpoll Finches. Up close and in the sunlight, a Redpoll is a work of art. But, they have made a mess of our deck. There are seeds everywhere and I am wondering what strange weeds will shoot up any day now from the ground below.

My youngest child turns 21 tomorrow. So, by anyone’s standard, I am now the father of another adult. She is preparing to move to another state this summer, where she will begin to live her life entirely in her way. She is ready. Her mother and I will have to be content to watch from a distance to see whether the seeds we have sown in her will grow. We expect they will and, indeed, many of those seeds have already taken root -- for which we are very thankful.

Have you ever considered that you may have seeds sown in you that still haven’t been watered yet? What undeveloped potential still lies inside you? What great thing is there left for you to do? A new idea, a dream unfulfilled, a goal unachieved, a hope that is still a hope.

I find comfort in knowing that the years ahead of me are still a mystery. I don’t know what lies ahead for my daughter; I don’t know what lies ahead for me. But, I have hope that the unwatered seeds of faith planted in me will someday grow into something new and I will, by faith, be a different person, a better person, than I am today. The hard part is getting over myself long enough to let one of you get me wet.

Reaching the Summit

2008-05-08T12:42:00.003-08:00

Well, its time to start this blog up again. Sorry for the absence.

I saw a little bit of the Today show on television this morning. They showed a brief video of the Olympic torch being taken to the top of Mount Everest, after which the Olympic and the Chinese flags were planted in the ice. A literal mountain top experience for those who participated.

Spiritually speaking, I have not had many mountain top experiences in my life. Some of you seem to have visited more summits that I have. That is not to say my Christian life is any less inspired or blessed than yours. I am just saying that during this season of my life, God seems content to let me learn about patience, endurance, humility, and how to live the truth of 2 Corinthians 12:8 - “my grace is sufficient for you….” It seems I am a slow learner.

And, by God’s grace, I was blessed this last weekend by attending a retreat with 60 other men from widely diverse backgrounds. I suspect this diversity was pretty close to the diversity of lives that we will find in heaven. This retreat worked for me, in part, because it was driven by the testimony of men who were not content to share theology only, they shared how they had actually seen, heard, and been touched by the power of God. Thank you for the reminder that God is real and really working in the lives of people today. Cool!

The retreat was also a personal time of honesty, healing, hope, and humility. In the coming weeks I hope to use Flying Free to share how God touched me in those areas. I hope these posts encourage you. For now, I will leave you with this . . .

God is alive. He is not sleeping or distracted. He is waiting, patiently, for you and me to get over ourselves so he can guide us. There are new summits to climb, but he is the only one who can take us there.

The Bentwood Conspiracy

2007-08-24T17:18:00.000-08:00

Early in our cross-country trip, we stopped in Pennsylvania to visit with our good friends, Kevin and Lynetta Siska. I thought that spending a few days with them, especially their daughters Katelyn and Megan, was one of our primary missions, but I soon found out the whole thing was a set up -- and I was the victim!

Janet visited the Siska’s last year and one of the highlights of her trip was visiting Lydia, an Amish quilt-maker whom Janet commissioned to make her quilt. Janet returned home all excited about the quilt, but I vaguely remember Janet saying something about an Amish rocking chair that she wanted too, but that she couldn’t figure out how to bring it home on the plane. I had long since forgotten about the rocking chair, until Janet and I drove Amy’s car into the Siska’s driveway. The scam went down like this: After all the requisite hugs and hellos, I see Lynetta wink at Janet, look over at the full-size SUV we were driving and say, “Janet, now you have enough room for that rocking chair, maybe two!” Then, with a subtle, sly, shift of her eyes she looks over at me and smiles. I knew at that very moment I would soon be buying a rocking chair, but I was determined not to let on, not to show my weakness, and not to let Lynetta think she could force her wily ways on me. For the next two days I was amazed at how often Lynetta would use the words “rocking chair” in normal conversation. She is good!

Most Amish families make their living applying trades that they can do right at home. We drove up the long driveway, past a spotless white two-story home and parked the car. Immediately, the faces of children started filling the windows of the home on the right and peering out from the barn on the left. Straight ahead was a barefoot boy, no older than seven, standing on a cart and holding the reigns of a huge Belgian Draft horse, trying to back the cart up to their father’s woodworking shop. A teen-age daughter quickly emerged from the house to represent the family and with an obvious Deutsch accent, explained that her father, Jonas, was not home and her mother was occupied in the house, but that she would show us the chairs that her father had built. She explained that they were already spoken for, but she offered to let us sit in them to try them out. I sat down in one of the rustic chairs and was amazed at how comfortable bent hickory and oak could be. I looked up from the chair and was surprised to see that the small room was now filled with at least eight children of stair-step ages all looking at us “English” with wide-eyed curiosity. It was startling to see how similar all these siblings looked dressed in plain and simple clothing. It was a gorgeous family.

We were back in the car and ready to drive off when the daughter comes running out of the house and says that her mother agreed to sell one of those five chairs and that her father will make another that night to finish his original order. I had still not agreed to purchase a chair and we planned to go looking at another builders work so I was going to respectfully decline, but I was cut off by Lynetta - “Maybe we will come back tomorrow then!” I should have just handed my wallet to Lynetta right then.

The next day, having exhausted all other possible sources for rockers, Lynetta insisted that we return to Jonas’ house to see if he was able to build one. Jonas, a strong, friendly, humble looking man led us to his shop. In the middle of the otherwise empty room sat one bentwood rocker, which he had made just for us. Either that or Lynetta had prearranged this whole thing. He showed us how he steams the wood and then bends it over the appropriate jig. He talked about how the supply of shagbark hickory saplings had declined in the area and how he had to get wood from across the border in New York State. He spent a good deal of time with us, signed his name on the back of the rocker with a Sharpie, wouldn’t accept any extra money for making the chair so quickly, and made us feel welcome. I was compelled to complement Jonas’ workmanship in front of his children. In the end, I left with a cool rocking chair, a happy wife, a smiling Lynetta, and a sense of privilege that I had been welcomed on this man’s property.

This encounter may not seem like much, but I think it was the most meaningful part of the entire trip for me. Despite the cultural differences, I admire Kevin and Lynetta for choosing to build friendships with several Amish families in their area. Their lives are richer for it and for one afternoon in late July, so was mine.

And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

2007-08-15T21:17:00.000-08:00

Janet and I just returned from a coast-to-coast driving trip covering over 5000 miles in two weeks. It began in New Jersey, where we picked up my daughter’s car and then to

Pennsylvania,
New York,
Ontario,
back to New York and Pennsylvania,
Ohio,
Indiana,
Illinois,
Wisconsin,
Minnesota,
South Dakota,
Wyoming,
Montana,
British Columbia,
Alberta,
back to British Colombia,
Yukon Territory,
British Colombia again, and finally home to
Alaska

Along the way we saw good friends who tried to teach us how to ride a trotting horse without looking silly (we were hilarious), I piled manure with a Kubota tractor, and met several wonderful Amish families, including Jonas who made a bent-wood rocker out of hickory and oak especially for us. We rode bicycles with two of our favorite young ladies, heard the loudest clap of thunder ever, saw the spectacular Niagara Falls. We drove by three professional sports stadiums and saw a man lying in the street after getting hit by the car just in front of us. We saw fields of corn, and hay, and more corn, including the “famous” Corn Palace. We visited a bicycle museum, witnessed dust devils, and marveled at the Badlands. We enjoyed a chuck wagon barbecue and show at the edge of the Black Hills, were inspired by the Mount Rushmore National Monument, witnessed a dynamite blast as part of the continuing work on the Crazy House Memorial, and navigated through hundreds of motorcycles working their way to Sturgis. We saw one of the oldest surface coal mines in the nation and a nightly rodeo in the cowboy town of Cody.

We witnessed a buffalo angrily charging a motorhome just ahead of us, walked around beautiful geothermal geysers and pools, and watched Old Faithful blow her top. We listen to two books on CD and went swimming in Flathead Lake. We could not stay in Montana because it was filled with firefighters and smoke. We soaked in Radium Hot Springs, marveled at the grandeur of the Lake Louise and the Canadian Rockies. We saw 40 foot buses with monster truck tires driving on the Athabasca Glacier and we walked along the shore of Jasper Lake in step with a stately elk with full rack. We slept our best sleep at a B&B in Hinton, BC (of all places) and enjoyed breakfast with a couple from Australia. We soaked in Liard Hot Springs, walked the famous Sign Post Forest in Watson Lake, and then discovered the nicest hotel room of the entire trip behind a old dusty gas station. We coveted the community recreational facility in Whitehorse, which has three ice skating rinks, an indoor soccer field, basketball court, and mini water park. We had an unexpectedly pleasant night in Skagway and convinced a Florida couple to take a trip to Tracy Arm Fjord the next day. We arrived home to our daughters whom we love, a mowed lawn, exceptional weather, and our own bed.

What man has built is sometimes interesting, but always weathered, patched, and insignificant. What God has imagined and designed is spectacular!

I think I learned a few things on this trip. I’ll share that next time.

Sola Virtus Nobilitat

2007-07-23T22:18:00.000-08:00

The movie “Braveheart” won Best Picture way back in 1995 and I still haven’t seen it. I am told that it recounts, with some historical liberty, how William Wallace stirred his fellow Scots to rise against the brutal tyranny of King Edward I of England and fight for the freedom Scotland. The problem with failing to have seen this movie is that I have missed the full impact of numerous books that reference this Academy Award winner as a great example of one man taking ownership in his own place and time and so to lead his people to fight for their collective freedom and identity. I am even embarrassed at my lack of cultural awareness when I consider that my own surname, Henderson, comes from the Gaelic name “MacEanruig”, meaning “son of Henry” (or “Henry’s son). I really should have been true to my Celtic gene pool and watched Braveheart a long time ago.

Since before medieval times, the Scottish have grouped themselves into extended family clans identified by their surname, thus, for me it is Clan Henderson. We have our own tartan, coat-of-arms, and motto. I kind of like having an identity like that. Of course, there are multiple Henderson branches and I have no idea which one I am from, but it still fascinates me to know that I am a small part of a larger story from across the sea. Having and knowing our identity is a big deal. It means something. This why I take great comfort in the words of the Apostle Peter:

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” (I Peter 2: 9-10)

Peter goes on to make the point that for the God-followers our true identity, our true clan, is not defined by the borders and customs of our human brothers and sisters, but by our unity in his virtue and his lordship. Through his mercy and his love we are accepted into his royalty.

Clan Henderson has a motto: Sola Virtus Nobilitat, which translates from Latin as “Virtue Alone is Nobility”. True enough, as long as I remember it is his virtue that makes it so.

Independence Day Parade

2007-07-10T13:32:00.000-08:00

I lived in Spokane, Washington for a number of my childhood years. Spokane calls itself the Lilac City because it is literally filled with lilac bushes. Every year it conducts the annual Lilac Festival Armed Forces Torchlight Parade. This year’s theme was “Here’s to the Heroes”. I was 15 when we moved to Wenatchee, Washington, which proudly proclaims itself as the “Apple Capitol of the World”. I doubt this is still true, but I have learned not to bring this subject up while I am in Wenatchee, especially while drinking coffee with my Dad’s coffee club. Every year in the May, Wenatchee hosts the “Apple Blossom Festival”, complete with parade, in celebration of the blossoming apple trees and the hope for a bountiful harvest. In Juneau, where I live today, the big community party is July 4th, which is celebrated by a rather eclectic, homegrown Independence Day parade. The theme of this year’s parade was “Freedom Is Not Free”, which is very true. As Americans we love to celebrate our freedom because, in part, like the apple blossoms to the orchardist, it gives us hope for the future.

A number of weeks ago, I had the privilege of meeting and talking with Eugene Peterson who, in my book, is one of the spiritual giants of our day. Some of you will know him as the author of “The Message” - a paraphrase of the Bible from the original languages, which is a marvelous work. He is also the author of numerous other books, two of which have been a particular blessing to me. One of those is called “Traveling Light” in which he explores the depths of the freedom that the Apostle Paul describes in his letter to the Christians in Galatia. After he spoke one evening, he held a question and answer session and I had the opportunity to ask him how he would describe what it looks like to be free in Christ. He did not simply toss out a cliché answer, but in his typical thoughtful way he told us a story of people he was pastoring at the time who were overcome with anxiety over the economy, racial tension, the arms race, and the bleak prospects for peace. In his book he tells this same story and describes his congregants as “living huddled, worried, defensive lives.” Sometimes that describes us, doesn’t it?

Eugene Peterson directs me back to the Paul’s letter and encourages me to live like Jesus did. To live free of the worry of what might happen to me in the future. Free from the burden of having to satisfy someone else’s expectations. Free from the trap of thinking that I am doomed when I screw something up. Free to love my “neighbor” who is not like me and who I may not even like very much. Free to express myself in words, or songs, or art. Free to stop wondering if I will ever measure up - I won’t. But, because I am free to live - and rest - in the covering of the blood of Jesus, I am also free to travel where he takes me. Free to walk along side of him.

Sometimes I feel like I am walking stride-for-stride with the Spirit at the front of his freedom parade. On other days I feel like I am back on the curb, watching the parade pass me by. I have been doing too much spectating the last couple of months. It is time to step off of the curb again and rejoin Jesus at the front. I need you to come with me so that, together, we can enjoy walking the eternal Independence Day parade.

Thoughts That Bind Me

2007-05-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

Well, if you are one of the two or three people who check this blog regularly you have noticed that it has been a while since I have shared anything new. All I can say is that the demands of work and family and church and health - (you know) life - have all played a role in keeping me from writing. I have gone to well a few times and found it dry. I don’t have anything original today either, but a few experiences in the last two weeks have allowed some ground water to trickle into the well, so there is hope. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, let me share this prayer with you and encourage you to make it your own prayer tonight:

Jesus, King of angels, heaven's light,
Shine Your face upon this house tonight.
Let no evil come into my dreams;
Light of heaven, keep me in Your peace.

Remind me how You made dark spirits flee,
And spoke Your power to the raging sea.
And spoke Your mercy to a sinful man;
Remind me, Jesus, this is what I am.

With all my heart I love You, Sovereign Lord.
Tomorrow, let me love You even more.
And rise to speak the goodness of Your name
Until I close my eyes and sleep again.

The universe is vast beyond the stars,
But You are mindful when the sparrow falls,
And mindful of the anxious thoughts
That find me . . . surround me . . . and bind me . . . .

Jesus, King of angels, heaven's light,
Hold my hand and keep me through this night.

(Fernando Ortega)

And Now My Lifesong Sings

2007-04-23T22:00:00.000-08:00

I once was lost, but now I'm found
So far away, but I'm home now
I once was lost, but now I'm found
And now my lifesong sings

I once was blind, but now I see
I don't know how, but when He touched me
I once was blind, but now I see
And now my lifesong sings

I once was dead, but now I live
Now my life to You I give
I once was dead, but now I live
And now my lifesong sings

And now my lifesong sings!
Hallelujah!

Let my lifesong sing to You

Words by Mark Hall (Casting Crowns)

My "I Am" List for Today

2007-04-10T16:33:00.000-08:00

Well, I’m back. I haven’t written lately because I have been traveling and, upon my return, overwhelmed with the demands of daily life. I find my creative reserves rather empty at the moment, which is not uncommon for writers or artists or others who practice offering things. To use a business analogy, I would say my inventory is high, but my cash flow is low. Any business owner will tell you that it is critical that you periodically check your inventory, not just for tax purposes, but to make sure you have the resources you need to stay in business. As a person, I also need to stop and take inventory of who I am today, who I am not, and what resources are available to me, present and future. Making a short “I am” list is a good way to take inventory. Here is my “I am” list for today:

I am strong, but I often feel weak.
I am still learning, and I am thankful for that.
I am frustrated, but not without hope.
I am tired, but rest will come eventually.
I am happy, but not in every way.
I am a son, but may someday be a father to my own.
I am a father, but may someday be a child to my own.
I am at peace, but occasionally take a nervous look behind me.
I am a warrior, but often confused about which war I am in.
I am a teacher, but only as good as I am a student first.
I am unworthy, but wholly loved.
I am wholly loved, but still learning how to accept it.
I am at the center of my own life, but I am not supposed to be.
I am only a branch, I am not the vine.
I am thankful, it is a living vine.

Have you taken inventory lately? Share your “I am” list. We may all find wisdom and hope in it.

A Basin and a Towel

2007-03-20T22:27:00.000-08:00

Has anyone offered to wash your feet recently? The other day I was thinking about the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. You can read about this encounter in John’s telling of the Gospel. I wonder how I would have reacted to someone insisting on washing my feet? Admittedly, in our century we don’t get our feet dirty driving our cars to the market, no walking on sandals and dirt roads for us like they had to do in Jesus’ day. Back then everyone had dirty feet. So, it wasn’t all that unusual when Jesus gathered his 12 closest companions and had them all sit down for some traditional toe scrubbing before they had their last meal together. The shocking thing was that Jesus did the washing! This was a job for a servant, not a rabbi, and certainly not a king. It was a remarkable demonstration of humility, even more so when you realize that he washed the feet of someone who he knew was just moments away from betrayal. But, here was Jesus with a basin of water and a towel, the one who should be served, was the serving one.

If Jesus were walking on earth today, how would he teach me about humility and servant-hood? After all, I have socks and shoes! I think he might try to teach me this lesson by exposing me to another person who already gets it. In fact, by his grace, I can see what it looks like when someone lives a sacrificial life for my sake. I do know who works through the weary and participates through the pain. Who encourages and never demeans. Who has a heart of compassion, but who is still willing to tell me what is true when I need to hear it. Who finds peace in humility and purpose in preparation. Who does not remember the missed birthday or the “thank you” forgotten. Who finds joy in praising me, happiness in holding me high, and who celebrates my successes knowing they are really her successes too.

When I go home to Wenatchee next week, my wife and I will walk through the door and we will be blessed by a hug and kiss from my Mom. After a joke from my Dad, we will be invited to “rest our weary bones” even if it is her bones that hurt, because it is our bones that matter to her. Then, after we have had our fill of eat and drink and talk, Mom will finally call it a day because she can serve no more tonight, and I will look up at her as she wearily walks to bed, a basin and towel under one arm and Jesus on the other. When she reaches her room and closes the door, I will look down at my freshly washed feet.

Cosmic Coffee

2007-03-13T16:36:00.000-08:00

A favorite movie of mine is the 1997 film, “Contact”, based on the book by popular astronomer Carl Sagan. The story goes that a radio-astronomer, obsessed with looking for signs of extra-terrestrial life, intercepts what is, at first, an unexplainable transmission from outer space. The script is a marvelous dance between science, politics, and faith. More about the movie in future posts, but I was reminding of this dance between science and faith when I read about a recent study conducted in Italy that suggests that faith may help people recover from a stroke.

This study did not point to a specific understanding of what or who the “higher source” was, but it did suggest that a strong dose of spirituality can reduce the emotional stress that often gets in the way of stroke recovery. Of course, the power of pray is not new; that power has been experienced since the beginning of time. What I find fascinating is that after a century of science trying to be god, we are now finding more and more scientists willing to admit that faith and prayer, no matter how unscientific, actually works.

Last year, my father had a stroke, which affects his ability to walk. He now relies on a cane or a walker to get around outside the walls of his home. My father has always been an active, optimistic man who is ready with a joke whenever you are, and whose glass is half full, never half empty. He gets discouraged from time-to-time, mostly because his stroke has slowed him down considerably, and this is understandable, but it is not defeating. My dad has been singing in the Apollo Club for over 30 years now and although he brings his walker with him to rest on while on stage, he still makes his way proudly to the front row and sings from an inner strength rooted in his firm faith in God. It is his faith that makes him smile and I am beginning to think that it is the Spirit of God who gives him jokes to tell. He has made contact.

God willing, I will see Dad in a couple of weeks. If you happen to be in Wenatchee on that Monday morning, you might find me walking down the street next to a man with a cane. We will be slowly making our way to have coffee with his friends. Some might say he shouldn’t be out, but I say every step proclaims to the world that faith matters, prayer works, and hope is eternal - literally. Enjoy your coffee, Dad. I will be proud to join you.

Where Will I Be?

2007-03-05T21:49:00.000-09:00

Back in 1979, toward the end of my time at Washington State University, I had a friend named Roger Ulm. I had only a half of a semester left and he let me move into his apartment on the third floor of a 60 year old home. I have since lost touch with Roger, but I am grateful for the time I spent with him. Roger showed me the power of a positive word and what it looked like to be someone who was thankful to be forgiven. He showed me the power of grace and also how hard, and possible, it is to have a vibrant faith when you don’t have any money. One of the things I remember most was that he had a business card that he would handout to people he met for the first time. All it said was, “Where will you be when you get where you are going?" I still have the card he gave me.

I think no matter what you believe, or believe in, this question is relevant to us all. I mean, think about it, in every area of our lives we seem to get caught up in the doing and forget where our doing is taking us. I recently heard the story of a man who graduated from law school and was working as a high paid corporate attorney on Wall Street. To get there, he had to spend a lot of money and sacrifice some of the prime years of his life to school, but when he arrived he found it to be nothing more than a job - lucrative, but empty. Fortunately, he had the courage to walk away and pursue what he really loved – baking cakes! He now owns a wildly popular specialty bakery in New York City, where he says he works even harder, but he loves it and feels it is where he is suppose to be.

It makes sense that I should stop every once in a while, look at the direction my life is taking and reevaluate where I am likely to end up - before I actually get there. If we all did that I can’t help but think that we would have better careers, be better parents, eat healthier, exercise more, choose better friends, and spend less money. We would be in a happier place. It would really help us to take our eyes off material things and physical pleasures and to refocus on what is really valuable – our relationships.

Roger wanted his question to provoke me to think about eternity, and it does, but it also provokes me to question almost everything else that so easily entangles me. What will I harvest next year, because of the seed I sow today? Have I loved my wife enough today, to insure my marriage will stand the test of time? Will my choices today get me to where I want to go? Where will I be, when I get where I am going?

It is never too late to change direction.

What Is There To Fear?

2007-02-26T19:08:00.000-09:00

Do you ever get the feeling that our culture is consumed by fear? All of us seem to be afraid of losing something – our money, our reputation, our freedom, even our hair. Sometimes we are afraid of gaining things – more weight, more work, more responsibility. We are afraid of risk, embarrassment, and being forced to change. I have been afraid of both the trivial and the profound. I will never forget the fear I felt for my daughter when I watched her decide to walk away from the safety of our home to experience life on her own -- way before she was ready.

Sure, it is easy to understand why an elderly man fears losing his independence or why a child fears being disciplined, but it perplexes me how much fear creeps into the life of a believer. In my religious heritage, one that was tainted by legalism, it was not uncommon to hear a Christian say, “We don’t allow that here because we are afraid of where it might lead” - as if being guided by the Holy Spirit wasn’t allowed either. Or I might hear, “We don’t just step out on faith, unless we can be sure of the outcome we want.” Isn’t that an oxymoron? Even more insidious is the fear-invested, doubt-dipped, “I hope I get to heaven” as if Jesus hadn’t already dealt with that.

I don’t think there is suppose to be any room for fear in a man of faith, except that I should fear God by glorifying Him with all humility. If we claim to be believers in the God described in the Word, we must also believe that this scripture is true:

“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” 1 John 4:16-18

I guess fear just fills the void that we leave unfilled with the kind of love that God lives in. So, fellow believers, I am calling us all to live and rest in the love God has for us, confident and free. Really, what is there to fear?

It's In The Keep Going

2007-02-12T21:17:00.000-09:00

Now that the Super Bowl is over we can focus on something really important – bicycle racing!

I would have been excited about the Super Bowl if the Seattle Seahawks had been there again, but they weren’t, so neither was I. The only good thing about the game was that it was the first Super Bowl in history with a team lead by an African-American coach, in fact each team had one -- and they were both men of faith! How cool is that?

I do admit that most people in the United States could care less about professional bicycle racing. You may have heard of Lance Armstrong, but the sport itself probably doesn’t mean much to you. It’s different with me. I am not a fanatic about it or anything, but I do have a connection with it. True, I’ll never be invited to ride in the Tour de France and even though I participate in one or two recreational races per year, it doesn’t make me a racer. I don’t pretending to be. My connection with the bicycle racing is that I love to ride my bike, especially on long rides that takes hours. It changes me.

Something genuinely important happens when I pedal past the 30 mile marker. By then the sting of lactic acid in my legs has subsided, my breathing has settled to a comfortable rhythm, and my heart is keeping pace with the demand for oxygen rich blood. Even my brain is affected -- the fresh air flushing away the mental and emotional trash of the day. Here, on the bike, I do my best thinking.

A long bicycle ride is metaphor for life. There are times of acceleration and speed, long steady climbs that seem to last forever, exhilarating descents that are not long enough, flat tires, fast corners, and sudden maneuvers to avoid a crash. There are surges of energy and enthusiasm, followed by long stretches of fatigue and discouragement. But I keep going and it’s in the ‘keep going’ that I find meaning. When the long ride is over and the goal has been reach I look back at what was accomplished and I find satisfaction.

It reminds me of how the scripture encourages us to live our lives. If the writer of Hebrews was a cyclist, here is what he might have said:

“Since we are surrounded by such a great peloton of witnesses, let us remove everything that makes us heavy and causes friction, and let us pedal with perseverance the route marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, who has already started and finished the ride we are on, who stayed focused on the goal, endured the ultimate climb, crested the hill, and now awaits victorious at the finish line as God-united. Consider him who endured every obstacle along the way so that you will be encouraged to keep pedaling, keep climbing, until you also are united with God.” (Paraphrase of Hebrews 12:1-3)

Keep going.

Praia da Luz

2007-01-30T16:38:00.000-09:00

Just about a year ago to the day my oldest daughter, Amy, hiked up to the top of a 650 foot ochre cliff to look out over a community of sun drenched homes and shops, all white, nestled along cobblestone streets that weave their way up and to the right, away from the gradient blues of the Atlantic ocean. Ocean and village are separated by a long crescent beach, which at this moment is unoccupied and quiet. In the spring the beach of Praia da Luz, Portugal will be crowded with sun-seeking tourists. But even now, in February, the sun shines brightly on the golden roof of the 250 year old church that sits conspicuously in this hillside of white. Luz is a village of sunlight. Amy took a photo that day, which I have on my desk as a reminder that there is something better than the wind, and the rain, and the gray outside my office window. There is sunlight somewhere in the world and this give me hope.

Amy would like to go back to Luz. I don’t blame her. We all need sunlight, especially those of us living in the path of the Jet Stream that blows off of the Pacific. But no matter where we live, we all crave a different kind of light. We all seek a kind of light that illuminates from the inside; that gives us something to hope in. We look for a reveal of the truth that helps us understand what is worth more and what is worth-less. A light that shines meaning into the chaos and shows us a place be – and who to be – and whose to be.

Jesus claimed to know something about light and dark. In fact he said:
"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." (John 8:12) What a hopeful statement.

When Jesus said “I am the light of the world” he did not mean that he was going to just shine a bunch of rules and obligations in our face and then threaten us with darkness if we didn’t obey them properly. Actually, he meant just the opposite. He says to follow me and along the way I will reveal a way to live, and a way to love, and a way to do. He says my way has meaning and it will give meaning to you. Jesus-light is a new way to think.

I wish I could go to Praia da Luz. The external sunshine would do me some good. Someday Amy will take me there. In the meantime, the Jesus follower in me continues to be blessed by His eternal, internal light. It looks so much better outside whenever I choose to give an answer for the hope that shines on the inside.

I love this new way to thinking.

Baggage Claim

2007-01-19T13:55:00.000-09:00

My life changed for the better in the spring of 1989. My weight was over 200 lbs and my total cholesterol was even higher. Determined to find a fun way to deal with this problem, I purchased a mountain bike from REI and started peddling. It didn’t take long to rediscovered one of the joys of my youth. I have been cycling ever since. By spring the next year I had lost 40 lbs and lowered by total cholesterol 60 points. I am blessed that Janet has since caught the cycling bug and now we log most of our miles together on a tandem bicycle. Our new tandem disassembles and packs into two cases, which we can take with us on the plane as check baggage. Our goal is to ride in all 50 states. Only 44 to go!

On last year’s trip to the Great Western Bike Rally in California we arrived at the Oakland airport to find that only one bike case arrived. The other decided to go to Chicago. As you might expect one half of a tandem bicycle doesn’t work very well. Without all of our baggage we could not ride. It was a fast decent from participate to spectator. Even worst was the prospect of disappointing our friends who had made this trip with us. Sometimes less is more, but that day, less was less. We needed our baggage!

We don’t all cart our bicycles around, but we do all have our own bags to carry. That baggage defines us, equips us, and sometimes loads us down. It colors our view of the world and colors our relationships with each other. Take a look at the people closest to you. Can you see their baggage? Maybe it’s the bag of poverty, the divorce of parents, the struggle with weight, a life of privilege, too many bad dating experiences, a battle with breast cancer, the loss of a child, or just the “luck of the draw”. Some of my own experiences have made me stronger and some have weighed me down. I am the sum of them. My wife knows all about my baggage, but she loves me anyway. That’s the coolest thing.

Sometimes, if I am paying attention, someone will come along who helps me put down a burdensome, unnecessary bag, never to be picked up again. Another will pass through who encourages me to reclaim a lost bag that helps me travel light and straight. Good friends or angels? Maybe both.

The next morning, the other half of our tandem bicycle arrived in Oakland. Janet and I picked it up at the airport and we were on our way. Participants again! We enjoyed our rally and our relationships – baggage and all.

Life is a Story

2007-01-08T21:36:00.000-09:00

One of the great joys in my life was to read a book to my children at night before they said their prayers and turned out the light. They each had their favorite stories, which I read over and over and over again. I have tried a hundred and one alternative ways to say “Goodnight Moon” just to keep myself from falling asleep. For many years I considered the Berenstain Bears Books to be autobiographical. With overalls and bare feet, I actually do look a lot like Papa Bear. But time kept walking and my girls have since outgrown me reading to them at night. I have been forced to return to my own story.

If I were to write my own story in a book, where would I start? Where would I end? I don’t know much about my beginning; in fact, I don’t remember any of it. Sure, I have seen a few black and white photos from the old Brownie box camera my family owned. My parents can talk about what it was like for them back in my beginning, but that’s their story really, not mine. My telling of my own story begins in forgetfulness; my ending would be just a guess.

The other day, I heard someone observe that because we don’t know the beginning or the ending of our life, we are “inextricably middled in our own story, and so we are muddled in our own understanding.” I think this is true. We pretend to plot our own conclusion and write our own epilogue, but in reality, our vision is limited to the middle. This “middled” vision causes some to say that our life beginning has no meaningful connections to anything before it and our life ending is nothing more than, well, an ending. There is nothing more and we shouldn’t expect there to be. This philosophy is too depressing and I don’t buy it. It ignores the fact that my unfinished life bumps into your unfinished life and changes things. Reading this post makes your life intersect mine. Yes, I am still stuck in the middle of my own story, but if you are there too, even for a moment, we both must be living in the middle of a story that is bigger than us – one that includes every intersection and every connection. A story that is Creator-large.

In my small story there is some mystery, comedy, and tragedy - in your story too. But, I live in the expectation that when all of our chapters are written and all our individual stories told, when we have said our prayers and turn out the light, we will awake to find that we were living right in the middle of a love story.

My Three Wise Men

2006-12-30T11:40:00.000-09:00

I received three books as Christmas gifts and I am thankful for all of them. All three are books I have wanted to read. Two of them are books I previously owned, but had given away before I read them. It is interesting how gifts given seem to come back around. Perhaps I will give a book report on each one after I have finished reading them. I expect these books, each in their own way, to challenge me to grow as a person. They will expand my knowledge and will allow me to see life more clearly and more deeply.

As much as I value books, it is people who I know personally, with whom I talk, and with whom I pray, who have a greater influence on my life. I am blessed by many people who continue to encourage me, but there are three men in particular whom I consider to be spiritual mentors. They are wise and trusted counselors and teachers. Lately, my encounters with each one are brief, but there is power in each visit.

The Example: For many years, this mentor has shown me what it looks like to live a spiritual life of faith and courage. In his life I find a commitment to his God that actually shows up in the decisions he makes, the values he holds, and the influence he has in the lives of others. No matter the bumps in road, his faith and convictions endure, in deed, thrive. A life of faith lived in front of me, showing me the way.

The Counselor: This mentor has invested a good deal of time in me, both as counselor, teacher, and friend. More importantly, I have never shared time with him that he hasn’t somehow pointed me to my Creator. He has listened, and prayed, and laughed, and given wise counsel when wise counsel was critical. The grace of God on foot.

The Revealer: Finally, this one has let himself be used by the Creator in a time and a place that even he did not fully comprehend. At a defining moment in my life, when my mind, emotion, and spirit were on the spin cycle, he reminded me of what it means to live in freedom and grace. He validated my confusion and anger and then redirected me to a place where I could begin a season of healing. His influence continues to be spiritually nourishing. A revealer of the authentic Jesus.

I am thankful for these three wise men who help me navigate life this side of heaven. The question now is, will I be available and relevant should someone look to me for wise counsel and truth?

Santa and the Elephants

2006-12-23T09:42:00.000-09:00

Americans are not very original. This is especially true when it comes to our celebration of Christmas. Little of our seasonal tradition or vocabulary is authentically American. We have collectively embraced mistletoe, the Advent calendar, candy canes, and the giving of gifts. We indiscriminately sing “Yuletide” carols about an eclectic mix of sleigh bells, three “kings” from the Orient, a silent night, a snowman named “Frosty”, and a little drummer boy. Almost all of these symbols of the Christmas season were imported from other cultures, religions, or traditions. Consider this:

Although the idea of Father Christmas came earlier, the Santa Claus we know is a variation of a Dutch folk tale based upon the historical figure of Saint Nicholas. Old St. Nick was known to give gifts on the eve of his feast day of December 6. He did not become associated with Christmas in America until the 1800’s. The modern idea of Santa in a flying sleigh appears to be the combined concoction of American writers, Washington Irving and Clement Clare Moore.

The whole idea of a white elephant gift exchange is kind of an American creation, but the idea of a “white elephant” actually originated from an old Burmese cultural reference to the value of an albino elephant. This white elephant was considered sacred and required great care, even though it created a financial burden on the owner that far exceeded the elephant’s actual worth.

The Christmas tree has been a source of controversy for a long time. It may have originated with pagan celebrations of winter, but was later co-opted by the Christian culture. The modern Christmas tree tradition actually was imported from Germany in the 18th century.

The 12 days of Christmas idea comes from the Feast of the Epiphany celebration that began with Eastern Orthodox Church. The celebration starts on December 25 and ends on January 6, the date they celebrate the birth of Jesus. Those 12 days are irreverently used in the “12 Days of Christmas” song we sing today, which started as an English children’s poem in late 1700’s.

Thankfully, there is another aspect of the traditional Christmas celebration that transcends all cultural biases and historical influences. Jesus in a manger. Many have misunderstood it, trivialized it, or purposefully avoided it, but they have never changed it. No convoluted traditions or cultural-colored glasses will ever alter the fact that 2000 years ago God showed up as baby in manger and changed the world.

From the manger to the cross – God with us!
From the ascension to the end – Immanuel!

Christmas Music

2006-12-16T09:50:00.000-09:00

I love Christmas music, but I have high standards for it. For a number of years now I have been searching for what I think is the best version of each of the classic Christmas songs, secular and sacred. This is a subjective endeavor, of course, and limited by my lack of exposure to recording. The good thing is that I have a nice seasonal hobby that I can look forward to every year.

I am not as motivated to do this for secular holiday music. My primary standard here is that the arrangement of the song has to be original and creative. My favorite secular Christmas song is probably the classic “The Christmas Song”, although I still don’t have a clue about how you roast chestnuts over an open fire without getting burned. I am still looking for the definitive version. A close second is the song “Grown-Up Christmas List”. Who can argue with the “no more lives torn apart” lyric? I am ready to say that the best version I have heard of “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree” is done by the group NewSong (known for their sentimental “The Christmas Shoes”). It actually is “rockin” in a slick, big jazz band sort of way. The lead singer is Steve Reischl, whom I have met in person.

Sacred Christmas music is another story. Here, my demands are very high. The historical theme of these songs demands that the it be sung with passion and wonder. I mean, just imagine – the creator of the Universe cares enough about me to send himself into a humble human life and endure it so perfectly that God’s rightful demand for justice and righteousness can be satisfied through his own expression of grace and mercy. Amazing! So, if anyone is going to sing about that, they had better mean it!

If “O Holy Night” (my favorite) is sung in a way that does not stir up my spirit and bring me closer to God, then I would rather not hear it. It is a dramatic, vocally demanding song that should be left to those who have the pipes to sing it. The best vocal performance of this song that I have heard is from David Phelps, while he was a member of the Gaither Vocal Band. You can find in on the “Christmas in the Country” CD/DVD. He sings with such passion and with such a powerful and inspiring voice that I am spiritually moved every time I hear it. The best musical arrangement of “O Holy Night” that I have heard (so far) is also from the group NewSong. This interpretation rightfully imagines the heavenly excitement when “for yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn”! Unfortunately, the arrangement is bigger than the singer. If David Phelps would bring his voice to the NewSong arrangement, that would be something.

My question to us all is, when we hear a song about our Savior’s arrival, does it make us yawn or does it make us “fall on your knees” and “hear the angel voices”?

Sing it David!

The Number "50"

2006-12-09T12:43:00.000-09:00

I now have a flat-screen LCD television. It is small, as TV’s go today, but it is capable of displaying a high definition signal. I think HD television is cool, but the down side is that I am now even more frustrated with the quality of the old television signal we have been watching. The future is here and I am ready to go. I don’t want to go back to the old way.

Being around as long as I have, I have memories that predate television. I am not old enough to have been around for the introduction of broadcast television in the 1930’s, but I do remember life before my father brought home our first television set. I recall a black and white RCA with gold lettering on round knobs. I am old enough to pre-date Sesame Street. Captain Kangaroo and his friend, Mr. Green Jeans, helped shape me into the man I am today. The thought of ping-pong balls falling from the ceiling still makes me smile. If only it could have been in high definition! But it was Sesame Street that my two daughters were exposed to first and because of them I have watched plenty of that show too. In honor of Sesame Street, this post is brought to you by the letter “W” and the number “50”:

For my birthday, I Wish that . . .

I had 50 minutes of unhurried “coffee time” every morning;
I only lived 50 miles away from the rest of my family;
I could choose 50 specific days of my life and live them over again;
a dark chocolate bar had 50 less calories than it does;
I could have been in one of the groups of 50 in Luke 9:14;
I could do 50 things at once, but only when it proved necessary;
God would have found 50 righteous people in the city of Sodom;
I had saved the first $50 of every paycheck I ever received;
I had 50 verses of Scripture at instant recall;
I could ride 50 miles on my bicycle today and you could ride with me;
My wife and I could take a 50-day vacation;
The next 50 years of my life will bring honor to God.

Tomorrow, I turn 50 years old. How do I feel about reaching this milestone? The following quotation sums it up just fine:

“Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.”

Kermit the Frog

Pieced Together

2006-12-02T08:21:00.000-09:00

Last summer, my wife was able to visit our friends who recently moved to rural Pennsylvania. Janet was fascinated to meet an Amish family who lived down the road. It wasn’t long before she had handpicked a variety of fabrics, selected a design, and commissioned a handcrafted Amish quilt. After a wait of over four months, the quilt finally arrived this week. Sewn into one corner of the quilt is the name of the women who did the hand sewing and the name of another who worked the old fashion foot-treadle. It is authentic craftsmanship, masterfully sewn with tight and meticulous stitching. Each fabric piece carefully connected to the other to make a genuine original. An heirloom.

A hand-sewn quilt is a fascinating thing. It is almost as if it carries the life force of the maker and transfers it to the receiver. What is otherwise a stack of unrelated pieces of fabric is stitched together into a rhythmic dance of textures and colors that emerge as a single piece of warmth-giving art. Many, stitched into one. By God’s design, our individual families should be like an Amish quilt. But we know that the reality for many families is very different. There are many pieces of related fabric, but the stitching has never been done or it was allowed to unravel. Healing is needed.

To sew the quilt of family relationships it takes someone willing to make the first stitch. I must pick up the needle of forgiveness, thread it with the tread of grace, and stick it into myself first. Next, I must find the willingness and the courage to reach out and gently push the needle of forgiveness into my father, mother, sister, brother, or child and then pull the thread of grace tight. Repeat. It may take me a long time, but eventually the unraveled edges will be put behind and the seams will be straight and snug. I might even inspire the next piece of family fabric to start sewing for himself. It is no easy task, but unless someone makes the first stitch, there will never be a quilt. Imagine – individual pieces, pierced by forgiveness, stitched with grace, joined into one beautiful heirloom.

This Is Not True For Me

2006-11-24T23:48:00.000-09:00

As Thanksgiving holidays go, this one was very nice. It included my wife’s beautifully roasted, free-range turkey. I learned to play a fun, simple game with good friends. I called my family in Washington State and made them laugh. There were so many deserts that some of my daughter’s cheesecake was left and I was able bring some of it home for a second helping. In deed, there is much for which I am thankful.

On this Thanksgiving Day . . .

Nearly 1.1 billion people are without access to clean water – that’s more than the combined populations of North America and the European Union. This is not true for me, for which I am thankful.

The U.S. national minimum wage is $5.15 per hour. Many children worldwide earn less that $1 a day, if they are paid at all. Around 176 million children work in ways that are likely to harm their health, safety, or moral development – such as bonded labor, slavery, or sexual exploitation. This is not true for my children, for which I am thankful.

McDonald’s serves nearly 50 million people worldwide each day. Three times that number of children go hungry everyday. I have never really known hunger in my life, for which I am thankful.

There are twice as many children world-wide (117 million) who do not receive a primary level education as there are Americans who receive a newspaper everyday. My children have been educated and are still learning, and for this I am thankful.

There are roughly 3.7 million in the United States who are homeless to some degree. I am not homeless, for which I am thankful.

Every year, 17 time more children die of readily preventable diseases than Americans who are killed by heart disease, the leading cause of death in the U.S. My family has always received the best health care, for which I am thankful.

There are more than twice the number of orphans in the world than there are children under age 15 in America. This number is growing in Africa due to the AIDS pandemic. This is not true for my country, for which I am thankful.*

(*Based upon “Seven Ways to Pray in 2007”, Ryan Smith, World Vision Magazine, Winter 2006)

The American Dream

2006-11-17T23:54:00.000-09:00

I have heard about “The American Dream”, but I am still trying to figure out what it is. If the American Dream is something you achieve, then whether you achieve it or not is largely dependent upon where you began. For example, if I have been living in a tent, then owning my own home, however modest, may be my defining American Dream moment. For someone else, the American Dream may not be achieved until he can escape his modest home and move into one that is fronted by a long private driveway, complete with iron gate and intercom. For many of us, The American Dream may have less to do with money and more to do with having a good marriage and 2.5 children – all of whom go to college on a full-ride scholarship and make all the right decisions while they do it! Actually, one of those children would only need half of a scholarship.

Let’s face it. The American Dream is subjective and slippery.

I think MacDonald’s understands The American Dream more than anyone and they have learned to successfully market it with those now famous words, “Super-Size Me.” It seems like The American Dream is characterized by us always wanting, wishing, and working for more. No matter how much we have, we want bigger and better! It is kin to running on a treadmill, we keep making strides, but we never get there. I want get off of the treadmill.

My wife and I have started to think about selling our home and buying a condominium. I am thinking we can sell this idea to our family by creating our own marketing campaign, complete with the slogan– “Down-Size Me”! Even if we don’t end up moving to a new home, the idea of down-sizing is very appealing. Unfortunately, when I look at all of the stuff in my garage, the process of down-sizing looks a little daunting – and I am not even a collector! (I am also not allowed to speak publicly about our closet under the stairs.) Still, I think it will be worth it. I look forward to the time when I can get to everything I “need” without having to move three things out of the way first.

In our home we have three bookcases filled to capacity with books and at least three other stacks of books in various locations. Many of the books are still waiting to be read. I think my down-sizing efforts will start there. Who knows, if I am successful, I could be free to take the time I would have spent moving my treasured junk around and use it to actually read one of those books – if I decide to keep any of them, that is.

An Excellent Day for Snow

2006-11-10T10:44:00.000-09:00

Today is the day after the mid-term elections and it is snowing. By the time my head hits the pillow tonight we should have a beautiful 5 inch deep covering of white. How prophetic.

It seems to me that election results are mostly about the past. Votes describe choices already made that we do not like. We may have voted one way during the last election, only to find out that our representative ended up representing someone else. When the next election comes around, we conduct our civil retaliation by voting for a change. We are dubious of the new candidate too, but they are different and that alone tips the scale in their favor. New give us hope. But, more likely than not, in a couple of years we will once again find our representative representing someone else and we are right back were we started.

Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I am so focused on the negative past that I have forgotten what a positive future would even look like. Maybe I am just as fickle as the politician for whom I just voted. Do I even have a vision or even know what I believe is right? For example, now that we are already there, what is my solution to the war in Iraq? If I care about children, how am I going to contribute to reducing class-size? I like roads and parks and schools, but why am I so reluctant to help pay for them? What am I doing to keep toxins out of our water supply? Unless I choose to run for office myself, I will probably never be pressed for an answer. I will just wait for the next candidate to tell me what I am suppose to care about and until then, don’t bother me. I get my priorities from my favorite talk show host, thank you very much!

This naive existence of ours is exactly why we are so easily fed the notation that the only two “moral issues” worth talking about are abortion and gay marriage. These are important issues, but what about the moral issues of poverty, corruption, war, exploitation of children, greed, homelessness, government sanctioned torture, and pollution? How moral is the stereotyping and name-calling volleyed back and forth between the leaders in “red states” and the leaders in the “blue states”? I am pretty sure Jesus actually prefers a nice royal purple.

I am not advocating that we should all quit our day jobs and run for office. Do that only if you believe you are called to go there and if you do may God direct you and bless you in that service. What I am advocating today is that we learn how to think for ourselves. I want to be listening to that “still small voice” of God when he alerts me to the genocide in Darfur. I want to me moved by the suffering being endured by citizens of Pyongyang and New York City. I want to be genuinely outraged by the CEO who looks the other way when his company continues to dump toxins into the water supply, no matter how much he gave to the right political party. I need to be offended by those who advocate for personal freedoms, without also advocating for personal responsibility.

To the extent that I have neglected to think for myself and to the extent that I have suppressed my conscience on many things for the sake of being “right” on a few things, I need to change. I need to cover all that political and social and spiritual mess that has been left in my backyard. I need to put the past behind me and make a clean start. I need to think freely and forward. Today is an excellent day for a covering of fresh, white snow falling down from above.

First Impressions

2006-11-04T12:17:00.001-09:00

What would you think of yourself if you met yourself for the first time? Frankly, I suspect that my first impression of me would be quite uninspiring.

A first impression is a powerful thing. My friend was just telling me of a study that showed first impressions may be more accurate than what we might suspect. Accurate or not, they do influence the potential for having a continuing relationship with the person you are meeting for the first time. A lot is at stake in this first moment because it is only in our continuing relationships that we are free to go to the deeper places in our lives where truth is.

I admire some people for their talent. I admire some for their appearance, their intellect, their hospitality, their fitness, or their faithfulness. I admire others for their spiritual insight and wisdom. What it comes down to for me is that I admire others most for having a quality or strength that I perceive to be lacking in my own life. This is particularly true when I meet people who are just naturally demonstrative, positive, loving, and welcoming. I have to concentrate on exhibiting these qualities; they don’t come naturally to me.

I love to have naturally out-going people around me because they make me feel good. How cool would it be, at least for a while, to be the person everyone wanted to have around. You know, get picked first for the team – every time. That sounds vain, but what I am really saying is that I want to be the kind of person who is always welcome because in me is the Spirit-fruit of infectious kindness, goodness, and joy.

While God continues to work on my transformation, what do I do with myself until he is done? I don’t think I should spend too much time worrying about not getting picked for the team. I am not going to worry too much about whether someone’s first impression finds me “too serious” or kind of boring. I need to embrace the me that God is still working on. I ask for your patience with those parts of me he is isn’t finished with yet. While I will never be the life of the party, I do have a God ordained place and purpose. The real question is, will I be faithful and free enough to bring to the moment what God has designed me to bring?

Yes!

2006-10-27T19:45:00.000-08:00

My bother, Larry, is a computer programmer (see his response to my Unreliable Words post). A programmer is a person fluent in any number of languages and dialects that are used to tell a computer what to do next. Some people think that computers are intelligent, but really they are as dumb as a rock. At its basic level, all a computer is really doing is following the direction a human programmer has assigned to it by answering “yes” or “no” over and over again so fast that it pretends to be intelligence. It is not.

In many ways, humans have a similar assignment. In every waking moment of our lives we are faced with answering “yes” or “no” to whatever decision is next. What separates us from a computer is that we have the free will to say “yes” or “no” based upon the input we receive and the memory we have. When a computer answers this question poorly, it often just quits working altogether. But, when you or I answer poorly, we are faced with the consequences. When we answer well, we are blessed and happy. Last week I was surrounded by many family members who have recently given a well answered, “Yes.” Here are just a few examples:

I was a proud father when my youngest daughter, Sarah, walked across the stage at the Convention Center in Portland, Oregon as a Magna Cum Laude (“with great praise”) graduate of the Western Culinary Institute. She was adorned with a yellow honors cord, a medallion of higher honors, and a tall toque (chef’s hat) to prove it. She discovered early what she loved and answered, “yes”, to the challenge to learn it. Thank you, Sarah, for allowing your father to sit in the audience and with the slight backward pull of a clinched fist give my own triumphant, “Yes!”

My oldest daughter, Amy, who is currently living on the East coast, traveled all the way to the West coast to see her sister graduate and to see her friends and family. She even paid her own way and endured returning on the red eye fight so she could get back to work the next morning. I am too old for that kind of thing. Thank you, Amy, for saying, “Yes”, especially to your sister and to your grandparents.

I am blessed by a family that says “yes” to spending time together whenever we can. We love each other and get along together quite well. Of course, it might help that we all live in different states, but I know our love and acceptance goes deeper than that. When we arrived at my Mom and Dad’s house, we were surprised to find that my sister, Karen, had come from two states away to surprise us all. Thanks to her, we were able to enjoy a mini family reunion! Thank you, Karen, for saying, “Yes”, to family.

This past weekend I was blessed to hear her my niece, Renee, play some of her new songs. She is an extraordinary musical talent; a brilliant composer with a seeking heart. Inspired by the genesis of her music, when I watch her fingers dance the ivory and hear her melodies take flight it is a spiritual time for me. Thank you, Renee, for letting your soul say, “Yes”, to the spirit of Lord.

I want my life to be a “yes” life.

Does God Have Rhythm?

2006-10-18T13:06:00.000-08:00

Back in my photography days, some of my favorite photos were close-ups. I mean really close macro photography. Rainforest landscapes were nice, but the droplet of rain clinging to a leaf by delicate surface tension inspired me. Rather than shooting the whole flower, I loved to fill the frame with stamen and pistil. In this intimate view, I saw pattern and color and shape in a dance of rhythm and harmony. This view testifies to more than intelligent design. It reveals a creator who is an artist!

If we are created in the image of God, it seems reasonable to believe that our natural appreciation and attraction to artistic expression is also from him. Our need and ability to express ourselves, artistically, is an intrinsic part of being the artistic creation of an artistic creator.

Music is art. Our human ability to identify and appreciate rhythm, melody, and harmony, and to be so profoundly affected by them is a God-given part of who we are. Music is a gift. The cool thing is that this gift transcends my culture, my experience, my preferences, my limitations, and my fences.

Like you, I prefer some genres and melodies more than others, by I consider myself to have a mildly eclectic taste in music. For example, the genre of music I have listened to the most this past week -- reggae. Admittedly, this is a stretch for a white, middle-aged, middle-class, suburban-grown, church-going man like me, but get use to it! I claim the freedom to explore a way of art that I have not grown up with. I embrace the freedom to enjoy this form of artistic expression, without having to embrace the lifestyle of others who may claim reggae as their own. Like every form of art, man has a way of taking what should glorify God and twisting it to their own perversion, but in our disgust, we must not throw out the gift of God. My thanks to the band Christafari (pronounced: “Christ-uh-far-eye”) for introducing me to the Jamaican musical genres of ska, rocksteady, and reggae in a way that does glorify the creator of all music.

I am thankful that I am free to have an a’cappella version of the 1656 hymn “O Sacred Head” and Christafari’s reggae rhythmic “Him Die Fi Yuh” on the same CD. May God be glorified in both.

Who is a Hero? (Part 2)

2006-10-14T10:08:00.000-08:00

My friend Mike can probably tell you off the top of this head how many times the Bible (NIV) uses the word “faith” in some form. I had to look it up. Over 400 times! It must be important.

Perhaps the most famous passage on faith is Chapter 11 of the book of Hebrews, which begins with this famous verse:

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."

Hebrews goes on to tell us that many of the men and women whose lives are described in the pages of the Bible are “commended” by God because, at least once, they had enough faith in God to take action even when they could not see what was ahead. Many call this list of names the “Faith Hall of Fame” or, sometimes, the “Heroes of the Faith.” I’m not too sure this should be called a hall of fame. Sure Abraham, Noah, Moses, and Joseph are famous Bible characters, even among non-believers. But, Hebrews also mentions not-so-famous Rahab, Barak, Jephthah, and the prophets. God does not commend them for being famous. Faith, not fame, is the point here.

To call these people heroes of the faith is also questionable. I don’t doubt for a minute that the faith demonstrated by these individuals was extraordinary under the circumstances, but I don’t think they should be called heroes. While they seem extraordinary in our human thinking, many of them were simply doing what God had asked them to do -- what God would expect any person of real faith to do. Rahab might be an exception to this; I’ll have to write about her sometime. These men and women of faith did do things that went beyond human reason, but isn’t that what true faith requires? While Abraham’s certain-of-what-we-do-not-see faith is inspirational and personally convicting, God had every right to ask him to pick up his tent, gather his family, and go. The question is would I do the same? We are all called to extraordinary faith.

There is one who has gone beyond what anyone could possible expect him to do. There is one who has done more for us we could ever have the right to ask him to do. There is one who has sacrificed himself so that you can personal live and grow and shine. If you are reading this, my prayer is that you will embrace the faith-life to which you are called and so inspire me to do the same. As we do so, we can acknowledge Jesus as our true and ultimate hero and enjoy the freedom to live a life of hero worship.

Who is a Hero? (Part 1)

2006-10-09T23:16:00.000-08:00

Occasionally, my wife and I watch the TV program, “Extreme Makeover, Home Edition.” This is the program were a needy family is singled out from thousands of equally needy families and they are given a new top-of-the-line home to replace the inadequate home they were living in. It is an emotionally charged, lump in your throat, tear in your eye, feel good kind of program. While I think that this program is highly scripted to manipulate and exploit the viewer emotionally, it is far and away better television than 95% of the rest if what a channel surfer will find. This is not fake “reality TV”. No one jumps off a cliff into pool of snakes. How often does that happen in real life? No, this program is about something good and tangible that is happening to real people. Deserving people. Who doesn’t like that?

In a recent episode, they built a house for a family who had lost their home in a Tennessee tornado. During the storm, the mother threw herself on top of her children to protect them. It worked! Her children were unharmed, but she suffered a broken back and is now paralyzed from the waist down. Her family now has a brand new, wheel chair accessible home, complete with an equally accessible swimming pool. Very nice. During the program, they kept referring to her as a hero.

“Hero” is a feel good word and we like using it. Its popularity has soared since September 11, 2001. I think it helps us cope with the tragedy. It helps us find something truly good that happened on that otherwise horrendous day. The problem is we seem to keep using the word to describe just about everyone who does something helpful. It is so overused now that I seem to be surrounded by heroes. Can this really be true? Any loving mother (or father) will do whatever it takes to protect her children, especially when they are very young. That is what a mother is supposed to do and that is exactly what our Tennessee Mom did. Because her sacrifice causes more permanent suffering than a mother should have to endure, she is a hero – to her own children. Her determination and endurance are a powerful inspiration to the community, but she is not the community’s hero. She is not my hero.

I propose that we reserve the honor of hero to someone who goes beyond what they are expected to do. A hero is someone who does more than any of us have a right to ask them to do. A hero takes a risk beyond human reason. Indeed, there were many heroes on September 11. But if you were not there, are they your heroes? Has anyone done something for you personally that goes beyond what God has already asked them to do? Who has done for you personally something for which you had no right to ask? Who has sacrificed their own self so that you – personally – can live and grow and shine?

Change In Your Pocket

2006-10-06T18:59:00.000-08:00

I heard there was a place on the internet where you can put yourself on a “do not call” list. I need to find it. You know the kind of calls I am talking about; the ones that come at the dinner hour from the Veterans of Mothers Against Pick Your Illness Alumni. There is nothing wrong with these organizations; I just find the interruption annoying. To make matters worse, the “technique” they train their callers to use is often just plain rude. As soon as the caller takes a breath, I try to jump in with a polite, “I am not interested.” My comment gets two distinct reactions. Most of the time the caller just keeps talking as if I hadn’t said a thing -- “. . . and it is critical that you respond today because, without your help, this situation will continue until . . . .” Yikes! Do they think that I am too dumb to know what my priorities are? And how do they learn to talk so fast? If I am in a good mood, I will go one step further with this caller and I will say, “I never respond to solicitations over the phone, if you will send me something in the mail, I will consider it carefully.” If they refuse this offer, I will find a quick and polite way to hang up. The other reaction I get -- much less often -- is, “Okay, thank you very much, Mr. Henderson. Have a nice evening.” I like that person. They are telling me that they, and the organization behind them, actually value me as person and that I am more to them than just a phone number with a credit card.

Don’t get me wrong, it is important to contribute financially to the needs of the world. We are the richest nation in the world. No matter how many debts you have or mouths you have to feed, when compared to a large percentage of the rest of the world, you are wealthy. Do you realize how long and how hard some have to work in order to earn the equivalent of the loose change in your pocket? We are rich, indeed.

Here is what I think we should do:
First, we need to look up from the “American dream” (i.e., our pile of bills) and observe the suffering and poverty around us.
Second, we need to identify a need, a cause, or a people that we can connect with. We cannot give to every cause that is presented to us, but we do need to give. I suggest that we do a more righteous job of giving when we give from our hearts as well as our wallets. We need to take some ownership in the needs of others.
Finally, we need to find a way to give that allows us to get our hands dirty. It is easy to write a check. It is not so easy to write a personal letter, or give a ride, or deliver a meal.

One organization that I have come to respect and appreciate is a Christian relief and humanitarian organization called World Vision (see sidebar). There are many others. Check out the Charity Navigator.

I do not give nearly enough. But, I am favoring the idea that when I retire from my current career I will have more time to get my hands dirty as a volunteer with World Vision or a similar organization. For now, let me admit that I appreciate World Vision mostly because they never call me on the phone, not even at dinner time.

Unreliable Words

2006-10-03T18:25:00.000-08:00

I don’t want this blog to be about me. I am not that interesting. I want it to be a place for the free expression of ideas, convictions, and beliefs. I intend for “Flying Free” to be a place for asking difficult questions, telling stories of grace, and written prayer. I want it to be a safe place for an occasional gripe, but more often a place for giving thanks. Who knows, we might even stumble on at least part of an answer to one of the many dicey questions out there.

Some of you already know me, but for others who come to visit here is little about me so that you have a better idea where I’m bent. I am almost 50 years old, but I am okay with it. The extent of my mid-life crisis is that I am still willing to wear Lycra bike-shorts when I am cycling. Bicycling is something I love to do, but more about that later.

I have been happily married to my loving wife for over 26 years and next to Jesus himself, she is the greatest evidence of God’s grace in my life. I am bless with two wonderful and interesting girls, both of whom are now entering the adult world. I work for state government, which means that eventually I will have to use this blog to apologize. I have always been interested in technology – electronics with switches, dials, and lights and stuff. Show me something with switches that light up and you have my attention! But mostly, I find myself in a season of life in which I am motivated now more than ever to explore authentic faith, artistic expression, health and nutrition, social and cultural reality, theology, and Tillamook vanilla bean ice cream!

Here is a list of words that I find very compelling during this season of my life:
Jesus (the real one)
organic
grace
carbon fiber
poverty
endurance
high definition
Alpe d’Huez
freedom

Here are some words that I have found to be unreliable in both meaning and practice:
conservative
liberal
tolerance
religion
republican
democrat
non-denominational
the “American dream”

Here are some perfectly good words, important words, but I have grown weary of having to use them too much:
patience
carbohydrate
migraine
money
tradition

What are some of the words on your list?

The Beginning

2006-10-01T15:17:00.000-08:00

I feel like I am a writer. That doesn’t mean I will be particularly good at it. What it means is that I find myself needing to do it. I need to take what is stirring around in my head and in my heart and let it out. The scary thing is that I don’t know what’s in there yet. I do know that somewhere deep inside of me is the need to think out loud, to give thanks, to vent, to tell you how much I care and how much I don’t. I need to explore new ideas and to challenge some old ones. I want to write about having a father -- both kinds -- and about being a father, and what I am learning while living in the middle. I want to ramble about being human and, if needed, give things a name. Most of all, by letting out what is captive within, I hope to better understand how to “fly free in the joy of the Lord.”

Of course, doing this will make me vulnerable. That’s okay. In fact, I encourage you to give me your feedback. I have no interest in debating, but I do want to learn from you. If you continue to read, it won’t be long before you realize that I am completely human, that I will make mistakes, and that I might not be as insightful as I think I am. My life, like yours, is a work in progress. Your critical response to something I write here doesn’t scare me half as much as the prospect of living my entire life without attempting to take flight at all. My desire is to put wings on the matters of my heart and let them glide outside for a while. I think God wired me to do this by writing.

I hope to publish three posts during the coming week. Thereafter at least once per week. More frequent sometimes, less frequent at others. I pray that this blog will both challenge you and bless you in the weeks to come.

So, here I go . . . by God’s grace.