Thy Grace is Sufficient

Turkey, Ham, Family Dysfunction, and A Baby

2012-01-06T17:20:00.000-08:00

He was despised, and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and as one from whom men hide their face he was despised; and we esteemed him not. ⁴ Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. Isaiah 53

Lets just all agree that, more times than not, Christmas is not anything like the Hallmark channel or a Rockwell painting.

You know; those images of all the family huddled around the newly arrived nephew, or joyfully belting out Christmas carols; happy, laughing, and content in neat lives that radiate success and contentment.

But I cannot shake the thought that somehow something with Christmas is not right, and that it shouldn't be that way. I am guessing that I am not the only person who thinks this way, not the only one who won't let go of expectations. Each year, I find myself feeling perhaps like you; perpetually mildly disappointed as Christmas recedes in the rear view mirror.

A Turkey, Ham.....
As I look back at my life of 53 years, and all the Christmas Family dinners I have been through, I am beginning to finally be grown up enough to notice some general themes. In the midst of all those rooms full of holiday revelers, I am guessing that you have seen some of these same people, or know of similar stories as well. All of us have a story to tell, and all of us have lives that, in varying ways, reflect the suffering and joy of the human condition.

Every year, we seem to be involved in one or more large, noisy, extended family Christmas celebration. These are invariably held with far too many people in a house slightly too small for the crowd. And every year, there will be people there you have either know for years, or hardly know. Both the ones you look forward to seeing, and the one that, well, you could do without. We all come with our contributions to the festivities, a salad here, an apple pie there. I come bringing my roasted turkey, still wrapped in beach blankets, keeping warm right out of the oven. Those who are cooking challenged come bearing their Honey Baked Hams and salads from the designer grocery chain. We all do our part.

Lets take a look around the room.

.....and Family Dysfunction
Bustling around in the center of the kitchen, the focal point of this holiday bacchanalia, is the not-so-middle-aged mom of the host family. She has been the driving force of this Christmas gathering for more than a decade now, organizing, decorating, now hugging new comers upon entry, and making sure the punch bowl is full and the conversation is lively and cheerful. But within her, life has not all been easy and cheerful. There has been the death of parents, the worry over children, and her own health struggles that have carved lines into her smile. Lines that speak of life, and loving, and worry. She has a story to tell of her life that is rich, and full, with some parts not easy to hear and other parts enough to make you cry with laughter. But that story will have to wait, dinner must be served.

Over there, by the salted nut bowl, there is the loud and crazy uncle, the one who is on his 4th marriage, (is it 4th or 5th, we never can seem to remember?) who has the omniscient knowledge of all things both political and moral. He can speak for hours on any subject, but is nearly incapable of asking anyone how they are doing. Whenever the Christmas carols begin, he is the one who starts to sing his own song, separate and apart and far louder that whatever the chosen carol is. He has always been that way. His whole life. It drives you batty.

Sitting by the onion dip bowl over there is the divorcee in the family, who is attempting to make herself look all put together, her hair is just so, and the outfit that is charmingly Christmasy. In reality, her last two years have been full of enough emotion, pain, and distance from her family to the extent that it hurts to think about it. Its not really entirely her fault. She has mastered the art of the happy holiday smile and greeting, but you get the sense of a hollow ring to her greeting. You wish you had something to say that could offer hope, but words fail you. And so, you return the greeting with the best warm hug you can offer, and a few minutes of idle chatter about the kids and the weather.

Seated in the kitchen almost like a centerpiece in the midst of the bustle, looking almost regal, is the family matron of 83 years. In one way or another, all of us here have been touched by her warmth, her engaging way of conversation, and the apparently real love she has for each person in the room. She has a life story to tell that is remarkable; of teen years saving various household items for the effort of World War II, and of the meeting and marriage of her young soldier sweetheart, with whom she was married for 48 years, until his death several years ago. She is quite alert for her age, and so full of grace, you want to sit next to her and listen for the rest of the night. But, there are others in the room you need to catch up with.

And look, in the kitchen. The gaggle of late teens and early twenties, the kids of several different families. They have surrounded a bowl of guacamole dip and chips, which will be history in five minutes or less. Our of the corner of your eye, you notice on the periphery of this group the moody college freshman who doesn't quite fit - who is not exactly socially graceful. She tends to put the other kids at slight unease, never really feeling comfortable in this crowd. These kids don't really understand where she comes from. Neither do the adults. Diagnosed with a mild learning disability and depression in her younger years, it feels to her like no one really understands her. Although her parents have tried just about everything, she will not see a therapist, nor will she consider taking any medication that might alleviate her moodiness. She doesn't like the dull ache she feels when on medication, perhaps she also revels in her shadowy personality. Its easier to think everyone else is a butt hole, rather than than face up to your own pain. We are all like that in some ways.

Unexpectedly, A Baby
Over there by the fireplace. A sight that is in simple stark contrast to the carnival of family issues filling the rest of the house. A dark-haired, younger mother is sitting quietly; the only person who seems entirely disconnected from all the noise, and bustle, all the preparation and masked pain. She has a baby boy of less than six months, wrapped in a blanket adorned with little tiny snowmen.

This sight nearly stops you in your tracks, and you feel your breath softly exhaling as you take in this sight. A baby. Sleeping soundly. You lean forward to watch that little face, softly twitching in slumber. What thoughts are filling that new little mind? Look how peaceful he is, not a care in the world. No issues, no confusion about life, no dysfunction. No having to act glued together and dressed up well.

Just how did we get here, at this Christmas party, carrying in the door our culinary contributions along with our pain, and sadness, our confusion and our fears? And how, in the midst of all this noise and food, abundance and insecurity, can there be a little soul sleeping so soundly, oblivious to all the struggle, heartache, and frustrations the rest of us feel?

Our Christmas feelings may not end up with everyone happy, with each person in the room fondly reflecting on a life well lived thus far. But at the deep, subtle, and shadowed center of all this Advent revelry, there is this; a baby. We cannot avoid him. For in a moment, more than two centuries ago, his screams of new life, brought forth in a crappy barn in the middle of nowhere, changed everything for all of us. Forever.

Merry Belated Christmas.

From This Valley - Civil Wars

2012-01-02T22:06:00.000-08:00

Oh, the desert dreams of a river
that will run down to the sea
like my heart longs for an ocean
to wash down over me.

Oh, won't you take me from this valley
to that mountain high above?
I will pray, pray, pray
until I see your smiling face.
I will pray, pray, pray
to the one I love.

Oh, the outcast dreams of acceptance,
just to find pure love's embrace
like an orphan longs for his mother.
May you hold me in your grace.

Won't you take me from this valley
to that mountain high above?
I will pray, pray, pray
until I see your smiling face.
I will pray, pray, pray
to the one I love.

Oh, the caged bird dreams of a strong wind
that will flow 'neath her wings.
Like a voice longs for a melody,
oh, Jesus carry me.

Won't you take me from this valley
to that mountain high above?
I will pray, pray, pray
until I see your smiling face.
I will pray, pray, pray
to the one I love.

I will pray, pray, pray
until I see your smiling face.
I will pray, pray, pray
to the one I love.

Norris Christmas Letter 2011

2011-12-16T22:15:00.000-08:00

Across the miles,and memories, and dear friendships, from our home to yours, greetings of AdventPeace from the Norris Family! As 2011comes to a close, we can all say this sure has been an interesting year. Read on, for a brief overview of what we havebeen up to in the past 12 months.

A Junior and a Senior

As if life was notrushing headlong faster than any of us could imagine, Kelly is now a Junior atDePaul University in Chicago, and Heather is a Senior at Flintridge SacredHeart Academy. Kelly is looking forwardto her last 18 months of college instruction (after spending the past threemonths with us here, as she finished some general ed classes in SouthernCalifornia), and to being fully certified as an elementary level teacher upongraduation. From there, only God knowswhat comes next, but the current plan is teaching someplace overseas for a fewyears. She is quite used to worldtravel, having almost spent last Christmas in London, close to being snowed inon her way home from Livingstone, Zambia. Heathrow in disarray, stranded in London, without luggage, and wearingonly sweats and Tom’s shoes, she spent the next 72 hours improvising a new wardrobe,planning travel home, but also enjoying the snowy sights of London atChristmastide! She made it home, viaHouston to Los Angeles, on the 21st; it was the best Christmas present of theyear for our family. Her smile on our doorstep will not quickly be forgotten.

Meanwhile, Heather’slife is never a dull moment, with present plans for 15 (yes, count them)separate college applications. Thus fartwo acceptances, 13 more to go. We areall so proud of Heather’s hard work, and Dad is just overjoyed he did not haveto write an application check to USC. Stayed tuned for more news. Thefall presented a surprise, as Heather’s grace and poise (characteristics havingnothing at all to do with her Dad) propelled her to the final 30 young ladies tobe considered for the Tournament of Roses Royal Court. Alas, royalty was not to be, but Heather isquite happy with her life as a commoner, and another year on Varsity softball. We love this girl.

Intramucosal Carcinoma of the Colon

Just a few words,but the gravity they contain can be life changing. With those medical reference words, our livestogether as a family took a summer detour we did not expect. We don’t have a story of how our majestic andexemplary faith made this experience entirely free of questions or worry. We learned deep lessons of love, commitmentand friendship from so many during this time. Surgery was required, and the result: no evidence of ongoing serious cancer. In fact, what had previously looked likelycancerous was in fact, benign. One morerelated surgery is scheduled for later this month; a purely preventativeprocedure. Nancy is back to full andcomplete health, and we are all deeply and profoundly thankful. Words simply will not do. A word of prayer for one more short hospitalvisit for Nancy would be a gift to us. Thedoctors want to keep a close eye on her in the years to come, but for now, theway ahead is clear. Suffice it to say,we have a different understanding of the concept of the gift of each new day. And in thanks, and as a celebration, we willbe giving a financial gift this year in your names to the City of Hope (www.cityofhope.org), where Nancy received trulyremarkable and compassionate care. Thiswas a summer we will never forget.

More Modest and Thankfully Dull Adventures

As for me, thebalding guy who is the oldest around here, this has certainly been a year. From emails to and from Zambia, sitting in theCity of Hope hospital waiting room wondering about the future, to awaiting aRose Court announcement; it never, ever, got boring. This included a business trip to Alaska lastyear just before Christmas (spotted several moose on major streets inAnchorage, high temperature +15 degrees), a conference in Washington DC inNovember, with a day to enjoy the nation’s capital. The year was filled with some wonderful musicalinterludes with good friends, the Watkins Family hour at the Coronet, AlisonKraus and Union Station under the stars at the Greek, The Civil Wars at theWiltern, and fall evenings at Disney Hall with good friends. A week at the beach at the close of summer,complete with rooftop sunset dinners full of the kids and their friends andmuch laughter. Summer evening barbequedinners on the back deck with friends old and new. Bruin games at Pauley with friends new. Life is rich and full, each day. Thankfulness abounds.

And so, in this pastyear, as Kelly traveled to Livingstone, via London and Los Angeles, I wondered aboutwhat seems to be the only event that can unite the people of these distant anddisparate cities. An event that occurred in obscurity more than two hundredcenturies ago, in a dusty village in the middle of, well, nowhere.

At the point of a single birth, everything changed. Time was carved intwo. For everyone, forever. For countless thousands alone, withtheir thoughts on Los Angeles freeways, for the masses riding the London tube,and for the dusty streets of Livingstone. And even for you too, standing in your kitchen reading this Christmasletter. All these places, all us people, given a chance again. Givenhope. Christmas hope. Christmaslove. Across continents, and time zones,and time itself. This is what Christmasis all about.

MerryChristmas from Steve, Nancy, Kelly, and Heather

Earth Time Lapse from ISS

2011-11-13T20:51:00.000-08:00

Here and Heaven - Chris Thile and Aoife O'Donovan

2011-10-27T08:34:00.000-07:00

This song is from the brand new album Goat Rodeo Sessions. I cannot believe how good this is.

With a hammer and nails and a fear of failure we are building a shed
Between here and heaven between the wait and the wedding
For as long as we both shall be dead to the world
Beyond the boys and the girls trying to keep us calm
We can practice our lines ‘till we’re deaf and blind to
Ourselves to each other and it’s
Fall not winter spring not summer cool not cold
And it’s warm not hot have we all forgotten that we’re getting old

With an arrow and bow and some seeds left to sow we are staking our claim
On ground so fertile we forget who we’ve hurt along the way
And reach out for a strange hand to hold
Someone strong but not bold enough to tear down the wall
Cause we ain’t lost enough to find the stars aren’t crossed
Why lie and why fall hard not soft into
Fall not winter spring not summer cool not cold
And it’s warm not hot have we all forgotten that we’re getting old

Of Princesses and Commoners

2011-10-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it might be the better thing to not be among the chosen.

You would think that at my age, I might have a better grip on this rather fundamental concept; that I might have the basic priorities of life sorted out. But, due to a somewhat narrow minded perspective on life, and my decidedly clay-like feet, it seems I still have much learning to do. Over in the past couple of weeks, I have again learned something I should have known very well all along. And my daughter has taught me this lesson.

The (Seemingly) Important Thing - Becoming a Princess
In late September, Younger Daughter decided that she, like almost all of her Senior class at school, would try out for the Tournament of Roses Royal Court. It seems almost all (only about 120) of the girls try out for what is known locally as "The Royal Court" (note the capitalization) mostly for the fun of it. The Court consists of 7 young ladies from throughout the San Gabriel Valley, who are chosen to represent the Tournament of Roses each year, and to "officiate" over the Rose Parade on January 1st. The field of applicants starts out with roughly 1,000, and is narrowed down over several weeks and interviews to a final field of 34, prior to the big announcement of the Royal Court, comprised of seven young ladies.

As fate, seemingly random selection, and (biased Dad portion here) poise and warmth would have it, over the several weeks of Rose Court tryouts, Younger Daughter ended up in the final field of 34, who would stand up before the press and local dignitaries to hear the announcement of the Princesses of the Royal Court. The Chosen Ones. The girls in the final cut spent an afternoon at the famous Tournament House, being photographed and meeting with the press. My daughter, meeting the press. Has a strange sound to it. In local social circles this is considered something elite, classy, and certainly the ideal compliment to a young lady. Selection for the Royal Court means you have "made it" socially, that have been "chosen" by society; and that, in a way, you might even be, in some ways, royal.

And so, on a sunny Monday morning, parents, families, friends, and the press all gathered on the Tournament House lawn, to learn who would be selected for the Royal Court. Long story short, the finalist who lives in our house got to return home later that same morning as a commoner. She was happy for the journey, slightly disappointed, but fine with the life she leads. I do love that girl.

The Common Thing
At about the same time all of this social fomenting was going on, something else happened in the life of Younger Daughter. Something more mundane, not glamorous. Just a school assembly on an otherwise unremarkable Thursday morning, for a cause that doesn't get much press at all. Little limelight, and not something for social climbers. A common thing. To be more honest, this sort of assembly was about a subject many of us don't really do well with. This assembly involves those in our society who are often not noticed, those who will be certainly never be chosen for any Royal Court having anything to do with the Rose Parade.

This was an assembly about helping families with children who have Down Syndrome.

Club21 is a learning, support, and resource center for those with Down Syndrome. It was started by our dear friend, just four years ago, in the living room of her home. Our family is blessed beyond measure to be a part of this effort. For 14 years now, we have known Molly, our friends' daughter who has Down Syndrome. As a result of this friendship, Younger Daughter has, on her own, taken this cause to heart. For some time now, she has been planning to lead this assembly, as she felt her classmates, all 400+ of them at her school, needed to learn about families and kids with Downs, and how they might help.

And so, on that Thursday morning, the gymnasium at Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy filled with noisy high school girls, and with families of children with Down Syndrome. An unlikely combination, two people groups who otherwise would not meet. Girls who have everything, and special needs kids who need, well, a lot. And they will continue to need a lot. For a lifetime. These are not kids you can afford to believe in for a just month, or a year.

One by one, families of Down Syndrome children got up and shared their stories. Stories of disappointment, confusion, frustration, challenges, sadness, and joy. Lots of joy. After just a few moments, that raucous gym quieted to the point where you could hear a pin drop. The assembly went on for almost an hour. I have never seen more focused attention from so many high school girls in my life. The girls were encouraged to take part in a charity walk that will benefit the families and kids of Club21. This will not make the social pages of the paper, but it will make a difference in terms none of us have the ability to measure.

And so, in the end, although Younger Daughter will always be a Princess in my eyes, its the commoner in her that I really love. And, often its better to be among the unchosen.

Making a Difference in LA

2011-10-17T21:57:00.000-07:00

Do you wonder sometimes if just one person can really make a difference, even in the midst of a world or a city where the sheer numbers of problems seem to defy the odds?

Look below for real stories, of real people, who believed that God had designed something special for them.

One person can make a difference, just look at the opportunities.

Deidox Films - The Story of Lindsay "...and then I spend all year....trying to prove it"

Deidox Films - The Story Pi Chui "because I know God, I am happy, I am at peace"

Unsung Heroes of Los Angeles - opportunities to become involved and serve the City, through the California Community Foundation; including the remarkable story of Andrew Bogan, who believed in girls that society otherwise gave up on.

Serving the Homeless of Hollywood through the Lord's Lighthouse

Understanding injustice in the world, and doing something to help, via International Justice Mission.

Tournament House

2011-10-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

Just another dull morning at the Tournament of Roses Tournament House.

2011-09-23T16:37:00.000-07:00

My Dad was a B17 pilot in World War II. I have always been amazed by flight. This story, sent to me by a good friend today, is remarkable:

Beverly Eckert

2011-09-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

This is Beverly Eckert, who lost her husband on September 11, 2001. Click the link below to listen to her thoughts, collected as a part of the Story Corp project.

It has been 10 years, today. I will never forget where I was that day, and what I was feeling and thinking. It was horrific.

Today, I will remember those many lives lost on that fateful day, and remember those left behind who still grieve the loss of those they loved so much.

Beverly Eckert reflects....

And Whither Then

2011-08-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

This week, a very good friend's son headed off to his first year of college. He has been raised in a wonderful family of faith, and is one of the most humorous, enjoyable, and clever kids I know.

He left this missive on his Facebook page several days ago. I can't get it out of my head. It is exactly right.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Benign, But In a Moment, So Much More

2011-08-16T17:45:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month, we received some very good news. But in the midst of this good news, there was a moment, just a small moment, that contained a brief and fleeting glimpse of the deep struggle, mystery, and pain that are a part of this life. Joy and sorrow, mixed together in an instant.

Several weeks ago, Nancy went to her surgical follow-up visit to learn of the pathology of her recent colo/rectal surgery. The result : no evidence of cancer. In fact, what had previously looked likely cancerous was in fact, benign. She is, and we are all, deeply and profoundly thankful. Words simply will not do. The doctors want to keep a close eye on her in the years to come, but for now, the way ahead is clear.

When Nancy met with her doctor, his schedule was typically packed to overflowing, and she only had a couple of minutes of time with him. I should interrupt here and mention that by some feat of sheer Divine Providence, we ended up with the Chief of Surgery at City of Hope as our doctor. The story behind this is too long to relate here, but is quite amazing in its own right. And so, this doctor is a busy man. And a man that Nancy and I have been thinking about a lot lately, now that our journey through surgery is done. And here is why.

When Nancy received her good report from the doctor, with a sense of compassion that is her hallmark, she replied, "Well, doctor, it must feel great for you to give out this kind of good news every once in a while." I think her reply came from both our brief experience at City of Hope, and our experience the past years as grown ups. We know now, sometimes painfully at this season of life, that often, cancer is not equivalent with good news. Not all polyps are benign. Not everyone gets to go home from the doctor and right back to leading a "normal" life. Many do not. Many are stuck in the midst of wondering, and worrying, and confusion, and hoping. Many face multiple surgeries for a cancer that will not go away. Many do not make it out of that dark journey.

At just the moment that Nancy spoke her reply, the doctor's eyes dropped, for a moment, to the ground. For just a moment.

What was happening in just that moment, in that brief, fleeting, glance away? Oh, to know the thoughts in the mind and heart of that surgeon at just that moment. To know the many surgeries he has performed that did not look good at all, where the cancer was not neatly contained and defined, or benign, or simple. To see the things he has seen with his trained eyes. To be present in the recovery rooms, where the post surgical report was not so happy, so simple, or so, well, benign. To watch with his eyes, as he explains a not-so-hopeful diagnosis to family members desperate for good news. And, as he travels home in the car in the dark, after a long day of surgery and meetings, and patient visits; to know the thoughts and wonderings of this good man.

In that brief look to the floor, so very much was contained in a brief and slightly awkward silence. So much contained, and to Nancy, to us all, unknown but felt.

But we can imagine some of the things our doctor was thinking. And we can pray. We can pray for him, for the good people at the City of Hope, and for those involved in medical research that just may, someday, bring relief to so many lives.

And I have been wondering too. Why did we get this good news? Why us? And now that we have it, what will we do with our lives that will make this diagnosis a blessing to others. Its not just about us, its about so very much more. Take a moment and watch this; you will see our smiling doctor at 0:30 exactly. Watch this, and feel hopeful, and if you feel lead, give to the City of Hope, or the cancer cause of your choice. Its important - its a matter of life and death.

A Visitation

2011-07-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

It was the day of surgery. After several short weeks of tests and doctor visits, the day had come for Nancy to undergo the procedure that would hopefully remove the rest of a troubling polyp and possible colon cancer.

This was a different day. A day spent filling out forms and waiting in a large hospital, unsure of what lay ahead. There we were, the two of us, after almost 23 years of marriage, together in the waiting area. Together, but also wondering whether we might not be somewhat alone on this ride. Of all days, this was a day upon which it would be nice to know that one is not doing this surgery thing, well, solo.

In a perfect world, on a day like this, it would be nice be surrounded by a group of thoughtful, intelligent, compassionate friends. Those who could say just the right thing at just the right time. Perhaps a trained psychotherapist, and a thoughtful relative, someone who does not spout off platitudes, but knows when to be quiet, and when to offer a word of encouragement. Oh, and having someone with a thorough theological education might be nice as well, for those tough, "where is God?" moments.

That is not who we had with us, and that is not what we got.

As we waited, in the distance we spotted a familiar sight, and a familiar person. For the past 22 years we have lived in the same house on the same block. At the other end of the block was a family with a mentally challenged son, who is close to our age. For many years, he lived at home, and worked on the housekeeping staff at City of Hope. We will call him John.

And on this day, of all days, the man we got was John. And it was, at least for me, a Visitation of sorts.

John came slowly ambling toward us, cleaning towel in hand, his face brightening as he recognized his neighbors from South Pasadena. There is something quite calming about a conversation with John, he tends to put one at ease quite quickly, as was the case with us on this morning. John does not engage in complex conversation, but the style in which he speaks and listens is something we could all use as a lesson in active listening.

"How are you today", John asks.

"Fine, John, and you?" is our reply.

"Fine. What are you doing here today?", John wants to know.

"Well, we are here for Nancy's surgery; she is scheduled to go into the operating room soon", we say.

"Who is her doctor?", John asks, smiling. (We find out later, that almost everyone at City of Hope knows John)

We tell John the name of our doctor, and he asks, "Is he a good doctor?"

(I should interrupt here and add that this question is not one that I am sure is published in any therapy manual for hospital or social workers anywhere. But for us, this seemed a perfectly logical and good question, asked by a good man with absolutely none of the grown-up filters we place on ourselves in our modern society.)

And so, we answered, "Yes, John, he is a very good doctor, and we like him a lot". By the way, he is, and we do. Saying that "yes" felt very good indeed.

"That is good", smiles John. "How long are you staying here?", he asks.

"Just one night", is our reply.

"That is good", responds John. "Then, you can go home and recuperate", he adds.

The conversation lasted a bit longer, but I don't recall the details. They don't really matter. But I can tell you that I had the sense, in just that short conversation, on that very important morning, that we didn't need any experts, or wise people, or good counsel.

Instead, we got what we needed. A few moments with John.

Simple Gifts - David Tolk

2011-07-18T17:22:00.000-07:00

Just now, this song shown below came on my Pandora at my office. Tomorrow, my wife will have surgery to remove what appears now to be a small cancer in her colon. How is a song, and a surgery related? I am not sure how, or if at all.

But maybe they are.

Maybe the mysterious and slightly frightening events of the past month or so are, in fact, under the hand of control of a God we cannot see, and do not understand more than a shadowy imagine of a man in the desert two thousand years ago. Just maybe.

Tomorrow, as Nancy sleeps in sedation, surrounded by gifted hands a surgeon and staff, at a remarkable hospital, I am choosing to believe its all connected. In a way I may never understand, but can try to embrace with my feeble heart, and mind, and arms. It seems the Shakers got some things right.

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right

Carcinoma

2011-06-26T21:13:00.000-07:00

Where We Are
Intramucosal carcinoma. Just two words, but the gravity they contain can be life changing.

With those medical reference words, our lives together as a family have taken a detour we did not expect. But let me state at the outset that our likely venture into the world of cancer treatment may very well be a modest one. As we have learned in the past weeks, there are so many more who are assaulted by cancer to a degree we cannot even begin comprehend.

For the past several months, my wife Nancy had been having some unusual digestive issues, and so, she went to see the doctor. After that visit, an early colonoscopy was referred, and after the pathology reports came back, we now are familiar with two new words. A quick word of warning and advice. Nancy's maternal grandfather likely died of colon cancer. If you have ANY history of colon cancer in your family, go get a colonoscopy. NOW.

These words led us to this place, The City of Hope in Duarte, and to a kind and informative surgeon. Nancy will be having further endoscopic look-sees soon, and then likely minor surgery to remove the balance of the cancerous tissue in July, and at this point we are quite hopeful the surgery will be the only significant milestone we have in the world of cancer. But we do not know where this will end. We can only, well, Hope. I think we are at the right place for that.

What This Might Mean
One does not wake up on a Friday morning and decide, "I think today I will go to a national cancer center and walk the halls, just to see what it feels like." But last Friday found me doing just that, as I waited for Nancy to complete the scheduling process of her future visits. And what a walk it was. Without knowing, my walk led me past the pediatric oncology offices. There, looking in the door as I passed was a boy of no more than 7, with a bald head and surgical mask, staring into the aquarium in the waiting room. As I felt my heart rising in my throat, suddenly, right there, our family journey with two words had its proper perspective.

I am not going to tell you a story of how our majestic and exemplary faith has made this experience thus far entirely free of questions or worry. Simply stated, we do not know where we are headed on this journey. But we do know this; we are not going alone. Over the past days we have been embraced by friends and family with notes, and cards, and even flowers (save those, please, they are a bit creepy at this point in the process), but mostly with love. We are at peace, knowing also that we are not alone in the Universe. These two medical reference words now with us, these words do not define us. They are not larger than we are.

In the midst of this, we are reminded that we do not travel this road alone. There is One who knows our way, and walks these halls with us. He knows the way we will go.

Coming Soon, at the Greek Theater

2011-06-13T21:57:00.000-07:00

In 10 days, we are all going with a bunch of friends to the Greek Theater to see....

Of Baby Owls, Ancient Indians, and A Nightfall Walk

2011-06-05T20:28:00.001-07:00

We think all that matters is today. The immediate. Now. But sometimes, just going on a walk helps us to get perspective on the broad arch of time, and how we fit into that.

This is a nighttime view of Eddie Park in South Pasadena, just a block and a half from where we live. Last week, I took Our dog Ella on a walk past Eddie Park, just after dusk, as the western skyline darkened.

Something wonderful and mysterious happened, and I have been thinking about it on and off ever since.

The Little Owl
It was a quiet night, no one was out, all the families and kids who frequent the sideways and parks this time of year were elsewhere. As Ella and I approached Eddie park in the gathering dusk, we both heard a rather soft peeping sound that drew our attention to the center of the open grassy field. And there, about 40 feet away on the lawn of the park was a small, peeping creature about the size of a little football; faintly visible in the park streetlight. A baby barn owl, right there in the middle of the city. A little visitor from nature, peeping in the grass. And Ella seemed to know not to yank the leash and chase this baby. As we stood there, surprised and staring, the baby owl suddenly took graceful flight to a tree above and ahead of us. As she gently swooped above us, we could tell this was not a bird new to the concept of flight, this was a little owl confident of her flying skills.

I stood still and wondered how she ended up in this park, on this night, at just the time we came walking by. I, interrupted on my walk, consumed in the thoughts of my workday and family, and Ella, sniffing for something interesting in the grass. Why did we meet like this, in this simply beautiful weekday evening calm. And where would that baby owl go from there? What would the rest of her night be like, where would she fly, what might she see, quietly gliding in the growing dark over the homes in our neighborhood, looking into the lighted windows of our homes?

The Indians
Several weeks ago, our local paper revealed a fascinating glimpse into the long-ago history of our neighborhood. Recently, a woman gardening in her back yard, just two blocks from our home, discovered a human skull buried in the shallow soil of her garden. The Coroner was called, research was done on the remains, and it was determined that this was very likely part of the remains of a Gabrielino-Tongva Tribe member. Just inches from the bottom side of the grass. Right here, blocks from our home. This Indian man or woman, there in the shallow soil, resting quietly for hundreds of years. What had our neighborhood been like back then, in 1500 or 1700, long before streets and sidewalks and running water and homes and parks? Before the Civil War, the Great Depression, and the Great Wars? Did you walk on the land that would become our street and our yard? What did you know of the greater world?

As Ella and I continued on our evening walk, I thought of that little owl and the buried Indian. And then, it struck me that the real original occupants of the place we call home were......owls and Indians. For hundreds, if not thousands of years. Long before I, or my family, or any of our friends even existed. Deep into history.

I live in a world of present tense. Most of the time, I have little interest in the past, or in pondering my place in the grand scheme of things. Maybe life is just a series of random events or loosely connected occurrences.

But perhaps that walk in the park, the finding of the Tongva in the garden soil, and those moments with the baby owl are not random at all. Maybe these things are all orchestrated, are part of a deep mystery we will never fully understand. A final resting place in a suburban garden, a little owl drifting over our homes in the deep of night, and a walk in the dark by a middle-aged man. All connected in some way? I wonder.

More Than Just a Hike

2011-05-14T18:30:00.001-07:00

A couple of Sundays ago was Mothers Day, and my sweet wife and the mother of our children had a plan for her Special Day. She wanted to go on a hike.

Quite different from what Dad will want on his day - which will likely consist of a medium rare steak he cooks himself, and a .... sit. As opposed to a hike. But enough about me.

We loaded up the car with a simple picnic lunch, and took off for this place, above Glendale. The best part of the day was that Older Daughter had decided to board a plane and fly 1,700 miles home from college, just for Mothers Day. For me, this was a wonderful illustration of the magnetic power of a mother's love.

And so, the whole family was together again. It doesn't happen as much these days, with Older Daughter off at college, and Younger Daughter quite independent and very busy as a high school junior. And so, there was a simple sense of celebration in the collection together of us all, if only for a weekend. Studies and time with high school and college friends was put on hold. We piled in the car and headed out, if only for a couple of hours. It was time for Mom.

More than two years ago I wrote here about the Station Fire, and the overwhelming nature of this epic wildfire. For our hike, my wife had chosen a park and trail that was right in the middle of this fire. We really did not know what to expect, two years following this massive and utterly devastating event. I have read that the measured temperature in the middle of an open wildfire can exceed 900 degrees Celsius, or 1,650 degrees Fahrenheit. Complete annihilation of the landscape. One would expect to find black the predominant color, with patches of green showing through, finally, two years after the fire.

What we found was stunning. But the primary color of black only visible in small patched, with the overwhelming portion of the landscape now a brilliant green, spotted with flowers of an amazing array of colors. What was once black everywhere has now become, in time and the healing of nature, a showing of resurrected color. Blackened chaparral stumps and younger oaks yielding to the healing of time.

We hiked up and around the canyon, we enjoyed the vistas through the spring clouds hugging the San Gabriel range, marveling in the variety of flowers and plants, and laughing, just at the chance to be together.

Many years ago, John Muir wrote a poem that captured well our little afternoon in the hillsides and clouds, among the new hope of Spring.

WALK WITH NATURE

John Muir

Let children walk with nature,

let them see the beautiful blendings.

communions of death and life,

their joyous inseparable unity,

as taught in woods and meadows,

plains and mountains and streams.

And they will learn that death is stingless.

And as beautiful as life.

Our faith teaches us that death is stingless, but two years ago it looked as if death might have the last word in the foothills. And on this weekend, we learned the opposite. Regeneration, new life, bright color, these are the things that have prevailed in a once charred and barren land.

May it be so for our lives.

Good Friday

2011-04-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

This morning I heard a truly beautiful narrative on the meaning of the cross and Good Friday here. The text seemed so thoughtful, I have transcribed it below.

Beyond all the hypocrisy and pomp, above all the pain and confusion caused by the church, this is truly the essence of the who Christ is.

"As you stand there, in this strange, powerful mixture of recognition and horror, bring bit by bit in the picture, the stories upon which you have lived. Bring the hopes you had, when you were young. Bring the bright vision of family life; of success in sport, or work, or art. The dreams of exciting adventures in far off places. Bring the joy of seeing a new baby, full of promise and possibility. Bring the longings of your heart. They are all fulfilled here.

Or, bring the fears and sorrows you had when you were young. The terror of violence, perhaps at home. The shame of failure at school. Of rejection by friends. The nasty comments that hurt you then, and hurt you still. The terrible moment when you realized a wonderful relationship had come to an end. The sudden, meaningless death of someone you loved very much. They are all fulfilled here too.

God has taken them upon himself in the person of His Son. This is the earthquake moment, the darkness at noon moment. The moment of terror and sudden faith, as even the hard-boiled Roman soldier blurts out at the end.

But then, bring the hopes and sorrows of the world. Bring the millions who are homeless because of flood or famine. Bring the children who are orphaned by AIDS or war. Bring the politicians who begin by longing for justice and end up hoping for bribes. Bring the beautiful and fragile earth on which we live. Think of God's dreams for his Creation, and God's sorrow at its ruin.

As we stand here by the cross, let the shouting and pushing and the angry faces fade away for a moment, and look at the slumped head of Jesus. The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Him, here, on the cross. God chose Israel to be His way of rescuing the world. God sent Jesus to be his way of rescuing Israel. Jesus went to the cross to fulfill that double mission. His cross, planted in the middle of the jostling, uncomprehending, mocking world of His day and ours, stands as the symbol of a victory unlike any other.

A love, unlike any other. A God, unlike any other."

O Magnum Mysterium - University of Utah Singers

2011-04-21T18:13:00.000-07:00

Today is Maundy Thursday, the day Christians commemorate the Last Supper.

This piece seems particularly appropriate for today. Although the lyrics deal with the mystery of the common birth of Jesus, I find the mystery continues to the last moments of his life - the moments of that last meal.

The Man on the Road

2011-04-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

So much in this life is thrust upon us suddenly. We have no idea its coming, we are completely unprepared, and afterward we are never the same again.

We all know the feeling. What seems like a normal day is suddenly changed into a day we will never forget. A phone call comes that completely takes our breath away. The doctor delivers news that we have been dreading to hear. News arrives that a friend is in deep trouble, life threatening trouble. An ordinary day becomes extraordinary. Filled with shock, pain, confusion, wondering, and sometimes panic.

And then, when the day changes, we must face it. We cannot flee.

For the past week or so during Lent, and coming now into Holy Week, I am struck by the moment in which Simon is abruptly thrust into the path of Jesus. We know he was from Cyrene, which is now Libya. But beyond that, and the names of his sons, the rest is mystery. What was he doing in Jerusalem? Why was he beside just this road, at just this time of day? Was he there by accident, or did he plan to be there? Did he hear the noise along the Via de la Rosa, and come running to see what was going on?

Here is an otherwise ordinary man, thrust into a day he will never forget. Just like we have been at one point or another in our lives. And, someday it will happen again, to us all.

We have no idea why Simon was there, or why he was compelled to carry the cross. Luke's gospel emphasizes the coercion of Simon, citing that he was seized, the Cross of Christ laid upon him, and forced to carry it behind Jesus. It’s unclear here even what the motivation of the Roman soldiers was. They may have feared that Jesus, thoroughly beaten by the Romans, may not survive carrying the Cross long enough to be crucified. Or maybe they caught something in the eyes of Simon that made them want to force him to become a participant in this cruel parade. Was there something there in his eyes? Fear, or shock, or horror? Perhaps a fleeting glance of compassion?

Simon was caught up in a moment of cataclysmic significance. He thought he was just standing beside the road. But really, he was standing at a place where Heaven and Earth were colliding. And after this day, nothing would ever be the same again.

We all face days, and moments that change us forever. And most of the time, we do not enter these events as willing participants. Neither did Simon. But I wonder, and I am guessing that afterward, he was never the same again.

Waiting Ad Infinitum, Jury Duty

2011-04-06T15:43:00.000-07:00

The universe has aligned against me. I have been selected to appear for jury duty. Welcome to the Land that Time Forgot.

As I write this, I am sitting in the 11th floor of the LA County Criminal Justice Center, a lovely mid-60s architectural mistake in downtown LA. I am in a room of about 150 other semi-conscious, reading, semi-comatose, sleeping, and staring-off-in-the-distance souls. This room is called the "Juror Assembly Area". Perhaps a better name would be Terrestrial Purgatory. But this Purgatory has wireless, thank you God!

As I look at the Catholic Encyclopedia, I note that "the sleep of peace" may be a part of Purgatory. A number of those around me are already there.

This place is quite unremarkable. TSA style screening upon building entry (I have been "wanded" twice), a dim and completely uninviting lobby, administrative staff who appear as if they should be cast in a zombie movie, and elevator service that employs all the efficiency of the Victorian Era. It takes from 5 to 10 minutes for one of four elevators to arrive at whatever floor you are on. Hello, LA County....they now have an app for that!

There are about 150 people in this room. About 120 of us have been waiting all day, with only one jury being empaneled to leave the room. This seems strangely odd, and suggests to me that the County might want to take all this money being spent on jury room furniture and painfully slow elevator performance, and instead hire a group of competent judges and/or retired lawyers who can certainly try cases without the need for those of us in this waiting room. I am fine for giving the judiciary more power in this regard. Or, take the money and throw us all a Toga Party. Either would be fine. Its the sitting and waiting that is beyond comprehension.

A feeling of suspicion about the jury system also comes from a number of years of experience as an occasional court expert witness in my work. A number of times I have testified and looked upon a panel of jurors, knowing with relative certainty that these good people had no idea what I was talking about as an expert, and were more interested in when break time was, or what was on TV that night. I know I am feeling like that right now. I would rather watch Dancing With the Stars for an entire day than suffer through this immense and interminable bore.

It is said that "Good things come to those who wait". I am hoping for a pony, at least.

Of Emense Suffering, Loss, and Hope

2011-04-03T17:45:00.000-07:00

The events of the past several weeks in Japan and Libya have focused my attention on a part of life of which I know very little, if anything.

Human suffering.

During the 1960s and 70s I grew up in a home where virtually all pain, disappointment and heartache were ignored. My Mother in particular purposefully distracted me from the pain of others, or made tragic events seem as if they had not happened. When people would ask my Mom how she was doing, the answer was, invariably, "fine". It seemed as thought just about everything was always described as just "fine". "Fine" was one of my Mom's favorite words. As I grew up, I slowly began to realize that the world around me was anything but fine.

And in the past two weeks, the level of suffering and loss we have seen in the world, yet again, staggers the imagination. Entire villages washed away, families torn apart, lives shattered. The stories seem endless, the images riveting, the loss more immense than words could ever convey. There is a depth to this suffering that cannot be plumbed, or written about, or ever understood by most of us.

And this time, so strangely, we were able to watch the tragedy unfold in almost real-time, as a helicopter hovered over the eastern coast of northern Japan, and relayed live video of the tsunami washing away vast swaths of coastland, homes, and lives. Cars and buses which one moment were driving down coastal roads, had become in the next few moments, the final containers in which people would take their last breaths on this planet.

How can one even begin to comprehend the depth of sorrow, when you read of the couple who lost both of their children; because they were moved after the earthquake to the safe area in the playground of their elementary school, only to be carried away moments later by the waters of the tsunami? How can you empathize, how can you cope with this news? This is all too big, too overwhelming. Bright and promising lives, simple seaside villages, dignified elderly Japanese, all washed away in sudden 30 foot tsunami of suffering, obliterating everything in its path.

And in the midst of this, if I am honest, I must ask myself, where is God? Why did this happen? To these people, in this place. We have all read the stories of elderly Japanese who are now facing, yet again, a cataclysm of massive proportions. After the fire bombing of Japan at the end of World War II, and the complete erasure of both Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the older generation of Japan is bearing a burden for the second time, that no other nation has experienced in modern history. What is going on here? What could be the point of this? I confess I do not know, nor do I understand.

And is there Hope?
Niholas Kristof of the New York Times writes of the Japanese people,

"There’s a kind of national honor code, exemplified by the way even cheap restaurants will lend you an umbrella if you’re caught in a downpour; you’re simply expected to return it in a day or two. If you lose your wallet in the subway, you expect to get it back."

For the better part of the past 60 years, the Japanese people have endured unbearable hardships with dignity and grace. Watching this has brought tears to my eyes. Had this calamity been visited upon us, we Americans would likely be busy blaming one another on cable TV for who was at fault for not being well prepared. The tort lawyers would be lined up ready to sue. And there would likely be looting.

But the Japanese face this all with a quiet resolution that is resolute, yet full of dignity. There is a hiku by one of Japan’s greatest poets, Basho:

The vicissitudes of life.
Sad, to become finally
A bamboo shoot.

I think Japan will rise from this ruble, assisted by the world community, to go on teaching us about order, dignity, and hope. They already are an example to us all.

Sing Me To Heaven

2011-03-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

This choral piece is sweet and touching. The lyrics are below. Go here to read the stories of healing and grace associated with this song.

Sing Me to Heaven
Text by Jane Griner

In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poets' gloss
Words alone are vain and vacant, and my heart is mute
In response to aching silence, memory summons half-heard voices
And my soul finds primal eloquence, and wraps me in song

If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby
If you would win my heart, sing me a love song
If you would mourn me and bring me to God,
sing me a requiem, sing me to Heaven

Touch in me all love and passion, pain and pleasure
Touch in me grief and comfort, love and passion, pain and pleasure
Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem
Love me, comfort me, bring me to God

Sing me a love song, sing me to Heaven

Alleluia from "Sing a New Song" by Ronald Staheli

2011-03-14T15:58:00.001-07:00

Chained, The Crabby Old Man Within Me, and Change

2011-03-12T17:03:00.000-08:00

Chained
For some reason, I have had these reoccurring thoughts of late. About people who get stuck in life. And about how I fear one of those people might be, well, me.

I have been wondering about how we can chain ourselves to the ground, restricting the arc of our lives by our own inability to see what is really going on around us. Or by our inability to change. And how we are unable to move from those "stuck places". This may be the root of much of the bewilderment, confusion, and pain we experience. I have been thinking about these things. We make subtle choices to become stuck. It's easier to be stuck than to get up and move, or so we think. These things don't just happen. It's really not meant to be like this. This wasn't supposed to be.

Becoming "Self Aware"
There has been much talk in recent years about becoming "self-aware", particularly among those of us who have had the luxury of spending a little time and money on psychotherapy. To be self-aware is defined as, "awareness of yourself as an individual or of your own being and actions and thoughts". In shorthand, this means that we might simply "get ourselves", and hopefully, most of the time, be better able to understand why we behave the way we do. Or so we hope. So I hope.

Not Me, I am All Better
But over the past several years, I have often found myself making the sadly self righteous comment that someone I know, he or she, this person or that, is "not very self aware". I say this when I feel that someone is not "getting it" about how they are behaving, or what they are doing to themselves or others by their actions or their inability to change. Why they can't deal with that character flaw they have, or that difficult relationship, or that troublesome child, or that impossibly stupid recurring situation. Things never seem to change. Clearly, they are stuck. And I think I know why.

I think I have it all figured out. Those people, they are simply not very self aware.

As if I am. As if I really do "get it". As if I am all put together. When I think this through, I then wonder if I am not becoming a judgmental and crabby old man. At 52. What a sobering thought that is.

The Truth
I should know better. I should know we all stumble through this life, sometimes with what seems to be just enough available light in front of us to take the next step forward. We are not very good at this becoming adults and growing up stuff. Life is bewildering and mysterious. Friends come and go, a loved one becomes deathly ill, a relationship becomes irreparably broken, we loose a job, and we are confounded by the separation and pain around us. We feel chained to the ground, as if we have become some kind of modern day Gulliver, unable to move. Sometimes, it seems to make no sense at all.

And then, I hear, again, this story of choices, for what seemed like the first time all over again. A Story of Investment. A story meant for me. In particular, the last lines,

"And get rid of this "play-it-safe" who won't go out on a limb."

Wait a minute. What is this about? Was Jesus an entrepreneur? Is this story really just about money? Is that all that's here? But wait, there is something more.

Maybe God is calling us, through the echos of history, to take risks with our lives. To step out of the comfort zone. To loosen our own chains. You know the ones. The chains of self doubt, of insecurity, of fear of change, of timidity, of doubt. The changes that restrict us from changing. From becoming more than we are.

I think He wants to start with that crabby old man that is trying to emerge from within me.

Of Quarks, Coldness, and Creation

2011-02-17T22:20:00.000-08:00

Looking Up
Orion the Hunter. Every night He guards the winter night sky over our home. Far above the back yard, standing tall and pointing to the northern sky. In the spring and summer, He disappears below the horizon, preparing the way for warmer summer months.

But for now, it is still winter. Often, at this time of year, those in colder climes tend to become tired of the cold and dark, and cold. Oldest daughter of our clan has had some brutal winter weather of late, with 18" of snow overnight some days back; the worst blizzard in Chicago in decades.

Of late, I have been thinking about this winter coldness, of constellations, and of how it all came to be. It seems nearly beyond comprehension that nightly, hanging above my house, is this amazing constellation with blue and red giant stars, and that light takes 776 years from one star to reach my upward looking eyes. And just below the belt of Orion, there is a stellar nursery, a place where new stars are being born. Just the other night, I grabbed my binoculars, went out in the yard, and found, sure enough, found the M42 Nebulah, a place where new stars come to life. Over our back yard, light years away, new stellar life taking form. As I look up, I am seeing the night of the 13th Century. How can this be?

Looking Around
Back down here, on earth, we bustle about our daily lives, with morning and evening, days and weeks, months and years blurring together. We joke with one another about how "time flies" and how we do not really feel that much older. But then, something happens that reminds us we indeed have been here quite a while, and the end is out there....perhaps close, perhaps far off. We don't know.

But that starlight over our yard, some of it took almost eight centuries to reach us. Fast and slow, our busy world below, and the slow universe suspended overhead, each night. Our little lives and this immense stellar canopy overhead. If we just take the time to look. And ponder it all.

And so, I stand in the back yard, binoculars in hand in my 52nd year of life on this planet, looking upward and wondering. And thinking. How can you live here each day and not be struck by the depth of this creation all around us? How can you not be affected by this? How can one be more concerned with sports scores or celebrity lives than by what is really going on here? By the beauty and the tragedy of it all. The joy and the heartache in even one day, let alone over the centuries.

Do you have a few minutes to share with me in thinking about such things? Take a look at the video below, of winter in one of the most beautiful places I know of. It is the pure beauty, the enormous complexity, and the stunning simplicity of these images that started me thinking about all these things. Were we created? Is this all some giant stellar accident?

I wonder about these things. Daily.

Winter in Yosemite National Park from Henry Jun Wah Lee on Vimeo.

Holocaust - A Musical Memorial Film

2011-01-27T16:48:00.000-08:00

With or Without You

2011-01-05T18:46:00.000-08:00

Before Older Daughter left for college this week, she made me a CD of some music she thought I would like. On the CD was a song by "Scala and Kolacny Brothers", a girls choir from Belgium.
Oh. My. Goodness. First, I love this music, it is surely part of what Heaven will sound like someday. Second, I just love girls of this age, I am partial, I am a Dad of two. Third, part of this video is shot in Berlin, a city I visited many years ago, before it was free. All this is wonderful, really.

Thankfully....

What I Know

2011-01-05T17:09:00.000-08:00

“God is not a belief to which you give your assent. God becomes a reality whom you know intimately, meet everyday, one whose strength becomes your strength, whose love, your love. Live this life of the presence of God long enough and when someone asks you, “Do you believe there is a God?” you may find yourself answering, “No, I do not believe there is a God. I know there is a God.”

~Ernest Boyer, Jr.

Los Angeles, London and Livingstone

2011-01-02T20:41:00.000-08:00

The weeks of December were remarkable and amazing for Older Daughter, as well as for the rest of our family. She left Los Angeles, stopped over in London, England, stopped again in Johannesburg, South Africa, and then landed in Livingstone, Zambia. All at the ripe old age of 19. When I was 19 and in college, I worked in a luggage store at the mall before Christmas. My dreams of a great journey were to go someday to Hawaii. My, how expectations and times have changed.

London, Los Angeles, Livingstone, three such distinct and different places. Yet, for this girl, three cities now connected by new adventures, memories, friends, and also now a bigger sense of this remarkable world. Definitely a different sense of the contrasts of life than her Dad possessed at 19 years old.

On her way home on December 18th, Older Daughter was caught surprised and unprepared by a massive (read: 5” in several hours) snow storm in London, grounding the final leg of her flight home to Los Angeles. Heathrow in disarray, stranded in London, without luggage, and wearing only sweats and Tom’s shoes, she spent the next 72 hours improvising a new wardrobe, worrying about getting home, but also enjoying the snowy sights of historic and beautiful city. London in the snow, at Christmastide! She made it home, via Houston, on the 21st; it was the best Christmas present of the year for our family. Her smile on our doorstep will not quickly be forgotten.

Given these events, the past several days have had me reflecting on these three places; London, Los Angeles, and Livingstone. After seeing the pictures of my daughter in England and Africa, so very far from home, and then spending time talking with her here, I have been wondering a lot. I have been thinking about these cities so distant from one another; not only in miles, but in also in time, in condition, and in need of our attention and prayer. Each city, so different, each so much in need.

Los Angeles, the city next to our home town, and by default, part of our greater home for many years. Unlimited sunshine, crowded freeways, fantasies and dreams, and hopes of fame and fortune. Millions, teaming back and forth on the freeways, isolated most of the time, one to a car, rushing forward. People come here from all around the world, hoping to find their future, to meet their imaginings. And yet the streets are not lined with gold here, but often with disappointment and frequent sorrow.

London, that foggy and snowy ancient Roman city. The city of Lords and Ladies, of Parliament and palaces, of history and gravity. Of Browning, and Dickens, Churchill and Montgomery. The cultural center of the British Isles, the center of the former British Empire.

And then there is Livingstone, the former center of trade in Northwest Rhodesia from the late 1800s that is now struggling to find its way, as is so much of Africa. A continent seemingly out of time. A place of the beauty of Victoria Falls, and the sadness of tribal poverty and the ravages of AIDS. A place the world visits, to see majestic animals on luxury safaris, and yet the same place suffering from global benign neglects. But as Kelly’s photos and stories have so strikingly shown us, Livingstone is so much more than a place or its history. For her, it was personal. It was real. Dusty, barely adequate classrooms and a school yard full of children, smiling, laughing, and being given a chance at a better life; something we take for granted here in Los Angeles, or in there in London.

And this girl, for her college Christmas break, decided she wanted to go. To go from here to there, across the world. Los Angeles to Livingstone, with an unexpected snowy stop in London on the way home. What motivated her to do this? Livingstone is a place of history and discovery, connected to London in a fascinating way – in that David Livingstone’s body is interred in Westminster Abbey. But not all of his body. The African natives, to whom he had become so close, cut out his heart, leaving a note on the body that read, "You can have his body, but his heart belongs in Africa!" Livingstone’s heart remains buried in Northern Zambia, near the place where he died. I wonder, where is my heart, even today? And where do I want my heart to be hidden, both now, and someday?

These past weeks, I have been thinking about what seems to me to be the only thing, the only event, that can unite the people of these distant and disparate cities. An event that occurred in obscurity more than two hundred centuries ago, in a dusty village in the middle of, well, nowhere.

At that single birth, everything changed. Time was carved in two. For everyone, forever. For countless thousands alone with their thoughts on Los Angeles freeways, for the masses riding the London tube, and for the dusty streets of Livingstone. All these places, given a chance again. Given hope. Christmas hope, across continents, and time zones, and time itself.

While they were there, the time came for her to give birth. She gave birth to a son, her firstborn. She wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in a manger, because there was no room in the hostel.
Luke 2:6-7 (The Message)

The Road Home - Stephen Paulus

2011-01-02T17:19:00.000-08:00

May 2011 be a year of new blessing, abundant life, and time to reflect on what it all means. And, above it all, may you find your way.... home.

The Road Home

Tell me, where is the road
I can call my own,
That I left, that I lost
So long ago?
All these years I have wandered,
Oh when will I know
There’s a way, there’s a road
That will lead me home?

After wind, after rain,
When the dark is done,
As I wake from a dream
In the gold of day,
Through the air there’s a calling
From far away,
There’s a voice I can hear
That will lead me home.

Rise up, follow me,
Come away, is the call,
With the love in your heart
As the only song;
There is no such beauty
As where you belong;
Rise up, follow me,
I will lead you home.

A New Kind of Christmas Story

2010-12-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve 1968 - The Good Earth

2010-12-24T08:34:00.000-08:00

When I was 10 years old, I remember sitting in the den of our house in Arcadia with my parents, on Christmas Eve, watching the astronauts of Apollo 8 conduct the first TV transmission back to Earth. Since then, 42 years have come and gone, on this, the Good Earth:

Mary's Song

2010-12-15T22:40:00.000-08:00

Photo information here.

Mary's Song
by Luci Shaw

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast
keep warm this small hot naked star
fallen to my arms. (Rest …you who have had so far to come.)

Now nearness satisfies
the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies
whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps
whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so slight it seems
no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps
to sprout a world. Charmed by doves' voices,
the whisper of straw, he dreams,
hearing no music from his other spheres.

Breath, mouth, ears, eyes
he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,
all years. Older than eternity, now he
is new.

Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught
that I might be free, blind in my womb
to know my darkness ended,
brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended
I must see him torn.

Into the Darkest Hour

2010-12-14T18:07:00.000-08:00

Into The Darkest Hour
by Madeleine L’Engle

It was a time like this,
War & tumult of war,
a horror in the air.
Hungry yawned the abyss-
and yet there came the star
and the child most wonderfully there.

It was time like this
of fear & lust for power,
license & greed and blight-
and yet the Prince of bliss
came into the darkest hour
in quiet & silent light.

And in a time like this
how celebrate his birth
when all things fall apart?
Ah! Wonderful it is
with no room on the earth
the stable is our heart.

Christmas Time
Originally uploaded by andywon

Norris Family Christmas 2010

2010-12-13T18:21:00.000-08:00

And so, it’s December again, and how did we get here? Each of us finds ourselves confronted with the Holiday reveling, rushing, purchasing, partying, and some mild forms of panic. If you are even a bit like me, you promise yourself that, finally, this year, maybe you will slow down, take some time, and ponder the wonder and waiting of Advent. But it rarely happens. For me, the act of sitting down to share with you a bit of our lives is an exercise in slowing down and remembering where we have been. This past year, together and apart as family, was marked by some significant moments, which can be sorted into some categories; Adventures, Celebrating Relationships, Losses and Gains, and Thankfulness.

Adventures. In the Spring, Nancy, Heather and I visited Boston, to look at several colleges Heather may consider in 2012. This summer found Heather, now almost 17, traveling to, of all places on earth, Albania – to serve young people there. Her time was remarkable, she was moved by the depth of acceptance and love among a people with whom she could barely communicate. Just a week ago, Heather and Dad snuck off to snowy Seattle to visit the Univ. of Washington, another possibility in less than two years. Snow in November, what fun! The fall found Mom and Dad helping Kelly move into her new apartment at DePaul University in Chicago. Mom and Kelly did a great job of decorating. Dad paid for it, thankfully. Kelly is doing well at DePaul, and loving her sophomore year, with never a dull moment. And to top it off, from the 4^th to 18^th of December, Kelly has chosen to travel to, wait for it….. Zambia (!) to volunteer her time in working at an orphanage. At this writing, she is safe in Livingstone, and loving it. Really now, what an amazing girl!

Celebrating Relationships. In the end, these are what make life worth living. This summer we all were graced by the visit from Canada of Nancy’s brother Dave, his wife Pauline, and their kids, Hannah, Julia, and Tim. Relations between our two nations were significantly enhanced. Also this summer, Nancy headed again for a week to Lost Canyon Ranch in Arizona for Young Lives camp – an opportunity to love and care for teen moms and their babies. Nance continues, each day, filing all our lives with order, grace, and laughter. Earlier this year, Heather was selected for the LIFE spiritual leadership program at her school. This is something we are very proud of, as it illustrates Heather’s care for the deeper spiritual life of her peers. In further simple celebration, this year was graced by evenings under the stars at the Hollywood Bowl, and in the elegance of Disney Hall, experiencing the beauty and mystery of great music, shared with dear friends and family. This fall we joyously celebrated the arrival of two new special friends, Dan & Anne Baumgartner, from Seattle. Dan is now the new pastor of Hollywood Presbyterian Church, bringing to a close a two year search, and a massive sigh of relief and a loud Hallelujah from Nancy!

Losses and gains. Just after I wrote you last December, we said goodbye to our dear brown chocolate Labrador, Cindy, after 12 years of companionship. This was a hard loss for us all. But in the Spring of this year (after some rather subversive influence from Steve), we adopted a new puppy of similar color and persuasion. Ella is her name, and she fills our home with happiness (and, Nancy will add, annoyances) each day. At the same time, we remember our friends who have lost loved ones this past year. Pets can be replaced, people cannot; this life we lead together each day is such a gift.

Thankfulness. As for me (Steve), I will not be sad to see 2010 end. This recession has been not a ton of fun, professionally speaking. However, by way of perspective – I remind myself daily that I am simply overwhelmed with blessing. I cannot believe I get to work with such a dedicated and fun staff. Further, I have been reminded to renew my commitment to use our firm to help, encourage, and nurture others who are less fortunate than us. And so, with that thought in mind this year, a Christmas gift in the name of you all, our dearest friends, has been thankfully given to Club21 (www.clubtwentyone.org), a community service organization in Pasadena that works to support families with kids who have Down Syndrome. Their motto is “Together Is Better”. Truly, having you as our dear friends; Together is Better, indeed. For many of us, this has not been an easy year. And yet, at the core of it all, we have each other, and we still have the relentlessly abiding love of God, expressed in the gift of the Christ child. We dwell in Christmas Hope! And so, reflecting this, join with us in remembering the words found on the Oval Office desk of Franklin Roosevelt during the darkest years of the both the Depression and World War II:

“Let unconquerable gladness dwell”

May this be so in your home and in your heart, always! Merry Christmas from Steve, Nancy, Kelly, and Heather!

Nativity Carol

2010-12-11T17:18:00.000-08:00

Nativity Carol

Born in a stable so bare,
Born so long ago;
Born neath light of star
He who loved us so.

Far away, silent He lay,
Born today, your homage pay,
Christ is born for aye,
Born on Christmas Day.

Cradled by mother so fair,
Tender her lullaby;
Over her son so dear
Angel hosts fill the sky.

Far away, silent He lay,
Born today, your homage pay,
Christ is born for aye,
Born on Christmas Day.

Wise men from distant far land,
Shepherds from starry hills
Worship this babe so rare,
Hearts with His warmth He fills.

Far away, silent He lay,
Born today, your homage pay,
Christ is born for aye,
Born on Christmas Day.

Love in that stable was born
Into our hearts to flow;
Innocent dreaming babe,
Make me Thy love to know.

Far away, silent he lay,
Born today, your homage pay,
Christ is born for aye,
Born on Christmas Day.

December 7, 1941 - Remembering 69 Years Later

2010-12-07T22:14:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I sat in the comfort of our home, and watched the beginning episode of The Pacific on DVD. I was again reminded that 69 years ago today, the world was changed forever by the events of this date.

I remain thankful for those of my fathers generation, who defended our freedom, and of the countless many who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Gaelic Blessing - John Rutter

2010-12-06T16:15:00.000-08:00

Little Lamb

2010-12-02T14:54:00.000-08:00

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and he is mild;
He became a little child.

I, a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Words: William Blake / Music: John Tavener

Wexford Carol - December 1, 2010

2010-12-01T11:01:00.000-08:00

The Wexford Carol
Christmas Hymn & Carol Lyrics

Good people all, this Christmas time,
Consider well and bear in mind
What our good God for us has done,
In sending His belovèd Son.
With Mary holy we should pray
To God with love this Christmas Day;
In Bethlehem upon the morn
There was a blest Messiah born.

The night before that happy tide
The noble virgin and her guide
Were long time seeking up and down
To find a lodging in the town.
But mark how all things came to pass:
From every door repelled, alas!
As long foretold, their refuge all
Was but a humble oxen stall.

Near Bethlehem did shepherds keep
Their flocks of lambs and feeding sheep;
To whom God’s angels did appear
Which put the shepherds in great fear.
“Prepare and go”, the angels said,
“To Bethlehem, be not afraid;
For there you’ll find, this happy morn,
A princely Babe, sweet Jesus born.”

With thankful heart and joyful mind,
The shepherds went the babe to find,
And as God’s angel has foretold,
They did our Savior Christ behold.
Within a manger He was laid,
And by His side the virgin maid
Attending to the Lord of Life,
Who came on earth to end all strife.

Conducting with Joy

2010-11-18T22:40:00.000-08:00

Give me a block of spongy stuff, my own orchestra level pup tent, and a baton. Oh, that we all could conduct our lives with such joy, abandon, and at the end, hilarity! Watch out Gustavo!

Veteran's Day 2010

2010-11-11T20:07:00.001-08:00

Hamlet's Blackberry

2010-10-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

I have just finished reading this book, which explores the way in which we modern folk have become tethered to our "screens" in so many myriad ways. This was a convicting and at the same time enlightening and encouraging read for me. I often wonder if I might be too connected, too dependent on my electronic doo-dads, and if so, what effect this is having on my soul. How do I deal with this new electronic culture, and what effect is it having on us all?

As it turns out, this problem is not new, it's as old as humankind.

The author, William Powers, takes us on a journey into the past, exploring the writing, thoughts, and cultures of Plato, Seneca, Gutenberg, Shakespeare, Ben Franklin, and even Henry David Thoreau.

What do these figures from history and literature have to teach us about dealing with our laptops, desktops, IPads, Droids, and Blackberry's, and even each other? Quite a great deal, it seems. Is it all bad? No. Is it nothing but goodness? No, not that either.

And why is it that we are constantly gazing into these gadgets? What is their magnetic appeal upon our lives? In a word, affirmation and recognition. We return over and over to Facebook pages, Tweets and blogs to find out if people like us, or love us, or even if they notice what we just said or tweeted. This need for electronic affirmation, and how this affects us is powerful stuff.

But maybe what we really need to be asking ourselves, as Williams Powers so effectively does in his book, is .........Really? Can't we just be. Here. Now?

I don't think for a second that the Windows Phone will free us at all, its just the same as the others. However, the idea here is just brilliant......

Attempting to Express an Inexpressable Faith

2010-10-27T21:37:00.000-07:00

Religious Talk
God.

Faith. Believing. Jesus. Holy
Spirit. When these terms are mentioned, right away, it seems, our minds start spinning.

And, if you're like me, your mind fills with all the images of faith that you have carried with you, likely for all your life. For me, it starts with the big stained glass window in the old Methodist church in Arcadia when I was little. The minister who sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher - I never understood anything he said.

Maybe your mind fills with, well, nothing; as you have no reference points for faith.

And sometimes when the conversation comes to those things of faith, your mind might fill with other things. Maybe the frustrations, disappointments, and anger you carry around inside you. The brutal death of someone too young to die. Angry at God. Lots of people I know, even good friends, are carrying with them a soft and subtle anger at the Divine. It's there, and they can't even articulate it. It weights them down.

For some time now, I have been beginning to sense that expressing my faith to others seems often, at least to me, an exercise in futility. Not because I don't think others will listen, but more because I have come to a place in my life where it seems that mere words, or paragraphs, or dissertations, or even volumes of books could not express accurately what I have experienced in my life. Exactly how do you tell someone that for more than three decades you have known, beyond any rational explanation, that not one day has passed that you have felt truly alone. How do you express something in mere words that is so much a part of your soul?

Nowadays, when I think about the prospect of articulating what I have come to believe, the first feeling, and even first mental image that comes to mind is ... weeping. And so that may be, at this point on the journey, the best I would have to offer as an explanation. My tears. Tears of joy, of knowing, of sadness, of loss, of laughter. And sometime, tears of confusion. But all tears forming a testament to Love. For a long time. Ever present and unyielding.

How do you express the inexpressible without cheapening the depth of meaning. How can you put to words the weight of all the substance of life? I can't leave it up to some televangelist with big hair in a shiny suit or Hawaiian shirt. The Guy That Has It All Together. That Emperor has no clothes.

There Are Some Words That Point the Way
However, their are such bright glimmers of explanation - in words written 2,000 years ago. If we just leave the explanation to the people who experienced faith in its original form (before we "modern" American religious folk messed it all up), the words seem, if only for a moment, to sing:

Ephesians 3:14-20 (The Message)

^14-19My response is to get down on my knees before the Father, this magnificent Father who parcels out all heaven and earth. I ask him to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but a glorious inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And I ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you'll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ's love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God.
^20-21God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.

   Glory to God in the church!
   Glory to God in the Messiah, in Jesus!
   Glory down all the generations!
   Glory through all millennia! Oh, yes!

And then, every once in a long while, someone in the modern paradigm gets it almost entirely right. Pardon this very loose film analogy, but I think Jodie Foster has been supported by some very good writing here in explaining the unexplainable, from the film Contact.

The Wounds of War, and the Love the Helps Heal Them

2010-10-07T15:30:00.001-07:00

September Again, Simeon, and Red Rover

2010-09-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

September Again
And so, we have come back around to September again. There have been 52 of them for me thus far, 19 for Oldest Daughter, 16 for Younger Daughter. My lovely wife has had somewhat fewer Septembers in her life. It's the first September for the new puppy, now 8 months old and sleeping at my feet as I write this. This can be a time of year to take stock of the summer past, and look forward to the fall ahead, and perhaps ponder our place in the Universe.

The end of summer. Time to say goodbye to longer days, warm evenings; being able to jump in the pool at 8 PM and not get chilled after you get out. Its also time for the start of school. The streets in our neighborhood are again full of parents and kids, all walking to school. The 7:45 AM rush, a timeless tradition here for more than 50 years or so, I guess. Strollers, little bikes, kids in helmets, small students with parents holding hands, backpacks and lunch sacks, moving slowly westward from the top of our street, daily participants in some not-so-distant Big Event.

It really is a Big Event, this life we lead, isn't it? Full of millions of little events, like your first bike solo, your first day of school, and, as you grow older, heading back to college in the early fall. All these seemingly little events that begin to pile up, and make something beautiful, or sad, or challenging. Each step is important, and if we handle them with love and humor, perhaps the finished result might be something beautiful.

We participated in that again this year, for our second time, in the start of college thing. Three weeks ago, we were in Chicago moving Kelly into her completely hip college apartment. Four girls in three bedrooms (and what looks to have been the former den), ready for another year at school. Trips to Ikea, and Target and Costco, gathering up the stuff needed to make the apartment work. With my lovely wife along, I felt sort of like Cro-Magnon Man With Wallet. Following wife and daughter to all these places, grunting occasionally at some decorating choice, and supply my VISA card at the crucial check-out moment. Most of the sounds I made sounded much like the names of the products sold at Ikea, such as "Fnork", or "Trall", or "Glank". This is my new roll as the Dad of a college aged daughter; follow, grunt, pay.

Its a gorgeous apartment in Lincoln Park, two blocks from school in one direction, and three blocks from Trader Joes in the other direction. That sounds like the perfect location to me!

As I followed the ladies around Ikea and Costco, I was also quietly reflecting on how life had led me to this place, and remembering, through the fog of middle age, my own college years. What if I could relive those years, only with the middle life perspective I now have? What would that feel like, and how might I experience those college years differently? This is what I wondered, as I pushed the cart around Ikea.

Simeon
As part of all this pondering, about college and daughters and life, I have been reflecting on the ark that the life of Older Daughter is taking as she reaches toward 20 years. A sophomore in college now As a young parent there was no way I could have ever know or fully understood who she was going to become as she grew. No way I would have known that she decided in the fifth grade that she should become a teacher for her vocation. So many things I could never have imagined, that have now come to pass.

This place of "not knowing" about where are kids are headed is as old as humanity, and reminds me of one of my favorite stories in the Gospels. In Luke, where Joseph & Mary present their little child to the Lord, and a man named Simeon is present. How would you feel if an old man took your child in his arms and pronounced clearly just exactly what his or her future would look like? My favorite line in this story is:

"Jesus' father and mother were speechless with surprise at these words."

I can completely understand how they felt, those two very young parents. What was this old man saying? How did he know? And for me, what would it have felt like to have been told the future and fate of my own child, when she was so very young? What a moment. What a life. We parents, we need time to take it all in. Learning it all too fast can break our hearts.

Red Rover
And then, several days ago, I stumbled on this beautiful song by Rosie Thomas. It seems to connect the pieces together perfectly at just this point in life.

When they are little, you want to hold them so tight. I think Mary and Joseph felt that too. I did. But as time passes, our grip must loosen. I keep telling myself that. Loosen up, dude. I said that to myself as I circled around inside Ikea. Loosen up.

I need to remember, that, in spite of my own unconvinced heart, and sometimes undercover smile, that I need to just let her go. She's beautiful. Otherwise, she may never know.

Red Rover by Rosie Thomas

Red rover, red rover
Send Mary right over
School books in her hand
And her shawl over her shoulders

And let her run
Run as fast as she can
Don't let her grow up to be
Like her mother
Heart so unconvinced and a world
So undiscovered
And asking for forgiveness
Not knowing how to forgive.

And oh
Just let her go
And oh
She's beautiful
If you hold her back,
She may never know.

Red rover, red rover,
Send Daniel
School books in his hand
And a coat over his shoulder
And let him run
Run as fast as he can
Don't let him grow up to be like his father
Heart so set in stone
And a smile so undercover
And opening the door to love,
Never letting love in.

And oh
Just let him go
And oh
He's beautiful
If you hold him back,
He may never know.

Summer Staycation Reflections

2010-09-07T20:39:00.000-07:00

This summer was different for our family. We didn't go anywhere. And that was just fine for us.

In the past five years I have been keeping this blog, we have been to Toronto twice, Hawaii, England and France, and for variety, a lovely summer trip to Tennessee and Alabama. Sheesh. But this year, save for a brief trip to Chicago to help Older Daughter move into her college apartment (post coming soon), we stayed home. That was just fine for us.

Chalk it up the effects of the Bush/Obama/NINJA Loan aftermath summer of America's discontent. The Recession that Will Never Go Away. With one daughter in University and another in private high school, our summer plans were compacted to the not-even-close-to-purgatory of our own back yard. A pool, a puppy, and friends and family, that is all you need to get away from it all.

And when folks are blessed as we are by good friends and loving family, a summer at home can serve as a wonderful chance to reconnect, and deepen friendships and family bonds. Strangely enough, we ended up doing what folks used to do years ago in the summer, before the advent of jet travel and resort destinations. We played together in the pool, or over board games after dinner (yes, I admit, I am not a lover of after dinner board games!), we laughed, we caught up on life. We sat in the gathering twilight and talked. For hours. Just like 200 years ago.

June was graced by the visit of our one time house guest, now dear family friend Jill, who is a pastor in Austin, Texas. Long dinners on the back porch, great conversation, and a couple of visits to In N' Out made for a wonderful time with a treasured friend. A seminary student in a baseball cap on our front porch who turned into someone so close to our hearts.

July was a bit more quiet, but featured a visit to one of the most special concert venues in the world - The Hollywood Bowl. Twilight, a picnic dinner of simple things, a bottle of wine, and friends together. These are the things that last. July was particularly slow at the office; the slowest month in a decade, and in my poorer moments, I let it get the better of me. But recovery to the economy is coming, albeit at the speed of continental drift. The future looks hopeful, and we are all still employed. Again, thankful.

July was also the month of travel, for some, as Younger Daughter went off to Albania, and met people who changed her life and her heart. My lovely wife spent a week in Arizona with teen moms, serving with Young Life - one of our favorite things on the planet. Older Daughter and I stayed home, stayed employed (she as a children's swim instructor at the Rose Bowl Aquatic Center), and kept the puppy (mostly) out of trouble. Somebody has to hold down the fort.

August was the month of Atkins. From Kitchener - Waterloo, Ontario, the visiting in-laws joyously came. Five strong, and not a dull moment for 12 days of Southern California fun. Hollywood, San Diego, the beach, back to the Hollywood Bowl again. Three cousins, from 8 to 13 in age, and more fun than, well, a barrel full of Canadian monkeys. Relations between our two nations were significantly enhanced. My favorite part of the day was being able to come home and jump in the pool with Tim Man - 8 years old. Mr. Tim, they call him, the only male Atkins progeny. We invented a modified version of water polo and pool hockey that will soon sweep all of North America. Look for it, soon on ESPN.

And in the background of all this blessing, there has been a new sound track to this Summer of 2010. Mumford and Sons, from Great Britain. Remarkable music from a collection of college friends - and lyrics that leaving you thinking for days. See below.

Our wish is that your summer had some moments like these, the kind that get frozen in time in your memory. These are the moments that make us smile, and remind us that we are indeed not alone, that we are loved, and created to love others. If its only sharing a meal, laughing together, listening to beautiful music, or splashing in the water, we have purpose. Together.

Roll away your stone, I’ll roll away mine
Together we can see what we will find
Don’t leave me alone at this time,
For I'm afraid of what I will discover inside

Cause you told me that I would find a hole,
Within the fragile substance of my soul
And I have filled this void with things unreal,
And all the while my character it steals

Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I see

It seems that all my bridges have been burned,
But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works
It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart,
But the welcome I receive with the restart

Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I see
Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I've seen

Stars hide your fires,
These here are my desires
And I won't give them up to you this time around
And so, I’ll be found with my stake stuck in this ground
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul

But you, you’ve gone too far this time
You have neither reason nor rhyme
With which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine

To Change the World....or Maybe Not

2010-08-15T21:00:00.000-07:00

Whack A Mole for Jesus

Recently, I have been reflecting that there may be a big difference between "Human Doings" and Human Beings. We seem to get our self worth from what we can do, rather than who we really are. We need to be busy, to do something, rather than being content with just being.

And much of this may be due to fear; the fear of being powerless, and the fear of not making a big difference in the world. We like it when we think we are making a big difference, when we are changing the world, so to speak. When we are shiny, and happy, and powerful, and cool.

This past month, I read a fascinating book entitled "To Change The World", which is ironically subtitled "The Irony, Tragedy, & Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World". After reading, I am of the opinion that this work should be required reading for those of us who have spent far too many years inside the safe and cozy confines of evangelical Christianity.

James Davidson Hunter, the author (not a turncoat, he is a believing person), provides a very helpful overview of where a variety of sects of Christian culture stand, how they (we) got there, and what the implications of their thinking mean in our modern world. Largely, this book reminded me of how seldom I and my crowd take the time to critically self examine our motives, and, in turn, how goofy we must look to the world at large. Quite goofy.

I must share with you one of the crucial premises of this book, in order to illustrate its potential impact:

"At the end of the day, the message is clear: even if not in the lofty realms of political life that he was called to, you too can be a Wilberforce. In your own sphere of influence, you too can be an Edwards, a Dwight, a Booth, a Lincoln, a Churchill, a Dorothy Day, a Martin Luther King, a Mandela, a Mother Theresa, a Vaclav Havel, a John Paul II, and so on. If you have the courage and the hold to the right values and if you think Christianly with an adequate Christian worldview, you too can change the world.

This account is almost wholly mistaken."

How is that for a starter?

But, as the book progresses, one finds very thoughtful and detailed arguments of both the evangelical Christian right, the liberal social-justice Christian Left, and the detachment of the Anabaptists. It takes time, thought, reflection and effort, but I think this book is one of the most careful surveys of the landscape of American Christian political thought in a long time.

So, if we are delusional in thinking we can be earth shakers - just because of our faith, what are we to do?

More thoughts soon....

Angel Flight

2010-08-05T13:20:00.000-07:00

My half-brother, a former US Air Force pilot, sent me the link to this video today. Quite touching, and worthy of sharing with others.

Closing Thoughts from Albania

2010-07-25T18:52:00.000-07:00

The Team

Its been a bit more than two weeks for Younger Daughter and team members on their mission trip to Albania. They are flying home tomorrow.

From the blog updates and the photos, it seems to have been a wonderful trip. A chance for busy and media affected American kids to unplug from the rush of life here at home, and experience a more simple life, devoid of text messages, cell phones, the Internet, and the rest of the cultural delicacies they are inundated with each and every day. Maybe two weeks in rural Albania is the best thing that could ever have happened to them. I like God's timing.

We are guessing that the last post on the Albania blog was written by Younger Daughter:

The Camp

"Earlier this week Emma and I were talking about leaving and she described it as "bitter sweet". I couldn't agree more! We are all ready to be back in the states entering into our daily lives. It's the simple stuff like laundry, flushing toilet paper down the toilet, and easily communicating that we are ready to enjoy again.

However, the culture and mostly the people will be the thing we will miss the most. Maybe its just me, but I feel like our work is not done here. Let's stay another two weeks!! We have developed relationships with people here so quickly that it is frustrating to leave after becoming so close.

This trip has taught me more that I had expected. The most important thing that i have learned is how important it is to cherish and grow in our relationships with one another. So as us girls sit here painting our nails and talking, we are reminiscing about this trip and what fun we have had. Emma is sitting on the windowsill looking out on this little town Erseke with the sun shunning. Devon and Gaby are cuddling in the bunk across from me. Gaby is tending to her allergic reaction and laughing as usual (pray for her rash and throat). Darby and Marisa are sitting below me finishing up their nails singing along with the music. As for me, I am just taking it all in on the top bunk by the window.

So for our last day in Erseke Albania, we are headed out to lunch and back to camp to say goodbyes and play. Tonight we are going across the street to the church for dancing and community time. In the morning we will be on our way by about 930 am for Tirana, which is about a 5 hour drive.

Tomorrow and Monday are going to be very long and exhausting and I am sure we won't all be in the best of moods. But us girls plan to head into London for breakfast since we have the longer layover. Pray for us! Thanks for all your love and support.

From all of us on team California, Mirupafshim."

Color me a proud Dad.

When You Are Old - Yeats

2010-07-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, the words just speak for themselves:

                When You Are Old
WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

   How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Young Lives - You Were Made for This

2010-07-21T21:40:00.000-07:00

She could have spent a week at the beach. Or at a spa, or shopping, or laying in the sun.
But my wife chose to do this for a week. I admire her so much, I don't know how to express it.

Update from Heather in Albania

2010-07-17T17:34:00.000-07:00

A week ago we put Younger Daughter on a plane to Albania, via London. After 7 days we have a wonderful update from a remarkable girl. Ok, I am biased. Sue me.

There she is to the right in the orange shirt and shorts, in a photo taken earlier this week. So far from home, but so close in our hearts.

Update from Heather!

Hey Friends & Family:

Heather here! Hope you all are doing well back in the States. Your prayers and thoughts have really reached us here in Albania, so please continue to do so. This past week has been eventful and for the lack of a better word, amazing! When we arrived in Erseke, we all were too exhausted we didn't have time to soak it all in. However, as this week has progressed, we ALL have had time to adjust and enjoy this different but fascinating country.

As a team, we are working at a camp that the Stoscher family owns. The camp is a 15 minute walk (exactly) from the Stoscher's home. This past week and the next, junior high students from across Albania attend the camp to have fun and learn about God. For me, I started the week with the job of "accommodations" which involves cleaning throughout the camp. In the late afternoon, Emma and I would head back to the church for the neighborhood playground/devotion time. The Brits (which I am sure you have read about from Emma or Devon) run the program with games and a group devotion for about an hour and a half every week night.

I absolutely love helping out during this time. The kids are so kind and welcoming although you have almost nothing in common with them. After just one afternoon with them, Emma and I had several kids run up to us and give us HUGE hugs when we first arrive at the church. Although the communication/ language barrier has been the most difficult aspect of the trip, that doesn't stop us or the kids from connecting. Wednesay night we all attend the community "walk about" (which Emma mentioned). It was such an interesting cultural experience to be amongst the entire community. During the "walk about", the Brits started to dance and form a circle. The Americans (Team California & Seth from Seattle) joined in and we created a GIANT circle. The Albanian people looked as us like we were crazy, but also found us amusing. I am sure they think we are just weird foreigners. :) After a bit of dancing, we all headed over to a tennis court size carpet soccer field that is considered to be "indoors". We then played an intense but FUN game of soccer from 11:15pm-12:30am. (We all woke up sore and exhausted the next morning).

Thursday and Friday I worked in the kitchen almost all day peeling, washing, and cutting all types of food. I have never experienced so many flies in one area before in my life. During the afternoon, I helped with the crafts at the camp. We made bracelets, bracelets and oh, more bracelets. Every night, the children gather after dinner into the hall for a group meeting of singing, skits and a talk. Our team stays for the songs (all in Albanian or Sheep as the language is called here) and skits. The children are so passionate and excited about singing to God and presenting their skits to the entire camp.

Although we have no clue what is being said, there is a feeling of love and God's presence in that hot and sticky meeting hall. Last night (Friday) was the last night at camp for this group of kids. We had dinner and they gathered in the hall for a slide show and skits. Outside by the trampoline and ropes coarse, us Americans and the Brits set up a bonfire to celebrate the last night. We lit the fire and all the kids came out from the meeting hall in tears. The entire camp gathered around the huge fire and sang and hung out for about 25 minutes. Almost every single of the 130 kids at the camp were sobbing. I think this emotion struck all of us and proved that this week is so important and memorable to them (Just a reminder how important our presence is here).

This morning (Saturday), the entire team except for Isaac and I, went out on hike for about 2 hours. Isaac and I went back to the camp to help Seth on the roof (they are building a new roof on part of the camp). We installed fiber glass as insulation for the building in the heat of the morning. Never been so itchy and uncomfortable before! Then we all meet back at the house and went to a fabulous meal in town. Now, we are resting and waiting for a thunder storm to clear so we can head back to camp and go on the ropes course. Tonight, there is a yummy dinner and some traditional Albanian dancing on our schedule! So excited!

I can't tell you all how much fun I am having here. I have never felt such a sense of community and simplicity before and it is so refreshing. We have befriended almost everyone we meet from other American's, the Brits or the Albanian's. We all have found friends outside of our group and its so wonderful how close people get in such a short amount of time. I can't believe we only have about a week left but I am going to enjoy every minute of it. Shout out to Kel, the parents, Ella and Lib. Missin you guys and my bed!

Mirapafshim (goodbye in Albania)

If you want to see photos and other updates, go to the Albania Blog, here.

Allison Krauss - Simple Love

2010-07-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

A friend just sent me this video. Now I am a complete mess. This is beautiful. Simply beautiful.

Off to Albania, The Family Tradition Continues

2010-07-10T16:34:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, we put younger daughter on a plane (ok, really a church van, that was going to the airport) to that wonderland of eastern European vacation spots, Albania.

For those of you who have suffered along with this blog for more than two years, you may remember that this is Daughter Number Two to pick this lovely location for a summer mission trip. We are completely pleased.

Daughter will be traveling about 5,700 nautical miles from home; LA to London to Tirane. But maybe she will be doing a whole lot more traveling than that. It’s not just about a different culture, or people who speak a different language. Maybe it’s about exploring the world, and really about learning about two crucial things. Thing 1: God’s love for ALL of the entirety of the world, including this place called Albania. Thing 2: Understanding more about God’s love for each of us, and what He may be doing inside our souls.

I am amazed by this girl. When most of the kids her age are obsessing over the demise of Lindsay Lohan, or completely absorbed by their little local social circle, or finding ways to waste hundreds of hours on Facebook all summer, this girl wants to try something else. Can she articulate to others her motivation for traveling more that ¼ of the way around the globe, just to hang out in a little country without the ability to flush toilet paper for two weeks? It’s no Hawaiian vacation. What is going on here?

Maybe, just maybe, it’s what people refer to as “that still, small, voice” , calling her to serve and make a difference. Even if it seems like a small difference. Playing games with kids, sharing a laugh, going to church where you cannot understand a word but strangely get what is going on, making a meal, cleaning up. Little things. Little things that make a lot of difference. You will never know how much your just showing up means to the folks where you are going.

But strangely, mysteriously, God’s economy is often not based on grand events, or things that change the world in a day. His sense of what is important is usually found in the small events of life. A smile, a hand up, really listening to someone, loving when it’s not easy.

And so, my prayer for this group of teens and leaders:

God, go with all these great kids and leaders. Give them a real sense of purpose. Help them to understand what is going on, even when they have no idea what people are saying around them. Build solid relationships of trust and service. Keep them free from mishaps and injuries and funky germs. But most of all God, give them lots of laughter, because it seems to me that so much of what your Kingdom is about is found in laughter. We laugh because we know You are there in the laughter, and you love us more than we could ever imagine. It’s amazing. And for our girl, give her peace and joy deep inside her soul. Fill her with enthusiasm, even in times when she would rather be napping. Fill her heart with laughter. Amen.

This 4th, This Land, Our Freedom

2010-07-03T18:52:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow will be the 4th of July. BBQs with friends, flags and bunting, a parade down Main Street. Bikes festooned with red, white, and blue streamers. Fireworks just after dusk.

But there is so much more going on here - and it really takes place in the ordinary of everyday. Its the making of freedom, the slow forging of liberty. Its the way we live our lives. We get up, get dressed, go to work, care for the elderly and the less fortunate, and in the process, we make, hopefully, something good.

Today I came across a piece by my favorite columnist, Peggy Noonan, and it talks about words that were edited out of the Declaration of Independence:

And so were the words that came next. But they should not have been, for they are the tenderest words.

Poignantly, with a plaintive sound, Jefferson addresses and gives voice to the human pain of parting: "We might have been a free and great people together."

What loss there is in those words, what humanity, and what realism, too.

"To write is to think, and to write well is to think well," David McCullough once said in conversation. Jefferson was thinking of the abrupt end of old ties, of self-defining ties, and, I suspect, that the pain of this had to be acknowledged. It is one thing to declare the case for freedom, and to make a fiery denunciation of abusive, autocratic and high-handed governance. But it is another thing, and an equally important one, to acknowledge the human implications of the break. These were our friends, our old relations; we were leaving them, ending the particular facts of our long relationship forever. We would feel it. Seventeen seventy-six was the beginning of a dream. But it was the end of one too. "We might have been a free and great people together."

A free and great people. And interestingly enough, all these years later, Britain and the US are again "a free and great people together" in so many ways.

This 4th I am thankful for my country. But more than that, I am thankful for those men and women, now stretching back more than 234 years, who have lived and died and sacrificed to make this land one of the best places to live on the planet.

May we not waste this legacy and heritage. May we use it wisely in future years to bless this planet.

Dusk on the Hill

2010-06-26T17:15:00.000-07:00

Up The Hill
A couple of weeks ago, Younger Daughter and I took a short car trip up a hill. No big deal, but farther and deeper than I thought.

It was a late spring night, and for about an hour, up there on the hill, we just took it all in. It was nice to have at least a few moments to disconnect from the routine and busyness of these days to enjoy something simple, like enjoying the simple pleasure of a sunset over the city. I can't remember the last time I took time out like that.

Daughter wanted to head up the hill and take in the sunset, and get some photos of it, from a lookout at her school. I am not sure what motivated her to ask me, in the kitchen after dinner, if I wanted to go. She had just finished her sophomore year, perhaps this mid-point of high school; a marker in the ground of sorts. Parents: when you get asked to do something like this from your fiercely independent kids, drop everything and just go.

Top of the Hill
At the top of the hill above the Rose Bowl, you are surrounded on three sides by the City of Pasadena and its suburbs. As dusk settles in you can hear the low rush of the freeway below. This world we live is in constant motion, rushing from here to there, never ceasing. Standing above it all, I suddenly feel out of place - thinking that we had stepped out of that racing world below to a separate place, one of relative calm and reflection. Above it all, if only for a while.

Am I like all those people down there on the freeway, rushing headlong forward, not perceiving what is really happening to me, letting life flow past me, and not learning? There is so much going on around us in each moment, and we rarely take the time to stop and listen. And wonder.

There I was on that hill above the city, in a place I could not imagine being even several short years ago, with a young lady taking pictures by my side who, its seems just yesterday, was just half as tall and confident as she is now. Am I taking this all in? Do I know what is really happening in the mystery at the core of this life?

Over The Hill
Recently, I heard something on a podcast that has had me pondering, remembering my Dad, and reflecting on that night up on the hill.

It was a thoughtful conversation about the spirituality of Alzheimer's and aging, presented on Speaking of Faith. Psychologist Alan Dienstag described his relationship with Anna, an Alzheimer's patient, who was at the point of forgetting almost everyone and everything in life. They both shared a love of the beach, and Alan told his patient/friend Anna that he was going to be heading to the beach soon for vacation. The beach, Anna thought, her face turning pensive.

Anna smiled, her face lit up, and after some thought she replied...."There is some kind of music that lives there."

In the fog of her mental decline, there was a mysterious place where Anna remembered the essence of being at the beach, and perhaps of this life itself. The music that lives there. Where did that memory come from, in a mind that everyone had just about dismissed as non-functional. Perhaps it was a prayer. Its a place between knowing and not knowing. Its a mystery.

And there we were, up on that hill, taking in the sunset. Dad, at nearly 52, and daughter at just more than 16, standing in the gathering dusk.

There was music living there too.

Remembering Coach

2010-06-05T10:08:00.000-07:00

Last night, in the seventh inning of the Dodger game, longtime broadcaster Vin Scully informed the crowd via the scoreboard video screen that his friend John Wooden had passed away.

"Friends, I interrupt the ball game, and I come to you with a heavy heart," Scully began. "Those of us who knew him and knew him well are the ones who are blessed by his life."

Scully went on to quote Shakespeare:

"His life was gentle,
and the elements so mixed in him,
that Nature might stand up and say to all the world,
this was a man."

I had friend who was at that game. This morning I found a text on my phone from that same friend, indicating that after Scully's announcement the fans at Dodger Stadium, nearly to a last man, and many of them in tears, rose to give Wooden a standing ovation.

......this was a man. Indeed.

Incentives, Inschmentives!

2010-05-24T18:03:00.000-07:00

You will need 10:48 to rethink the role of leadership and incentives in business, the church, and non-profits. Its worth the time, and entertaining. Go for it......

Seredipitous Evening of Memories

2010-05-16T15:47:00.000-07:00

Friday night at 5 PM we got a call from friends who suddenly had happened upon 18 EXTRA tickets to see the Troubadour Reunion Tour of James Taylor & Carol King at the Hollywood Bowl. Lived here all my life, and I still love living in LA, if for nothing else but stuff like this.

Nancy got on the phone, and rustled up 12 close friends, and off we went. The concert time was 7:30, and we entered the Bowl (two rows from the very very top) right as the band took the stage.

As we sat in the gathering dusk, eating cold chicken, crackers, and grapes, we listened to two of the icons of our generation. It was beautiful. Thanks to the wonders of YouTube, and illegal videos, below, please watch, for the few days before the lawyers shut it down, a moment from that evening. This is the first encore.

From the "If It Weren't So True" Department

2010-05-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

This parody is another reason I feeling increasing sad about American Evangelical culture.

"Sunday's Coming" Movie Trailer from North Point Media on Vimeo.

Middle Life Reflections

2010-05-04T21:57:00.000-07:00

Over the course of the past several years, I often find myself reflecting on this journey in life thus far.

How did I get here, to this place, and where am I headed? What will the road ahead look like? And when the end comes, how will I feel about where I have been, and what little I might have accomplished? These are the things that I think about, on occasion, when the softer and calm moments of life present themselves.

These times of introspection seem to come at the oddest turns, but usually in a more quiet place; alone in the car, walking the dog, or sitting on our back porch on a quiet Sunday afternoon reviewing the events of another busy week.

Last week, I was completely surprised by a moment such as this. We took some friends to Disney Hall to see the LA Philharmonic, conducted by Gustavo Dudamel. As an introductory piece, "The Promise of Living" by Aaron Copeland was played.

Ever since I was just out of college I have loved the music of Copeland - which treats the history of our nation with such respect and tenderness. For some reason, Copeland's music has always had a profound emotional impact upon me. And so it was last Thursday, as I listened to the music of Copeland in a hushed Disney Hall. It was if I had been lifted out of myself, for a few brief moments. Transcendence.

As I sat in the dark, listening and reflecting on the events of the past several weeks, I was completely struck that my life is overwhelmed with blessing, and interwoven with remarkable people. I also thought back to the events of the past several weeks.

Time spent with friends, old and new, over coffee and lunches and dinners. The blessing of brilliant team members at work, and, as part of that, being content in my soul with this recession and its impact on our work. I reflected on the beauty and joy of my wife and daughters; how they daily amaze me.

I thought of a good conversation with my daughter in the car - a chat about troubled people, and how we might respond to them in a caring way. I remembered good friends, who are facing the lingering decline of a family member from an incurable disease, and the deep sadness that brings. I recalled participating in a charity dinner for children with Down Syndrome, and then of our time at another fundraiser, supporting the amazing work of Young Life in our area. I was overwhelmed.

For the past week, I have wanted to find a good video of the Copeland piece to share with you. As it turns out, the best video I could find revealed to me that this music was, in fact, originally composed with words! And the words. Look below. They fit perfectly. For us all.

The promise of living

With hope and thanksgiving

Is born of our loving

Our friends and our labor.

The promise of growing

With faith and with knowing

Is born of our sharing

Our love with our neighbor.

The promise of loving

The promise of growing

Is born of our singing

In joy and thanksgiving.

For many a year I’ve know these fields

And know all the work that makes them yield.

Are you ready to lend a hand?

We’re ready to work, we’re ready to lend a hand.

By working together we’ll bring in the harvest,

the blessings of harvest.

We plow plant each row with seeds of grain,

And Providence sends us the sun and the rain.

By lending a arm

Bring out the blessings of harvest.

Give thanks there was sunshine,

Give thanks there was rain,

Give thanks we have hands

To deliver the grain.

O let us be joyful,

O let us be grateful to the Lord

For his blessing.

The promise of living

The promise of growing

The promise of ending

Is labor and sharing and loving.

(Erik Johns)

Technology Can Be Beautiful

2010-05-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

This video of the effect of the volcano in Iceland on air traffic is amazing. Wait until the end, to see the effect of London coming back online. And remember, each of those little dots of light represents a hundred or more people flying through the air in a steel tube. I love it!

First Church of Pastor Moron

2010-04-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

This pastor is a complete fool, pandering to the culture in the most shallow way possible. So are the Shiny News Persons interviewing him. I am disgusted.

John 17 Reflections

2010-04-17T21:27:00.000-07:00

Recently, this fellow asked me my thoughts about this passage from the book of John. And so, this is what I replied, in an email today:

I have nothing smart to say or ask. I am dumbfounded. This prayer has always confounded me.

I feel inadequate to receive it, just reading it. Its as if I am listening to Stephen Hawking describe the nature of Dark Matter, or Einstein on theories of time. Its like, for a moment, we are given a glimpse, in this out-loud prayer, of the essence of the forming of the cosmos - in terms of the relationship between Jesus and his Father. It is too great to take in.

In short, I only understand vaguely what is going on. The content and context here is too boundless. These are the final farewell moments before Christ must face the Ultimate Question of death we all will face someday. How does he spend these moments? Praying out loud about his relationship with his Father, what he wants of his disciples, and words for us all to follow. This prayer is very intimate stuff. May we all be driven to a place like this. More often.

Something very mysterious is happening in this prayer. Jesus is not praying for himself to hear the words come out of his mouth, but for others to hear who are there. What might the moments of this prayer felt like for those watching? I can only imagine that it might be the most profound mixture of emotions we humans can feel in all of life. The feeling of joy and tears at the birth of a child; those rare moments of epiphany in the voices of a choir performing sacred works, the brilliance of an unexpected sunset, the pain of a broken friendship, and the foreshadowing dread of facing the impending death of someone we love so dearly. All these things, all together, at one time, rolled together as we sit closely and watch Jesus pray.

We try to open our mouths to respond, but nothing comes out. This must be a moment for silence - in the way that nature affects us most profoundly when we stand in the alpine forest and absorb the calm. There is deep meaning in our quiet reflection of the words of Christ.

Maybe part of understanding is to read this prayer over enough that it has a chance to sink into our souls, and affect the way we move forth into the word, and in turn, love others for Christ. Can we take the time? Can we really let it sink in? Can we, will we?

I still feel inadequate.

Of History, Colleges, and Hope for the Future

2010-04-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

Somewhere, high over the Nebraska corn fields, the ride home got rough.

And when it did, a teenage girl hand next to me tightly wrapped itself around my wrist. “I just hate turbulence, I just hate it”, said Younger Daughter, as we encountered bumps in the air.

Soon, that hand will loosen its grip, loose its fear of turbulence, and generally not be there as much any more. Life is like that. I know those emotional bumps will be more painful for me than these clear air ones, at 38,000 feet and Mach 0.75

This past week was spent in Boston, looking at colleges with high school sophomore daughter. What a great city Boston is....the deep history of the Freedom Trail, North End, Boston Common. And then the colleges, Tufts, Boston University, Northeastern, and Boston College. Even a trip to Harvard Yard. Oh my. I want to be 18 again! Wait, I take that back. No I don't.

I left the East Coast feeling greatly encouraged and enthusiastic about the state of higher education, certainly at least in Massachusetts. Enthusiasm, joy for learning, and minds ready to challenge the future, all very encouraging to this middle-aged fellow.

And so, that grip on my arm is gradually less.

If anything happens as a result of this college trip, and the someday soon ensuing college education, it will be that this same hand, the one that gripped my arm at 38,000 feet, will, after graduation, reach out in service, in creativity, in real friendship, and in compassion to a world that needs a hand to hold.

That is my hope.

Remembering a Paper Route, Forgetting Human Dignity

2010-03-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

When I was 11 years old, I had a paper route. It started near my house, and continued down Baldwin Avenue in Arcadia, right across the street from what was then the practice track for Santa Anita racetrack. The first paper I delivered was the day Robert Kennedy was shot - June 5, 1968. I will never forget that.

I will also never forget what my Dad, a World War II Pacific Theater veteran, used to tell me as we drove past Santa Anita when I was a kid. "That was where they used to keep the Japs penned up during the War", he would say as we drove past the stable, just off Baldwin Avenue. I remember the feeling of being glad we "penned them up", during the War. They were scary savages, according to Dad, and he never really had much good to say about any "minority" as I grew up. I feel like I have spent the rest of my life overcoming my Father's biases.

For several years I would peddle my bike past the past the practice track, and sometimes think about all those Japanese people, locked up there, some 25 years earlier. What did that feel like for them?

Here is a glimpse of what it felt like.....

Why Not a Shameless Promotion

2010-03-27T16:10:00.000-07:00

When you get things for free, for years, why not promote the latest thing they offer you.

I must admit, I love Blogger after this latest change!

The New Puppy, Cinderella Story, Traveling On

2010-03-15T22:36:00.001-07:00

My, what a difference 12 years can make. A voyage of a couple hundred miles can feel like decades.

This past Saturday, Nancy, Heather and I piled in the family van and traveled 3 hours north, up the Kern River valley, to Lake Isabella. More than a hundred miles away from home. But I was not measuring the distance in miles. My dimension was in time.

As we left South Pasadena, the weather was cool, bright and sunny; it looked like a wonderful Saturday was in store. About 50 miles north, after an hour of travel, we encountered a wall of clouds near the Tejon Summit on Interstate 5. At first, the clouds spit rain on our windshield. Soon, the rain increased, and in the course of 15 more minutes of driving we found ourselves in the midst of a mid-March snowstorm. Turn on the defroster, there is ice on the wipers! Winter was not yet ready to yield to spring in these hills.

We soon emerged from the clouds, as the car descended down the Tejon Pass, and the California Central Valley appeared in front of us. A familiar sight, one we have seen many times on family trips, dropping the kids off at summer camp, and visits to Yosemite, farther north. Our lives seem marked by these journeys away from home and back again. Before us lay the open Interstate, in my mind this road reminded me of time's passage.

Its like that growing up, and being a grown up. Some days start out sunny, and rapidly go dark on you. Cold and unfamiliar. You find yourself in weather you did not expect, you are unprepared, and not sure what to do next. Being a parent has so often felt that way....where is this road headed, we thought we knew the way there?

There are gorgeous moments on the journey as well. The trip up the Kern River Valley felt like a sudden trip to Switzerland. Steep canyons, green hillsides, the rushing river beside us. Blue Stickseed flowers carpeting the hillsides above us. Wild mustard yellow, and the beginnings of California Poppys. Breathtaking. Surely, God's hand is upon these southern Sierra canyons. Often, being a parent gives you a glimpse of God creating. Every day, as a matter of fact.

This Saturday was, for me, a journey sideways and backwards, altogether in one day. Just a little more than 12 years ago we made a similar but shorter trip, south to Rolling Hills to pick out our first chocolate Labrador, who I wrote about recently, here. Heather, now 16, was very small, just 4 years old, and very excited to be adding a new puppy to our family, after the loss of our first dog, Champ, several months prior.

There she is above, to the left, just four, holding our new family member. In my mind, this is about as cute as life gets. Little girls and little puppies. And there she is again, 12 years later, an amazing young lady, holding our new family member.

And then, after emerging from the storm, there we were, last Saturday at Deltadawn Labradors, choosing from three female chocolate lab puppies. Childhood all over again. I felt like a kid.

Do we need another dog? My wife will take the Fifth on that question. We already have a cat. So another pet, particularly a small one, is a LOT of work, I am constantly reminded. Piddle on the floor, whining at night, lots of walks, another needy little one in the house.

I confess this puppy is one of the more self indulgent things I have done in a long time. And I also confess, this little dog is a form of coping for me. Coping with the sometimes twisting and snowy road of middle age. A way to adjust to the poor driving conditions of one daughter out the door to college, and another getting closer to leaving us each day. I am not sure how I will cope. A furry brown friend (who never offers criticism of my clothes) at my feet each evening might just help.

And so, we drove up the Kern River Valley, from Bakersfield to Lake Isabella, looking for Dad's Fuzzy Brown Coping Mechanism. Perhaps we should have named our puppy Anna, for the daughter of Sigmund Freud, or Evelyn, for Evelyn Underhill, famous female theologian. But, as is often typical in my life, I had no real input into the naming of this brown colored dog. The girls of the family took charge. My voice became small and muted. But the name was not a bad choice.

Our new puppy will be named Ella, which primarily means "she" in Spanish. In medieval France and Germany, Ella is the name given meaning "all". For the part that really matters in our family, Ella is the second part of the name Cinderella. Our last dog, Cindy, was "really named Cinderella", as Heather would put it often to those visiting our home and meeting our old, now gone, brown friend. Heather named Cindy when she was four, and so, when a friend suggested the new pup's name, it stuck. A continuation of a great name. I find it fun that the Cinderella story is also quoted by Wikipedia as a "well-known classic folk tale embodying a myth-element of unjust oppression/triumphant reward."

Will Ella be our families tale of oppression and triumphant reward? Perhaps this means lots of puppy pee/poop in the early months, followed by years of honest, unselfish, lavish love.

I think that might be the story.

Olympics and Denominations

2010-03-04T12:53:00.001-08:00

My friend Alan Roxburg has an interesting take on the spirit of the Olympics, and how we need to move forward as communities of faith.

I like the connections suggested here.

And, if you have a half-hour, and want to relive all the fun and pageantry, go here.

This Old Church

2010-03-01T19:29:00.000-08:00

Recently, several good friends asked me to write down my thoughts about our church.

They asked me this because, over the past 10 years, I have spent a good amount of time, reading, studying, and thinking about this topic, and how our old church fits into the fabric of Hollywood and Los Angeles. After 25 years (!) of membership I feel mixed emotions about this effort. Sadness and expectation. Thanksgiving and disappointment. And yet, in the midst of it all, hope. Great hope. I must confess that writing this post has been difficult; it's like trying to describe a complex relationship with a family member. There are parts you love so much, and other parts that make you crazy.

An Amazing Place
The First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood is a remarkable place, having been founded in 1906. The founders record in the minutes of one of the first church meetings that, "having viewed several locations in the area for possible church development, of these, Hollywood seemed the least promising". And so, in many ironic ways, this sentiment has reappeared many times over the past century. Hollywood - least promising. Has a certain sarcastic ring to it, no?

The "Golden Years" of Hollywood Pres occurred in the 1950's, as Sunday attendance often exceeded 4,000. Sunday services were broadcast on local radio. Henrietta Mears began a college-age ministry that became known around the country. Actually, church attendance peaked across the country in this time period, never to be eclipsed again. Since those years, church attendance has been on a slow decline, in keeping with many mainline denominations across the country.

But, in the midst of the changes over the years, genuine Christian community still existed. In spite of a decline in overall attendance, many facets of the church's life flourished. The core of the church was vital and active; still seeking after the call and ministry of Jesus. A national media ministry began and flourished for more than 10 years, featuring former pastor Lloyd Ogilvie. A new incarnational ministry, involving young people living in, and caring for the inner city of Hollywood was begun in the 1980s. An extensive feeding and care program for the homeless began, and has continued, feeding hundreds every week. In the 1990s two Actor's Equity theater companies began, in two separate theaters on the church campus; they continue to this day. The legacy of our church has been to proclaim the Gospel, and serve the city, for Christ's sake.

Not Like It Used To Be
The dawn of a new century reveals a church working to find its way in a city that is changing around it. Commercial infill development in Hollywood has increased significantly over the past several years. New residential towers now occupy the neighborhood surrounding the church, and the demographic of the area is gentrifying.

Once thought of as a secondary commercial center of Los Angeles, Hollywood is now becoming the location of choice for both businesses and upscale residents. At the same time, the city around the church continues to struggle with issues of crime and a significant immigrant population. Hollywood Presbyterian spent much of the period of 1970 to 2000 serving as a home base "commuter church" to the larger Los Angeles, area, drawing members from as far away as Orange County. Today, that trend is reversing, and those who call the church home come from closer in, both in Hollywood and the urban core of Los Angeles.

The conclusion that we must face together as our church looks to the future is this: The old ways of thinking about how to “do church better” simply will not work. A new paradigm is needed.

Building a Team
During the past 25 years, the pastoral leadership model at Hollywood Pres has changed and evolved. During the 1950s, 60s, and 70s, the model was one of a strong pastoral leader - with a subservient staff surrounding him, a Benevolent King, if you will. During the 1990's, the model of this kind of central, autocratic leadership proved painfully distressing for the church, and a painful split in the congregation took place. Something new is needed.

In the current post-modern context, the former models of leadership style also will no longer work. A new leadership model is needed for a new era. A completely new model of "doing church" must be shaped. What do we do when a church’s organization becomes cumbersome or is no longer effective? In the past the church has “reorganized” and formed more committees. Subtly, the church becomes good at church committee work, and slowly loses its ability to care for individual people; to love people for Christ. While we might find strength in our re-empowered governing and overseeing bodies, we must remember how to cultivate and nurture real and genuine personal relationships which love one another as Jesus demonstrated.

The church seeks a leader, and moreover, a leadership team that consists of "player/coaches" who participate in ministry at the grass roots levels, sharing responsibility with the congregation. This is our church together, we can no longer rely on the old model that assigned all ministry to paid staff. Each member of the church must seek out and participate in the areas of their own personal passion for service.

We believe the transforming love of Christ does, indeed, change lives, and can in turn, transform the city around us. Together, we seek to live out the abundant life of following Jesus on a daily basis. In offices and schools, living rooms and coffee shops, work and home, bringing joy, laughter, real love, and hope into the heart of this enigmatic city that surrounds us. We are here, in this city, for Christ's sake.

Could Have Left - But Stayed and Embraced the City
Our church is still here; we have not left the city, and we will not be going away anytime soon. We are tenacious, hopeful, faithful, persistent. We do not give up easily. We will stay involved in this remarkable city around us. We have not given up hope for the city.

We will stay here, in the midst of a noisy, confusing, sometimes stark and uncaring city. We will not leave, we will continue to dream, create and live out ways to care for this city, our home. We believe we are on this street corner for a purpose that is beyond and above us all. We will continue to be here for years to come.

We seek to serve this city for Christ's sake.

Glory Bound - Wailin' Jennys

2010-02-24T21:14:00.000-08:00

When I hear that trumpet sound
I will lay my burdens down
I will lay them deep into the ground
Then I'll know that I am glory bound

I'll be travelling far from home
But I won't be looking for to roam
I'll be crossing o'er the great divide
In a better home soon I will reside

Hallelujah

When I'm in my resting place
I'll look on my mother's face
Never more will I have to know
All the loneliness that plagues me so

So I'm waiting for that train to come
And I know where she's coming from
Listen can you hear her on the track
When I board I won't be looking back

Hallelujah

Bread, Wine, and Ashes

2010-02-22T19:48:00.000-08:00

And so it is Lent again. A time of waiting, and preparation, and, if we allow time - for introspection.

This past Wednesday was the first day of Lent, and we took a family friend visiting from Toronto to the Lenten Evening service at our church. We meet in the chapel; it is a simple setting, with singing from the children's choir, and a homily reflection on the meaning of Lent.

At the end of the service all are invited forward to receive the imposition of ashes and communion. As preparation was made for this, two women of our congregation stood and moved forward. They had been given the task of placing the sign of the cross in ash on our foreheads, as we each came forward in the chapel, before we received communion.

And suddenly it hit me. This was the perfect choice. I have known both of these women for a while, and as their friend, I also know their stories. They are both remarkable. Their lives contrast mine. They have struggled, I have had it easy; they have found God in remarkable ways, my way to God has been much more simple, and well, boring.

Tough Choices, Courageous Woman
One of these women is a single mom. We will call her Mary. When she was younger, like lots of us, she made some bad decisions in life, and has spent a number of years recovering. Some days don't feel like recovery. She has raised a daughter on her own, a girl who is now 17 or so, and is doing alright. There are still tough times, and everything has not always worked out perfectly. It has been a challenge every step of the way.

Several years ago, in near mid-life, Mary sensed that God might be calling her to a completely unusual challenge - service as a military chaplain. She is now working part time in this role, attending seminary, and plans on entering this professional full time in the near future.

Mary's journey is the story of a life redeemed.

Pastor's Daughter, Becoming a Pastor
The other woman we will call Susan. She is the daughter of a pastor. When she was 16 years old, out of a sense of emptiness and with a troubled heart, she told her father that she no longer believed in Jesus. Religion was a farce.

Since she was a great student, she did fine in high school, and went to an Ivy League college. After graduation she became involved in community organizing and politics. Very important politics. At the same time, she also developed an addiction to drugs. She dabbled in Eastern religions, and attempted rehab. It was not working well, and one night, she decided to ditch the intake rehab program she was attending. So, she called a cab to take her away.

As it turns out, an angel was driving that cab. He was a Christ follower, listened to Susan's story, and told her God wanted her to return to that rehab program right away, and get her butt back in therapy.

To make a long story shorter, other people were praying for Susan during her struggles. She found her way home to God. Today, she also is in seminary, preparing for a life of ministry to others.

Hers is the story of a life rescued.

Bread, Wine, Ashes
Some think that God is dead, and lives of faith are merely manifestations of insecurity. But, last Wednesday, as we all stood in a line, waiting for a mark on our foreheads, and a little bit of bread dipped in wine, I thought differently.

I saw, standing before me, two lives, transformed.

Genesis 3:19:

...for dust you are
and to dust you will return.

Deus Semper Minor; The Small Way

2010-02-09T08:10:00.000-08:00

Recently, and for the first time, I heard a friend speak the Latin words Deus semper minor. The literal translation of this is "God always smaller". I have been thinking about this. A lot.

Big American God
This little phrase seems to me to be disconnected with what we Americans like to hear. I mean, after all, we are Americans, dammit. We won the West, built the Transcontinental Railroad, conquered polio, won World War II, and put a man on the moon. Our God is not smaller, He is Bigger, and don't you forget it!

And today, we have lots of attractive televangelists telling us things like "It's Your Time" and "Become a Better You" and "Your Best Life Now". That God is not small. He is powerful. And Big. And friendly, and has good hair, no doubt. He even wants us to get rich, and He thinks poverty is for loosers.

A small God? We think not! We like him Big, and Tough, and Vindictive for our side.

Little Real God
But just look around at real life. Seems that quite often, God is actually, well, small.

Small in His seeming inability to stop poverty, unless we help Him. Small in His ability to heal all the sick, unless we fight like hell for years to find the cure. What about My Best Life Now, where is Big American God? What about that baby born with the genetic defect that will take his life before he is even three months old? Is this a little God? What about broken relationships, where is Big God in this?

But maybe the problem with God's apparent size is not really about size at all. We have distorted our expectations of both God's size, but also of what He is choosing to do in our world, and what He might want to do within, well, ......us.

Perhaps God's way is small. Small in the love we offer a friend, who is lonely, or sick, or hurting. Small, in sitting still and quietly listening to a friend share their hurt and frustration at how life does not seem fair. Small, in the form of money spent to feed others, rather than make ourselves feel comforted. Small, as we love those around us who seem to be poor in spirit. Small in the form of a hand held at a bedside in the final moments of life.

Maybe, after all, Deus Semper Minor. What do you think?

Lord Save Me From Myself

2010-02-04T17:53:00.000-08:00

Turn this up....the sound is not so good, but the song is amazing:

My mind is dull and jaded
From these years of buy and sell
My eyes have seen the glory
Of this hollow post-modern shell

And sex is a grand production
But I'm bored with that as well
Ah, Lord save me from myself

Electric sun keep shining
Ripen daughters of the chrome
This world is where I breathe
Let it never be called home

The vultures make the money
Is where our bodies fell
Ah, Lord save me from myself.

The vultures make the money
I'm bored with that as well

Wow. Amen.

2010 Grammy Awards - No Idea What I'm Talking About

2010-01-31T18:58:00.000-08:00

Tonight, we are pausing life at our house to watch, via slight DVR delay, the Grammy Awards. And so, in the interest of bringing my 8 readers (yes, I know, I exaggerate) the most informed coverage of the music universe, I Steve Norris, shall be your personal reviewer of the festivities.

After thorough research, it has been determined that there are only about 14 other people on the planet with less musical knowledge than myself. So, who better qualified to bring you the most pithy and astute observations of the hip and cool Grammy scene. Buckle your musical seat belts, people. Off we go.....

Opening Number - Lady Gaga. Those shoes look dangerous. Nice Orwelian backdrop. Now its Elton and Lady. They both look like they did some serious chimney sweeping. That is one serious earring that Elton is wearing. Nice "hands" on the pianos; they paid some pathetic set designer serious coin for that; I want THAT dudes job. Clearly, Elton definately cannot see out of those glasses. He needs Stevie Wonder's escort off stage.

Beyonce wins song of the year. Seems like a song about men needing to make commitments in relationships. This is good.

Green Day - 21 guns. Eh. Seems big hair (and black) is important here.

Best Country Album. I can feel the Mid west starting to pay attention, and come in from making Rice Krispy Treats in the kitchen. Taylor Swift wins. My daughter is happy. Taylor is shocked she won; Ringo is sitting next to Taylor's Mom. Wow. I like Taylor's apparent humility.

Beyonce appears with black Star Wars dudes. This girl has got it going on. Star Wars guys left early in the number. They have nothing to contribute musically, it seems. There is an arrow guitar dude that has chains connecting his legs together. Bad fashion, very 70's.

Pink! I want to be referred to by a color; I choose Mauve. I would have hurled in the trapeze device. Ok...so she somehow got wet. Thats interesting. Next. Carlos Santana liked it.

Best New Artist. Zac Brown Band. They wear bad hats and beanies; and they all taulk funnahy. Never hear of them. I have heard of the Ting Tings.....I love them and will be filing a personal protest.

Its Da Black Eyed Peas, Peeps! Now this is fun music! What is with the Silver Robot Dudes? I love it. Welcome to da Futcha!

Lady Antebellum. Now this is good music. Something to clean your guns by, or perhaps oil your fly fishing reels. They reference being drunk in their music. I like these guys. Big guitar solos.

Record of the Year! Get ready......Kings of Leon. Eh. I always make my daughter change the station when they are on the radio. They said they were drunk, but they wear suits. Bad clothing. Meh. These guys will not uplift the moral complexion of our nation.

Jamie Fox. Boring. T-Pain is my man. He wears his pants way to low. Saw him on the MTV Awards last year and thought he was gonna have a pants malfunction.

Ke$ha. Needs to eat a good meal, and loose the eye makeup. I have to listen to her tunes on the way to school in the morning with my daughter. No thank you very much. From now on, call me $teve.

Taylor Swift. This is good stuff. Very American. Stevie Nicks! I all verkelmpt now. Rihanna was huge in high school for me. Taylor is getting major air time here. I want one of those short banjos.

3D glasses on, people! Its Michael Jackson tribute time. We did not go to Target, we are loosers. Pretty creepy with Michael singing from beyond the grave. Weird having the kids Prince and Paris up there. I am sorry for these kids. Forever. They need to permanently stay OUT of the public eye. Very sad.

Bon Jovi. Eh. Next.

Jay-Z got some rap award. Eh. I am too white to appreciate this.

Andrea Bocelli; singing for the people of Haiti?! What happened? Mary J. Blige. "I will ease your mind...." Wow. Worth sitting through the whole thing for this!

We have caught up to live TV. I am done. Good night peeps.

Frozen Man

2010-01-31T16:31:00.000-08:00

What would it be like to come back to life, hundreds of years following your own death?

James Taylor was inspired to write a fictional account of this, after seeing an issue of National Geographic magazine with a portrait photograph of a man who had be uncovered after being frozen in ice for a hundred years. The man had died while on expedition in the 1860's searching for a Northwest passage to the Pacific.

What would this feel like for us?

Jonathan Winters

2010-01-28T21:36:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, Jonathan Winters used to make me laugh so hard, I would cry. He still does.

Really now, how much can you do with just a stick?

Too Long In The Country Club

2010-01-22T06:49:00.000-08:00

I Used to Dream...About Who I Would Become

When I was younger, I used to dream about what my life would be like someday.

Someday. When I grew up and married, and had a family. When I lived in a big house in the suburbs. My lovely wife would be busy in another room, cooking perhaps, while I watched the Masters golf tournament in my wood-paneled den. And then maybe, after it was over, I would head out to the country club to hit a bucket of balls. I used to dream about this when I was a boy.

It would be nice there, at that country club. Everyone would know my name, and treat me with deference; perhaps a form of vague reverence, as I would be so well respected in the community, such a successful, well-groomed, nice person. That club would feel so safe, and warm, and homey, and comfortable. It would make all the trouble, pain, and confusion of the outside world seem, well, so far away. Outside those metal gates that opened only to the select; those who knew the right secret combination on the keypad.

My only worry would be my back-swing, my slice, and my handicap. The hurt of reality outside those ivied gates would be muted by the thick carpeting, the hardwood walls, the hush of the lounge, and the security fencing around the perimeter of the course. No trouble here in the clubhouse locker room. And, next to the sinks, all those men's toiletries lined up so neatly - looking like no one ever used them. Order, tradition, respectability, good grooming. So safe, so insular, never changing. Comforting.

What I Have Become Instead
I never joined a country club. Too expensive, and a waste of money, if I just want to feel comfortable and insulated.

But recently, I have been wondering if, subtly and over a very long time, like slow growing vines, I have not become a part of something similar to the country club. Entrenched and insulated, apart from the world. Warm and cozy. Safe, non-threatening. A refuge from reality. An escape.

That something is my church. And really its not the church itself, but more, its me, and the way I approach what my faith means to me. And, as I think of it, that thought is sad. Very sad.

How do we get like this, we "church people"? How do we, in middle age, turn into those things we most disliked about the older generation when we were in our twenties? What has happened?

Maybe its just too much time inside. Inside the country club, with the warm wood tones, and people who make us feel good, valued, important. We form our little committees, and move on with our little agendas. There will be a potluck. Cookies will be served. There is that painting of a smiling Jesus on the wall over there. He always smiles.

But outside those warm church walls, outside the carpeted committee rooms and Sunday school classrooms there is a real world. Its noisy, and in a hurry. It is hurting, and there is seems to be no soothing that pain. It doesn't really care much at all what we church people do. Because much of the time, what we church folk do is irrelevant to that real world. Men sleep on cold and rainy streets, children are born without families that will really love them, couples fight and separate and never come back to each other. Lives are fractured. Sometimes it feels hard to take in a deep breath, out there in that real world. Your chest hurts too much, you can't really take it all in.

And so, we church folk, turn around and head back inside. Inside the Country Club.

2009-12-30T12:06:00.000-08:00

'Ring Out, Wild Bells'

By Alfred Tennyson - circa 1850

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

One Solitary Life

2009-12-26T15:16:00.000-08:00

When I was a boy, my parents had a record album of a Christmas concert / dinner party that they played every year. The original event was some sort of Christmas charity event in Beverly Hills, recorded during the late 1940s or 1950s. There was some sort of relationship with this event to my extended family, as my Aunt was one of the party organizers. Beyond this, I can't tell you anything about that record.

I was short sighted enough to let it go as part of the estate sale of my parents home, several years ago. Alas, I wish I had that record back now.....

Along with the requisite Christmas Carols and songs, there was a short speech entitled "One Solitary Life", that I used to enjoy listening to. As I sat on the living room couch, 40-plus years ago, I think God used that little piece to begin a conversation with me about who He really was.

To this day, I find this one of the most convincing apologetic pieces I have ever run across. I found a great version of this on YouTube, recited by Bing Crosby. Sorry for the odd roller coaster burst at the beginning of this.....

Happy Boxing Day!

All is Well

2009-12-20T15:35:00.000-08:00

Christmas is in just four short days. What happened to the time?!

Today, for the first time, I heard this Christmas Carol. Its perfect for the need in our troubled world.

All is well all is well
Angels and men rejoice
For tonight darkness fell
Into the dawn of love's light

Sing A-le
Sing Alleluia
All is well all is well
Let there be peace on earth
Christ is come go and tell
That He is in the manger

Sing A-le
Sing Alleluia

All is well all is well
Lift up your voices and sing
Born is now Emmanuel
Born is our Lord and Savior
Sing Alleluia
Sing Alleluia
All is well

But, as I listened, I wondered to myself - in the midst of a world brimming with hunger and suffering, war and loneliness, pain and suffering - does it really feel like "All is Well"?

Does it, now really?

And yet, more than 2000 years ago, into a similarly troubled world, a tiny defenseless little baby came. He seemed so much like every other baby. And what about those baffled parent to whom he was born. And those mysterious people who came to visit him soon after his birth.

It's a mystery to me, that birth. And, strangely, it's a mystery to me how, in the midst of all the struggle and pain the world, we might be comforted by the ideas behind this song, and still believe there is hope for our world.

And yet, for countless ages, we have been comforted.

All is Well. Merry Christmas!

Goodbye to Cindy

2009-12-12T16:00:00.000-08:00

This one will be a bit long, so be patient with me.

The Lag in Writing
I have not been writing here for over a month. I am not really sure why, but now, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, in the midst of Advent, I have a reason to write, and perhaps the muse to share things here will return. Also, sometimes, its just good to take a break from my relationship with my laptop.

Older Daughter is now home for the Holidays, (this actually started before Thanksgiving) after a quite successful first quarter away at college. She returned Saturday from a road trip to Santa Barbara to pick up high school buds from college (in heavy rain), and is home safe. We are thankful for these graces.

Thanksgiving this year at our home was simple and warm, with a crowd of only seven; good friends and family together. Again, thankfulness is offered for these things. Today, Younger Daughter is in the midst of heavy studying; sophomore year first finals are next week.

Goodbye to a Dear Friend
I just lit the fireplace before I sat down to write, and the warmth of the fire is slowly filling the room. But now, something is quite different in our home. For the past 12 years, we have shared our everyday life with a wonderful, mellow, and very loving friend. Someone who never got mad at any of us; a chocolate Labrador, named Cinderella. Cindy for short.

And tonight, its different here. There is no one laying against the couch by my side, in her usual spot. I miss that rhythmic breathing, often snoring, and Cindy's interest in anyone new who came in the room; that tapping of her tail on the floor.......this is hard.

Cindy came to live with us in 1997, when Kelly was 7, and her sister was just 4. She was just weened as a puppy, and a big responsibility for our family. She spent lots of time in a crate on our old back porch, before we remodeled, keeping the washer and dryer company. The rest of her time she spent in our back yard, before we had a pool. She was one rowdy puppy, and had the skill to somehow completely destroy (with her puppy and adolescent dog teeth) a 4' high Bird of Paradise plant, and a 10' high climbing rose.

What I have just learned is that we take the little things in life so for granted. And Cindy, with her constant love and affection, was a gift to us. Each day, a dog who just loved us all, that thought that we did no wrong.

She was the source of much joy and laughter. When the girls were younger, and our back yard was just grass, each summer she would join us in the car, for a 15 minute ride to my parents home, for a long game of Frisbee-catch in their swimming pool. As a Lab, she just loved the water - it really was her second home. And then, when our pool was finished five years ago, it became her real second home during warmer months.

I recall that very soon after we finished the pool, I noticed that something was acting up with the pool filter - the pressure was way above normal, a sign that the filter was somehow beginning to clog up. I thought we had a defective filter, I mean, the darned thing was brand new! I even called the manufacturer on their 800 number - and asked lots of questions. Half way through the phone conversation, I thought I should disclose the twice daily swimming habits of our dog. The fellow on the other end of the phone burst out laughing, and said something to the effect of "there's your problem with your pool filter bud - DOG FUR!"

I confessed to a good friend the other day that I felt terrible, as I was more saddened by the loss of this dog than I had been by the loss of my parents in the recent past. This good friend, who has known me for 20+ years, surprisingly disagreed (maybe its because he loves dogs), and pointed out that Cindy was such an intimate part of our lives for 12 years. Nancy and I were still in our 30s. I mean, really now, that sweet old dog literally grew up with us. In our home. Every day. She watched us love each other, fight with each other, struggle with life, fight back and let loose with tears, laugh loudly together, and she was such a fixture of each day. She helped us stay ordered, with her twice daily feeding, the walks through the neighborhood. Taking the time to stop and pet her, and tell her what a lovely girl she was.

As the years progressed, the bouncy young dog became quite regal, as she slowed .

And so, last Friday afternoon it was 55 outside and gray and raining, when we said goodbye to our dear brown friend. Appropriate weather. At left is a photo taken moments before Cindy left us....she gave me lots of kisses before she left. What a sweet way to say goodbye. It still feels a little gray in my heart.

Cindy taught us lots of stuff. Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Be very sad when everyone excludes you, and makes you sit outside. When loved ones come home, always run to greet them. Never pass up the opportunity, and delight in the simple joy of a walk, or a run. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.

Take naps. Play daily. Don't ever take yourself too seriously. Let people touch you. When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Be loyal. Protect your family. Never pretend to be something you're not. When someone is having a bad day, be silent, just sit or lie close by.

But for all the sadness, its worth it; for all the piles of love that sweet dog gave us. Sweet Cindy, you will be dearly missed. There will never be another dog quite like you.

Norris Family Christmas Letter 2009

2009-12-12T13:40:00.000-08:00

For more years than I can count, Nancy always asks me to write the family Christmas Letter. And every year comes the same feeling; how can I say it in just a page? Where are just the right words to express the journey of our family over the past year? Perhaps to start with the youngest, and work up from there….

If you can believe it, Heather is now a sophomore at Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy. Recently, as we were going somewhere in the car (tip: best place to connect with teenage daughters) I asked Heather if she had any regrets about her school choice. “Not for a second”, was the answer. We are thankful. Heather just loves life, it’s as simple as that! This year brings new challenges. The Youth and Government program will enable her to travel to Sacramento in February to participate in a mock legislative session. Watch out Arnold! Since August, Heather has had a Learner’s Permit to drive. Watch out other drivers! She is talking about traveling overseas this coming summer for a mission trip with our church. Heather brings great joy to all who know her!

Kelly is home for the Holidays now, after her first quarter at DePaul University in Chicago. It is so good to have her home! When Heather and I visited her for Parents Weekend in October, I asked her to rate her college experience on a scale of 1-10. “Nine!” was the emphatic answer, and we are giving daily thanks for this. DePaul is an amazing place. Kelly has made remarkable new friendships, and already seems more mature and thoughtful. Although we miss her, we highly recommend sending your kids away to college! What a young woman; only 3.6 more years to go!

Nancy continues a life devoted to serving others. She is now into her second year (!) of the search that will hopefully soon bring a new senior pastor for our church. Continue to pray for Nancy and her seven friends on this committee, will you? This past July, Nancy spent a week just loving teenage moms, for Christ, at a Young Lives camp near the Grand Canyon. And earlier this year, Nancy joined the Board of Directors of Club21, a community service organization in Pasadena that works to support families with kids who have Down Syndrome. For these things, I am immensely proud. What a woman! We recently, and thankfully, celebrated 21 years of marriage by toasting one-another and tasting wine, while being amazed at the beauty of the Central California Coast.

This summer, our family traveled to Toronto for two weeks of simple relaxation, where we also ventured north to a cottage on Georgian Bay for time with family. At twilight, the deep blue of day fades to the light orange of evening, time for conversation and laughter with family around the dinner table. But, don’t miss it, outside in the dark, there are stars. Billions. This is a place, away from city lights, where the Milky Way stretches from south to north, spanning the entire sky. The Artist of this night sky filled His brush with stardust paint, wound up, and let loose with a massive and limitless spray of dots across the Heavens. Lying on the dock, looking up, near midnight is a time for silence; the cosmos hang above you like the ceiling of a limitless cathedral.

As for Steve, as I lay on the dock at midnight, I just wonder about all this. What happened? Just yesterday it seems, these girls were little, and hugging my knees. Today, they stand eye to eye, and mock my clothing choices and lack of hair, but tolerate me just the same. One girl off at college, the other one heading that way faster than we want to admit. My sweet wife is just as gorgeous as the day we married, and still is patient with me. Even in a tough economic year, I still have a company and job I love. We are all waist deep in blessing. Daily.

How do you measure a year? How can we tell you how we are all really doing, without sounding pretentious, or self absorbed, or heaven forbid, boring. As I write this, I picture each of you, our many dear friends and family, maybe standing in your kitchen, looking through the mail at the end of the day, and finding this letter. My hope is that you are in good health, and somehow wondering about the same kind of things I do. How did we get here in life, and where are we going? Perhaps God is involved in this all, perhaps it’s His Blessings we reap each day. You, our friends, are our greatest blessings!

And so, to continue a tradition we started last year, we will be giving a gift in your name that might hopefully bless others far away, living in a places much more challenging than we will likely ever know. A real, live, flock of sheep will be given to a community in the third world, so that they might become self sufficient.

Maybe it’s not just coincidence that so long ago, simple sheppards were given Great News that changed the world forever.

Merry Christmas, and Great Peace!

Veterans Day

2009-11-11T13:39:00.001-08:00

Just Another Rainstorm?

2009-11-08T18:17:00.000-08:00

Do you ever wonder why you were put on this earth?

Do you ever find yourself pondering deeply profound questions of life while driving in the car to someplace mundane; and then mentally drop the subject, because you have to get to the meeting, or grocery store, or whatever by six, and you don't have time to ponder such heavy stuff? Besides, the traffic is just ridiculous.

I was given this book by my wife for our anniversary. As it turns out, I think I might be a lot like Donald Miller.

Miller writes:

Back when I got out of high school....I used to suddenly realize I was alive and human. Back then I wondered why nobody else realized what a crazy experience we were all having. Back then I'd be lying in bed or walking down a hallway at college, and the realization I was alive would startle me, as thought it had come up from behind and slammed two books together. We get robbed of the glory of life we aren't capable of remembering how we got here. When you are born, you wake slowly to everything. Your brain doesn't stop growing until you turn twenty-six, so from birth to twenty-six, God is slowly turning the lights on, and you're groggy and pointing at things saying circle and blue and car and then sex and job and health care. The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn't that big of a deal, that life isn't staggering. What I'm saying is I think life is staggering and we are just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we're given - it's just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral.

It's not just another sunset, not just another funeral. It's life, and I do think its staggering, and stupefying, and amazing and gorgeous and ugly all together. Sometimes I think if we understood the weight of the beauty, or comedy, or tragedy of it all, right in the moment, we might spend much of our days either in tears from the immense depth of it all, or bent over in hilarious laughter that we get to be part of this Creation that God is not done with yet.

Just something to think about, as you get stuck in traffic again tomorrow.

History Repeats Inself

2009-10-30T11:43:00.001-07:00

This is my Dad, circa 1942.

This is his grand daughter, circa Halloween 2009. She is wearing his flight suit in which he piloted B-17s in World War II. Really.

A Gaelic Blessing

2009-10-30T09:24:00.001-07:00

Holding Up the Word, Depaul Community Mass

2009-10-21T10:56:00.001-07:00

Recently, while visiting Older Daughter at DePaul University, I had the opportunity to attend Mass at St. Vincent Depaul Parish, on the campus of DePaul University. This experience might also be known as "Protestant Neophyte Visits The Other Side of the Reformation".

I arrived about 15 minutes early, and already found the sanctuary of St. Vincent to be nearly full. It turned out to be a standing room only Mass. The church holds, by my rough estimate, about 2,000 souls. In attendance were students, parents, and alumni. This was a wonderful experience, full of the sacred rights of the church, and for me, full of much thanksgiving for a daughter well off at college in Chicago at DePaul.

The primary feeling I still have of my morning hour spent in the Parish of St. Vincent is that of the profound mystery of the church. The mystery of trying to understand this life I lead. The mystery of how God is involved in the life of my daughter - this girl I love more than I can speak of. For some reason, my attendance at this Mass was very emotional. For me, not unlike laying on the deck of the dock in Northern Canada this summer, gazing up at the Milky Way above. All, a mystery.

Holding Up
At the beginning of the mass, various elements important in the service are processed into the church. A large golden cross, carried high, by a DePaul coed student, the elements of communion, carried by priests. Candles and incense. A long train of laypersons, altar boys, and priests. Like the procession of Followers, down through the ages.

They line up, and process inside the sanctuary. During this procession, a gathering song is sung; soft drums, and the University choir, something faintly African sounding, it stirs the heart deep within. In the very front of this procession is a book. A large red leather book, held at arm's length, high overhead. Its a heavy book, the kind you find only in a really old and seldom visited library. It looks like something that does not get opened much. Thick and cumbersome, weighted with the burden of time.

But there it is, high in the air, at the front of this line of faith. It takes me half a minute to get it. What book is tha....wait. Oh! The Scripture. They have it at the front of the line! They are holding it up.

That Bible, held high. I have not been able to wrest that image from my mind ever since. And when I think on it more than a minute, it sort of catches my breath. That book, those people, this world.

All of us, in a way, standing in a line. Its been that way for centuries. And at the front of that line, even though we don't pay it much mind in the mess of everyday, there is a book. And if you look carefully, over the heads of those in front of you, its still being held high.

High over our pain, high over our joy, high over history. That book.

The community gathered together. The Book held high. Once again, the mystery of the Church gathered together is made manifest.

DePaul Family Weekend 2009

2009-10-20T17:15:00.000-07:00

Younger sister and I have just returned from Chicago for DePaul Family Weekend 2009, otherwise known as Visiting The Gigantic Educational Expenditure.

This is the one weekend each fall that family members (read: those actually paying the massive bills to operate this university) can come, visit their kids, dress badly, quietly revel in the middle-aged admission that they are definitely no longer of college age, wait awkwardly in dorm lobbies, and get free t shirts.

I must admit, DePaul does a pretty good job of client care for parents; I think the administration knows very well where the money comes from. And you get tshirts!

Here are my random observations on DePaul, my daughter's new life, and culture in Chicago:

Fall is a real season! Its cold here. And its only October. The weather was 40-45 degrees with rain showers the whole time we were there. Ahhh! And it will only be getting colder. Much. And folks wonder why there are 37 million humans living in California.
The Fall colors here are wonderful. What a beautiful introduction to Winter. I am beginning to understand why my wife, who is from Toronto, misses Fall so very much. Its just gorgeous, this daily reminder of the Seasons of life. I like that our girl wanted to go to a college that feels, well, classically collegiate.
There do not seem to be many classes at school on Friday. I don't really remember this from my college days this being the case. Yet another reason to become an academic, its seems; four day work weeks, and summers off. As for the students, three day weekends work fine, just ask them.
Chicago is an amazing city. Over the past two days we have spent a lot of time walking the downtown loop area, Michigan Avenue, and riding "The El". All freshmen at DePaul are required to take a "Discover Chicago" class, that plunges them into the city, to begin the process of becoming life-long learners and helping them to understand better the city they are going to school in. I think this is a capital idea!
Did I mention the free t-shirts. Let me tell you, these are the most expensive free t shirts I have ever owned. I picked up lots of them, but still they cost me multiple thousands of dollars per shirt. Need a t-shirt?
Why does DePaul have a mascot that is a guy in a Devil suit? Catholic school, Satan as the Mascot. Very strange.

At the end of these busy days, the only thing that really matters is how our oldest girl really feels about her time thus far at college. Did she make the right choice? Does she feel confident, enjoy her classes, feel good about her decision? Is she making good friends, and are they kids with character?

So Saturday, at lunch, I asked the key question. "So tell me, so far, on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your college experience?" The answer. "A nine". Interestingly, I received the same answer when I separately asked several of her best friends. Outstanding. Lets hope those numbers hold up.

When I return home, I will stop on my way down the hall - for a moment in Kelly's now too-quiet bedroom. I will stand in the darkness of a Southern California Fall, thinking of my daughter, some 1,700 miles away at school.

As I stand there, I will give thanks for a happy and confident young woman, now off at college. The Journey continues.....

"Sully" Sullenberger Has Something to Teach Us

2009-10-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

"It wasn't his life goal to be known as a hero, but it has been his life goal to have a close, loving relationship with his daughters, and of course with me. I think that is what he would like his legacy to be".

Sully is a hero because of this legacy. Plain and simple. I choose, each day, to believe Sully's kind of legacy is something noble .

A Loving Father Must Surely Dwell

2009-10-04T21:35:00.000-07:00

We received a last minute invite Saturday night to the Hollywood Bowl. Boy, are we glad we said yes, and never have I been more surprised and touched by a performance than I was by the LA Philharmonic's powerful delivery of Beethoven's 9th symphony.

My primary exposure to classical music is rather shallow, as I a am near complete musical moron. However, classical music is still a near constant background during my work day - I stream it on my PC at the office, and it plays as the hold music on our office phone system. To me, its part (not all) of the music of heaven; and we can glimpse it while still here on Earth.

I must admit, while parts of the 9th are familiar to me, I have never heard the entire symphony all the way through. I did last night, and I will never forget it. Ever.

The reason for the concert, was the welcoming of the new Music Director of the LA Phil, Gustavo Dudamel. Suffice it to say, Gustavo is amazing; I have written about him before here. But I was equally struck by the music itself, and the deep content of the lyrics; a concert piece written by a musical genius when he was completely deaf.

While enjoying greatly the early part of this piece, I was stunned and gladdened by the final choral refrain - performed by the LA Master Choral. This refrain is of the 9th Symphony is taken from a poem by German poet, playwright and historian Friedrich Schiller:

Let me embrace you, O millions!
This kiss is for the whole world!
Brothers, above the starry firmament
A loving Father must surely dwell.
Do you fall down, O millions?
Are you aware of your Creator, world?
Seek Him above the starry firmament!
For above the stars He must dwell.

Across almost 200 years, from its premiere in 1824 in Berlin, the music of Beethoven and the poetry of Schiller filled a moonlit Hollywood Bowl last night.

How is it that we live in these times? A planet filled with so much joy, and so much pain. So much beauty, and yet overwhelming sadness?

And yet, a loving Father must surely dwell.....are we aware?

First, a link to excerpts from the 9th, just for the joy of the music:

And then a link, complete with shaky camera to the actual finale of the event at the Bowl. What a night!

Thy Grace is Sufficient

Turkey, Ham, Family Dysfunction, and A Baby

From This Valley - Civil Wars

Norris Christmas Letter 2011

Earth Time Lapse from ISS

Here and Heaven - Chris Thile and Aoife O'Donovan

Of Princesses and Commoners

Making a Difference in LA

Tournament House

Beverly Eckert

And Whither Then

The Road goes ever on and onDown from the door where it began.Now far ahead the Road has gone,And I must follow, if I can,Pursuing it with eager feet,Until it joins some larger wayWhere many paths and errands meet.And whither then? I cannot say.-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Benign, But In a Moment, So Much More

A Visitation

Simple Gifts - David Tolk

Carcinoma

Coming Soon, at the Greek Theater

Of Baby Owls, Ancient Indians, and A Nightfall Walk

More Than Just a Hike

Good Friday

O Magnum Mysterium - University of Utah Singers

The Man on the Road

Waiting Ad Infinitum, Jury Duty

Of Emense Suffering, Loss, and Hope

Sing Me To Heaven

Alleluia from "Sing a New Song" by Ronald Staheli

Chained, The Crabby Old Man Within Me, and Change

Of Quarks, Coldness, and Creation

Holocaust - A Musical Memorial Film

With or Without You

What I Know

Los Angeles, London and Livingstone

The Road Home - Stephen Paulus

A New Kind of Christmas Story

Christmas Eve 1968 - The Good Earth

Mary's Song

Into the Darkest Hour

Norris Family Christmas 2010

Nativity Carol

December 7, 1941 - Remembering 69 Years Later

Gaelic Blessing - John Rutter

Little Lamb

Wexford Carol - December 1, 2010

The Wexford CarolChristmas Hymn & Carol Lyrics

Conducting with Joy

Veteran's Day 2010

Hamlet's Blackberry

Attempting to Express an Inexpressable Faith

Ephesians 3:14-20 (The Message)

The Wounds of War, and the Love the Helps Heal Them

September Again, Simeon, and Red Rover

Summer Staycation Reflections

To Change the World....or Maybe Not

Angel Flight

Closing Thoughts from Albania

When You Are Old - Yeats

Young Lives - You Were Made for This

Update from Heather in Albania

Allison Krauss - Simple Love

Off to Albania, The Family Tradition Continues

This 4th, This Land, Our Freedom

Dusk on the Hill

Remembering Coach

Incentives, Inschmentives!

Seredipitous Evening of Memories

From the "If It Weren't So True" Department

Middle Life Reflections

Technology Can Be Beautiful

First Church of Pastor Moron

John 17 Reflections

Of History, Colleges, and Hope for the Future

Remembering a Paper Route, Forgetting Human Dignity

Why Not a Shameless Promotion

The New Puppy, Cinderella Story, Traveling On

Olympics and Denominations

This Old Church

Glory Bound - Wailin' Jennys

Bread, Wine, and Ashes

Deus Semper Minor; The Small Way

Lord Save Me From Myself

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

The Wexford Carol
Christmas Hymn & Carol Lyrics