Waiting Ad Infinitum, Jury Duty

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

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

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

Chained, The Crabby Old Man Within Me, and Change

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

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

With or Without You

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

“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

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

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

Christmas Eve 1968 - The Good Earth

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little Lamb

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

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

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

Hamlet's Blackberry

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

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

September Again, Simeon, and Red Rover

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

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

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....