History Repeats Inself

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

Holding Up the Word, Depaul Community Mass

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

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

"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

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!

Closer Than We Think?

"Spend your life inside a box
looking through stained glass
Dream about a better day and hope it finds you fast"


Lately, I have been reflecting on what much of the evangelical world has taught me over the past 30 years.

And I am having my doubts.

Not about Jesus, or the fathers of our faith, or the sacraments or the primary elements of reformed theology. Its about the other stuff.

And this is the stuff that often serves to define who evangelicals are. One of the pieces that really bothers me is the whole subtle idea of evacuation theology. Why this obsession with leaving the planet? Perhaps its because living down here, on this dusty, too hot, too cold, suffering, starving, messed up place, well, just hurts too much. Its better not to think about it; easier to dwell on Someplace Else. Its easier to argue about the concept of election, or who is really saved, or predestination, or the End Times (woooooo!), or, etc, etc, ad nauseum. Its easier to make rules, clarify rules, argue about rules, and then constantly fail trying to follow them. No wonder most of the world is bored by us church people.

But what if The Kingdom has come? What if Jesus was right, when he said that the Kingdom is at hand? What if we are to do Kingdom work right now, instead of Someday By and By?

Recently, and almost by accident, I downloaded some music on my IPod from Fiction Family, a couple of very talented musicians who have made just one album. The song "Closer Than You Think" does a wonderful job of capturing what I have been thinking about. I share it here for you to think about as well.

You've got a vision of some far of day beautiful and bright
A carrot hanging out of reach, but always in your sight
There's an icon in your mind that stands for happiness one day
A picture on some wall of a kingdom far away

Oh, It's closer than you think
Oh, It's breathing in between
Oh, It's closer than you think
Oh, It's right under your feet

The sky is much more blue and the clouds are always white
The streets of course are gold and lit with ray of light
There's nothing on this earth that's as good as whats up there
Life is so much better when you're floating in the air

Oh, It's closer than you think
Oh, It's breathing in between
Oh, It's closer than you think
Oh, It's right under your feet

Forget about your brother if he doesn't seem to understand
The heaven you've concocted in your head
Never mind your sister when she asks you silly questions
About all the broken people left unfed
Cause burning questions are better left for dead

Spend your life inside a box looking through stained glass
Dream about a better day and hope it finds you fast

Oh, It's closer than you think
Oh, It's breathing in between
Oh, it's closer than you think
Oh, It's right under your feet

Entrepreneurs!

I agree with this!

Only Seeing Stars

This is a song I heard tonight that I love. With Older Daughter off to college, I am musing poetic, and this song says it quite well for me.

For my good friends...you know who you are....Grace and Peace for the Journey.

"But me, yeah me I’m only seeing stars"

Off to DePaul, These Moments, This Journey

It seems as if in the first moment, I was holding a wet, wiggling baby girl in my arms. How in the world was I going to handle the challenge of being a father? What lay ahead? Where was this little one headed in the world?

And then, across a blur of days, months, years, there were those other moments, as this little three year old girl would charge my knees each night when I came home from work, shouting my name. The best name I will ever have. Daddy.

In being a parent sometimes you wonder if they will ever grow up, overcome their anxieties and fears, and strike out on their own. But, in time, they do grow up. Oh, do they.

Or those brighter moments, the ones that make you smile when you are driving somewhere in the car, and remember something very funny this remarkable teenage girl said. A sly observation, or a downright hysterical comment. Example: last month we went to see the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit in Toronto. At first, she thought it was named the Dead Sea Squirrels. Really. Maybe this is why she needs to go to college. I digress.

Turn again, another moment. Here she is at the airport, standing in front of me, very ready to go, 18 years old, and boarding a plane to fly 1,750 miles to Chicago and DePaul University. Who could have imagined this?

On her own, out the door, on her way. If only a bit tentative, yet completely confident, and so "done" with life at our house. Onward with this Journey.

I am stunned, and joyous, and silent, and wondering. What the heck just happened, that drop off at the airport, and how did I end up in this place? This place of departures, yet beginnings. Of bittersweet sadness of parting, yet great joy in the promise of the future for a remarkable young lady.

That little miracle God dropped in our arms 18 years ago; she was a loan, not a purchase; a gift to hold lightly, not a thing to be clutched. Today, she is ready to go, ready to learn, eager to move on. You go girl!

I am pretty sure that there are very few events in life that so clearly illustrate the word bittersweet. We are so thankful for these 18 years, and we look forward to a bright future, full of hope.

Station Fire Time Lapse

This is one of the better time lapse series I have seen of the Station Fire above La Canada. This is exactly what we have been seeing over the past several days, as we travel the five or so miles north of our home to observe the fire. As of the posting of this, the fire has now reached over 100,000 acres, with a 25 mile long fire line. Stunning.

This video is so, well, disturbing. The ball floating around the pool, the sprinklers going on and off - and in the distance, all Hell is breaking loose. I am sure this is a metaphor for our life here on this earth, but I can't quite put it into words.

Pyrocumulus Overwhelming

Its like something in the back of your mind, all the time.

The past several days have had an ominous mood around our area. There is a new central topic of conversation - "have you been up to see the fire?" "Do you have friends up there?" "Are they safe, have they been evacuated"?

The morning sun is a burnt orange through the haze, and the outdoors smells sickly of smoke; the odor of destruction on a massive scale. And today, I learned a new word to describe clouds - pyrocumulus. These are the bizarre, massive, and foreboding clouds formed by wildfires. Dirty brown on the bottom and white on top. Like nothing you have ever seen. Over just the past three days, the Station Fire, as it is now known, has grown from a puff of smoke just north of La Canada, then to 1,000 acres, then 5,000 acres, and as I write this on Sunday night, is listed at just over 40,000 acres. Stunning. A force of nature.

I have lived within 10 miles of this fire area for all of my 51 years, and I have never seen a fire of this size and scope in my life. We have friends whose homes are threatened. Our family has taken time out to drive several miles north of our home to observe the fire progress over the past several days. It is truly massive in scope, and I have thought also about the massive carbon footprint this has created.

Two thoughts. First, I recall that a lack of controlled burns created similar massive problems at Yellowstone National Park in years past, and lead to a reassessment of fire control policies. Could this be applicable to Southern California?

Second, hats off and prayers for safety for the piloting skills of both fixed-wing and helicopter fire fighters. I have been watching them work at a concentrated pace the past several days, and have been thoroughly impressed at their accuracy, tenacity, and determination to save the homes of people they will likely never meet.

Also, fire agencies from all over Southern California and the West have joined the fight on the ground to protect homes. Just as on 9/11 - these brave souls see danger, and do not run away. They come running.

I am humbled by their efforts.









This last photo was taken about two hours ago by my daughter, Heather.

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Citius, Altius, Fortius....Clarius!

Recession have you down? Feeling the blues?

I think I might be feeling some of those things. After a wonderful late summer break with the family in Canada, I am back to the grind here at home. Don't get me wrong, I love my job (and thankful beyond words to have it!) - but the daily beat of life and this bummer economy can get to a guy.

As we head back into the busy days of fall, full of activities, and schedules, and just plain lots of things to do - maybe we need a moment of inspiration and clarity. Or maybe, say, five moments.

John Williams is perhaps the most recognized composer of the 20th Century, and has become almost synonymous with the Olympic movement. One of my all time favorite Williams pieces is "Call of the Champions" composed for the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.

When asked about the ideas behind the composition of this piece, Williams responded:

"In thinking and reading about what we might have sung, I came across this Baron de Coubertin motto: 'Citius, Altius, Fortius' [swifter, higher, stronger]." (Coubertin was the founder of the modern Olympic Games back in the early 1890s.) "I thought it would make a wonderful declamatory handle, just that triad of words sung in a very forceful way by the chorus. We had all 350 members of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing this and it was electrifying. It sounds like all the heroes coming down from Olympus and chanting together."

"Always this triad of words, but at the end of the piece I needed to break the rhythm of the text. So I took the liberty of adding the word clarius to the motto ­ a word a Roman might have used to speak of intelligence and clarity of mind."

Swifter. Higher. Stronger. And Clearer. Can we carry these words in our hearts and minds into the mess of everyday life? Can we do our jobs, love our friends, encourage one another, and contribute to our communities and our world in a way that embodies these words?

That is the inspiration I need today. Maybe you do too.

Cousins at Canada's Wonderland

Thanks to Uncle Dave for this wonderful video:

Julie, Julia, and the Family Next Door

Everyone has heard of the rule of Six Degrees of Separation.

As it turns out, I am only two degrees separated from Julia Child! I find this excellent, as I just love to cook, when time and life allow. To me, Julia Child was a woman who drank deeply from the cup of life.

How do these degrees of separation work?

When I was a teenager, a very cool family moved in next door. The parents were former Cal Berkley grads, and the Dad was an oarsman from Cal. I think he might have competed in the Olympics. The story was that this Dad worked with the "State Department". We bought that story. Completely.

Anyway, this was a wonderful family for me to hang around. First of all, there were more than three people, and being an only child, this was a very good thing. They used to have very fun, large, and loud parties, and were very gracious to my family, always inviting me over (perhaps they sensed my loss in life as an only child). Lots of laughter, always! I also remember stories about this families friendship with Julia Child, of all people!

We used to have some amazing basketball games in their swimming pool. We rigged up a real hoop that was attached to a full sized backboard, mounted on the diving board, which allowed for in the water dunk shots. For a high school kid who just loved basketball, this was excellent.

So, lets connect this to my date with my wife last night.

Nancy and I went out for a movie date, and saw the unabashed chick-flick, "Julie & Julia". The trailer is below, but suffice it to say this movie deals in part with the early life of Julia Child, one of the most famous cooking writers of all time. Great film, lots of laughter, and joy, and cooking and a real celebration of marriage. Quite refreshing, frankly.

Now, back to the two degrees of separation.

As it turns out, the Dad next door.....he did not exactly work for the State Department. He worked for the CIA. Much to my shock, I found this out just a couple of years ago, when the Dad next door passed away (guess there is a rule about telling the truth about that sort of thing), and I was reconnected via the Internet with the kids I grew up with. Also, a minor detail in the story is that the precursor to the CIA was the Office of Strategic Services (OSS).

And here is the connection to Julia Child. Julia was married to Paul Child, who was an employee of the OSS, through the guise of the State Department. Many years ago, my childhood neighbor dad and his wife were stationed in Oslo, Norway together, and Julia Child and her husband Paul were stationed there as well.

Julia was trying to get her very first cookbook published, so she decided to test recipes with a cooking group that was made up of international embassy wives. Turns out our neighbors were in this group. They met once a month at a member's home, cooked all morning and then sat down to lunch and wine. The wife of the secret spy who lived next door where I grew up even spent time with Julia as the years went on, helping on occasion with her TV cooking show.

So there you have it. I almost, sorta, kinda, but not really knew Julia Child.

If my life gets any more thrilling than this, I may pass out from the excitement.

Sit, Swim, Read, Talk, Wonder, Repeat

Amid the great quiet, there is a soft, rhythmic sound here. Always there, off in the distance, not too far away.

It’s the gentle lapping of waves on the beach of Georgian Bay, just a bit north of Penetanguishene. Sound travels forever over these waters, and you can hear a conversation of two folks over the water 100 yards away. Off in the distance, you can hear the ski-doos and pleasure boats humming along. The sound of wind off the bay filling the countless trees. Everyone here seems focused on doing pretty much nothing. This is a very good thing.

The smells are of fresh breezes off the water, with an occasional whiff of varnish, from the neighbor who is applying a fresh coat to their dock, or the late afternoon smell of something hitting the barbeque next door. At the end of the day, the smell turns to that of a campfire on the beach, built by the kids for toasting marsh mellows. Smoke in your nose never smelled so good.

The touch is of soft beach sand on your feet, even though you might have to hunt for the soft spots between the rocks. Or the cool chill you feel all over when you jump in the water off the dock. Once in the water, the sand beneath your feet combines with some kind of mysterious Canadian algae to make it feel like you are walking….on velvet. Really.

And the sights. Oh, the sights. Hundreds of small islands on the distant horizon; all stuffed to the brim with maples, pines, and every sort of green tree. Water everywhere, dark and blue and inviting. Come on, just jump in! Here, at our vacation cottage on the bay, the sky is so big it’s almost overwhelming. 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, something so ancient, and yet so needed even today; a chance to connect with those we love.

The evening brings the chance to work again on that 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle that has been laid out on the table for three days. Perhaps a board game with the adults and kids together – the chance to laugh again and make fun of the odd uncle from Canada. Or America, take your pick.

Don't miss it. Outside in the dark, above this scene there are stars. Uncountable billions. This is a place 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 Universe. Stunning.

Just to look up at this grandeur, almost uncontrollably causes your mouth to hang open. The ability to speak leaves you. Lying on the dock near midnight is a time for silence; any words tend to mess up the wonder of it all. In a cloudless summer sky, the cosmos hang above you like the ceiling of a limitless cathedral. This nighttime gazing at the heavens are sacred moments of the most profound kind.

Frederick Buechner once wrote:

“Jesus is apt to come…into the very midst of life at its most real and inescapable. Not in a blaze of unearthly light, not in the midst of a sermon, not in the throes of some kind of religious daydream, but….. at supper time, or walking along a road…. He never approached from on high, but always in the midst of real life and the questions that real life asks….The sacred moments, the moments of miracle, are often the everyday moments.”

For this city guy, who is now wading deep in the waters of middle age, a week up here in the woods can be filled with sacred moments. There are more at home, in the business of everyday life. May I live a life that listens, touches, and senses these moments…..

Flying All Night and Lost Luggage Adventure

Today is a pretty good day.

I have, 1) caught up on lost sleep, after flying all night via O'Hare with my spiffy new (and expensive!) overnighted US Passport. After all the hassle of obtaining that darned passport, I really wanted the Canadian customs agent to look at my Passport and squeal something like a teenage girl, "OMG, will you just LOOK at this shiny new Passport!!", whilst waving it in the ear and shouting, "Fellas, come look at this!" No such luck.

And, 2) as an added bonus, Oldest Daughter's luggage has been retrieved from the mysterious clutches of Air Canada and United, and their evil 3 day international conspiracy to screw up our vacation.

May I comment about the luggage thing for a moment? For that matter, this is really a rant about the subject of customer service and the New World Economy.

It seems as if the entire world of customer service has left the US and Canada altogether. Everywhere across the North American continent, whenever anyone has a need, asks a question, or needs support with software, there is not a soul in sight who can help. We are a nation of people who are unable to help ourselves, or for that matter, employ our own people to help us. We have become a sea of mouth-breathing people who sit in front of PC monitors with malfunctioning software, facing error messages. Dumbstruck, we reach for telephone assistance, dutifully dialing the 800 support line. We are helpless. When we need airline tickets, or just as an example, say, to find our lost luggage, we commence mouth breathing. We grunt something in a single syllable - pick up the phone and call, yes, you knew it was coming....

India.

I fear that some day in the not-to-distant future, we will wake up and find that the inner workings of all government, health care, the phone company, and all vacation planning will have been exported to the Indian subcontinent. This will be their final revenge for British Colonization.

Whenever I struggle with a mysteriously lost file containing every financial transaction I have ever made - my call for help (see, I am slack-jawed too!) is directed to some mysterious room in Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore, or Hyderabad. A demurring and exceedingly apologetic Indian person, who almost always has a single syllable westernized first name like "Liz" or "Tom" comes on the line to tell me that "I am so sorry, it's not a problem...". Unfortunately, there IS a problem, or I would not be on the line for hours at a time with a person 1/2 way around the world who is smarter than I.

Over the past two days I have been a part of The Incredibly Secret Luggage Confusion (as it shall henceforth be known). I need to add that The Luggage Confusion occurred 24 hours after the very near computer-induced cancellation of my reservation to join my family in Toronto by yet another lovely phone support person in India. During the past several days, I have been apologized to about 500 times. I swear it. The luggage support people can do wonders for your sense of false superiority. But, I don't want apologies, I want an honest answer about my luggage.

Phone support people of India - loosen up a little, enjoy your life, and please, just be honest with us silly Westerners. We need the candor on our end.

Below is a sample of the conversation I had yesterday with Air Canada Luggage Services (after an initial on-hold delay of 20 minutes):

Me: "Yes, this is Steven Norris, calling about lost luggage ticket number 54362. I would like to find out the status of my lost luggage."

Them: "Yes Mr. Norris, we are so sorry for your delay in holding, and for your lost luggage. We are now checking on this matter. Can you please hold again for a brief period?"

Me: "Ah, yes, if it will help you find my luggage." (Additional wait of 5 minutes - I can now hum for you ALL of the hold music they have!)

Them: "Hello again, Mr. Norris, we are so sorry. We do not have a status update on your luggage. But, we can tell you that your luggage may have left Las Vegas for Toronto. This also might have involved a flight to Orlando."

Me: "MAY have left Las Vegas? Orlando? What does that mean? Has it left or not? What flight is it on please?"

Them: "I am sorry, but we cannot give you that information"

Me: "Ok, then, can you tell me WHEN the luggage will be in Toronto?"

Them: "I am so sorry, Mr. Norris, but we cannot tell you that. The luggage must be confirmed to be located in Toronto, before we can confirm that the luggage is in Toronto, and is confirmed."

Me: (Now entering a dreamlike state of confusion) "So you cannot tell me where the luggage is, where it is going, or when it will get there? Do I have this right?"

Them: "I am so sorry, we cannot confirm that information."

Clearly, I was dealing with a room full of people who could not confirm whether they actually were even breathing. This was truly Orwellian. I will not bore you with further details, other than to say two things to complete this saga.

First, we received a phone call at 4:30AM from India with the following information:

"Hello, Mrs. Norris, this is Liz from Air Canada luggage services. I am so sorry, but we have no update on the status of your luggage. I am so sorry, but I am calling to tell you we have no status change. I apologize for the call, but I have nothing further to tell you. So sorry. Thank you. I am so sorry."

One would think they felt, well, a little sorry. Or maybe they just always feel that way. I mean, in 10 years they will probably feel sorry for us all; after they take over the world. The Phone Support people will subtly just lure us all into a stupor of absolute confusion.

Then they will occupy the Capital Building, and put us all on hold. Permanently.

Second thing. This morning at about 10AM, we got a call. This time, from the Luggage Dude at Toronto Airport. They had our luggage. We got it.

Welcome to the New World Economy.

See The World

Yesterday was a banner day.

I found that my passport had expired on the eve of our family vacation! And so, I am picking up my "expedited" passport today, and off to Toronto tonight on a red-eye through O'Hare. Today, I sit at home alone, absorbing the near absolute quiet, relaxing and killing time before I head to the airport.

Although its been more than six weeks since our Oldest Daughter graduated from High School, today is the first day I have taken the time to look through her Year Book. And there, in the section for Senior Class pictures, is the smiling face of Kelly.

Each student is allowed a quote next to their name. Some quotes were quite thoughtful and often meaningful. Others, well, not so meaningful. No different than the sort of thing my high school graduating class wrote next to their photos 33 years ago. Yes, 33.

Kelly's quote, at first, did not quite register with me:

"And when all's been said and done
It's the things that are given, not won
Are the things that you earned"

Turns out, this is a portion of the song, "See The World" by Gomez, an English indie rock band (see below). And as it turns out, our Kelly really has seen the world, largely on mission trips with her church. Mississippi, Albania, Alaska. And last summer, in the trip of a lifetime, our vacation to London and Paris. Kelly loves to see the world.

Upon reflection, I like this quote just fine; it fits Oldest Daughter perfectly. Strangely, it seems very similar to something I read in the Bible.

I love who my Oldest Daughter is becoming!

Beer Me Too

Today was the much-awaited Presidential beer fest at the White House. Beer me too....

Breakable

Maybe it's about time we people who purport to follow Jesus just admit that we are not:

Invincible
Smarter
Less likely to completely foul up our lives
Look better
Somehow superior
Have some kind of special edge on the rest of humanity

We should, rather, admit that we are completely, well.... breakable.

Climbing Evangelicals

Here is something I have been thinking about.

In so many ways, we evangelical Christians have adopted the culture of the rest of America in forming the church, as opposed to the radically unusual world view that Jesus spoke so much about. You know, that "first shall become last" stuff. Pick up your cross and follow me? Be little, not big?

We have become a league of career climbers. We adore the large, the seemingly successful, the cool, the spiffy, the humongous.

This is for my pastor friends, those who would become pastors, and the like. Its also for all us lay people who take our leadership role in the church seriously. Recently, in my Internet wanderings, I came across this, which quotes letters written by Eugene Peterson, which I must quote nearly in whole:

“The one great advantage you have as a new church pastor is that you are forced to start small. Nothing is imposed on you. Determine that you will know every person, their names and whatever of their lives they are willing to let you in on. Be in their homes. Invite them into your home in small groups for an evening or lunch. The killing frost in too much new church development is forming programs that will attract people or serve their perceived ‘needs,’ getting them ‘involved.’ The overriding need they have is worship and that is the one thing that is lowest on their ‘needs’ list. Insist on it: keep it simple – learn to know every last one of them relationally. And call them to worship – and not entertainment worship, but a community at worship. Americans these days are not used to being treated that way, personally and apart from promotional come-ons. Religious entrepreneurism has infected church planting all over the country. When it is successful numerically (and if you are a good salesman and smile a lot it probably will be) you will end up with a non-church.”

And how about the greatest temptation when planting a church – and how do we avoid it:

“I’d say ambition. Church planters are tempted to do what it takes to succeed. Most of us grow up as competitors, competition is bred into our bones. And most of us are good at it. But the very nature of church – the Christian life – is to stay close to the ground that you are given, the people you are given, the Jesuw ho comes alongside of us. The temptation is to look for ‘leaders’ or ‘winners’ or look at people as ‘resources.’ That is not a mindset that cultivates patience with losers and the mediocre. Not that we don’t want to do our best, but unchecked ambition cripples us for dealing with the people who are right under our noses, the left-out and ignored. If we hold our competitive instincts on a short leash, we will probably stay small for a considerable time.”

To the Moon, Again

Forty years ago yesterday, man first set foot on the Moon.

Yesterday, I sat in my office and listened to a 40-year old live stream of the Apollo 11 landing, timed to the second to match the event that happened that July afternoon when I was 11 years old.

The adventure of Apollo was an adventure and celebration of courage. What adventures do we have yet to embark upon?

If you want to see an outstanding film about the space program, may I recommend one of my all time favorites?...

Walter Cronkite 1916-2009

Almost exactly 40 years ago today, I sat with my parents and watched Walter Cronkite narrate the landing of Apollo 11. This man was a journalist, and today seems to dwarf almost all of what is loosely called journalism today.

Married for 65 years to the same woman, father of three, and grandfather of four. He will be dearly missed.

What My Wife Does for Summer Vacation

This next week, our house will be just a bit more quiet, because my wife will be gone. We will be a bit (ok, a LOT) more disorganized around here. Meals might not have as much love in them as usual, and may have some rather odd, "guy-inspired ingredients". But it's for a very good reason.

I am married to a woman who chooses to take part of her summer vacation, drive to Arizona with a van full of teenage mothers, and spend time with them at this place:



It feels just wonderful to me.

A Different Sort of Sunday

Warning. Do not leave me alone with an underwater camera.

Nancy and Kelly took off this morning for college orientation at DePaul in Chicago. I came home and just generally vegged out, save for a trip to the roof, to clean off the solar panels. Yes, Al Gore loves me.

I then found the waterproof mount for the old digital camera, and commenced a taking photos of myself whilst sitting on the bottom of the pool. I am hopeless, and may never grow up. Man, it is so good to have days off like this, if only on occasion.

Today was a different sort of Sunday. The middle of the beginning of something new, post high school for Older Daughter, a trip to DePaul for her and Mom. New things to see, new places to visit, a new world out there. Dad waits at home, goes to the office each day for the next couple days, and eagerly collects the daily reports from Chicago via cellphone.

Today....no rushing off to church like a family in a (badly dressed) Normal Rockwell painting. We had the morning free, and girls slept in.

I had the ability to leisurely enjoy the LA Times on the back porch, where I came across this touching article by columnist Steve Lopez about his latest journey with Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, a gifted musician troubled by mental illness.

What a wondrous, frustrating, and mysterious life this is, where a gifted musician is handicapped by mental illness. I plan on watching The Soloist very soon.

One line jumped out at me from Mr. Lopez column today, where Mr. Ayers is listening to Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1, Opus 11. Mr. Ayers says, ""That's the sound of a child's heart," and later...."That's what God looks like."

Leave it to a seemingly unstable man to show us the beautiful. Who really is unstable and unsure of themselves, anyway?

Life is like that, you know.