Allison Krauss - Simple Love

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

(And now, in November 2012, as this song came on Pandora at my office, I am thinking that the lyrics of this song reflect my prayers that my might life might reflect this kind of fatherly, simple love)

Off to Albania, The Family Tradition Continues

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

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

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

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.