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....

Angel Flight

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

Closing Thoughts from Albania

The Team

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

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

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

The Camp

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

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

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

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

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

From all of us on team California, Mirupafshim."

 Color me a proud Dad.

When You Are Old - Yeats

Sometimes, the words just speak for themselves:




                When You Are Old
    WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
    And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
    And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
    Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
 
   How many loved your moments of glad grace,
    And loved your beauty with love false or true,
    But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
    And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

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

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)                   

Young Lives - You Were Made for This

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

Update from Heather in Albania

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

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

Update from Heather!

Hey Friends & Family:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mirapafshim (goodbye in Albania)

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

Allison Krauss - Simple Love

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.

Incentives, Inschmentives!

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

Seredipitous Evening of Memories

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

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

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

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

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


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

Middle Life Reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The promise of living

With hope and thanksgiving

Is born of our loving

Our friends and our labor.

The promise of growing

With faith and with knowing

Is born of our sharing

Our love with our neighbor.

The promise of loving

The promise of growing

Is born of our singing

In joy and thanksgiving.

For many a year I’ve know these fields

And know all the work that makes them yield.

Are you ready to lend a hand?

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

By working together we’ll bring in the harvest,

the blessings of harvest.

We plow plant each row with seeds of grain,

And Providence sends us the sun and the rain.

By lending a arm

Bring out the blessings of harvest.

Give thanks there was sunshine,

Give thanks there was rain,

Give thanks we have hands

To deliver the grain.

O let us be joyful,

O let us be grateful to the Lord

For his blessing.

The promise of living

The promise of growing

The promise of ending

Is labor and sharing and loving.

(Erik Johns)

Technology Can Be Beautiful

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

First Church of Pastor Moron

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

John 17 Reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I still feel inadequate.

Of History, Colleges, and Hope for the Future

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is my hope.

Remembering a Paper Route, Forgetting Human Dignity

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

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

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

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

Why Not a Shameless Promotion

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

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

The New Puppy, Cinderella Story, Traveling On

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think that might be the story.