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.

John Adams - The Day of Deliverance

John Adams wrote to his wife, with a prediction, soon after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, in July of 1776:

"The Second Day of July, 1776, ought to be commemorated by succeeding generations as the day of deliverance. It ought to be celebrated by pomp and parade, with shows and games, sports, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more!

Now you think that I am getting carried away with enthusiasm. But I am not. I am well aware of the toil, the blood, and the treasure it will cost us to maintain this Declaration. Yet through all the gloom, I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory, I can see that the end is more than worth the means. Posterity will triumph in this days business, even though we may regret it.

I trust in God we shall not."

Have a wonderful 4th of July, and may we remember these words, deep in our souls.

A Summer Evening, A Teacher, The Future

A Summer Evening
It was a warm summer evening last Sunday, and we spent it with good friends, enjoying, listening, and for me, remembering the past, and pondering the future.

Over the past decade or so, the music of one particular group has been one of the primary play lists in the background music to the life of this middle aged father and husband.

Sunday night Oldest Daughter and I joined good friends for an memorable evening of Bluegrass music - at the Largo in West Hollywood. On the bill - The Punch Brothers (photo above) and The Watkins Family (photo below). Some of these amazing musicians have a common genesis - from the group Nickle Creek.

For almost two hours we enjoyed the acoustic Bluegrass music of Chris Thile and The Punch Brothers. The was ridiculously good music. No amps and electricity for these guys. Just a banjo, guitar, acoustic bass, fiddle and mandolin. Beautiful.

After this, off to the bar for the "after show", featuring the Watkins Family. Another hour and a half of haunting melodies, beautiful lyrics, lots of laughs, and great music by amazingly talented people who surely enjoy each others company. It seemed we were all transported to a different place for a time, a place where only the music mattered.

If you ever want to head on down to the Largo and experience something special at the Watkins Family Hour, here is all you would ever need to know.

A Teacher
Our family was introduced to Nickle Creek almost eight years ago, through the gift of a 5th grade teacher. A teacher with a warm smile, a terrific sense of humor, and a gift of love. And, a teacher with a guitar. This was no ordinary teacher, this was the woman who changed the course of my daughter's life. If you asked her, Kelly might tell you she wants to grow up and be, well, much like that teacher. She will be majoring in Elementary Education this fall at DePaul University - and we can trace it back to Miss Lang in the 5th grade. The year that changed history for Oldest Daughter.

Miss Lang would bring her guitar to class most every Friday, and play for the kids. And one of the songs she played is shown below.

Miss Lang is an entirely unique and remarkable teacher, someone who takes her work seriously, expresses joy daily, loves kids well, and fills the room with her personality. She teaches her kids well, and loves them greatly. Its a rare commodity these days; someone who does their job with all they have, with all their heart.

The Future
As I sat in the dark soaking it all in, I would occasionally glance over at Oldest Daughter, enjoying her gaze, and her smile; feeling thankful for the young lady she is becoming. For a moment I smiled and thought to myself, "imagine this, we are together at a concert, enjoying the same music!".

I also remembered those days in 5th grade, and the gift of Miss Lang. I thought about the future, and the teacher this young lady next to me might become. I am amazed at this life.

When You Come Back Down

You got to leave me now,
you got to go alone
You got to chase a dream,one that's all your own
Before it slips away
When you're flyin' high,take my heart along

I'll be the harmony to every lonely song
That you learn to play
When you're soarin' through the air
I'll be your solid ground

Take every chance you dare
I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down
I'll keep lookin' up awaitin' your return

My greatest fear will be that you will crash and burn
And I won't feel your fire
I'll be the other hand that always holds the line
Connectin' in between your sweet heart and mine

I'm strung out on that wire
And I'll be on the other end
To hear you when you call Angel,
you were born to fly
And if you get too high
I'll catch you when you fall
Catch you when you fall

Your memory is the sunshine every new day brings
I know the sky is calling Angel,
let me help you with your wings
When you're soarin' through the air
I'll be your solid ground

Take every chance you dare
I'll still be there
When you come back down
Take every chance you dare
I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down

Kelly's Graduation, Skipping Onward

Last weekend was graduation time for the Older Daughter.

These June endings, they always surprise me, and leave me with a rainbow of emotions. Melancholy, hope, sadness, joy, wonder, bewilderment. What is happening to the days of childhood in our home? But in the midst of these transitions that hasten life forward, slipping from our hands, there are glimpses of joy, and mercy, and grace.

This past weekend was deeply meaningful for me, as it marked the graduation of my oldest daughter from high school. That's her (click to enlarge), pointing at us silly yelling family people (in the stands at the football stadium) in the photo above.

We can choose to just just let these milestones pass us by as they happen, without reflection. Or, we can pause, step back for a few moments, take some time, and reflect. What is the deeper meaning of this time of moving forward, looking back, and changing places? And where in all this may Grace, and Joy, and Hope be found?

Thirteen years of school. After pre-school at Calvary Church here in town, we were off to Marengo Elementary School in September 1996; holding a little hand on the first day of Kindergarten. Filing into the classroom in October, on Back to School Night in 2nd grade. Book fairs, school plays, parent days. And then, seemingly without warning, the first day of Middle School; the Semi-Big Leagues of public education. And then, a blur of Middle School plays, sports events, open houses, and homework. Oh, the homework!

And then, again, suddenly, the first day of high school, sports, boys, basketball games, girls water polo at the pool in January (brrr!).

It was a warm afternoon at the high school football field, the setting for graduation each year. For a very long time our town has gathered here each June to mark endings and beginnings. Speeches were made, music was played, names were announced. In less than 75 minutes we were done; over 300 seniors had left the past behind, and were facing a summer of wondering and hoping, before moving on to college, and life beyond, in the Fall.

As all the students left the field, I followed our Kelly with my telephoto lens, taking pictures of these fleeting moments.

And at the end of it all, our otherwise self confident, seemingly omniscient, and often even mature daughter did something I did not expect at all. Something altogether childlike and joyous; filled with glee, and youth, and promise for tomorrow.

After hugging everyone in sight, for just a bit, she skipped across the field toward the exit. Ten yards on the football field. First down. In just those couple of moments, that skipping, for me, illustrated so much of what makes up this remarkable young lady. My eyes filled with tears, a smile broke out on my face, and my heart brimmed with hope. Hope for a whole new generation.

Skipping forward, not looking back. That is how our Kelly will face the future. She is going to DePaul this fall to major in Elementary Education.

How fitting. The future teacher that skips into the future. I am so filled with admiration, and joy, and thankfulness, I could just skip.

And know what? The other day, when no one was looking, I skipped too. For Joy, and Mercy, and Grace.

Old Outside, New Inside - Words to Live By

Cardinal John Henry Newman, said this:

"Therefore I will trust Him. Whatever, where ever I am. I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him. In perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about."

My experience in thus far in this life; the holding of my own newborn girls in my arms, and sitting at the bedside of my dying parents, as illustrated by this Scripture, leads me to say "Yes!" to the words of Cardinal Newman.

There is a Guard There.... His Name is Ron

I recently attended the moving memorial service for a man who spent much of his adult life standing guard for the rest of us. A simple job, and yet filled with almost a royal sense of dignity. I will never forget my friend Ron Cherry. Now, each time I pull up to the front of our church, I remember, and miss our friend.

Because he watched out, countless people felt safe, and more importantly, welcome. It was said several times during his memorial that Ron was "the face of Hollywood Presbyterian Church". I agree completely, and we are, all of us, greatly honored by that memory.

He did so much for so many, and yet, I am convicted that I did not get to know him better, or appreciate him more while he was here. I am a much richer man for having witnessed the graceful, joyous, and genuine way in which he cared for others.

Ron spent 23 years of his life as a Security Guard at our church. And because he was there day in, day out, night in, night out, doing his job in such an excellent way, hundreds of people will never be the same for having known him; there were more than 150 people from our church at his memorial service. It is completely safe to say that Ron affected the lives of thousands in his time at Hollywood Presbyterian. My friend Mark Roberts has eulogized Ron recently here.

I have a bit more to add.

Ron Cherry was born in a small town in rural Louisiana. As a young man, he grew tired of small town life, and longed for adventure in the Big City, so he moved to Hollywood, in search of his own dream. Over his early years in town, Ron worked various jobs, as a hotel limo driver (often for inebriated celebrity guests who will remain nameless here), cab driver, movie extra, and finally, and most importantly, as the senior security guard at our church.

Ron did everything with grace, humor, and joy. He was especially loved by the children at our church Preschool. Following his sudden and unexpected death at just 63, a chapel memorial service for Ron was organized by the Preschool, in order for the children to express their feelings, and remember their friend Ron. My friend Tom is the unofficial chaplain of the preschool, and here are some quotes from the kids about their memories of Ron:

"We played tag" "He made me feel safe" "He always said hi" "He was so nice, and very fun" "We played soccer with a pine cone" "He always had candy for us!".

Ron made such a lasting impression on us all from often only passing interactions on Sunday mornings, or often midweek chats about sports, and politics, and the latest news. For us, Ron was a part of the billions of threads of God's infinite tapestry. From the peculiar distance of these passing conversations, so many of us felt a sudden sense of loss. Ron had the gift of simple Southern kindness, and he abided well in his place on guard, watching out for what he called "the Hollywood knuckleheads".

In retrospect, Ron taught me about joy, abiding in one place and being content, and finally, about the simple beauty and dignity of serving others.

Theologians are pretty much silent on the concept of what Heaven will be like. But, Jesus told us he goes to prepare a place for us, and that there is plenty of room There.

Based on what I know of Ron, when we get there, he will be waiting, watching, and smiling.

Amazing Views

I am so jealous. I want this job.

For some amazing views of the latest Shuttle Mission, go here.

Happy Birthday Benny

This weekend would have been the 100th birthday of Benny Goodman, the "King of Swing".

Enough said.

Of Firsts and Lasts, Discovery and Loss

Two events happened recently. One was 350 miles above Earth.

The other was very much on the ground, in the middle of America. One was grand and amazing. The other, almost unbearably sad.

And, for some reason, I keep thinking about the strange juxtaposition of these events, and I cannot loose them from my mind.

Looking Up
The world watched as the Shuttle astronauts spent the better part of a week servicing the Hubble Space Telescope; an event covered by the worldwide press. Repair of Hubble offers opportunities for new discoveries unparalleled, and a sense of almost unbridled expectation, hope, and excitement for the future. Repairs to the Hubble will allow man to see to the edge of Creation, nearly 14 billion years ago.

Sixteen years ago, I was at the Kennedy Space Center with JPL friends to watch the first Hubble Servicing Mission. I will never forget the thrill of watching the Hubble float over us, 70 miles above Florida, in the middle of the night, or the grandeur of witnessing a night launch; the moment, with liftoff that the night became the day.

And now, all these years later, two men, floating in the silent void of space, loosening bolts and replacing parts. Counting the turns of specially designed wrenches; every move coordinated for months in advance. Connecting wires, waiting for "aliveness tests", all while suspended in a vacuum where sound cannot be heard. There is no air up there. This is a "thin place", this space.

Down Here on Earth
The other event was known by only a few, and was strangely and deeply sad, quiet, solemn, and at the moment it occurred, almost silent.

A baby stopped breathing and passed away, a victim of Trisomy 18, after only a few weeks of life. A close friend of ours was the Pastor at his memorial service. His family loved him well, in those brief days of his life. He was surrounded by constant care, and his brief life here, among us, was not lived in a vacuum. His brief encounter on Earth was filled with meaning, although that meaning may still may be shrouded, and, for the present, hard to fathom.

Astronauts floating hundreds of miles overhead in a void of silence, gloved hands reaching out in the dark of space. And below, a small breath, growing weaker, fading.

The void of Space, and the void of Sadness. I cannot begin to understand this.

Maybe this is how it works, this life. Mystery, profound sorrow, hope, discovery.

This Works for Me

Remembering Everyday Heroes

This Memorial Day, I am remembering my Dad, Roland Norris, who proudly served his country during World War II, as a B-17 training pilot, and later, air/sea rescue pilot in the South Pacific.

After the war, he came home rebuilt his life, and was my Dad. He went to work faithfully for 40 years, providing a home for me and my Mom, and paying for my education.

I have never had to lift a finger in service of my country. I am very thankful for those who continue to serve.