a matter of sighs

a letter of thanks

2012-01-08T22:17:00.000-08:00

2011 in review

open thanks to close friends

2011-12-31T10:17:00.000-08:00

funny how one simple thing will trigger a torrent of thoughts. i am in my living room this morning working thru one of the prayer exercises from the devotional prayer book mike recommended to me back in august when i was in guatemala. in spite of it being fairly new, the binding is broken. this is in stark contrast to my bible laying there next to it. of course my bible is much older, but it has been rebound. it was THIS that unleashed the flood.

my bible is rebound because of you all. a little over a year ago, when james was still among us, you presented me with a monetary gift for christmas, part of which went towards that rebinding. but i distinctly remember telling you all when you gave me the check that YOU were the real gift. the monetary contribution was worth far less than the company of men that sacrificed towards that end. and as i sit here, i cannot help but think about, and thank God for, the incalculable contribution you have made to my life over this past year.

you have been a crucible for working out my sanctification in fear and trembling and deep pain. because of you, i have a realization and understanding, like never before, of the value of brotherhood – we have been for each other conduits for the receiving and giving of tangible grace: emergency prayers, texts, phone calls, contacts – fleeting and prolonged – both face-to-face and skype-to-skype – to help each other in the midst of both short-lived and protracted crises…sometimes we have stood firm…sometimes we have not. we have shared laughs, and tears – of joy, sorrow, cleansing and burden. and we have shared prayers for life, in both holy and mundane matters.

our interactions have built me up, challenged me and torn at my soul. i am a different man because of you. and it seems fitting, this last day of this year, as i thank God for you, to let you in on the details of my thanks.

funny…when i refer to us publically as a group i usually use some term like “the thursday morning breakfast guys” – a handle that’s far too long for convenience. but in my address book groups, you are simply “SOS”…universally known as a cry of distress, but which for me has also come to stand for “Sanctify Our Souls”.

so with profound gratitude for your life, your friendship, your brotherhood, your love, your prayers, your intercessions, your affections, your tears, your rebukes, your pokings and proddings, your leading me to the cross, your helping me stand when i cannot do so on my own, for invading my life and permanently affecting the course of each and every day, in the name of Christ our savior and master, i give thanks.

2011-08-03T20:44:00.000-07:00

a prayer letter from rick and melanie
sent a few days ago.

a post from satyagiri, igatpuri, india

2011-08-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

28 June 2011. the end of a long day. sitting upstairs overlooking the atrium – the sound of the wind and the flapping of the windmill, the rain falling into the courtyard below, the gray clouds fly by overhead. calm, peaceful, contemplative – me with ps 139.

this, and the walk out back to the stations of the cross calm my heart, and take my mind to a different place than it’s been so often in the past few weeks. i’m grateful to find tranquility in the midst of a place and time i desperately wanted to avoid. God is good. God is at work in me.

james

2011-05-30T23:35:00.000-07:00

i said goodbye to a good friend yesterday...a guy from a small accountability group. he’s been a weekly presence in my life for about 3 years now. he graduated with his degree from seminary and now he’s moving away.

i always thought he was a good guy. he IS a good guy.

and i’m a better man for having known him.

i’ve watched him grow in his faith; in his openness to other guys. we’ve intervened in each other’s lives at critical moments. we’ve shed tears for each other.

i cried when i hugged him goodbye; he cried back. sunday turned notably dreary.

i thank God for letting our the paths of our lives coincide for the time they did.

and yet, cursed be graduations.

cursed be moves.

i will miss him.

may God hold you firmly in his gracious, merciful and relentless grip, my friend.

other pleasures

2011-05-23T10:05:00.000-07:00

the pleasure of the sun on my skin

the pleasure of hard work and satisfaction of a job well done on the art show

the pleasure of being in the company of good friends

the pleasure of talking with a trusted friend on the phone and having my soul and spirit encouraged and fed

the pleasure of hunger being staved

the pleasure of eating leftover breakfast casserole, and the pleasure of remembering the brothers i enjoyed it with the first time

the pleasure of a hand on my shoulder during prayer

the pleasure of singing worship songs...loudly...very loudly

the pleasure of affirmation that my words penetrated someone’s soul and encouraged them

the pleasure of the warm and loving embrace of my wife

all very real. all very good. no shame.

a reflection on Isaiah 61-62

2011-05-23T08:41:00.000-07:00

a friend once said to me “everywhere i go, i go too, and that ruins everything”. i am like this man; i tend not to like my own company.

for whatever reason, i have always had a poor self image. i struggle with many things, many sins, but it usually boils down to a struggle with just who i am, my very DNA, and who and how God has made me. my default emotional position is “I may be a child of God, but he has only acquiesced to let me in to his family…he reluctantly allows me to be here…he graciously tolerates my presence…but when it all comes down to it, i’m peripheral, and he doesn’t really like me like you’d like a good friend.

this is, of course, heresy…but like i said, this is my default emotional position…left unchecked, i’ll always return to this place.

enter the grace ev free sermon on Isaiah 61-62:

“He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted…to comfort all who mourn, …to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. …

“You will be a crown of splendor in the Lord’s hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah, and your land Beulah, for the Lord will take delight in you and your land will be married. … as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you.”

that the Lord God Almighty King of the Universe would actually delight in me…with all my stuff? i will never outgrow my need to hear this.

when i cry out to God and ask “why have you made me this way?” it’s like the answer is “so you can show the world that my delight can be even in people like you.”

and now with a constant flow of input from people who keep my spirit in check, i’m growing, slowly changing, from being consumed with how bad i am, to being overwhelmed with how GOOD HE is.

so hear this, you who are in any way like me; let this sink down into the marrow of your bones and educate your conscience: his delight is in me…and his delight is in you.

an old journal entry

2011-03-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

i happened upon a journal of mine yesterday. as i read some of the entries there was a flood of emotions that attended memories of events long gone. among those entries was the following:

___________________

2-Sep-01

i was washing pots tonite. so much crud baked onto the bottom of the skillet. stuff that wasn't cleaned off the first time. and so repeated use over the fire hardened the thin veneer of oil and grease into a coating that wouldn't simply rinse off. the metal scrubby: hard, sharp edges, scouring powder, lots of effort…and time. repeated circular motions over the same spot…and some, only some of it would come off. apparently forever amen a part of the pan. is it? would more time, more effort, more scrubbing and more sheer desire to restore the pan to its pristine, new condition yield its desired effect? maybe. but there's the spot on the wooden handle, forever blackened because it got too close to the fire. no amount of scrubbing will take that away. if the pan had feelings, the scrubbing would hurt, as layer after layer was slowly ground away…good surface is affected by the cleaning of the dirty part.

at times it seems my life is like that skillet. layer upon layer of crud, sins never fully dealt with, baked to a hard coating, marring the appearance and making any cleaning now a much more involved process…sigh. it all depends on the owner of the pot…do you want me clean? yes. grind me down, clean me off…make me shine. restore me.

___________________

a friend was present when i read this; he watched as old memories stirred, and grief rose, borne on the wings of failures from long ago. in his wisdom and in his discernment he reminded me of who i am in Christ, that i am a work in process, and that there is growth and change in me that others can see, even if i sometimes cannot. i thank God for that man, for his encouragement that transforms sorrow into peace, and for others like him who help me see that the prayer IS being answered; the Owner of this pot IS at work, scrubbing, grinding, polishing, relentless in his determination to restore and renew. one day...yes, one day...

reunions and reflections on tarnish

2010-06-08T08:38:00.000-07:00

i’m on my way back home from dallas…the final foray into processing my mom’s estate is over. it has been 6 months since her death; time to clean up the house and get it ready to put on the market.

so much stuff to sift and sort…there’s the usual paperwork, of course. lots of clutter to rummage thru and toss. and then there’s those reunions with things that evoke poignant memories: the cheap aluminum sugar bowl i remember seeing on the table breakfast-after-breakfast from my earliest days in that house; christmas records i used to listen to as i watched the colored lights reflecting off the gaudy aluminum christmas tree…yeah, we had one of those…it was painfully smaller than the one the what’s-their-names down the street had.

there have also been some surprises, like finding a copy of the Dallas Times Herald dated Nov 22, 1963; the hand-made guest book my parents had at their wedding – all those years i’d been snooping thru their drawers and closets and i’d never run across that! and baby clothes my mom had saved along with a note thanking God for the joy her children had given her. that one was particularly hard.

i rediscovered artwork i hadn’t seen since high school, and as i looked at it, people, places and circumstances that attended its creation bubbled back to the surface of my consciousness. it was the catalyst for a thought: i’d “abandoned” lots of stuff at my mom’s over the years, but as long as my mom’s house remained my mom’s house, this was a place where my orphaned possessions could nevertheless “live”. there was the gracious side-effect that i could come back periodically, reconnect with my roots, stir the pots of memories and let them simmer on the back burner of my mind. and this i have done for the past 3 decades.

but this time it was different. clearly most of this art work was too big to take back, and even if we could, there’d be no place in our home where we could absorb it. and so the reality dawns that now is truly the time when the-fate-of-X is finally decided; sheep and goats, wheat and tares, good fish-bad fish. i now must choose to never see some things again, to close the door to potential future reunions and intentionally relinquish chunks of my life into the arms of a different era. sigh.

the house is now empty; carpets have been ripped up; the spider webs are off the walls; the rusty old revolving clothes line has been officially put in the trash. but a few things have survived the cut.

among the things i brought back with me were some silver serving utensils, gifts to my parents for their 25^th wedding anniversary from some now-forgotten, unrecoverable giver.

smudges, brown and black spots, an ugly film covering the entire surface, such that i could barely detect my own reflection on the back of the spoon. not a very good likeness of me, but a fairly accurate picture of the way i sometimes reflect God: a hazy, confused image on what should be a smooth, polished surface.

the tarnish may obscure the reflection, but interestingly it’s the presence of the tarnish that announces the identity of the underlying metal. stainless steel maintains its luster… and is worth considerably less. so naturally, when i paw thru the kitchen cabinets and come across the cutlery, it’s the dirty filmy “ugly” pieces ones i pick out to save because they are more valuable.

there are probably ways to keep silver from tarnishing…i think you can wrap it up in zip lock bags and keep it away from the air. i suppose there may be value in suffocating your silverware if its primary purpose is for display. but if it’s going to be used, it will get dirty. just like us…when God puts us in contact with life, he runs the risk that we will come away smudged and dark and dingy. fortunately tarnish can be polished off. but it takes special cleaners. and work. and in my case, blood. and sweat. and tears.

i’m glad it can be removed, being the tarnish bearer that i am. i know there will be a day when my luster will be restored like new…and it will be that way forever.

till that day the firm, mighty, and merciful hand of God will continue to scrub and polish me with the precious blood of Christ.

“fine, thank you. and you?”

2010-03-31T05:30:00.000-07:00

it’s no profound observation that the "how are you?" question is often not really a request for an update on someone’s status. for that we have facebook and twitter, where every fleeting thought, however trivial, can be presented to the world as “breaking news”. as a language guy, i accept the fact that “how are you?” functions largely as verbiage that greases the social machinery. and so "fine" is an acceptable answer; contact with another has been made, their presence has been acknowledged, even if only in cursory fashion.

well, yeah, i’m a linguist, but i’m also one of those the-glass-is-half-empty people. so it’s no wonder that i’ve come to believe that “fine” is really just superficial, and that a truly “authentic” answer to “how are you?” consists of something more along the lines of:

"do you really want to know?"

"hmmmm…could be better."

“don’t ask!”

the desire for “authenticity” results in me adopting a “Saint Eyore” persona and perpetually presenting myself as being “under the pile” of life. left unchecked, my own particular brand of “breaking news” can be a real downer.

so i was thinking about this yesterday and came to a realization:

i surrendered to Jesus on 23 sep 1971. today it will be 14068 days since that event.
14068 sunrises; 14068 mornings that his mercies have been new.

14068 days with their own arrays of anxieties that i’ve worried over; 14068 days of worries that God has taken care of and been faithful to me in.

14068 days, not one of which has passed without either sweet, bland or bitter awareness and acknowledgement of God’s presence with me; 14068 days in which God has never dismissed me.

14068 days of exposure to his Word thru book or sermon or memory or gracious face of his family.

during each of these 14068 days i've sinned against God and man at least 7 times; and in each of these 14068 days i've received forgiveness for those sins 7 times over and then some.

the transitory up-and-mostly-down blips of my emotional condition pale in comparison to God’s goodness to me over the long haul. as much as i might like to believe it, i’m really NOT in the cross-hairs of life. quite the contrary.

so then, “how am i?” hmmm…now that i think about it, very fine, thank you. and you?

relevance theory and lingering effects

2010-01-02T12:34:00.001-08:00

not long ago when we were returning to CA on a flight from dallas, i had occasion to observe a rather surly flight attendant who could have been the “poster child for relevance theory” in that she said nothing more than was absolutely necessary to point her audience in the direction of her intended meaning. i had already noticed a couple of things: her curt manner, and how she narrowed her eyes and stretched the corners of her mouth into a smile-like configuration…the result was not unlike the picture of a possum i saw when i was in elementary school perusing an encyclopedia article on “rodents”.

anyway, the beverage service was about to start, and with service cart in tow towards the designated starting position at the front of “coach”, she backed up the aisle, casting cold glances behind her, announcing to the passengers “arms and legs…arms and legs…arms and legs…” obviously a warning to her audience to keep their extremities out of the aisle, as she would be only too happy to collide with them if they didn’t. (i, fortunately, was sitting by the window, so i was out of target range.) then the “service” started; she came back pushing her cart down the aisle stating “something to drink” without the slightest hint of question intonation in the vicinity. now circumstance and experience normally sanction a passenger’s ready assumption that such an utterance constitutes an “offer”, and therefore s/he could justifiably supply implied information along the lines of:

[would you like] something to drink[?]
or
[can i offer you] something to drink [?].

of course on this particular occasion, i felt they could also be equally justified by filling it in as:

[you’re lucky if i give you] something to drink[!]

she eventually came to our row and a “something to drink” was directed first at me…

me: “I’ll have a diet coke.”

Flight Attendant: [blink]

[eyes move in melanie’s direction]

melanie: “Do you have cranberry juice?”

FA: [single nod]

…then to “arms and legs” sitting by the aisle.

A & L: “Orange juice.”

FA: [take plastic cup, scoop ice, open can, pour, extend hand in direction of window]

“diet”

[take second cup, more ice, another can, pour, extend hand towards middle seat]

“cran”

[repeat process, relinquish 3^rd cup]

“orange”

[push cart forward while directing withering look at next row of obstacles to inflight contentment]

sigh. you never know the effect you may unintentionally have on someone. outside of our being a nameless collection of faces with irritating requests, just like those she sees every other day, she will likely have no particularly salient memory of the passengers she “served” that day. she will certainly not remember me, the diet coke in 16A. melanie and i, however, will remember her for a looooong time.

a view from 35000 ft

2009-10-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

a friend requested that i post this letter. okay, larry, here you go.

the end of October, 2009.
Peru, Nepal, my mom’s severely declining health, computer theft …sigh. As we go through life there are times when it seems that lots of life goes through us instead, and at an alarming rate…five months in the blink of an eye. As I write this, I feel as though I am treading water in a turbulent sea of organizational chaos, whipped into a frenzy by all the above…sort of my own personal “hurricane Rick”. I’m looking for the eye in the storm.

The view out of an airplane window gives you perspective you will never have while on the ground: you can see the OTHER side of the clouds, for example, and you can apprehend vast expanses of earth at a glance. And from that vantage point you can also see major landmarks and the relationships between them in a particularly clear way without getting sidetracked by the million and one details that grab your eye while earthbound. I’ve had lots of opportunities to look out of airplane windows in the past 5 months and it’s left me reflecting on life from the 35000-ft-view rather than from the 5’9” perspective normally afforded me. The temptation here is to fill pages with details, but that, as interesting as it may be, could also easily obscure the much more significant big picture.

Peru: Melanie and I worked there for 26 years, raising a family and joining together with the Wanca Quechuas to produce all kinds of literature in their language and ultimately the New Testament, a historical first. With experience comes responsibility, and since that time we’ve made ourselves available to consult, teach and train those who are already, or hope to be someday, involved in Bible translation, be they here at Biola University or elsewhere. It’s made us both mobile and global. So over the summer we returned to Peru for 4 weeks and then spent 2 more in Nepal trying to tweak translators’ perspectives on how to compile dictionaries, and draft the book of Philemon, and understand the relationship between communication and translation. I will forever be impressed with those I met, some of whom have suffered for their faith in ways I will likely never know, and all without having scripture in their language. Amazing. And humbling.

But we had no sooner landed in Nepal than we got an urgent message telling me to call my brother in Dallas. You never want to get messages like that, and especially when you’re 12 time zones away. Seems my 90 year-old mom had suffered congestive heart failure and had been admitted to the hospital. She was now stable and in good care, and, thanks to Skype, we could talk to her every day. But our stay in Nepal had this as its backdrop. We got back to California after 44 hours of takeoffs and landings, and after teaching the first two days of the new school year here at the University, I hopped on yet another plane to Dallas to see mom – now in a nursing home – and to support my brother and his family in this situation in whatever way I could. It was on the way back from Dallas to Los Angeles that my laptop was stolen…not misplaced, not picked up by accident…stolen. The details of how it happened are peripheral.

There is something deeply chilling when you realize that your entire professional Bible translation and linguistic life for the past quarter century has just been taken from you, along with financial records, passwords to online financial accounts, correspondence, address lists, pictures of trips you will never repeat, intensely personal reflections, books, the IPod, the thumb drive, and, oh yes, even the backup hard drive…all conveniently present in the same back pack. First panic, then a mad dash for baggage claim in the dim hope you’ll see the person who has it; hope fades. Then frustration, anger and helplessness, as neither the airline nor the airport police seem capable, or even willing to do much about it. Then driving home amidst wracking sobs, paralyzed by the fear of certain identity theft…and loss…the incalculable, irretrievable loss…sigh…and sigh. “How in the midst of this can there be any good, but if there is, O God, show it to me.” And a long, restless night full of “Why did I…?” “...if I only hadn’t…” and “What if they …?” and punctuated by getting up to cancel more accounts and change more passwords.

And then I saw myself all too clearly, naked in a desert before God, with nothing; accomplishments, gone; dictionary work, gone; all the consulting and teaching I’d just done in Peru and Nepal, gone; lesson plans for tomorrow, gone, every means through which I might accrue some value for myself, gone. Then came the good I’d asked for: the single, poignant, defining moment…the pristine re-recognition that I am not my work, that my value is not in what I do, in what I offer to God in terms of talents, or as a linguist/translator/consultant with years of experience, or as a teacher with well-crafted lesson plans…but that my value is now and always has been only that I am an intentional target of God’s grace, and nothing more; and that apart from that, I am no different from the guy who took my laptop; and that because of that I can say with all honesty, “Have mercy on him as you have had mercy on me.”

And in the midst of all this, I realized that this was very likely the back-door answer to some glibly uttered prayer somewhere in the past: “Help me know you better” or “Get my attention”. When you pray for God’s work in your life, you are really praying for an end-result, not the path that takes you there. So if the result I ask for is consonant with God’s purposes in me, then he is justified in molding me and pressing me into it regardless of the means. It was an encouragement, albeit a severe one, to realize that God had not abandoned me and was still answering my prayers for my good.

I am not the only one to suffer loss; there are some that suffer losses much greater, like those who were affected by the wildfires I watched from the window on that flight, where all their treasures literally went up in smoke; and I, like they, still pick through the rubble and chaos, retrieving whatever is salvageable. And almost daily for the last 6 weeks, the realization of yet of another missing piece. I’m sure some of the wildfire victims suffer alone…very alone. But I do not, for I have walked through this accompanied by the people of God, who have loved me and encouraged me, and even supplied me with equipment to replace what I lost. This shows me that they – and you – are my true treasure. The computer was just a box and the stuff in it were ultimately just tools. And however painful it may be to lose them, the work of God was not in that box; rather, the real work of God is the extent to which I foster the image of Christ in those around me; and that, no one can steal.

Forgive the accutely personal and solemn tenor of these lines. I realize this has not been our typical communiqué, laced with home-improvement challenges or the stuff our kids are up to. Rest assured, we are still home-improvement-challenged and our kids are up to plenty. Melanie will probably want to write the next one. But I felt that this time a view from the other side of the clouds would more accurately reflect the present landscape of our lives. Who knows? It might also provide some food for thought and prayer as you seek to know Him better. It might also encourage you to back up your computer…off site…in a place far, far away.
...
Pummeled by the grace of God. Rick

arequipa shadows

2008-12-25T23:17:00.000-08:00

the sun seems to do things to arequipa i've not seen anywhere else. maybe i just haven't been enough places...

bread

2008-12-11T06:34:00.000-08:00

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
from ancient times
…
He will stand and shepherd his flock
in the strength of the LORD,
in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God.
And they will live securely, for then his greatness
will reach to the ends of the earth.
And he will be their peace. (Mic 5.2ff )

Bethlehem: "house of bread". Bread: simple, common everyday food. Bread to fill your stomach when you are hungry; bread to give you strength when you are weak. Bread permeated with yeast, and yeast the symbol of sin. And in the house of bread, would be born the Bread from heaven itself. The Messiah who would fill our hungry souls and strengthen our spirits when we have no strength. But this only because he would take on all our sin; a stable-born king who left his riches and became poor for our sakes, so that we through his poverty might become rich.

Bread for life; yeast for sin and death. Richest of Kings born stable-poor. Sinful man loved by him who knew no sin. He dies; we live.

inn-n-out

2008-12-11T06:26:00.000-08:00

Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem only to find that the one place that lodged travelers was full. People must have been there from all over because of this census. No room anywhere. And Mary’s labor had started. Bad timing any way you look at it. So they were given a corner in a stable. Open to the world. Dirty straw instead of a bed. The annoying intrusion of animals. Far away from home. No family or friends to help. Something was surely wrong somewhere. How could the King of the Universe be born in a stable? The Messiah – the long awaited Deliverer, the One promised throughout the ages by the prophets, has only a feed trough for a crib?! Didn’t God himself send an angel to announce his coming? But not this way. THIS is hardly the kind of birth that should attend royalty. It makes no sense.

But then throughout history God so often did things that boggled the mind. Didn’t he back Moses and his people up against the sea with no way of escape when the Egyptian army came in to annihilate them? Quite a poor battle plan. But then he did something else totally unexpected: he opened the sea and led his people across dry land. And when Gideon had 10,000 troops at his disposal to attack the Midianites, didn’t God tell him to send all but 300 away? Bad strategy. But with those 300 God delivered the Midianites into his hand. And here in this very town hundreds of years earlier, didn’t God choose a shepherd boy to be King over the nation, one not even the prophet Samuel would have picked? And yet this was one whose heart beat for God and from his line would come One whose kingdom would never end.

So much that just doesn’t fit our expectations. But then our God is a God of paradoxes. His ways are higher than our ways, his thoughts are higher than our thoughts. It’s THAT – the difference – that sets the stage for our amazement and awe at what he does. That the King should be born in a stable? Yes, on second thought, this too might bear the fingerprints of God.

a prayer for ryan and kenlynn

2008-09-08T20:53:00.000-07:00

O Lord, you are the giver of all good and perfect gifts, and Ryan and Kenlynn have been gifts to us. This was your idea. THEY were you idea, for before either of them were even the remotest of our thoughts, you, O Lord, saw all their days from beginning to end. You alone know what lies ahead of them.

You are a severe God, but you are also severely compassionate, and you sent your Son as the ultimate demonstration of your love and determination to provide a way for us to know you. And Ryan and Kenlynn DO know you. And they know that life is not about them; it’s about you.

So I pray for their success, in all ways, of course, but ultimately in the only way that really matters, that their lives together reflect your presence, your power and your grace. Be the center of all they are, and have, and undertake to do.

Be their sufficiency when they lack.

Be their stability when they waver.

And be their hope when they are discouraged.

We commit them to you with great joy and thanksgiving. Keep them firmly in the center of your merciful, loving, gracious, and relentless grip.
Amen.

souveniers and salvation

2008-08-07T09:24:00.000-07:00

we’re back. 20 hrs of travelling and with each passing minute – for me anyway – the “normality” of 6 weeks of life there sadly fades. we have several hundred pictures snapped at those instances when your soul says “i want to keep this forever”; experiences and moments too rich and too dynamic to be captured by such simple, static, 2-dimensional arrays of pixels on a screen.

we have a few souveniers to physically extend the visit beyond ourselves and share it with others who stayed here: “here’s a piece of the sea of galilee”; “these are from the ravine near where david fought goliath”; “this is for you. i wish you could have been there.”

we have a collection of new neural pathways that have been etched in our brains and souls, the proof of which are the hebrew-flavored phrases and songs that we hear echoing in our minds when we wake up in the middle of the night, or that spring to life randomly during the day: hatiluni el ha-yam; gol, gol, gol al-adonai darkekhah…

and then we have things like this: reflective post-mortems done in the attempt to trap the evanescent fleeting thoughts that will surely escape if no attempt is made to tether them somehow to some kind of verbal stake, thoughts which no image or souvenier can capture.

i was struck by the veneration displayed for places; churches built on top of rocks where tradition has it that something significant took place: Jesus wept here, Jesus broke the loaves and fishes here, the foot of the cross was here. perhaps more striking was the smoothness of the rocks themselves, the results of hundreds of thousands of visitors over the centuries who at least with curiosity, if not with awe and reverance, have approached the rocks and touched them, and maybe crossed themselves and said prayers in their presence. i’ve wondered what lies behind this. are they attempts at achieving a tangible, physical connection with someone the world can no longer see or touch, to reach back into history and maybe make their faith “real”? is it perhaps a longing for a kind of magic, for a transfer to take place: that maybe there is resident in these rocks a trace of His power – “let it pass to me to help me live a better life”? i felt all this myself, but at different places. not at shrines, but in gardens and sea shores, uncluttered by buildings. “Jesus surely walked up these steps”, “Jesus saw these hills”. and as i sit on the beach at migdal and sift sand thru my fingers i think “Jesus walked along these very shores…maybe he even touched this rock”? and so with my own sense of wonder and reverance i pour sand and shells into a bottle to take away with me…hoping it is not just sand, but a piece of history actually touched by the Master. but then it occurs to me “Jesus DID touch this sand and this rock” realizing that “Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.” in a real sense all places, whether in israel or here, are holy; all things have been touched by Him; and all souls that have stretched out hands to touch “sacred rocks” – or not – are to Him sacred, the works of his hands, invitees to His mercy and His grace. i save pictures and rocks and sand to remind me of places he may have been; He, on the other hand, saves me, and those like me, and reminds me of his unfailing love and compassion on all in all places at all times. to Him be glory and honor forever. Amen.

“She’s a bad woman; give me the goat!”

2008-07-03T04:33:00.000-07:00

learning hebrew
in kibbutz tzuba
near jerusalem
exhiliarating, exhausting, expensive
minimal vocabulary
barrage of verb forms...morphological confetti
truncated sentences
4 hrs a day
monolingual
homework too
very tired
neurons fired
neurons fried
reading jonah
← wrbh n ll ←
little by little
many questions

"אישה רעה; תן לי את העז"

Professionalism and shepherds

2008-06-03T17:29:00.000-07:00

We study for years in expensive, prestigious educational institutions acquiring skills and knowledge focused on obtaining and enhancing our future careers. And once employment is secured, we typically seek higher standing in the corporate structure through a combination of improving old skills, gaining new ones and some well-calculated social shmoozing.

Well, what about shepherds? I’m no expert, but it doesn’t seem like it would take much skill to be a shepherd. I mean, after all, what do you have to do but sit around all day and watch the sheep? Oh, I suppose you have to protect them from harm, and lead them to food and water as well. But even so, shepherding certainly doesn’t seem to offer much in the way of upward professional mobility. All things considered, being a shepherd wouldn’t be too impressive on a job résumé.

The irony of ironies is that this is the picture the Lord God Most High, the Creator of heaven and earth, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, gives us of himself. “I am the good shepherd,” Jesus says (Jn 10.11). How odd. Why would he identify himself with an occupation that by most standards is nothing short of a professional black hole? Probably because it’s a clear reflection of his character: unlike the corporate climber, the young urban professional, the CEO of a multi-national conglomerate or the celebrity on a red carpet surrounded by papparazzi, the shepherd is focused not on himself, but on the well-being of weak, defenseless, fairly stupid creatures who get lost easily and do nothing all day but consume to fill their own stomachs. Creatures rather like us, as a matter of fact. Selfish, belly-centric, and prone to take the wrong path. Creatures who need protection and nourishment. Creatures who more often than not do not recognize the extent to which they benefit from the character of their caretaker. Creatures who find themselves in the center of the selfless, constant, loving and compassionate gaze of the Good Shepherd.

Fortresses

2008-06-03T17:28:00.000-07:00

Things that are bigger than you will force you to either try harder in an effort to exert control and influence over them – or they will force you to yield. If you do the latter, it matters what you yield to. You can yield to despair – I've done so on occasion. The world will be cold and opaque. You can also yield to God. There is no despair for a beleaguered soul-jer finding protection behind the walls of a fortress. That's what fortresses are for…not some shameful, second-rate "plan B" for the warrior who discovers he is insufficient in and of himself to win the war alone. Come in. Close the door. Welcome to my world.

Holey His

2008-06-03T17:26:00.000-07:00

I was thinking this week about failure – personal, professional, just pick a domain – and, in typically morose fashion, began to wallow in a view of myself as nothing but a collection of empty holes, a substance-less interstitial tissue. Hardly healthy.

Then I remembered thinking once long ago "I am NOT the sum of all my failures." Initially a comforting thought. But if holes is what I am NOT, what indeed AM I? Is this comfort in actuality some kind of psychological stowaway, hidden somewhere inside the vague hope that maybe there IS some redeeming element, something worthwhile, some measure of intrinsic value in me, even apart from God?

Thoughts of Grace's teaching on Romans flow thru my mind; if one thing is clear it's that there is no excuse, no cause for boasting, no justification whatsover before God – apart from Him and His intervention I am irrevocably unredeemable.

So the niggling suspicion that I am a collection of empty holes turns out to be, in fact, closer to the truth – except for one thing; it does not end there: the holes are voids, hollow places to be filled by the grace of God. Then let the holes be deep and cavernous and gaping – and let God pour into them, to outrageous overflowing, all the grace that He can muster. Then it will be true that I am not the sum of all my failures – for I am failure met by the unmerited favor of God, and He has made me a vessel of His relentless, unfathomable and incalculable grace that can fill all the holes in me. To Him be all glory and honor.

a thought on psalm 63.1

2008-05-28T10:04:00.000-07:00

"...my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water."

a desert wasteland. thirst, hunger pangs, weariness, intense physical longing… you are my "enemies"… bodily stuff to conquer, to avoid, to master in one way or another, and not just for me, but for the world as well. who would ever opt for you if the slightest alternative were offered? but blessed be you, who remind me that I am not perishable flesh and blood only, but also spirit, made in the Image of God. blessed be you, who day by day, hour by hour, second by merciless second, so relentlessly point me to Living Water, Bread of Life, a yoke made easy by my Yokefellow, and pleasures at His right hand forevermore.

what to pray?

2008-02-29T05:14:00.000-08:00

ps 138.7 "tho i walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life."

even if there is difficulty, even if surrounded by enemies, God is there. who would know better than someone like David, whose whole life was filled with difficulties, yet thru those difficulties an awareness of the presence and provision of God the likes of which i can scarcely imagine.

so, what to pray? "O Lord, deliver me"? Maybe.
or "O Lord, let me see you even here"? Surely.

in memoriam

2008-02-19T07:25:00.000-08:00

15 feb 08

Tombstones: what pitiful markers for those who have punctuated our lives with their presence. An inscription like "Kenneth Lysle Watters. June 22, 1917-January 12, 2008" will never do justice to the totality of a life, certainly not in this case.

I've just come back from a memorial service for Ken Watters, who died a month ago at the age of 90. He was one of the "old guys" who labored to make Wycliffe Bible Translators the organization that it is, whose name would often appear in publications and organizational newsletters, such that you were always left with the impression "he's a 'Somebody'". We went to the memorial, not because he was a Wycliffe 'Somebody' – we never even knew him – but we know his kids, our peers, and wanted to honor and support them.

I've been to funerals where there is no hope; where people struggle for words to say at the departure of a loved one…sometimes grievious, sometimes welcomed. There have been other memorials, however, whose textures have not been so dark and sombre. And I can scarcely imagine a more eloquent and joyful memorial than this one was, truly the celebration of a life of service, full of integrity and lived for the glory of God.

I'm left with numerous impressions.

Person after person stood up and lauded his life, and not merely with the perfunctory "he's in a better place"-type platitudes you might hear in similar circumstances. They shared about his contributions in so many areas: military service, his involvement with Navigators, his history with Wycliffe. Truly a remarkable man. Themes of honor, integrity, his kindness, his love for scripture, his love for God, how he sacrificially cared for his wife, what an example he was were voiced repeatedly, the sheer volume of which only confirmed their veracity and could not help but leave me with the impression "I wish I would have known him too." What an incomparably valuable legacy to leave behind.

But then Josiah, one of grandsons shared…"I never knew my grandfather as an important person; I never knew him as someone who accomplished great things in the navy, or in Bible translation. He was just my grandpa." A tender, yet haunting statement. It made me reflect on how often my life casually touches specific points along the trajectory of the lives of others. They have a history; they have a future ahead of their present. And yet so often I treat the contact in a cavalier fashion, sometimes even wanting to avoid them altogether. But i'm reminded by this statement that I don't know where God has brought them from nor what God has in store for them in days ahead. There is simply too much about them I don't know to exclude them from the category of "important people". As C.S. Lewis has said:

"…It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal…Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses." (from The Weight of Glory)

In light of all the post-mortem honor heaped upon this man I could not help but think "What will my children say about me?" Now THAT's something to ponder. I know that countless impressions I've made during the course of my life are already planted, rooted, grown, harvested and fully digested in their minds and souls. So i figure I should get the jump on things now and write out what I want them to say while it's still fresh in my mind!

reflections on a house remodel

2008-01-23T18:44:00.000-08:00

11 jan 2008.

Then he said to them, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions." (Luke 12.15)

as i sit in the aftermath of 3 ½ wks of demolition and reconstruction, eating a bowl of ants with cereal on top, it seems like a good time to reflect.

the other day as i was sweeping piles of dirt and debris off the floor, it occurred to me that a rich man could pay for someone else to do this. in fact, a rich man wouldn’t likely find himself in this situation at all, of having to live in the midst of chaos and cold and confusion for weeks on end, while his house was being undone and redone. a truly rich man would likely have enough money to simply hire others to do all the dirty work, while he lived elsewhere.

how could we volunteer to destroy the most important portion of our house during christmas, and then be responsible for feeding an extra family of 5 for almost a month? truly a miracle of bad timing.

but then it occurred to me that this remodel is riddled with other miracles and much more meaning than would be attached to it if i had simply conscripted strangers for the job, precisely because people we love and who love us have permeated the process since its inception:

stephanie, kait, and carly ripping out carpets

lonnie, in whose mind this whole kitchen scheme was spawned and nurtured

larry h, mary p and individuals in the grace group who in spite of their own need contributed funds: voilá: le grace group front door!

donna t, ralph g; and sally.who provided – and still provide – inspiration and input

tim and alli, drew, luke, brooke, brent who with crowbar and sledge hammer launched d-day with a bang

cloyd m, lending his RV to us, total strangers, so that we could house 3 teenagers in our driveway
annie and walter providing over the fence lodging for lonnie and mary

lonnie’s tireless work…sometimes even 16-17 hrs a day, even now still pondering the reorganization of the bathrooms for yet another project!

gracie who was always willing to help, complaint-less even after being bitten by the dog

spencer, and especially taylor, initially bitter about being forced to give up his christmas at home in arkansas, yet returning with treasured memories and accomplishments – especially the mantle – and bearing an obvious deepening of his maturity
mary kathleen keeping things like the unglamorous trash in their proper places

aaron r, between jobs, yet driving over from pasadena, not once but twice, to put up sheet rock for nothing.

don d coming from beyond sacramento to contribute 2 weeks of his life to making holes in our house and filling them with windows.
billy coming many times and giving of his time and talents even though his only connection to us was thru don and joby

harold l, the electrician with an oil well in his front yard, wiring our house and garage for free

john b, who in spite of weakness caused by chronic liver disease gave us steps that now lead down into the den

sally and ted, joby, walt and sherry and the williams bringing gourmet dinners, along with all the contributions of grace groups who pounded us when we got to the states.
and evan, and mike and heather ...and others i've probably forgotten, forgive me.

and erik, ryan, lucas and melanie…especially melanie

i can only conclude that this is not my remodel; this is OUR remodel. each and every nail and screw, each and every cut of the saw, every board pulled up and put back, every stroke of paint and swipe of stain, every shim to level doors and windows, every expenditure of mental effort to design and redesign and re-redesign, every dustpan full of ex-house, every meal cooked either by us or by others… each is a gift, the willing voluntary contribution of members of the body of Christ who have injected themselves at every step along the way towards making this house a home. their fingerprints on every surface declare their love for us. none of this could i ever buy. miracle of miracles: i am much richer than the rich man.

to the graduating seniors 2007 - yuñon cherch yooth grupe, lima, peru – 10 june 07

2008-01-23T18:38:00.000-08:00

to the congregation:
there are certain days throughout the year i particularly look forward to: any sunny day in Lima, my birthday, christmas, the first day of a vacation at the beach when i take my watch off and begin to forget what time it is….there are others. but this …THIS is not one of those days. not because it is not an honor to be asked to address these guys one final time…it’s the ‘final’ part that’s the problem…and this time is more final than ever before. i’ve seen people facing “final” times like this and have heard them promise themselves that they will not cry. i can make no such promise. what i have to say here is not for you, but you are invited to eavesdrop for the next few moments.

to the kids:

now to you, who are vitamins to my soul,

this month you will hear graduation speeches encouraging you and giving you advice for success as you go out to take on the world. well, this cannot be a 20 minute commencement address for 2 reasons: for one, we don’t have the time, and besides, i've already had the unparallelled privilege of encouraging you and giving you advice almost every week for anywhere between 1 and 4 years depending on just how long you've been subjecting yourself to the youth group. and frankly i have every confidence that all the material for success – in its truest sense – stands here before me today.

so much i still wanted to say to you: about suffering, and accountability, about the world that will come rushing in on you with a ferocity so subtle that it would leave your head spinning if you could but detect it…

a dozen other things to hopefully help further ground you in the faith you take from here. i don’t really know what words have planted themselves in your souls as a result of our times together. i’d actually like to know, and was going to ask last nite, but with the beach thing and chocolate and t-shirts, i just didn’t have it in me to organize a group discussion as well….write me some day and let me know. regardless, it’s now the job of others to fill in the holes i’ve left, as well as the holes i may have created…and there are some…probably many more than i would have the strength to acknowledge. for any and all wounds, my deepest apologies.

so what will be my parting shot? ultimately, the best thing i can do now is to remind you of what i’ve already told you on numerous occasions: remember who you are…and i’m not talking about the fact that each of you is delightfully weird…and some of you are more…delightful…than others.

so who are you? besides being:

jobs
martha
billy
kara
ben
andrew
lucas
saudi
liz

whoever and whatever else you may think you are, remember this first:
that because you trust in the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus, you are forgiven… acquitted of all crimes against God. you are released … free to go.

But not merely forgiven; you are innocent. He has declared you righteous and holy, blameless in his sight…not on your merits, but on his, because he embraced the death that was rightfully yours and gave you the life that was rightfully his.

you are now sons and daughters of the most high God, the King of Kings. you are royalty with unspeakable privilege.

you are his workmanship, his poem: living masterpieces in the making…do not forget that
you are his delight, the intentional objects of his good pleasure and will.

this and much much more. so whatever you do … or are tempted to do, remember who you really are.

so hear me now, you who are salt of the earth and light of the world, you recipients of his lavish and incomprehensible grace.

what is my hope for you? well, the best of all good things of course, but not in the guise you may think…

i hope that in your life God makes you uncomfortable ….and thru that shows you that your only real comfort is in him

that he will stretch you, even to the point of breaking, ….so that you will learn that he is the only one that holds you together

that he will bring you to the end of your resources, ….so that you will see that in and of yourselves you can do nothing; and that he alone is your truest treasure

in this toxically egocentric age when the vast majority around you will be zealously devoted to the religion of self-worship and self-indulgence, i hope that he takes you increasingly out of yourselves, and then invades you and possesses each one of you in the fullest sense of the word, so that he himself may walk freely among your peers cleverly disguised as you.

i'll be happy to take partial credit for any of these difficulties that come your way, but do not forget that if they do, it's probably mostly your own fault…if indeed you ever prayed – however glibly – that God would help you to get to know him better. He will take that prayer seriously and the answer may be other than what you expect. my hope is that thru it all, you remember that his grace and love for you is so vast that it will take him an entire eternity to show it all to you.

i will indeed miss you. … i won’t particularly miss the mess you make in our home on saturday nites, but i will most certainly miss you.

this is it. so now, as you go, remain firmly and confidently in his mighty, gracious, wise, ever-loving, unrelenting and unbreakable grip. ladies and gentlemen, my friends, light of the world … salt of the earth…it's been a privilege.

a prayer for the graduating class of ICSL lima, peru 2007

2008-01-23T18:30:00.000-08:00

O Lord, these guys face big changes, and new and very different lives. What can we possibly pray for them that you have not already thought of?

My words here are reflections of my own mix of emotions that so many endings and beginnings together bring to the surface.

As parents we want to pray for their safety, but you, Lord, have never been a safe God. And if indeed we placed them into your hands when they were infants, now as young adults we have even less control over where you will lead them.

We may want to pray for their comfort, but how can we do this, and also pray that you use them for your glory, knowing that those you have used the most have also suffered greatly?

You are a God who throughout history and our own lives does marvelous and spectacular things. But you are also the God of the mundane and supremely subtle. I pray that they may see your answers to their prayers especially when the answers don’t look like they thought they would.

I pray that their faith be truly theirs and not simply an heirloom inherited from their predecessors or peers. That when their faith is challenged by those who hate it they they would know why they believe what they believe and know it well and speak it forth with boldness.

I pray that they learn not to trust on their gifts and abilities, which surely are many and which surely will fail, but on your grace which will not. Teach them that it’s never been all about them, but about you, and you in them, and thru them, you in the world.

That when they are lured by the world, that you would be their magnificent obsession.

I do not pray that you give them wisdom or strength, but that you BE their wisdom and strength; they they find themselves lost in you and be ever more like you.

For you are a loving and faithful God. who loves with wreckless abandon, faithful and firm to the end, wise in all things.

They leave our sight, O Lord, but not yours. Indeed your servant David said:

O Lord, you have searched me
and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O Lord.

You hem me in--behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, n you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast. (Ps 139 1-10)

O Lord, that these be not just words in their ears, but the sentiment of their souls and the comfort and assurance of their hearts.

So here they are, Lord. They are yours. Thanks for having lent them to us for this brief time. We commit them to your faithful, relentless, and wholly merciful grip.

the car wash boy

2008-01-23T16:54:00.000-08:00

“He who receives you receives me, and he who receives me receives the One who sent me. Anyone who receives a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and anyone who receives a righteous man because he is a righteous man will receive a righteous man’s reward. And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward.” (Mt 10.40-42)

3 jan 07 – Cerro Azul Beach, Peru – I've just been stung by a sting ray – we are having lunch in the restaurant, and as the burning creeps up my leg, up comes of group of about 4 men – all Peruvian, except for the taller, lighter – skinned one – his accent made me think he was from Spain. He’s a bit older…is he their mentor? Why do I think he’s a priest? There are no outward trappings; no robes, no crucifix – nothing quite so obvious.

We ordered lunch; they ordered lunch. A little boy about 8 or 9 comes into the restaurant porch where we are sitting. “¿Tienes carro que puedo lavar?” I had a car, of course – but the girl at Union Church washes it every Sunday ... we’ll be there in a few days – so “no”. He falls off my radar.

We resume our family conversation. The waiter brings our food. Several minutes later I notice the waiter bringing food to the Spanish man’s table … and a plate of food to the car wash boy, who is sitting next to the Spanish man. The Spanish man is chatting with him, asking him questions. The car wash boy is enjoying his lunch … a very nice lunch for a car wash boy.

It’s amazing how many things can flood your mind in an instant; it takes so much longer to write them down. All of the sudden i realize:

the car wash boy was hungry
he didn’t want to wash cars, but it might help him feed himself
i saw him as a minor intrusion on family time.
the Spanish man saw thru the question
the Spanish man must be a priest – his job is people – caring, looking for guys like this – he loved the car wash boy

The priest will not lose his reward – he received the car wash boy and offered him what he himself enjoyed … an 8 year old dining in the company of adult strangers. If the Spaniard IS a priest, he lives his faith better than I do. Woe is me! My life is too fast – too cluttered with things that blind me to those around me. How many opportunities like this have I been presented with in my 25 years in Peru?

The car wash boy will not remember me – I dropped off his radar as soon as he dropped off mine. The car wash boy will remember the nice man who bought him lunch – he will remember him forever. And God will remember them both. I will too…as a memorial to my insensitivity and blindness. I did not have enough love to invite Jesus to my table.

on failure

2008-01-23T16:45:00.000-08:00

can words truly echo the groaning of my soul?
choked sobs, muffled cries, silent bleeding wounds.
only the sighs of God himself suffice.

empty, ruined, desperate, tired longings for
someone besides me to fill this skin of mine
to make this body move,
to make this mind think,
to make this heart love God with each and every beat,
to do for you what i cannot.

for this, your Spirit, promised, given and grieved…
oh my life, be for him,
oh my blood, course for him,
oh my eyes, see for him.
oh my heart, oh my heart…

may your grace be as great, and vast and lavish as you say!
may your love be furious in your pursuit of me.
may you be the sure, relentless hound of heaven
and track me down, your reluctantly willing prey.

you don’t desire my years of tears,
there would never be enough to atone.
oh, wrench away my cherished fears
and make me yours and yours alone.