You know those dreams that seem so real, bit while they are going on, a little part of your brain tells you,“This is a dream. Enjoy this dream. Let yourself get lost in this dream, because you are really going to have fun!”? Yeah. Had one of those last night.
Synopsis:
Candace and I are at a state fair/theme park/some venue of sorts with the Little Ones (who, although they are the only ones with us, are actually little, like when Aidan & Michaela were in 7th & 8th grade). Everyone lis heading into an arena to watch some “presentation”, and Candace goes in with Saryn (reminder: Little Saryn, as in, being carried by mom little Saryn), but Ror seems to have become separated from the others. I ask a security dude if he has seen my boy. He is too busy enjoying the fly-bys from these unmarked aircraft to say anything of value except, “Dude! Are you seeing this!” Explosions begin occurring directly in front of us. I press him for the whereabouts of my son, and he provides a vague answer; either my son is in a place of relative safety, or he has just moved to the place of doom in front of us. Then, a suspicious humvee-like vehicle pulls up, and tries to force its way through the crowd, going in the (potential) direction of my missing son. I try to talk to the driver, but immediately sense that this is not a good guy to whom I am speaking. In fact, something is now terribly, obviously wrong with this driver and his vehicle (It’s a dream... work with me on this!). I pick up a sledge hammer, which just so happens to be conveniently leaning against the security post building, and pond its head through the rear window of the humvee. The driver looks up at me through the rear view mirror, and draws a side arm from its holster and begins shooting at me. Stray shots kill the security guard, and I manage to evade being in the direct line of fire.
And then it happened...
I extend my hands in that certain-sort-of-way, and ping-ping-ping!!! I have the forearms and gloves of an Iron Man suit on, and the repulser rays are charged and engaged. BAM! I blow a hole though the humvee and incapacitate the driver. More aircraft fly overhead, explosions detonate around us, people are now screaming, fully aware that this is not a part of the day’s entertainment. “I need the rest of it, NOW!” I announce to no one in particular (implying that the rest of the suit needs to be attaching itself to me ASAP).
“Do you have any cash in your wallet?” What? This is not part of the dream! This is my wife talking to me, as she readies to leave the house to run a 10k. “uh, yeah... check my wallet,” I respond groggily. Try as can, I am unable to return to the dream.
I didn’t even get to fly.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Don't Know Where You're Going, Only Know Just Where You've Been...
Wow.
Wedding in Chicago. Camp in Auburn. Mission trip to Puerto Rico.
Come home to make ready for another year of grad skool, and the beginning of all the ministries in the Fall, plus begin planning camp for next year, my in-law's 50th anniversary celebration, and (hopefully) a 30th year class reunion.
I'm wiped. We leave Tuesday.
Wedding in Chicago. Camp in Auburn. Mission trip to Puerto Rico.
Come home to make ready for another year of grad skool, and the beginning of all the ministries in the Fall, plus begin planning camp for next year, my in-law's 50th anniversary celebration, and (hopefully) a 30th year class reunion.
I'm wiped. We leave Tuesday.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Blog Crashes
I don't really know what happened to my blog. It vanished from the server I use, and took all of the beautiful comments from all of you with it.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Best Dream Ever...
You know those dreams that seem so real, bit while they are going on, a little part of your brain tells you,“This is a dream. Enjoy this dream. Let yourself get lost in this dream, because you are really going to have fun!”? Yeah. Had one of those last night.
Synopsis:
Candace and I are at a state fair/theme park/some venue of sorts with the Little Ones (who, although they are the only ones with us, are actually little, like when Aidan & Michaela were in 7th & 8th grade). Everyone lis heading into an arena to watch some “presentation”, and Candace goes in with Saryn (reminder: Little Saryn, as in, being carried by mom little Saryn), but Ror seems to have become separated from the others. I ask a security dude if he has seen my boy. He is too busy enjoying the fly-bys from these unmarked aircraft to say anything of value except, “Dude! Are you seeing this!” Explosions begin occurring directly in front of us. I press him for the whereabouts of my son, and he provides a vague answer; either my son is in a place of relative safety, or he has just moved to the place of doom in front of us. Then, a suspicious humvee-like vehicle pulls up, and tries to force its way through the crowd, going in the (potential) direction of my missing son. I try to talk to the driver, but immediately sense that this is not a good guy to whom I am speaking. In fact, something is now terribly, obviously wrong with this driver and his vehicle (It’s a dream... work with me on this!). I pick up a sledge hammer, which just so happens to be conveniently leaning against the security post building, and pond its head through the rear window of the humvee. The driver looks up at me through the rear view mirror, and draws a side arm from its holster and begins shooting at me. Stray shots kill the security guard, and I manage to evade being in the direct line of fire.
And then it happened...
I extend my hands in that certain-sort-of-way, and ping-ping-ping!!! I have the forearm and gloves of an Iron Man suit on, and the repulser rays are charged and engaged. BAM! I blow a hole though the humvee and incapacitate the driver. More aircraft fly overhead, explosions detonate around us, people are now screaming, fully aware that this is not a part of the day’s entertainment. “I need the rest of it, NOW!” I announce to no one in particular (implying that the rest of the suit needs to be attaching itself to me ASAP).
“Do you have any cash in your wallet?” What? This is not part of the dream! This is my wife talking to me, as she readies to leave the house to run a 10k. “uh, yeah... check my wallet,” I respond groggily. Try as can, I am unable to return to the dream.
I didn’t even get to fly.
Synopsis:
Candace and I are at a state fair/theme park/some venue of sorts with the Little Ones (who, although they are the only ones with us, are actually little, like when Aidan & Michaela were in 7th & 8th grade). Everyone lis heading into an arena to watch some “presentation”, and Candace goes in with Saryn (reminder: Little Saryn, as in, being carried by mom little Saryn), but Ror seems to have become separated from the others. I ask a security dude if he has seen my boy. He is too busy enjoying the fly-bys from these unmarked aircraft to say anything of value except, “Dude! Are you seeing this!” Explosions begin occurring directly in front of us. I press him for the whereabouts of my son, and he provides a vague answer; either my son is in a place of relative safety, or he has just moved to the place of doom in front of us. Then, a suspicious humvee-like vehicle pulls up, and tries to force its way through the crowd, going in the (potential) direction of my missing son. I try to talk to the driver, but immediately sense that this is not a good guy to whom I am speaking. In fact, something is now terribly, obviously wrong with this driver and his vehicle (It’s a dream... work with me on this!). I pick up a sledge hammer, which just so happens to be conveniently leaning against the security post building, and pond its head through the rear window of the humvee. The driver looks up at me through the rear view mirror, and draws a side arm from its holster and begins shooting at me. Stray shots kill the security guard, and I manage to evade being in the direct line of fire.
And then it happened...
I extend my hands in that certain-sort-of-way, and ping-ping-ping!!! I have the forearm and gloves of an Iron Man suit on, and the repulser rays are charged and engaged. BAM! I blow a hole though the humvee and incapacitate the driver. More aircraft fly overhead, explosions detonate around us, people are now screaming, fully aware that this is not a part of the day’s entertainment. “I need the rest of it, NOW!” I announce to no one in particular (implying that the rest of the suit needs to be attaching itself to me ASAP).
“Do you have any cash in your wallet?” What? This is not part of the dream! This is my wife talking to me, as she readies to leave the house to run a 10k. “uh, yeah... check my wallet,” I respond groggily. Try as can, I am unable to return to the dream.
I didn’t even get to fly.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Juxtaposition...
What a week. That says it all, and says nothing. So much to say, so many inadequate words to use.
Highlights:
Looking forward to pictures of the Bride and Groom. I'll share when I get any.
Highlights:
- I got to dance with a Brown-Eyed Girl.
- I watched my beautiful Bride dance with her oldest. It conjured up memories of watching them dance together in our apartment in Elk Rapids when he was an infant, and she looked as young then as she does now. She led the dance back then. It was good to see him lead his mother, my Beloved, at his wedding. The look in his eyes was all that I needed to see. She taught you how to love a woman, son. I hope your Bride appreciates that.
- I saw my son lose his breath and weep with joy at the entrance of his own Bride. She was beautiful, beautiful INDEED! I saw the same look in his eyes that is in my own, each time I see his mother. I taught you that, son. I hope your Bride appreciates that.... Wait. It was The Lord who taught us that, son. She will appreciate that. Always.
- I experienced watching my youngest represent his brother and his family well... Very well, indeed!
- I danced with my wife... twice. We need to do this more often. We need to do this like we believe that dancing is a celebration of this beautiful life that we have been gifted with. The praxis and the axiology need to be in alignment.
- That was some amazing food at the reception! Really, really good.
Looking forward to pictures of the Bride and Groom. I'll share when I get any.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
One More for the Journey...
She taught you how to dance before you could even walk. She would take you up in her arms and hum a soft tune for only your ears and hers to hear, and cheek to cheek you would both sway to the beat of each other’s hearts. For nine whole months she carried you in her womb as you learned her rhythm; the gift from God to two kids scared out of their minds with the task before them. The warmth of the household…
I taught you to laugh. It was clearly in you from the beginning, just waiting for an opportunity to burst forth. When it did, it sounded like a symphony of joy played in two strings. I will never forget the sound of your infant laughter. I will never forget how you used to run to me when I came home, your little feet padding away on the hardwood floor, while you urged the walker forward, oblivious to whatever obstacle that might be between us. When I would take you up in my arms, there was still plenty of dance left in you. We danced, too, you and me. The warmth of the household…
We were both there for your first steps, your first word, your first meal where you fed yourself. We have watched you grow in wisdom and in stature, and have been a part of almost every aspect of your life. We fueled your interest in music as we kept the cd player on in almost constant loop. When your interests turned to sports, we provided the opportunities and shared in the experience. When you encountered frustration, and were tempted to quit, we rallied around you and encouraged you to push through, preserver, and overcome the obstacle; it would make you a better man. The warmth of the household…
When you boarded the plane for Chicago to begin the quest for finding the college of your choice, we sent you out with a mix of pride and trepidation. We were proud that you were forging out with big plans to a big city all on your own. Our trepidation was for the same reasons that people thought we were crazy in allowing you to go by yourself.
Many times I wondered if I was doing it right, this parenting thing. You, like every other child ever born, did not come with an instruction book. But like most, I did the best I could. My mistakes were often quite obvious, and some of them have consequences still. For every time I said too much, there is a time I said too little. That delicate balance between instructing and micromanaging.
Now you have reached the time where I feel your heart has decided that you don’t need me anymore. I know this is just another stage in the parenting thing; but it is possibly the most difficult stage I have faced yet. Letting go of you, and realizing that you aren't coming back anytime soon. It brings me to tears every time I think about it.
We were both there for your first steps, your first word, your first meal where you fed yourself. We have watched you grow in wisdom and in stature, and have been a part of almost every aspect of your life. We fueled your interest in music as we kept the cd player on in almost constant loop. When your interests turned to sports, we provided the opportunities and shared in the experience. When you encountered frustration, and were tempted to quit, we rallied around you and encouraged you to push through, preserver, and overcome the obstacle; it would make you a better man. The warmth of the household…
When you boarded the plane for Chicago to begin the quest for finding the college of your choice, we sent you out with a mix of pride and trepidation. We were proud that you were forging out with big plans to a big city all on your own. Our trepidation was for the same reasons that people thought we were crazy in allowing you to go by yourself.
Many times I wondered if I was doing it right, this parenting thing. You, like every other child ever born, did not come with an instruction book. But like most, I did the best I could. My mistakes were often quite obvious, and some of them have consequences still. For every time I said too much, there is a time I said too little. That delicate balance between instructing and micromanaging.
Now you have reached the time where I feel your heart has decided that you don’t need me anymore. I know this is just another stage in the parenting thing; but it is possibly the most difficult stage I have faced yet. Letting go of you, and realizing that you aren't coming back anytime soon. It brings me to tears every time I think about it.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Working it Out...
Over last summer, my daughter was home from the university she attends in Chicago. It was the end of her freshman year, and it was exciting to talk with her about her different experiences, what she was learning, and the new opportunities she was engaged in while away from home. One such new opportunity was to be on the school's rowing team. Candace and I were pleasantly surprised. Aside from trying out the rowing machine (or, ergometer) at the local gym a few times before she left home for her freshman year, Michaela had never been involved in this type of activity before.
One afternoon, I asked my daughter if we could go to the gym together. My thoughts were that she could join me on the weight machines to get stronger for rowing, and I could join her on the rowing machine to learn how to use the ergometer. As an added blessing, I would grow closer to Michaela in our relationship, as we shared an experience that had become such a joyful part of her life. When we arrived at the gym, I was disappointed that she decided to forego the weights to spend forty minutes "erg-ing." At the conclusion of my weight lifting session, I sat down next to Michaela on the available ergometer and said, "Let's row!" After leading me through the basics on how the machine works and how to use it, we began a slow-paced workout together. Our pace quickened, with Michaela leading the way. This is easy! I thought, as I watched the numbers on the digital display climb, showing my calculated distance so far, my calories burned, and my strokes per minute. Matching Michaela's pace, I thought I was doing pretty well…
"Wanna race?" I asked. This was not a wise suggestion on my part.
"Sure," she said, with a slight cock of her eyebrow which indicated her amusement with the suggestion, as well as a mix of incredulousness.
She didn't even wait for me to say GO! The explosion of speed and power next to me was truly amazing. I found myself immediately behind, completely outclassed, and absolutely over my head. After two minutes, she was over fifty meters ahead. At the 4-minute mark, I was well over 100 meters behind. Five minutes found me seeing stars, through which I stubbornly pressed on for one more minute. At that point, I knew I needed to stop before I passed out or threw up… or both. Michaela continued to row on for another ten minutes, with a wisp of a smile on her face.
"Not too bad for a novice, Dad", she said, with, "... and an old man" finishing off her victory trash talk.
I didn't expect to win in my race with Michaela, but I didn't expect to perform so poorly, either. After I had physically recovered from my loss, I asked her why I had not done even a little better in the race. The answer, it seems, had little to do with the amount of work I was able to perform, and more about my posture. How I position myself on the machine and how I move my body affects my breathing, and it affects the quality of my output. If my posture is not right, then I can exert more energy and more time, and not really get anywhere. With poor posture, I run the risk of being present in the gym, but only going through the motions of a workout.
After we worked together to improve my posture, I found that I was able to accomplish more, have greater stamina, and enjoy the "work" aspect of the workout much more. And that got me thinking about my spiritual workout...
"Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose." (Philippians 2:13-13)
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the word used to name the rowing machine--the ergometer-- was the same root word in verse twelve of "working out." Michaela had coached me to understand that having proper posture was the key to my physical workout. As I continued with my rowing under her watchful eye, I could feel myself tending to a posture that was more within my body's comfort zone, and away from the posture that produced the kinds of results one should look for in rowing. Keeping good posture, it would seem, is difficult work in its own right.
There is spiritual truth to this concept as well. Those of us in full-time ministry understand that the ministry itself can be a lot of work. Certainly, ministry contains many rewards and joyful opportunities! But there are those times when our posture is not what it ought to be. We find ourselves busy in ministry, and not postured correctly. Busyness, sometimes, is our comfort zone. Helping others becomes our spiritual workout, and we neglect our own conditioning.
Rowing is a team sport. So is ministry. Our own spiritual posture before God is as important as the physical posture one must have on an ergometer, and on the open water as well. When we neglect our own workout… when we ignore our own posture… we adversely affect our ability to pull together with the team God has given us. When ministry is about "us", it ceases to be about HIM, and our posture is all out of whack.
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not for men…" (Colossians 3:23). Yep. There's that word again. Don't forget to spend time present in the spiritual gym, and erg-out with all of your heart.
One afternoon, I asked my daughter if we could go to the gym together. My thoughts were that she could join me on the weight machines to get stronger for rowing, and I could join her on the rowing machine to learn how to use the ergometer. As an added blessing, I would grow closer to Michaela in our relationship, as we shared an experience that had become such a joyful part of her life. When we arrived at the gym, I was disappointed that she decided to forego the weights to spend forty minutes "erg-ing." At the conclusion of my weight lifting session, I sat down next to Michaela on the available ergometer and said, "Let's row!" After leading me through the basics on how the machine works and how to use it, we began a slow-paced workout together. Our pace quickened, with Michaela leading the way. This is easy! I thought, as I watched the numbers on the digital display climb, showing my calculated distance so far, my calories burned, and my strokes per minute. Matching Michaela's pace, I thought I was doing pretty well…
"Wanna race?" I asked. This was not a wise suggestion on my part.
"Sure," she said, with a slight cock of her eyebrow which indicated her amusement with the suggestion, as well as a mix of incredulousness.
She didn't even wait for me to say GO! The explosion of speed and power next to me was truly amazing. I found myself immediately behind, completely outclassed, and absolutely over my head. After two minutes, she was over fifty meters ahead. At the 4-minute mark, I was well over 100 meters behind. Five minutes found me seeing stars, through which I stubbornly pressed on for one more minute. At that point, I knew I needed to stop before I passed out or threw up… or both. Michaela continued to row on for another ten minutes, with a wisp of a smile on her face.
"Not too bad for a novice, Dad", she said, with, "... and an old man" finishing off her victory trash talk.
I didn't expect to win in my race with Michaela, but I didn't expect to perform so poorly, either. After I had physically recovered from my loss, I asked her why I had not done even a little better in the race. The answer, it seems, had little to do with the amount of work I was able to perform, and more about my posture. How I position myself on the machine and how I move my body affects my breathing, and it affects the quality of my output. If my posture is not right, then I can exert more energy and more time, and not really get anywhere. With poor posture, I run the risk of being present in the gym, but only going through the motions of a workout.
After we worked together to improve my posture, I found that I was able to accomplish more, have greater stamina, and enjoy the "work" aspect of the workout much more. And that got me thinking about my spiritual workout...
"Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose." (Philippians 2:13-13)
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the word used to name the rowing machine--the ergometer-- was the same root word in verse twelve of "working out." Michaela had coached me to understand that having proper posture was the key to my physical workout. As I continued with my rowing under her watchful eye, I could feel myself tending to a posture that was more within my body's comfort zone, and away from the posture that produced the kinds of results one should look for in rowing. Keeping good posture, it would seem, is difficult work in its own right.
There is spiritual truth to this concept as well. Those of us in full-time ministry understand that the ministry itself can be a lot of work. Certainly, ministry contains many rewards and joyful opportunities! But there are those times when our posture is not what it ought to be. We find ourselves busy in ministry, and not postured correctly. Busyness, sometimes, is our comfort zone. Helping others becomes our spiritual workout, and we neglect our own conditioning.
Rowing is a team sport. So is ministry. Our own spiritual posture before God is as important as the physical posture one must have on an ergometer, and on the open water as well. When we neglect our own workout… when we ignore our own posture… we adversely affect our ability to pull together with the team God has given us. When ministry is about "us", it ceases to be about HIM, and our posture is all out of whack.
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not for men…" (Colossians 3:23). Yep. There's that word again. Don't forget to spend time present in the spiritual gym, and erg-out with all of your heart.
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