Fourteen Years Later...

    Fourteen years ago this week, Valerie and I said "I do" and began a wonderful adventure together on an Alaska cruise. Wednesday we celebrated our fourteenth anniversary. Well, maybe "celebrated" isn't exactly the right word. Between the two of us, life has been busy the last few months with multiple medical appointments. So a couple of months ago when I was offered a May 6 date for an overnight sleep study and saw the calendar had no medical appointments that week, I jumped at the opportunity, somehow missing the fact that it would be our anniversary. Note to self: Avoid scheduling medical procedures on your anniversary. 

    So instead of enjoying a great anniversary dinner with Valerie, there I was at Valley Medical Center (the car has been there so often it can find its way without us), and my wonderful and wise wife insisted I keep the appointment. So even though I'd rather have celebrated with my wife than with wire, lots and lots of wire, that's how I ended up looking like a zombie. Valerie has taken great delight in sharing this picture with entirely too many people, and so because I love her, I figured I should help and just put it on the blog with a Facebook link and let the comments fall where they may.

    The truth of the matter is that we have re-discovered in these last fourteen years that the joy of celebration isn't limited to special events; it's a daily adventure. Valerie's current cancer adventure regularly reminds us of the truth that in spite of bodies that sometimes groan, every single day is a fresh gift from the Lord, who loves us with a steadfast love that will never quit. There's joy to celebrate there, and with gratitude, we'll take it!

Things I Should Have Said More Clearly But Didn't

 In looking over the responses to last night's blog (The October Surprise) we are humbled and deeply grateful. Thank you for caring and praying. At the same time, I sense there are some things I probably should have made clearer than they were:

1. I am super sensitive about not sending unwanted email. We recognize that you may choose to stay in touch in other ways, and your comment that you are praying will not automatically add you to the email list.

2. Relying on Facebook for updates will not be effective. In an effort to manage communication as simply and securely as possible, we don't plan to post regular updates on Facebook. Those will come through the email list I mentioned. If you want to receive those, please ask.

3. Commenting directly on the blog rather than Facebook is good, but please identify who you are; otherwise we won't know.

Finally for those of you who half a lifetime ago (that's your life, not mine) were part of one of my writing or speech classes, let this post come as a gentle reminder of what I told you often, and what you have no doubt discovered to be true: The day will come when nobody cares what grade you got in my class, but they will always care how effectively you communicate!

😀😀😀😀😀

 

The October Detour

The October detour started with a full body itch and jaundice. Less than a month later, Valerie had a diagnosis of bile duct cancer. In between were more medical tests, appointments, and procedures than anyone should try cramming into a couple of weeks along with introductions to three new doctors, all of it happening at a mind-numbing pace. We find ourselves once again in the midst of a new unplanned and unexpected adventure, occasionally (and I suppose unnecessarily) wondering what the Lord who loves us has in mind.  

Valerie, who has a lifetime of experience following the Lord into the unknown, has a deep peace and confidence that God knows what He is doing in these current circumstances; So do I, but of the two of us, I’m the one more likely to have questions for the Almighty. It’s not that I don’t know the right answers; I do, and I’ve shared them with many others. In the last few weeks multiple friends have started dealing with fresh cancer diagnoses. When it comes to things like cancer, I recognize the tension that can exist between what is known and what is sometimes felt, and that tension has had me thinking lately about the theme of this blog.

What does it mean to talk about discovering joy in the midst of a cancer diagnosis? In the wake of Joan’s diagnosis over twenty years ago, a basic biblical truth impressed me more clearly and deeply than it ever had before. I think it is one of the simplest and most important things I have ever learned. All God ever gives us is one day at a time, and every one of those days has been recorded by God before even the first one came to be. He is a present tense God, and each new day comes as a gift with an invitation to walk with Him through it. 

I don’t know why the Lord surprises us with sudden detours, but asking why is almost always the wrong question. Advent will look a bit different this year, punctuated with fifteen radiation treatments and likely followed by oral chemotherapy. We are on a journey these days rich with opportunities to experience God more deeply and intimately than we otherwise would, and to do so one day at a time as long as He gives us days.

A P.S. for those who want to stay in touch: We’ll be sending occasional email prayer updates on how Valerie is doing. If you want to receive those, all we need is a current email address. The most efficient way to contact us is email or phone/text to either of us or commenting directly on the blog. My presence on Facebook is infrequent and irregular, and Valerie no longer uses that platform at all. 😀

A Better Mousetrap?

According to the old saying, the world will beat a path to your door if you build a better mousetrap. In my more idle moments I've wondered why a mousetrap? Is the world really that desperate to undo what Noah did when he let those two rodents on the ark? Why not something more obviously wanted by a world waiting for greatness? Enough people thought electric vehicles were a good idea that an unlikely South African named Elon made a fortune building ugly cars.

 

These thoughts resurfaced a few days ago when my wife asked why the car heater was making a funny noise. I turned the fan higher and the noise got louder, and when I turned it all the way up, it make enough noise to make we wonder if the car was about to breath its last. So I turned off the fan and mentally rearranged the rest of the day so we could find out what was going on.

We dropped the car off to be checked out. When we got it back two or three hours later, the diagnosis was clear, complete with a picture: 

    Confirmed customer concern.

    Removed blower motor and found a deceased rodent

    Removed and disinfected entire heating box.

    Operating normally at this time.

I am no longer waiting for the world to beat a path to my door. Apparently I had a better mousetrap all along. Admittedly it was, like Elon's cars, significantly more expensive than the alternatives, but it was highly effective.

I'm sure there must be a lesson here somewhere, but I'm not sure just what it is. I have, wisely I think, purchased cheaper traps. There doesn't seem to be much sense in questioning why God created rodents and Noah welcomed them onto the ark (which fortunately, as far as we know, didn't have a blower motor). However, I can still find joy even in this set of circumstances. Just picturing that little critter spinning around in that fan makes the rest of life's problems seem a bit lighter, and, perhaps perversely, brings a smile to my face. 😀

 

 

 

 

 

Thank You, Lopez

 

    Twenty months ago, Valerie and I headed up to Lopez Island to say "No." The Community Church on the island was in the midst of a difficult transition, had experienced a failed pastoral call vote, and was looking for an interim pastor. Someone thought I might be a good fit. Just to be clear, that someone wasn't me. My plan was to preach that weekend, politely explain to the elders why I was not the end of their search for an interim, and go home. God adjusted our plans (that's another story; he does always know what's best), and we became frequent commuters between Kent and Lopez Island.

    The last twenty months have been an unexpectedly wonderful adventure as we have walked this interim journey with folks whom we have come to love. Some of the walk and the work has been hard; I guess that's normal. Ninety-six ferry rides later, (some of them were actually on time) that adventure came to a happy conclusion this last weekend as the church enthusiastically welcomed their new pastoral couple and allowed me the privilege of participating in his installation (which, by the way, is a terrible term; a pastor is neither a refrigerator nor software). 

 
    When we boarded that 96th ferry on Monday morning, it was with great memories and deep joy. The memories are not focused on cancelled ferries or crowded freeways or the common occasional frustrations of ministry. They center on a bunch of new friends and on the incomparable privilege of witnessing the work of the Lord among them. I shudder at the thought of what I would have missed if I had simply said "No."

    It's been a great adventure and one of the most joyful chapters of our lives. Thank you, Lopez!

The Continuing Saga

 

Could we just agree that pictures of me in medical facilities might not be such a great idea?  😀

Ten months ago I posted a picture of me at the VMC ER waiting for a hospital room, a visit prompted by a GI bleed.  This picture is after this week's repeat trans-jugular liver biopsy at UWMC.  The intervening months have been a multifaceted adventure with multiple medical procedures and a second GI bleed hospitalization.  Along the way I've been richly blessed by the prayers of faithful friends and family.

I've always believed that people who agree to pray also deserve to be kept up to date, and I have to confess that I have not done as well in that department as I'd like to.  Valerie has done much better than I have in that regard, but with an ever-changing medical schedule and a continuing search for elusive answers, I've left some good friends praying in the dark.  I'm hoping this post will provide enough background and current info to help correct that.  If you want more (or less!) info, feel free to holler.

First, a bit of history: For a few years before the first bleed, I had been tracking a slowly sinking platelet count.  For me that triggered memories of Joan's blood cancer adventures.  Particularly in her last months, her lack of platelets was a major issue.  Low platelets can be a production issue (bone marrow, as in Joan's case?), destruction issue (malfunctioning immune system?) or a storage issue (where are they hiding, and why?)  An enlarged spleen pointed toward the storage answer.

The doctors then looked for a reason for the enlarged spleen.  Assorted tests and the first bleed led to a tentative diagnosis of portal hypertension (increased blood pressure in the digestive system), a condition that does fit the enlarged spleen, low platelets, and GI bleeds, but is usually the result of alcoholism and liver damage.  But my liver seemed to be functioning normally, and I don't even like the taste of alcohol, so the focus of the search shifted again to seek a reason for the portal hypertension, a question that has not yet been fully answered.  My GI doctor had only seen one other case of non-cirrhotic portal hypertension, and that one was caused by a parasite (one more negative test for me!)  Meanwhile he has referred me to a liver specialist at the University of Washington to help with the search for answers.  

Three months ago I experienced a second bleed and hospitalization (along with an incidental positive covid test) and was blessed with four units of other people's blood.  Since then the medical schedule has been much busier than I would like.  Most recently that has included an endoscopy last week in which the doctor removed a benign duodenal polyp and banded five veins that may or may not have been the source of the bleeds, and this weeks repeat liver biopsy, this time at UW.  On the schedule going forward are a zoom visit next week with the UW liver specialist and another liver MRI the following week at Valley Medical Center.

The good news is that for a guy whose calendar has been dominated by medical stuff, I feel pretty good in spite of energy returning more slowly than I would like in the wake of the last bleed.  Usually I like to wait to pass along information until I have something definite to share, but the nature of this odyssey is such that I don't know when or if that time will come.  Meanwhile, know that your prayers and concern are deeply valued.  Once again a significant part of our joy comes from God's gift of praying people like you.  Thank you!  

Thank You

 

In my perfect world, Valerie would have asked me to smile before taking this picture.  But then in my perfect world, we wouldn't have been there in the first place.

It was not my plan to land in hospital with an upper GI bleed a few days before Easter.  But I have learned over the years that my plans, however much I may like them, are always subject to divine editing.  So there we were in the emergency department at Valley Medical Center doing what ER patients do everywhere: waiting.

My unfortunately unrealistic expectation when we arrived was that I would be waiting for stat blood work and a decision on an expedited endoscopy.  The optimist in me had not planned on waiting for a hospital bed.  So I had arrived with the clothes on my back and a cell phone in my pocket, and with those (though the clothes didn't stay on my back) I was eventually admitted.

One of the realities of the covid era is that visitors are not allowed beyond the ER, so it would be a couple of days before I would see my wife's smiling face once again, and while I missed her, I did not miss her iPhone camera.  Some pictures, after all, are better left untaken.

I have never spent Good Friday in hospital before, at least not as a patient. It is an interesting environment in which to contemplate the suffering of the Savior and the unsearchable dimensions of his love. Reading is my default relaxation, but the only thing I had to read was an iPhone screen, and prayer quickly became a better choice.

Fast forward a few days. (I'm pretty sure you really don't want the inpatient details.) I was home for Easter, the bleed has abated, and the strength is slowly returning.  As far as anyone can tell, I am on the mend. There remains a fair amount that we don't yet know, and additional tests and procedures lie ahead, but in these God-given present moments in which we all live, I am deeply thankful.

Which brings me to the point of this post: To you who knew and who prayed, thank you. And to you who didn't know but would have prayed if you had known, thank you as well. I'll take that kind of prayerful friendship anytime!

And to my best friend, chief photographer, information facilitator, and sweet gift from God, take heart; the best is yet to be....

A Voice from the Past - Part 2

 I've been thinking lately about churches; not "the church," but individual local churches. Last month's five Sundays had us focused on five different local churches. For some I was the preacher du jour. The venues were varied - sanctuary, parking lot, prayer garden, online - and the congregations represented a broad spectrum of church health from gloriously healthy to ingloriously struggling, a range, by the way, that has little to do with church size. Reflecting on that spectrum, I was reminded of two things.

 

One was my first visit to Tintern Abbey in Wales. My grandmother painted a picture of the abbey ruins as a wedding gift for my grandfather over 100 years ago, her perspective a bit different from the  picture here. Her painting hung in our living room when I was growing up and fueled a desire to see the site for myself some day. Social distancing among the ruins would not be a problem as long as you didn't mind sharing space with the occasional cow. I wondered what had started the slide centuries ago from a vital center for the gospel to what can best be described by the oxymoronic phrase magnificent ruins.

 

The other was that recently rediscovered recording of my ordination service that was the focus of the last blog post. Chuck Wickman's message focused on seven core concepts of ministry. It was an interesting exercise to view last month's five churches through the lens provided by those concepts. For your edification and encouragement, and as you consider the congregation you call your church home, here is a summary of his list:

 

1. Ministry is limited only by the vision of people and their willingness to walk with God. It seems to me that a lot of excuses get drowned out by that statement. How do we who minister encourage and model that vision and willingness to walk with God?

 

2. Ministry will rise only to the level of its object, and that object is Jesus Christ. Success in ministry will not be determined by the strength of our commitment; it is the object of our commitment that counts. 

 

3. Ministry will maintain its cutting edge by its definiteness. There needs to be a prophetic voice, a thus saith the Lord to our ministry. We must speak truth no matter how frightening truth may be.

 

4. Ministry is as meaningful as it is flexible. The shape of ministry gets defined by the people around us. In a world that constantly changes, ministry that cannot flex will cease to be seen as meaningful.

 

5. Ministry moves people from where they are only as it accepts them for who they are. It may be messy, but we meet people where they are, remembering that God has dealt with us in grace, and that we are likewise called to minister in grace.

 

6. Ministry is intended to develop Christian character, not to produce Christian conformity. Conformity will always be counterfeit unless it is conformity to Jesus Christ.

 

7. To be at its best, ministry must always have a good news orientation. While the good news of the gospel may begin with the bad news of sin, it doesn't end there. We are a people who offer hope, who offer peace, who offer joy, who offer life, who offer heaven, to a world that desperately needs to hear some good news.

 

It was a challenging list when I first heard it early in my pastoral ministry. It is no less relevant or challenging now. And especially for those who have been made a minister, it is a helpful guide if we are to achieve glorious health and avoid becoming magnificent ruins. 

A Voice from the Past

 

Some things are worth keeping. I came across one such item several weeks ago. It is an old cassette tape of my ordination service that I had forgotten I had - old as in over forty years ago. If it was worth recording then, surely, I thought, it must be worth listening to now. The problem is that cassette tapes are old technology, and unless it is buried more deeply than the tape was, I no longer own a cassette tape player.

 

Though the format may be outdated, I was pretty sure that the message wouldn't be, so I found someone with the equipment and knowledge to digitize the recording and entrusted the cassette to him. What I got back in addition to a cassette that I couldn't play was a downloadable .mp3 computer file of voices from the past with a message as fitting for me now as it was then.

 

Charles Wickman, who at the time was senior pastor of the Walnut Creek (CA) Evangelical Free Church, had agreed to bring the ordination message on relatively short notice, filling in for a district superintendent that had ended up in hospital. Listening to him in 1979, I found his words both encouraging and challenging as I looked ahead to the unseen and unknown pastoral adventures that the Lord had ahead for me. And now as I listen again, I can attest that his words are every bit as encouraging and challenging to me today as they were over forty years ago as I hear them this time with the added perspective of having lived through years of pastoral ministry. Chuck would go on to become a strong encourager of pastors, particularly pastors at risk. I don't know where he is or what he is doing these days, but if he's still around, I expect he is still encouraging, and if I could, I would tell him thank you again for a message that helped to shape me. 

He began his message with a powerful reminder of the source of ministry.  There is a word, he said, that scripture uses to describe God's creation of man and his universe out of nothing. That same word, he continued, is used in Galatians 4 to describe the virgin birth of Jesus. It is used in Ephesians 2 to describe the conversion of one who has been born again. And it is the same word the apostle Paul uses to describe himself as one who was made a minister. Neither church nor denomination makes a minister, he reminded us; we only recognize what God has already done. It is the Lord himself who makes a minister. (That, by the way, is a good thing to remember the next time you see your pastor.)

Chuck ended his message the same way he began with the sobering and powerful personal reminder to me that with all that it took for the Lord to create the universe and to convert a sinner, he had made me a minister. In between was a helpful exposition of seven key concepts of ministry, but that's another post. It is enough for today to be reminded that whether I am looking back through the joys and frustrations of ministry or looking forward to whatever may lie ahead, it is the Lord who out of nothing made Malcolm a minister. And I'm joyfully thankful that He did.

 

 

Malcolm and the Marvelous Wonderettes

Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you expect. We're supposed to be in Canada. Last weekend we should have boarded the Rocky Mountaineer for a journey through the Canadian Rockies. Those plans were made before I ever heard of a coronavirus.  But with the border still closed to non-essential travel, and with the Rocky Mountaineer's season postponed until at least August, this bucket-list item will have to wait.  So I've been consoling myself by remembering the last trip to Canada, which also didn't turn out quite the way I expected.

Our last trip north was early in March to enjoy a musical called "The Marvelous Wonderettes" at the Chemainus Theater. The play begins at Springfield High School's 1958 senior prom and ends at the reunion ten years later, and the entertainment for both events is the school's four-girl songleader squad, The Marvelous Wonderettes. The play is really an excuse to enjoy some of the popular music of the 50s and 60s, a simpler time when popular music was actually both musical and singable. (Before you ask, yes, I can hear my millennial friends moaning about my musical bigotry, and no, I don't care.) What I didn't know was that I was destined to become part of the cast and end up on stage dancing with Missy.

Missy, it turned out, had a crush on Mr. Lee, and Mr. Lee turned out to be me, a fact I discovered the hard way when the spotlight suddenly focused on my seat in the audience. There would be no escape. On my left was my wife, who clearly was not going to assume the role of Mr. Lee. On my right was an empty aisle. On stage were four young ladies all pointing directly at me, and all around me were about 300 other theater patrons thankful that the spotlight hadn't picked on them. I guess someone must have noticed that I still look like a faculty member.

I have never been much of a dancer. My brain may get the rhythm, but there is a disconnect between my brain and my feet. In my junior high school days the well-meaning faculty tried to teach us the fundamentals of dancing on an occasional co-ed PE day. I'm pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoyed those sessions were the PE teachers who must have found them mildly amusing; students of both genders endured them as a necessary embarrassment. Suffice it to say that I am no more agile in my mid-70s than I was in junior high. But for better or worse, in the second act (that previously noted ten-year reunion) Missy announced that we were engaged, and of course I had to be part of the celebration. I've actually gotten engaged twice in my life, and neither event was anything like this one. That's me up on stage dancing with Missy. Well, sort of dancing...

It was quite a celebration for a matinee performance. Chemainus is a very small town, and we stopped after the play for dinner at a local restaurant where I was treated like a star and greeted by everyone as Mr. Lee. It was supposed to be a quiet getaway, but sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you expect.

Sadly, the Chemainus Theater Festival has had to cancel the rest of the 2020 season because of the current Covid-19 pandemic. It wasn't exactly what they expected either. But they will be back, and so will we. Meanwhile, one small part of my brain is wondering what surprises might have awaited us this month if the border was open and the train was running. Because sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you expect.

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

The barber shops are all closed, and they have been for a while. That might not have been a problem if somebody could have told our hair to quit growing. But having reached that point in life where we'd just as soon hang on to our hair for as long as we can, I'm not sure I'd really want it to stop growing. So in a moment of weakness, or perhaps insanity, Valerie and I convinced each other that we could actually give each other a haircut. That might not seem so strange, but there is actually some history here. On both sides. 

Valerie has told me that years ago in her early days with Gospel Recordings, she used to hide when Joy Ridderhof, the founder of the mission, came looking for someone to do her hair. Joy's hair was too fine, about the texture of mine, I would guess. Apparently Valerie was less concerned with the results today than she was then.

And years ago when the kids were little and the budget was tight, I bought some hair clippers and convinced Joan that she could cut my hair. Unfortunately I made a tactical error.  I read the instructions to her as she was cutting my hair, particularly the line that said, "remember, you can always go back and cut more later...." I confess to reading it repeatedly. Along about the 19th repetition, Joan informed me that going back later was no longer an option. So the clippers sat unused until I tried giving Matt a haircut and nipped his ear in the process. I'm pretty sure I never told Valerie about that nipped ear until after today's cuts.

Valerie's cousin cuts hair, and she does an excellent job of it. Unfortunately she's in Canada, and the border is closed to all but essential traffic. No matter how I may feel, I'm pretty sure I don't have any chance of convincing the folks at the border that our haircuts are essential.

So there we were this morning, shaggy and desperate.  And desperate times call for desperate measures. Amid much laughter and mutual encouragement, I cut my wife's hair, and she cut mine. I'm happy to report that her ears are intact (and so are mine). The results, what we can see of them, look pretty decent, and the good news is that it will be at least another month before the barbers and beauty salons open again; there's time to grow. In fact there might even be time to practice again. And when those shops do open again, I'll be ready with an appropriately big tip when the lovely lady who usually cuts our hair wonders what happened.

A Forced Quiet

The forced quiet of these days of "stay home; stay healthy" has not stopped the trees from blossoming.  A lot of other things, however, have ground to a halt, and at least in the short term, life has changed. Like most people. I’d rather control the changes in my life than have them imposed. Some of those imposed changes are inconvenient; others are downright painful. There is little to like in losing what has been normal, whether it is work, school, church, entertainment, recreational shopping, the ability to celebrate at a wedding or mourn at a funeral, or even something as simple as buying a case of toilet paper whenever you want.  And there is even less to like in hearing of people you love who are fighting this virus.

 

We’re adjusting to a quieter season. We’ve cancelled trips (yes, that’s plural) and started attending church in the living room. It’s not historically unusual for the church to be a generation behind the rest of society in embracing the possibilities of technology and harnessing them for the kingdom of God. (Joan’s uncle devoted a major part of his life to producing Christian media at a time when many Christians viewed movies as a tool of the devil.) I remember years ago in the early days of personal computers discussions with saints who were convinced such things could only be used for evil. Now we’re using those computers to accomplish virtually what we can’t accomplish physically.

 

Church at home is not necessarily a bad thing. I look forward to physical gatherings again, but I don’t agree with some of my friends who seem to believe that the current restrictions on meetings constitute persecution. We are not being persecuted. We are not being marginalized. We are being given an opportunity to be leaders in lovingly protecting our congregations and communities.  And besides, my recliner is a whole lot more comfortable than the typical church pew!

 

I’m discovering some hidden blessings. I don’t mean to imply that COVID-19 is a blessing, but I never cease being amazed at God’s ability - and intention - to use that which we see as evil to further his kingdom. He is indeed a God who regularly fulfills Romans 8:28. I find that in these quieter days when I am less distracted by my own busyness, I am more keenly aware of the Lord’s presence and character. I’m encouraged by the grace with which so many people have embraced these necessary restrictions without a whole lot of complaining. And I’m blessed by people who are intentionally choosing to be caring.

 

This too shall pass. But I hope that the blessings discovered along the way won’t.

 

Remembering

It's been a day for remembering.  Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. Twelve years ago today Joan arrived in heaven. One of the blessings (if I can use that word) of grief is sorting through memories, and today has been a day for the joy of remembering. In meandering through some old pictures, I came across this one.  I was struck by the fact that all of the eleven people with me in this picture are now in heaven.  That's a wife, a son, a brother, an aunt, two parents, two in-laws, and assorted cousins. It's a bit of an odd feeling to be the last man standing.

I've found that most people don't like to talk much about death. Perhaps you're one of those people, and you'd rather just skip this post - or perhaps not.  Sooner or later it's a topic that affects us all. (And as if to emphasize the point, as I was writing that last sentence, I received an email with news of another death.)

My mind has wandered through the memories of January twelve years ago. One of the nice surprises in looking at pictures from the graveside committal service, the family lunch at one of Joan's favorite restaurants, and the memorial service the following day is the number of smiling faces. In the midst of pain there were lots of smiles - and rightfully so. Death for a Christian is not an end; it's an entrance.

My brother-in-law in an email referred to the Gustafson trio - Joan and her sisters - singing "Heaven Came Down," and recalling the last time that they sang that together just a few weeks before her death prompted in me another smile. It was a good song to sing as Joan drew close to heaven.

When Joan died, the pain of loss was no surprise. What did surprise me then was the discovery that my gratitude was even deeper than my pain, and remembering that has brought a smile as well. Unavoidably death brings pain to those closest to it. Time both lessens the pain and increases the value of remembering. And as I've remembered today, I know that a death that was precious in the sight of the Lord twelve years ago is no less precious today.

Joy to the World?

Joy to the world in the midst of a political mess. 

I have developed a practice with Facebook that has a way of increasing my joy. I regularly and ruthlessly dump political posts that appear on my Facebook feed; usually I like what's left a whole lot better. So when Mark Galli's CT opinion piece calling for the removal of President Trump and Franklin Graham's response to that editorial both showed up, it was almost like hitting a home run being able to delete them both; twice the joy in half the time!

In fairness I need to say that I respect both men. And I would not deny that there is a place for godly prophetic input into the political dialog of the day. But the reminder that neither Galli nor Graham has quite found that place is a reminder that we still live in an imperfect world. Neither I nor my Facebook friends have found that place either, and the attempts can sometimes have an unintended effect. The fact, for example, that both Galli and Graham should seek to support their contrasting convictions by referring to the heritage of Billy Graham is at least mildly amusing.

Lots of my friends from every part of the political spectrum find social media an appropriate vehicle for their political views. That I choose to dump their posts does not diminish our friendship; in fact it might even protect it. I think I'd rather focus instead on that which unites us.

In this advent season I find myself glad that Jesus came as a baby and not as a politician. I have tried in vain to imagine Jesus using Facebook to try to inject his kingdom into the strange and strained political environment of his day. Perhaps you can wrap your head around that; I, however, can't.

So once again I'm collecting Christmas cards and dumping political posts, and finding joy in both disciplines. If that seems strange to you, perhaps you ought to try it. Go ahead; start with this post; I won’t be offended. You might just enjoy dumping it enough to have a merrier Christmas! 
😀

Miracles

We began the Christmas celebration a bit early this year with a trip last week to one of our favorite get-away locations.  Chemainus is a little town on Vancouver Island with murals on the sides of many of the buildings depicting various aspects of the town’s history.  It’s a fascinating collection that you can read about here.  But it wasn’t the murals that drew us there this time.

The town’s other claim to fame is an excellent live community theater, and the current offering is Miracle on 34th Street.  It was the play that drew us there this time. So there we were, eight days before Thanksgiving, sitting with a couple of hundred other people to enjoy a Christmas play. It was a well done presentation, good enough to convince us that there would be more Chemainus Theater Festival adventures in our future. And it was a play that left me thinking.

There is a line from Miracle on 34th Street that has been rolling around in my head for the past week: “Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to.” It’s not exactly a biblical definition of faith, but it’s not a bad one, either. And it comes close to the description in Hebrews 11: the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Encountering genuine faith can be a surprisingly rare thing, even, strangely enough, among people who call themselves believers. Life does not train us to believe when common sense tells us not to. And common sense, while compelling, turns out to be not all that common either. And so we end up desiring to be more sensible instead of more trusting. It is a strange trade-off in which we are the ultimate losers, and both faith and miracles get lost because we cannot see or dare not hope.

I’m glad we started Christmas before Thanksgiving this year. It seems fitting to me that one should approach both holidays thinking about both faith and miracles. I am thankful for the blessings that I have experienced and seen. But I need to be thankful as well for the miracles I have not yet seen. God invites me to hope, and this year as Thanksgiving gently leads the way towards Christmas, I choose to have faith enough to thank God for both the miracles that are and the miracles that are on the way.

The Lion

Valerie and I returned last week from a delightful trip. Twice previously we had planned a trip to celebrate the hoped-for end of what would become a two year transitional pastor journey; both of those trips, while thoroughly enjoyable, turned out to be premature. So having finally completed the interim in July, we decided it would be a good time to enjoy a repositioning cruise from Vancouver, BC, to San Diego, California. It turned out to be great timing for a west coast cruise, beautiful and very smooth, complete with near perfect weather and migrating whales.

Some cruises are all about the destination; others are all about the journey. While both the journey and destination were great, this cruise seemed to be all about the people we encountered along the way. Some of those were planned encounters - cousins in Vancouver, my brother and his wife who met us in Santa Barbara, missionary friends who met up with us in San Diego. Others were unplanned serendipitous blessings, like Lisa, QuickShuttle's only female driver, or Leocer, who just might be Holland America's most congenial server and who brightened and blessed our day every time we saw him.

Trish Hanson was one of those serendipitous encounters. Trish is an artisan and outspoken Christian that we met on the dock in Astoria. Several artisans had booths set up, ready to entice folks leaving and returning to the ship with a wide variety of things, some beautiful and others of questionable value. (Like vegan shortbread, two words that my Scottish heart firmly believes should never appear on the same label.) But it was Trish’s booth that most captivated us with her collection of laser-crafted wood images with a message. And this lion was our personal favorite.

She calls it “The Lion of Judah,” and if you get close enough, you'll discover it consists of a two word phrase repeated 365 times: Fear not. Her art, she says, is part of her healing, and clearly there was a story - or perhaps multiple stories - behind the intricate design and careful creation of this lion. The personal pain of her past had found expression not in chaos or anger but in beauty and faith.

We really hadn’t planned to buy stuff in Astoria, but the Lion of Judah now hangs on our living room wall. I sit in my chair, and like Aslan in Narnia, the Lion looks at me inviting me to trust, and reminding me every day to fear not. 

50 Years

Fifty years ago - September 12, 1969. I was in my 20s and anything was possible; after all, we’d landed a man on the moon a couple of months earlier. It was my wedding day, and Joan and I were embarking on a marvelous journey called marriage together. It was a great day, though not without its unexpected surprises (like a flat tire late at night on the way to the airport).

Over the years I’ve wondered from time to time what it would be like to celebrate my golden wedding anniversary. I’ve attended a number of celebrations of other people’s golden anniversaries; some of them have been wonderfully joyful, some deeply meaningful, and a few others were, quite frankly, utterly terrible. So I’ve occasionally pondered what my own might look like. Those wonderings, of course, didn’t include the unexpected and painful reality that one of us might not live that long.

We made it three-fourths of the way to our golden wedding anniversary before the Lord called Joan home. It was a very good marriage, and she has helped to shape the person I am today. She didn’t expect to be a pastor’s wife, but she filled that role well. She was my best friend and a superb mom to our two kids; love was deep. When she died with a rare blood cancer in our 39th year of marriage, I resigned myself to learning to be single again; I figured my marriage days were over and there would be no 50th celebration.

I was wrong. (It’s not the first time that’s happened.) God brought Valerie into my life, and once again I find myself joyfully married to my best friend. Who could have guessed that a gracious God would let me live this adventure twice?  I’m pretty sure we won’t live long enough to celebrate 50 years (Valerie says we’d better not!) so we count the months instead. This month we celebrated our 88th anniversary.

Valerie suggested - insisted? - that I celebrate this golden anniversary. I confess it seemed a bit weird to me that wife #2 would suggest celebrating marriage #1, but those of you who know are aware that God has gifted me again with a gracious wife. So we’ll be north of the border celebrating this golden wedding anniversary in ways I might not have imagined. It won’t be the kind of celebration where we share each other’s embarrassing moments from the last fifty years. And if you’re waiting for the invitation, there will be no party. But there will be a quiet and grateful awareness of the immeasurably deep grace of a loving God who has designed and given this great gift called marriage, and who for the last fifty years has blessed me beyond measure as He has been teaching me what it means.

New Joy

The newest joy in our clan arrived on Saturday morning.  Weighing in at six pounds eleven ounces and twenty inches long, Nova Joy Melchor Brewer made her appearance September 7 just before four a.m.  She is a blessing, and Mommy, Daddy, and big brother (that’s Suzanne, Andrés, and Mateo) are doing just fine.  (So, by the way, is grandpa.)

In one way or another, I can bear witness to the miracle of birth from the perspective of three generations.  I have been (and am) a grandpa, a dad, and a brother.  And I think I can say with some authority that birth is easiest on us grandparents.

The roots of the word Nova are Latin; it means new.  Nova Joy - New Joy.  Little Nova Joy, may the good Lord enable you to live up to your name as you bring new fresh joy to all who know you.

Beware of the Pews

A couple of years ago in the midst of a recarpeting project, the church I was serving at the time considered whether or not to replace their pews as well, since they would have to be moved anyway. Pews or chairs? Personally I like the flexibility of chairs, preferably big comfortable padded ones, but they decided to keep the pews.

I was reminded of that decision last Sunday when we walked into a church we’ve visited to be greeted by pews that had been roped off with caution tape.  And I don’t mean just a few pews.  With the exception of the first two rows, the two largest sections of pews - roughly 2/3 of the seating capacity - were blocked, leaving a thankfully thin Labor Day Weekend congregation to gather in the two remaining narrower sections on the far left and right sides of the sanctuary.

This is interesting, the pastor in me thought.  Perhaps it’s a sermon illustration and we’re going to be separating the sheep from the goats. I secretly hoped I was sitting on the sheep side. I’ve been around long enough to know that pastors are not above doing strange things to get the attention of a congregation.  I remembered the experience of my son enhancing worship by rigging a vacuum-cleaner-powered cannon in the balcony to shoot confetti over a congregation while they were singing “Lord Reign in Me,” undoubtedly infusing that worship song with new meaning for the surprised congregation.

Could it be a visual illustration of a church split? No; it turned out to be nothing that creative or dramatic. The physical set up had nothing to do with serrmon content or enhanced worship but was simply evidence of an in-progress pew renewal project. It was a necessary distraction. I felt for the pastor whose congregation had been forced to the fringes with a vast emptiness in between. In typical and I suppose predictable evangelical fashion, those available front pews had been almost universally ignored — including by me.  It was as though the pastor were in a boat in the middle of a river trying to preach to the folks gathered on both banks. And it was a pretty wide river.

In retrospect, I’d have been wiser to accept the invitation of the guy who tried to seat us up front. There the caution tape wouldn’t have distracted me every time I moved my eyes. I know: It shouldn’t have been a distraction. But it was, and confessing that is a confession of my own weakness.

The joy of worship is found in the presence of Christ, and that can happen in an ornate sanctuary or by the side of a river, either real or metaphorical. When He is at the center, worship will happen. I almost missed the important message for me inscribed over and over on those yards of yellow tape: Caution. Beware of the pews. Don’t let them - or anything else - get in the way of worship.

The Transitional Journey

After a very lengthy absence, the blog has reappeared, and it is a fair question to ask where it has been.  It is not that I quit discovering joy two and a half years ago; on the contrary, these months have been filled with joy.  What happened is that life intervened.

 

Two and a half years ago I was invited to consider becoming the transitional pastor of a local church.  After serving the church for almost four decades, my friend Pastor Nick was retiring.  I couldn't fault him for the decision; I'd been retired for ten years, and I liked retirement.  I liked it so much that there was a part of me that considered running as far and fast as I could in the other direction.  God, however, had other plans, and I'm glad he did.  It’s still true that God saves the best for those who leave the choice to him.

 

So for two years I have had the joy of shepherding a congregation through the adventure of a pastoral transition. It turns out that that takes time.  It also turns out that no matter how fervently I may pray, God is not going to make the sun stand still in order to accommodate what I might want to do.  For years I've carried around business cards inscribed with this sentence: I have all the time I need to do all God wants me to do.  For the last couple of years, writing blog posts hasn't fit in that category.  But the writer in me is not yet dead, and now that I have been blessed with a second retirement, perhaps it will fit once again.  After all, I still have all the time I need to do all God wants me to do.

Last month I had the joy of passing the shepherding baton to FTPC's new pastor, a gifted young man who is God's choice for the future.  And I get to re-retire.  It has been a two year adventure, filled with both joys and lessons that have been many, varied, and deep.  Among them is the clear reminder that God seldom leads in straight lines, and it’s wise to turn when He does.  It’s been a fun couple of years, and I’ve had a blast!  But I’m glad Pastor Aaron is on board.  It turns out that I still like retirement, and I’m looking forward to rediscovering those joys as well.