Stopping Time

Christmas Thoughts 2010

2010-12-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

Beautiful music has always had the ability to bring me into the presence of God.

One of the most poignant memories from my childhood involves music. My family usually sat in the balcony of the Pacific Union College SDA church in which I was raised, next to the choir loft, and from the time I can remember anything, I remember being mesmerized by the anthems that choir sang. I remember thinking that nothing could be more heavenly than to be in the middle of the choir, singing with them – to have the music all around me, to be part of the beautiful sound. Even at age six, if I could have figured out a way to jump into the choir loft, I would have been singing with them!

I joined a children’s choir in 2^nd grade and continued to sing in choirs for most of my elementary, high school and college years. In fact, the choir I belonged to my senior year of college had the distinction of being one of the first groups to tour East Germany after the Berlin Wall came down in 1990 – an incredible experience both culturally and musically.

As an adult, I stopped singing in choirs. By then, I had a job, a growing family, and virtually no spare time. And anyway, as an adult, I was finding that religion was much more difficult than singing in the church choir. As devout Seventh-day Adventist Christians, my husband and I had been raised with a clear set of guidelines and expectations, and a complex, precise approach to the world – an approach which seemed more legalistic and cumbersome to us the older we got.

It seemed that as SDAs, we spent so much time trying to be different than the world that we had little spiritual energy left over to make positive connections with it. As our faith grew and developed, it looked less and less like the 27 Fundamental Beliefs of the SDA Church. This created a huge conflict inside us, since the SDA church was the church in which we were raised and we were afraid many relationships would be broken if we left.

In spite of our fear and misgivings, by 2005 JD and I felt so stifled in the SDA Church that we became “closet Methodists,” going to a nearby Methodist church early every Sunday morning before our Adventist friends were awake, but also attending our SDA church every Saturday morning. We absolutely loved the Methodist Church, with its emphasis on the Holy Spirit, a vibrant, connected faith community, and, above all, its social gospel. I found out that my approach to faith – for example, working in underprivileged communities and starting a health clinic to care for those forgotten and left out by the system – was actually very Wesleyan. For the first time in a long time, I looked forward to going to church, and felt connected to the people there. I remarked to JD that I felt like a Methodist waiting to happen.

Leaving the SDA church was one of the hardest things we have ever done, and I will not go into all the details here. Suffice it to say that it was painful – for us, our kids, and also, I suspect, for our families and friends. I will admit that we were hurt by the SDA church, although I’m sure that was not their intent. Why were we leaving? Nobody understood. Even I did not fully understand, but both JD and I felt more strongly than we had about anything for a long time, that God was calling us to join the Methodist church.

For four years, we were actively involved as members of Bethpage United Methodist Church, and our faith took on new dimensions which were challenging, exciting, and fulfilling. The church supported me wholeheartedly in my ministry at Hope Clinic, and they supported JD wholeheartedly in every avenue of ministry he pursued. We both became certified lay speakers and began preaching when asked. JD joined Agape, the church’s praise band, and became a Sunday School teacher. We made many new friends.

But our new church was not immune to problems. The United Methodist Church’s pastoral appointment system did not serve our church well: in four years, we had six different pastors, all with very different leadership styles. A church that had once been vibrant and strong suffered from the many changes in leadership, and many of our friends left. And, while I liked the theological openness and freedom of the Methodist Church, this meant that it was possible for pastors to have a wide range of views which they could impose on the church.

And within our family, the switch to a different denomination caused its share of stress. Our oldest daughter Ellie had never been happy with our decision to leave the SDA church, and at age 12, made the decision to be baptized into the Highland SDA Church. We were incredibly proud of her and grateful for her decision to be baptized. But having a family with members in two denominations was often difficult – especially two denominations that went to church on different days.

In the summer of 2010, when a pastor was appointed to Bethpage United Methodist Church whose theology and leadership style I strongly disagreed with, I could no longer continue to go there. JD wanted to stay, but also did not want our family to be split up at different churches. After much discussion and prayer, we decided to start attending McKendree United Methodist Church, only 10 minutes away from home.

We began attending McKendree and enjoyed it, but to be honest, as we moved toward the Christmas season this year, I was really struggling with the whole idea of church. As I looked back at our experience, it seemed that the one organization which had hurt me more deeply than anything else during my adult life was the church. No matter where we went, big problems came up which were painful to deal with.

As I thought back over all the relationships that had suffered or been broken, all the struggles in the SDA church to meet the standards and all the struggles in the Methodist church to keep our church family from falling apart, and even all the hurt and strained relationships within our own family due to the fact that we were now bi-denominational, I felt sick. Reflexively, I wanted to run away from all of it. I wanted the companionship, warmth, and spiritual support of a church, but I was afraid to commit to relationships within the church, or to become involved in the life of a particular church, because I knew inevitably what would result: yet again, I would be hurt, and the cycle would continue.

It was at this time, about 3 months after we started attending McKendree, that church organist Pat Empson invited JD and me to sing in the annual Christmas cantata, a joint enterprise of McKendree Methodist Church, Highland SDA Church, Oasis SDA Church, and Highland Academy, an SDA secondary school which is JD’s alma mater. I really didn’t have time, but Pat continued to enthusiastically invite us, even dropping the cantata book and CD off on our front porch one evening. I must admit that the thought of singing in a choir again, after almost 20 years, was very tempting, and both JD and I began going to the rehearsals.

It was interesting singing with four organizations, all of which were, or had been, part of our faith experience. We quickly found that McKendree and Highland were already close to each other- in fact, as one McKendree member described it, “Sister churches.” Their choirs had been joining forces for many years to perform a Christmas cantata, so the choir members and other musicians enjoyed a warm relationship with each other. It was strangely refreshing to be surrounded by people from both of the faith traditions which had shaped us, who obviously respected and cared for each other.

This morning, we performed the cantata at Highland SDA Church. The combined choir and orchestra, 70 members strong, filled the entire stage, and about 700 people filled the church and balcony. The church was decorated for Christmas, with reds and greens, twinkling lights and candles. As the church filled up, the joy and expectation were palpable.

The orchestra began to play and the choir sang, “Lift up your heads O gates, and make the highway straight, prepare to celebrate the coming of the Lord!” Sitting right in the middle of the choir, surrounded by the beautiful voices, part of the music, I remembered the way I felt as a child listening to the choir. It was so simple then - no doctrines, no denominations, no guilt or hurt feelings - just the beautiful music and the presence of God.

As I was singing and thinking these thoughts, I had the strangest experience. I was aware of all the people around me, representing separate strands of my church experience, and the music coming from all of them blending in the most amazing way. And all at once, something happened in an instant which I had not been able to accomplish in years of trying. What was it? It felt like a combination of forgiveness, peace, and healing, a sense that all the disparate pieces of my church experience had come together again. Suddenly, it all seemed so simple…just the beautiful music and the presence of God.

This morning Pastor John, the Adventist pastor who baptized our daughter Ellie, led the congregation and choir in a song called “I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God.” As I sang it I sensed its truth in a new and surprising way. My membership is rooted not in one denomination, creed, or church, but in the family of God! We are human and we fail, we hurt each other, yet we are brought together each Christmas to worship and to sing, to join as a family and celebrate the coming of the Lord.

And when we do, everything else fades away, and all that is left is what really matters: the beautiful music and the presence of God.

About Jonah - a story remembered - and a plea to parents to immunize their kids

2009-01-30T19:26:00.000-08:00

When my son Jonah was not quite two months old, he had a terrible case of pertussis - the kind of pertussis, in fact, that kids are immunized against when they get the DTP shot, given first at two months of age.

Unfortunately, Jonah got the illness at seven weeks of age, just a week before he was scheduled to get his first round of shots.

At first, I noticed that he wasn't breathing well through his nose. That was a problem when he tried to nurse. He couldn't breathe, so repeatedly stopped sucking to breathe, and finally started to cry in frustration. I took him to an ear, nose and throat doctor who was a friend of mine. By then, his breathing was worse, and it was painful for me to watch him trying to get enough air. But my friend told me he just had a virus and would be better in a few days.

By then, the nights were terrible. Jonah couldn't breathe at all while lying down. I put him in his carseat or swing, but couldn't sleep myself for fear he would suffocate. Finally, I would end up holding him for hours, so exhausted I could hardly stay awake.

I tried everything I knew - vaporizers, nasal drops and spray, even a mild decongestant, but nothing worked.

It was a dark time for our family in general. JD had been out of work, and after several months of not working myself, I had just started a new job the week before. I was desperate to make the money our family needed to pay bills, determined not to miss any work. So I stayed up with Jonah at night, and worked in the day.

Finally, when Jonah had been sick for about a week and I was beyond exhaustion, it came to the point that I knew we couldn't go on. Jonah had started to cough by now, and there were long spells during which he simply couldn't catch his breath at all. Quickly, I packed him into his carseat and headed for the hospital. On the way, I called the pediatrician I was working for and told her I was on the way.

At the little Portland hospital, they couldn't start an IV and didn't have the right equipment to get his oxygen level up. My mother-in-law, who is an RN, came to be with Jonah and me.

Ever since that day, I have had a hard time forgiving myself for what happened after that. I worked in one of the offices in the hospital, and I was the only provider there that day. In fact, the receptionist (who doubled as a medical assistant) had not shown up. I opened the office at 9:00 and started checking patients in myself. I knew my baby was sick, but I felt such a sense of responsibility to be at my job.

I had only taken care of a few patients when my mother-in-law called to say that Jonah was worse. "He needs to be in Vanderbilt," she said.

I called the doctor again and told her I wanted Jonah at Vanderbilt. They called an ambulance, and I held Jonah while we waited. I felt terrible - frightened, more tired than I'd ever been, weak, and lightheaded. It was then that I realized that, in addition to not sleeping, I hadn't eaten much in the past two days.

It was such a relief to finally be in the ambulance, headed for Vanderbilt. The paramedic was exceptionally nice. He got some oxygen on Jonah and kept him on the oxygen monitor all the time, so I could see that his levels were OK. His confidence was contagious, and I started to feel better.

It was an even bigger relief when we got to the hospital, and they had a room ready for Jonah, with staff already assigned to him. In fact, his nurse met us at the door and walked with us to the room, getting a history as we walked.

I will never forget how efficient and skilled those people were. They deep-suctioned his lungs almost right away, allowing him to breathe more freely. They made his bed into an oxygen tent, so we didn't have to try to keep a mask on him. When he was able to breathe better, he started to drink, first from a bottle, and by that evening was able to nurse again.

I stayed with Jonah constantly. JD was there, but his main job was to care for Ellie and Owen so I could be with Jonah.

As I watched my tiny baby, still breathing with difficulty but at least breathing, so many thoughts raced through my mind. I wondered who he would be as he got older - what he would look like, what kind of personality he would have. I desperately wanted him to survive so I could find out. Life is so fragile, I thought. Just a few breaths separate life and death - just a few breaths missed, and there are no more chances.

I slept in Jonah's room that night, and again didn't sleep much, but felt relief that help was right outside in the hallway, if he should get into trouble.

Amazingly, Jonah was so improved that they let him go the next day. The cough was still there, but after that, his breathing was almost normal. It was like the illness finally gave up, released Jonah from its grip, and slunk away. It was no match for the skill of the healers who cared for him at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital.

Now, Jonah is a healthy, lively, very normal five-year-old, and this is the first time I've written about his illness. It was such a painful spot in my memory, that it was hard to even pull it back up again. But now that I have, I realize I learned some things from the experience. Here they are:

1) Since then, I have learned to set better limits. It was a difficult process for someone addicted to doing it all, caring for everyone, and never disappointing anyone. It actually took some time with Kay Arnold, an excellent therapist who helped me work through the reasons I could not set limits.

Now, I can say with confidence that if this happened again, I would never leave my sick child in order to take care of patients. I dont' think the patients would even want me to do that! I have also learned to take better care of myself, since the health and welfare of my family depends on me being healthy.

2) I haved learned, firsthand, the incredible power that those in the healing arts possess, to relieve suffering and give people the gift of life and health. Since then, I have approached people who are in physical or emotional pain with a new, deeper empathy, and a renewed passion to be the very best, most knowledgeable, skillful, and compassionate healer that I possibly can be.

I will never forget the people who helped Jonah, from the paramedic in the ambulance, to all the staff that cared for him at the hospital. Though I don't remember their names and may never see them again, I bless and thank them whenever I think of them.

3) I have learned that even though I am a medical provider myself, it is hard for me to be objective when caring for my own kids. In retrospect, I should have taken Jonah to Vanderbilt much sooner. I probably would have told other parents to do this, but somehow I couldn't see it myself. Also, I had not eaten or slept much, which clouded my judgement.

4) Having experienced the fragility of life, I really treasure every minute I have with Jonah, Ellie, and Owen. And when I go into their rooms at night to check on them, sometimes I stop and just listen to their easy breathing, and feel grateful!

5) I REALLY believe in immunizations! I mean, I have always thought it was a good idea, but now I'm almost fanatical about it. If a parent tells me they don't believe in shots, I tell them Jonah's story. I would NEVER want anyone to go through what we went through with Jonah, especially when it can be prevented with a series of simple little shots.

The sad thing, that I only found out through researching the topic after Jonah recovered, is that a fairly high percentage of babies who get pertussis do not survive. Many who do, end up having to go on the heart-lung bypass system, which sounds pretty traumatic.

Jonah is learning to read now, and every day makes new discoveries. He is independent, creative, cuddly, and full of mischief. He also has a wonderful sense of humor, and often has the whole family laughing. He is very affectionate and always climbs up on my lap during church, while watching a movie, or reading a book. His freckles, brown eyes, and big grin are completely disarming, but then I admit to being biased!

Thank God for excellent health care professionals, equipment, technology, compassion, and a big helping of grace, which allowed Jonah to come through such a serious illness, back to full health and well-being.

I can't wait to see all the great things Jonah will do as he grows - and am glad he has been given the chance!

White

2009-01-25T15:30:00.000-08:00

I took a goofy little quiz on Facebook yesterday which said that my color is white. According to this quiz, the color white describes me best because I am pure, peaceful, and kind.

Now, I don't know about the validity of the quiz. Or the description of my attributes, with which my family would doubtless take issue.

But it did start me thinking - about something I had not thought much about since teenagerhood. My name, Jennifer, actually means "white."

Growing up, I was always disappointed by this. It was so, you know, boring. Other names meant cool things, like "given by God" or "Beloved". Mine was just a color, and not even a colorful color.

Upon further study, I learned that the name Jennifer is actually Welsh, derived from "Guinevere," who was the bride of King Arthur and lover of Sir Lancelot, knight of the round table. According to legend, Guinevere's affair with Lancelot eventually caused the demise of the kingdom and death of her husband, Arthur, along with a great many of his knights, and she spent the rest of her days in a convent.

That's exciting alright, but doesn't make for much of a role model. Now, a name like Mary, Hannah, Elizabeth, Esther, or Eleanor - those are names with honor behind them, names that bring to mind great people worthy of being emulated.

But Guinevere, portrayed as anything from weak and easily influenced, to manipulative and conniving, doesn't get much credit in any of the stories. Except that she is beautiful, that is one thing they all agree on.

Despite its derivation, I have always liked my name - not Jennifer, but Jenny. It sounds kind of youthful and energetic to me, and those are things I want to be.

Another reason I like my name is that my grandmother, who passed away several years ago, loved it. In fact, she would have been pleased as punch if my parents had gone all the way and named me something really Welsh, like Gwyneth, Guinevere, or Gwendolyn.

Born in Wales around 1910, my grandmother was Welsh through and through. Although she and her family moved to Canada when she was seven, and later to the United States, she always spoke with a Welsh accent. When I was small, she used to travel back to the United Kingdom once every year or two, to visit her sister and other relatives who still lived there.

Later, I attended college in England for three years, and took the opportunity to go to Wales and visit my grandmother's hometown of Hereford. It is a journey I will never forget. In the height of summer, Hereford, on the banks of the River Wye, was picturesque and perfect. The modern homes in the city center gave way to older-fashioned cottages and farmhouses in the outer parts of town, and everyone seemed to have flowers growing in their gardens. Around the village, the hilly landscape was being mowed for hay, and the sweet scent of the drying grass permeated the air.

In another nearby village, I visited my great-great-grandmother's grave, and met several families who were distantly related to me. They took me in like long-lost family, insisting that I stay for several days, showing me all around the town, and introducing me like I was someone very important.

JD and I loved Wales, and during college, spent our most memorable hitchiking trips there. I will never forget, as we hiked along a cliff overlooking the ocean, rounding a turn and seeing Harlech Castle, built right on the cliff's edge, spread out in the distance - or reaching the summit of Mount Snowdon in such a thick fog that we couldn't see more than two feet in front of us.

In fact, I am pretty sure that it was in Wales that I first started to fall in love with JD. We shared the same sense of adventure, the same thrill in new discoveries, the same curiosity to see what lay beyond the next turn in the road - and in Wales, it was always something fascinating.

But I diverge. I was talking about my name, which means "white," and reflecting on the fact that it is derived from Guinevere, who wasn't much of a role model.

Which reminds me of something else. Our new president, Barack Hussein Obama, has just been instated in the most powerful office in the world, in spite of his name!

In this country, post 9/11, in the middle of two wars being fought in Muslim countries, the middle name "Hussein" should be kind of like a lead weight tied around a person's ankle. Like a sure way to get voted out. Like a death sentence for a campaign.

But he did it anyway! In less than two years, this young and relatively unknown man won the confidence of our country and, arguably, of the entire world. He was able to do it, in my opinion, by believing and hoping and visioning the kind of world that could be, and letting us in on the view.

So, as I think about my name, and it's meaning, I realize that it's up to me to make it or break it. There are some things I like about my name and its history, and other things that I don't. I will never act as deceitfully as did Guinevere. But I will always be proud of my Welsh heritage, and proud of my grandmother. I hope that, not only in my name but in who I am, part of her beautiful spirit will show.

I think, after all, that I kind of like the color white. Purity, peacefulness, and kindness are good things to strive for - not only for me as an individual, but for us as a country, and for us as a world.

And, I am just naive (or optimistic) enough to think that we could actually do just that. All around me, I feel the world changing. And maybe, just maybe, all of us, no matter what our history, name, ethnicity, or beliefs, can come together to make the world a purer, more peaceful, kinder place.

Reflections on Zechariah

2009-01-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

I really struggle with guilt. Left to my own devices, I tend to feel guilty about everything - even things I haven't done but could imagine myself doing, or things that aren't my fault. In fact, as time has gone on, I have realized that this is the devil's most potent tool in bringing my spiritual growth to a standstill.

Probably the thing I'm feeling most guilty about lately is the fact that I haven't been spending enough time with God. A close second would be my wealth - all the things I have - especially when compared with the poverty of so many I rub shoulders with each day.

One of the problems with guilt is that it tends to drive me further away from God, and stop any dialogue between us. It is paralyzing. Ironically, it worsens the rift between myself and God even further, which gives me more to feel guilty about.

Recently, this vicious cycle resulted in about a month-long period of distance from God. During the Christmas season, all the things I had to do crowded out my time for prayer and study, and the resulting guilt made me feel infinitely far from God. And, though I felt badly about it, I couldn't get back into the habit of regular communication with him.

Then last Wednesday night, I couldn't sleep. The dogs woke me, then Jonah, then Ellie. I dozed a little, but kept waking up again.

Finally, at 3:00 AM, I got up and sat at the kitchen table with my Bible. I felt exhausted, full of remorse for my distance from God, angry that I couldn't be more self-disciplined. But I also felt a strong sense of God's presence, and I knew I had been kept from sleep for a reason.

Opening the Bible, I turned, for no particular reason, to Zechariah. I can't remember the last time I read this book, but this time it got my attention right away with its bizarre, surreal visions and images.

When I came to Zechariah 3, the words almost jumped off the page:

¹ Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD , and Satan standing at his right side to accuse him. ² The LORD said to Satan, "The LORD rebuke you, Satan! The LORD , who has chosen Jerusalem, rebuke you! Is not this man a burning stick snatched from the fire?"
³ Now Joshua was dressed in filthy clothes as he stood before the angel. ⁴ The angel said to those who were standing before him, "Take off his filthy clothes."
Then he said to Joshua, "See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put rich garments on you."
⁵ Then I said, "Put a clean turban on his head." So they put a clean turban on his head and clothed him, while the angel of the LORD stood by.

As I read the verses, I heard God's voice, rebuking Satan on my behalf. I felt the relief of being valuable enough to pull from the fire, to clean up, and dress in new, spotless, perfect clothes, the symbol of forgiveness.

I knew that while Joshua is a symbol of Jesus, he also represented me - someone who, despite her faults, was precious and loved. And as I read through the chapter, I recognized the promises of the Messiah, of Jesus, who did indeed complete his mission, making redemption and forgiveness ours.

As I went back to bed, and through the rest of the week, I was filled with awe and gratitude that God values me enough to get me out of my routine and deal directly with the spiritual struggle I was facing right then. Since then, the crippling guilt has not returned.

I do think that guilt serves a purpose: to point out sin and help us appreciate forgivenss. But I hope that this encounter will help me remember not to stay engulfed in it, like yesterday's outfit, but instead to step into the much more comfortable, newly-washed, and beautiful clothing of grace.

Reflections on the End of the World

2008-11-01T15:22:00.000-07:00

Recently, Ellie and I saw a movie that really got the circuits in my brain firing.

A futuristic drama called "City of Ember," this is the story of two children's struggle to reach the earth's surface from a city thousands of feet underground. As the story goes, years earlier, a natural disaster ravaged the earth. Fearing that the human race would be destroyed, the builders of the city made provision for 50 men, 50 women and 100 children to go below the surface, where all their needs would be provided for the next 200 years, until the earth, they hoped, would again be habitable.

Contained in a small metal box were the instructions for leaving the city and returning to earth. The box, programmed to open 200 years from the city's founding day, was given to the first mayor, with instructions to hand it down to each successive mayor who ruled the city.

Unfortunately, the box was lost during the seventh mayor's term, and now, at 200 years and counting, the generator which powers and lights the city is failing. The frightened citizens find various ways of coping with the threat of impending darkness, from denying that the generator is faltering, to staunchly trusting the builders of the city to come back and save them. Some, including the mayor, escape from reality by binging on the limited food supply.

The hero of our tale tries repeatedly to fix the generator, and when he realizes it is a lost cause, starts trying to find a way out of the cave. He and a girl about his age find the box and set out for the surface, using the torn and faded instructions they find in the box to guide them.

Although this movie was probably produced for Ellie's age group rather than mine, I found it visually compelling, attention-grabbing, and thought-provoking.

Watching the scenes in the dim city as the lights repeatedly flicker and go out, I could not help but think of the world in which I live. I always feel a twinge of anxiety when I see footage of the polar ice caps melting, or maps showing projections of the vast stretches of coastline which would be under water if the earth's temperature were to increase by even a few degrees.

I have friends who deny that this is really happening. They write global warming off as a figment of Al Gore's imagination. Others check off each calamity against Bible prophecy, proclaiming the end of the world and waiting expectantly for Jesus to come back to take the faithful to a new world. And still others work to unite mankind in pursuing technology and behavior change which would fix the problem.

A common truth which is not terribly encouraging, is that none of us really knows how this will end. Will the human race come together to solve the problems, feed the hungry, build sustainable energy sources and ways of living, and achieve a better quality of life for everyone? Or will we continue to fight with each other, kill each other, fail to cooperate, and keep making choices which will wear out our fragile earth? Will Jesus come back before the end and save those who follow him? And even if we do everything in our power, will it make a difference?

Something else that caught my attention was the image of all those people who had never seen the blue sky, sun, or the light of day. For them, these things we take for granted were only legends, and some had even ceased to believe that a world existed beyond the reach of the generator's flickering lights. Early in the story, we see the girl coloring a picture of a landscape with hills, a sun, clouds and a blue sky. She runs her hands over the picture almost reverently, and you can tell she is thinking: do these things really exist?

It reminds me of the place in C.S. Lewis's The Silver Chair, when the children and their companion Puddleglum find themselves in an underworld of huge caverns and dim cities, ruled by a wicked queen. The queen captures them and puts a spell on them to try to convince them that no other world than her own exists, and that the sun and sky are just stories.

Resisting the spell with great difficulty, Puddleglum says, "Suppose we have only dreamed or made up all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones...that's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia...so, we're setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for the Overland."

In the end, both sets of children - those from Narnia and those from the City of Ember - do find their way to the surface. "City of Ember" ends as the sun rises and the children see the rosy sky of dawn and the vast expanse of hills, valleys, and waving grass for the first time. In just a few minutes, their view of the universe changes completely and they realize they have been living in the dark, experiencing only a fraction of reality.

It is interesting to me, as I read the New Testament, that here and there we see glimpses of God's country, the heavenly kingdom, shining in the far distance with a mysterious glow. One of the last things Jesus told his disciples was that he was going to prepare a place for them. It is alluded to in Hebrews and Revelation, yet we still have no very clear picture of what it looks like.

Perhaps it is because of my Seventh-day Adventist heritage, or maybe because I am futuristic, but I spend a lot of time wondering about God's country. Will it be as awesome and paradigm-changing as coming out of lifelong darkness and seeing the real world, full of light, for the first time? Will my eyes and other senses be opened in ways I cannot now imagine or comprehend?

Sometimes, doubts creep in and I hear a voice which says, "You have no proof that such a country even exists. What if it's all make-believe? What if humans like yourself just invented heaven to make dying a little easier for us?

But in the end, I side with Puddleglum. Even if the Overland, or Heaven, or God's country, don't exist, I will continue to live as if they do. I will continue to believe, even in the absence of absolute proof.

Because I choose light, beauty, and redemption over doubt, fear and hopelessness. I choose to believe the captivating story of a God who cares enough for me to take me from a world whose lights are going out. I don't know exactly how this will happen - but, like other Christians before me, I believe that it will.

I think Hebrews says it best:

"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country - a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."
-- Hebrews 11:13-16

I can't wait to come out of the darkness, out of these three dimensions, out of the limitations of this mind and body, into whatever new world Jesus went to prepare for us. Knowing God, it will be beyond amazing.

A New Philosophy of Christmas

2008-10-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

Christmas will be different at our house this year.

We have tiptoed around it in years past. We have discussed the virtues of doing it differently. We have come right to the brink of change, then always retreated to the familiarity of tradition.

This year, the financial crunch has forced us to re-think our priorities.

In years past, my (George) family Christmas has involved wonderful family time, music, spiritual programs and discussions, and food. And also presents - lots of them. Each adult draws two names of other adults, and everyone buys for the seven children. The result is an enormous stack of gifts, usually too large to fit under the Christmas tree. All this, at a time when multiple holiday responsibilities have pushed us past our budgets and frankly, none of us have a lot of money to spare.

Admittedly, it's fun to open gifts. Especially for the kids. But as I look at their rooms and toy-boxes, already jammed full of stuff, I wonder, do they really need anything else?

Last weekend when my family got together for the triathlon, we talked about Christmas. And, as often happens when my family is together, we started to throw around some strange ideas. Maybe, we reasoned, this Christmas could focus on something other than buying more stuff.

By the end of the weekend, we had decided to go for it. The rule about presents, we decided, was that they had to be either second-hand, made, or non-material, such as a certificate for a particular act of service from the giver. At any rate, they could NOT cost much money.

Since then, my mind has exploded with other new ideas to make the Christmas weekend meaningful and memorable, without costing much of anything. JD and I will be hosting Christmas at our house this year, so to start out with, we won't have the cost of renting a cabin as we have for the past two years. Here are some other suggestions, some of which - if the rest of the family agrees - I would like to try.

1. Candlelight program. Our big family room has now been re-done with hardwood floors, new walls, windows and paint. We will be moving our piano into this room shortly. It is a big room, the perfect size for a candlelight program - Friday night, as Sabbath is beginning, would be a good time. I would like to have each family bring candles, then place them around the outsides of the room and light them as the program begins. I would place chairs in a big circle around the room, and give people parts to do several months before we get together, so they would be ready. Music would be alternated with readings or testimony. Pretty much everyone in our family is musical and it's always fun to hear them, especially if they've practiced and are prepared. We also would do some hymns or choral music all together, as a group.

2. Christmas Tree Decorating Ceremony for the kids. We could put up a tree with lights but no ornaments. Then, we could set out two big folding tables in the middle of the family room and put all seven kids around the tables, and put craft supplies on the tables. Popcorn strings, pictures painted on old glass ornaments, ornaments made out of favorite small toys, or pinecones and other objects collected outside - this would keep the kids occupied, and make the tree much more interesting - something the kids could be proud of.

3. Christmas 5K or 5-mile run. My brothers, sister-in-law, JD, and I have been training for a trail run and possibly a 10K or half-marathon, and this would be a great time to run all together. We probably won't be able to find any organized races this time of year, but we could map out our own course and run all together one of the mornings that everyone is there.

4. Letters to prisoners and those less fortunate. Our Christmas will be held over New Year's weekend, so by then, we will have already given away gifts to the families we are sponsoring. I was thinking that a great service project over New Year's would be to get together for about an hour, and each of us write some letters or cards to people in our lives who are going through a rough time, incarcerated, missionaries overseas, or anyone just needing special encouragement. A lot of times we concentrate on giving away material things to those less fortunate at Christmas, but we forget that encouragement and messages of support are probably just as helpful and uplifting, and usually don't cost us anything.

These are some ideas to get started. So far, I have not discussed any of these plans with JD's family, only with my own, so the above plans may only apply to one of our Christmas celebrations.

However, I am excited about this, can't wait to plan it all out, and am looking forward to this Christmas with my family more than I have any Christmas in a long time. And the great thing is that we won't still be paying it off in February:)

I would welcome any of your own suggestions for ways to make this holiday season meaningful without going broke.

Summer Road Trip 2008: learning about whaling on the Atlantic coast

2008-06-23T20:39:00.000-07:00

Our family just returned from a two-week vacation during which we visited Washington D.C., the port at Mystic, CT, the Jersey shore, Boston, Plymouth, New Bedford, New York City, and the Outer Banks. More on this soon - to see pictures, scroll down about seven posts.

Book Review

2008-06-23T18:23:00.001-07:00

Ministry in the Image of God, by Stephen Seamands
***** 5 stars

This is a fantastic book and a must-read for anyone involved in Christian ministry. I enjoyed it because, in all my 39 years of being a Christian, I had never heard anything like it.

I had always been of the opinion that the doctrine of the trinity, while undeniably biblical, had to be about the most boring of the Christian doctrines. I regarded it as a fact, but a flat one, something that you sing about occasionally in the doxology.

But as I read this book, I could not believe how the trinity came to life in Seamands' writing. One of my favorite ideas from the book is how he describes various aspects of our lives and relationships as following the pattern of the trinity.

For example, when we are involved in listening to and empathizing with another person, we are exemplifying a quality of the trinity: that of flowing in and out of each other while remaining distinct entities, separate from one another. As we listen to the other person, part of us enters into their experience, and feels the pain or joy they are feeling.

When this happens, we are truly living in the image of the three-personed God.

Seamands' intended audience seems to be those working in ministry, though I am sure any Christian would gain insight from the book. I have incorporated many of his ideas into my ministry, as well as my understanding of the trinity - a doctrine which, thanks to this book, will never again seem boring to me!

Book Review

2008-06-23T18:18:00.000-07:00

The Secret by Rhonda Byrne
4 stars

OK, I know, this one is way out there. But seriously, I liked it! Although I only agreed with about half of what she said, and I had problems with the Godless ideology upon which her principles rest, I think she's on to something.

Very simply put, I believe she's right about many of her practical suggestions for achieving success. When I listened to her book for the first time, I immediately identified a lot of her suggestions as things that have worked for me in the past.

For example, she advises to start out each day with confidence that good things will happen, that you will be successful in reaching your goals, that people will respond positively to you, and that you carry unlimited potential. Look at the good, not the bad, she urges. She encourages us to constantly give thanks and be grateful for the things we already have, and by doing this, we will attract more good things into our lives.

Her philosophy jives with my belief that optimism, an attitude of gratitude, and faith go a long ways towards helping us achieve our goals. However, the one thing missing in this equation is God. In Byrne's universe, humans seem to be the only gods. And herein lies the problem.

While I am definitely using many of Byrne's practical suggestions in my interactions and daily life, with good result, I completely reject the notion that I am successful in and of myself. Instead, God makes me successful and causes all of these laws of the universe to work. Byrne has identified some laws which are true, but failed to give the credit to God, for creating those laws in the first place.

I have given the book four stars because it is interesting and practical. If she were to write a book called The Secret for Christians, which included God in all of this, I would probably give her five!

Book Review

2008-06-23T18:08:00.000-07:00

Son of a Witch, by Gregory McGuire
***** 5+ stars

WOW! I thought it couldn't get any better than McGuire's last (and also debut) novel, Wicked. And then I read this one, and realized that it just had!

This is a delightful book from start to finish. Picking up the story moments after the witch's death (which takes place at the end of the last book), Son of a Witch tells the tale of Liir, the only son of Elphaba (who is the witch featured in Wicked).

I liked Liir from the start. He is young, very insecure, and alone in the world, but also brave and honest. And these qualities, which he demonstrates throughout the book, end up making him (in my opinion) a true hero.

I don't want to go into more detail and give away the plot for those of you who may read the book, which I highly recommend. Not only is the plot thoroughly enjoyable, but the quality of the writing is superb - for anyone who loves language it is like candy for the mind. But it's not all mind-candy, there is more nourishing fare as well: the themes run deep and could provide the fodder for many a long conversation.

Son of a Witch is my favorite so far this year, and quite probably for several more to come.

Book Review

2008-06-23T18:03:00.000-07:00

The Five Love Languages, by Gary Chapman
**** 4 stars

For some reason, I had never read this classic relationship guide till recently. I found it to be helpful and read some of it with JD. The information Chapman presents is organized, easy to read, includes plenty of good examples, and really makes a lot of sense.

The five love languages that Chapman identifies are words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. He describes numerous examples of couples whose relationships were transformed by the discovery of, and learning to speak, each others' primary love language.

While I think this book should definitely be in the arsenal of anyone in the business of helping others with their relationships, or of making their own better, I question whether the discovery and practice of the love languages can really provide the be-all, end-all solution to marital problems that it seems Chapman is suggesting. Let's face it, sometimes discovering a spouse's love language just isn't enough. For couples who face deeper, more complex issues on a personal or relationship level, other paths to healing may be required.

However, as far as it goes, this is an excellent book. I have used it both personally and professionally with good results. I do recommend it to anyone interested in improving their relationship.

Book Review

2008-06-23T17:58:00.000-07:00

No country for Old Men, by Cormac McCarthy
*** 3 stars

This book was simply too violent for me. Since it's about a serial killer, I guess the killing is kind of indispensable to the plot. Call me a sissy, but I just don't enjoy reading about one grisly murder after another.

If there had been a point to it - like, for example, the violence in the movie "Schindler's List," which reminded us that hope and bravery can survive even the most horrific evil - then I would have plodded through all the killings in the hope of some redemption at the end.

However, the redemption never comes. One is left with more questions than answers, wondering if anything can stop evil. And, according to the rules of the universe McCarthy creates in this book, the answer is "no."

The book moves quickly, is gripping, and for the most part well-written, so I gave it three stars. However, I would not read it again, and have not been able to bring myself to watch the movie.

Book Review

2008-06-23T16:07:00.000-07:00

The Road, by Cormac McCarthy
***** 5 stars

This is a futuristic novel which portrays the journey of a father and son along the road to the sea. The road they travel is dark and dangerous in the aftermath of an unnamed disaster which has killed almost all plant and animal life and left everything covered with a thick coat of ash.

Beautifully written, this is a book that celebrates the love between a father and son. It is a book about sin, darkness, survival, and hope. The prose is actually more like poetry throughout much of the book.

A real page-turner full of suspense, this book is multi-layered, thought-provoking, and heartbreaking. In the world of modern fiction, it doesn’t get much better than this.

In Memory of Don

2008-06-23T15:42:00.000-07:00

Author's note: I wrote the following remembrance about one of my patients, who passed away on June 13^th, 2008, at the age of 48. I had the horrible responsibility of diagnosing him with lung cancer last summer, only about a week after his first visit at the clinic.

I see lots of patients with cancer, but for some reason, Don was extra special. Soon after I started seeing him, Don had an experience with God that changed his life. Throughout the following months I witnessed firsthand the difference that God can make in a life.

Before his death, Don was featured in our Hope Clinic video. He wanted his story to inspire and encourage others who might be facing similar circumstances, and gave me permission to share this story to that end. Following is my remembrance of him.

-Jenny Dittes, June 13, 2008

Love -that’s what it came down to.

Love that reached down and took hold of a man who was lost, pulled him out of the darkness, and clutched him close to the heart of God – so close the Devil could not get him back, no matter how he fretted and begged.

I was swept into the love because the minute I saw this man, God whispered in my ear, “This one is mine. It’s time for him to come to me, after a lifetime of running away; it’s time, and I want you to claim him for me, and tell him about my great love for him.” So I prayed for him, and as I spoke, and he wept, I could sense the Spirit filling and claiming him.

In the months to come, as his body gradually filled with cancer, his mind and heart were re-made. He struggled with many things during those months, as he sought to restore relationships with family and friends that, through his own actions, had grown sour through the years. But one thing he never struggled with or doubted was God’s love for him. Like a child, he accepted it without question.

One day, when he was discouraged, I asked him if he was worried about his salvation, or frightened about what would happen after his death. Without hesitation, he said No, he wasn’t worried about that. What worried him most was becoming helpless – not able to walk or care for himself. He dreaded that terribly, and told me he’d rather that it all be over right away than to gradually lose his abilities.

And in the end, I think God honored that wish. Just days before his death, he was still able to walk – slowly, with a limp – and to talk, in halting sentences. And then, within hours, his brain function deteriorated and he went into a coma. Within twelve hours, it was over. I have actually never seen a cancer patient who went that quickly and mercifully at the very end.

One of the last things he said to me, just several days before he died, was: “I love everyone!” It came out haltingly, as though he was fighting to get the words out; but he said it several times, and the look in his eyes, and the tone of his voice, told me that this was a new thing for him. I think he himself was surprised by the love that filled him and overflowed to everyone around.

When I think of Don, I think first of his big smile – a smile that completely lit up his face. And the tears that come to my eyes are not only tears of grief that he is no longer here, but also tears of joy, for the miraculous way in which God redeemed him, claimed him, and changed his heart.

In the end, it all came down to love: God’s love which flowed steadily and freely, like clear water, washing away all the obstacles, dirt, and sin in its path; a love which said, “I don’t care what you've done in the past; now, you are my child, my grace is sufficient for you, and nothing can separate us again.”

A few days ago, Don let go of our hands and took the hand of Jesus, where that love became stronger and brighter than we can imagine.

Though we, his friends, are lonely without him, I know he would would not want us to be sad. Instead, I think he would want us to be swept up into the same love that swept him away.

Don is resting now in that love and peace that passes our understanding.

Praise be to God!

On Communal Salvation

2008-02-02T07:26:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me knows that in my life, the past several years have been traveling years. Like Abraham who was called to a land God would show him, in the fall of 2005, JD and I embarked on a spiritual pilgrimage from a familiar place to a place unknown, and certainly a place we never would have gone, had God not clearly told us to.

As the physical place we worship has changed, so have many of the ideas which undergird our worship. One of the most striking idealogic differences between the place we were and the place we are now is the idea of communal salvation.

Now, I know for some of my friends, this term may conjure up all kinds of negative images having to do with communism, socialism, and long-haired people in sandals working in gardens. Before you go too far with that, let me explain.

Several year ago, soon after we had started attending our new church, I was talking with my friend Mike, when he casually mentioned that salvation is not individual, but communal. He said it as though it was an unquestioned truth, not as though it was an idea he'd been kicking around. I was too surprised at the time to ask what he meant, but I thought to myself, These people are really humanistic! To think that not only my well-being, but also my salvation, could depend on other people? The idea struck me as not only unbiblical, but also frightening.

Now, Mike wasn't just anyone, he was the pastor of the church we'd started attending. So I set out to see if other people in the church also believed this preposterous idea. Several weeks later at the womens' Bible study, my friend Angie made the following statement: "There have been times that I was too unsure of the future even to pray, and then I have called a friend and they have prayed for me, and I was strengthened. We are all responsible for each other."

That statement blew my mind, and I thought about it all the way home. I had always believed that salvation was between me and God, and that others' influences, for good or evil, did not matter. To think that my salvation depends, in part, on others, and that theirs depends on me, was frightening because it involved so much responsibility on my part as well as theirs. It carried with it the very real risk that someone else would let me down, thereby endangering my salvation.

As we settled into our new church, I saw again and again that for these people, the communal salvation idea was real. When a member was facing a struggle of some kind, they rallied around that person - praying for them, empathizing with them, calling them. A lot of the discussions in my Sunday School class actually ended, if they did not begin, with an appeal to care more for others in the body, to bear each others' burdens as well as their joys. There was a sense that this was an integral part of being a Christian, and they took it seriously.

Before I give the idea that I had never seen this kind of Christian community before, let me say that our little Adventist church in Globe, AZ, was truly a body in which each member helped to support the others. Our new church at Bethpage reminded me a lot of Globe, but at Bethpage the church was bigger, so there were more people practicing this idea; also, at Bethpage, you got the sense that this was part of the church's DNA - a belief held so strongly and practiced so doggedly, that it was axiomatic.

JD and I flourished at the church in Bethpage. Time passed, and for awhile, I forgot about the struggle I had had with communal salvation. I just settled in and got involved in the church's work. And I found that my spiritual life was better than I could remember it ever being. The Holy Spirit became a real part of my everyday life; I was challenged and supported week by week in my pursuit of God; and my work for God bore fruit in a way it never had before.

Then, several months ago, the church hit hard times. Rifts occurred at the very heart of the group which put everyone under a dark cloud, and at times threatened the financial and spiritual viability of the organization.

And a strange thing happened. Suddenly, I felt strangely disconnected from God. It was often hard to pray. I had no doubt in God's sovereignty or my own salvation, but the spiritual well-being I had before was suffering. I felt lonely and sad. My regular times of study and prayer became times of tears, deep grief, and impassioned intercessory prayers for the other members of my church, as well as the church's future. I was hurting deeply, and it affected everything. I was surprised, in particular, how much it affected my spiritual strength. During this time, I often felt spiritually fatigued - for example, I would shrink away from praying with patients because I didn't feel that my connection with God was strong enough.

As the weeks and months went by, I started to think again about the idea of community. Could it be that my walk with God had become so closely connected to the other members of my church, that when the church suffered, so did my relationship?

Fortunately, the situation at the church was resolved by some creative and insightful changes instituted by the church's leadership. Since the beginning of 2008, the church at Bethpage has quickly regained its vitality and spirit. With the spiritual renewal has come a financial turnaround, and again, the church is on solid ground.

And so is my closeness with God. Once again, the times I worship at the church are times that I am filled with God's Spirit and Presence, strengthened to go out and face the problems that exist as I do God's work.

I still can't explain this phenomenon in theological terms. I would probably fail miserably if I were to get into a debate with some of you Bible scholars out there who were determined to prove me wrong. But I do know that, in some very integral way, my spiritual health is tied up with my church. Now, I have experienced communal salvation - the fact that each person in my particular body of believers is responsible for my spiritual health, and I am responsible for theirs - and I know that, whether I like it or not, it is a fact.

For those of you still not sure, consider that one of the most enduring New Testament images used to describe the church is a body. As a healer, I know how interconnected the human body is. Each part relies on all the other parts for its vitality and well-being. And so it is with the body of Christ.

Please understand that I am NOT saying that any human being can keep us from salvation. However, I AM saying that the things we do can have an effect on others' salvation (for both good and evil), and also on their spiritual health - that is, the quality of their spiritual life.

This has implications, too, for those leaving a church body. Often, people get fed up with the problems in the church and leave - only to find that they are more lost than before, struggling to find God again with no support from those who once constituted their spiritual support group.

Consider also pastors who are moved to other churches on a somewhat regular basis. When they leave, they are immediately responsible for the spiritual shepherding of a new flock - but they are also detached from a group of people with whom they have formed an interconnected body, sometimes for many years. Remembering how I felt when my church was not functioning enough to provide me with the spiritual support I was used to, I can only feel empathy for pastors who are responsible for providing spiritual leadership while trying to deal with the grief and disconnectedness of losing their spiritual home.

I will close with a familiar passage from John 17. Jesus is praying for us:

"I am praying not only for these disciples, but also for all who will ever believe in me through their message. I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one - as you are in me, Father, and I am in you. And may they be in us so the world will know that you sent me.

"I have given them the glory you gave me, so they may be one as we are one. I am in them and you are in me. May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me."

I believe that these words, spoken hours before Jesus died, reveal his greatest wish for us - that we will live in community, in unity, caring for each other and thus proving that He is the Son of God who saves us.

Communal salvation doesn't sound so strange, after all.

Running for a Second Chance

2007-11-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

On April 22 , my brother Johnathan's life was saved by a total stranger. On that day, Johnathan received a long-awaited liver transplant at Vanderbilt Medical Center. Had he not received the transplant, it is likely he would not have lived long enough to be present in the pictures shown above.

In commemoration of his transplant, and in order to increase awareness of the need for organs, on October 7th, I teamed up with my brothers Johnathan and David to compete in Southern Adventist University's annual triathlon at Cohutta Springs Camp near Chattanooga.

We had originally planned for each of us to do the whole triathlon, but various events made that impossible. Johnathan's doctor told him to avoid lake water for now, due to the risk of infection which is complicated by the high dose of immunosupressants he must take for the first year. I did not have a nearby pool to train for the swim, and dropped out of training after the first few months, due to that and a very busy schedule. Then David injured his foot, which made running extremely painful for him.

The perfect solution was for us to do the triathlon as a team: David would do the first leg, a half-mile lake swim; Johnathan would follow with the 18-mile bike ride; and I would finish up with the 4-mile run.

As it turned out, David (the ultimate athlete) was allowed to do the swim for our team and then finish the entire triathlon himself, competing both as an individual and as a team.

The day of the triathlon turned out to be a real scorcher, one of those October days that breaks all the records. It was very humid, with a high of 89 degrees, and no clouds in the sky. By the time the triathlon started at 12:45, we were already hot, tired, and sweaty. I found myself envying David, getting to swim in the cool water!

It was honestly hard to consume enough liquid to stay hydrated in that kind of heat. Waiting in the change-off area for my run to start, I kept throwing water over me to cool down. Finally, I spotted Johnathan pedaling up the road with several other bikers, his face flushed and sweaty. We traded the ankle bracelet quickly and I headed off into the shimmering heat on the pavement.

I've been running for years, but that was one of the hardest four miles I've ever done. The black pavement I was running on radiated waves of heat up into my face, and several times I felt dizzy, like I would faint. The course wound its way along country roads, up and down hills, with little shade to protect from the scorching sun. There were water-stations set up every mile, and I always grabbed two cups of water, drinking some and throwing the rest over me to cool off a little.

But finally the end was in sight, and there was my family - mother, brothers, sisters-in-law, husband, nieces and nephews, and my kids - all cheering as I crossed the finish line. Whew! It was over!

The triathlon was a great way to re-connect with my brothers and family, to do something together that we could be proud of. But more than that, it was proof of the incredible healing that someone else's priceless gift gave to my brother. Johnathan had not been able to exercise for years, as his liver, and with it his health, slowly deteriorated.

As teenagers and young adults, my brothers and I just loved backpacking or hiking in the Appalachian mountains around our home. Then, as Johnathan became weaker, there came a time that we had to stop planning that kind of weekend activity. Johnathan just couldn't do it.

With his new liver, though, he was able to regain the strength in his muscles and within just a few months, was biking, swimming and running without difficulty. This opened up all kinds of possibilities for things we could do together, and the first we planned was the triathlon.

So, this triathlon was more than just a triathlon. It was proof of a life re-gained and renewed, a promise of many more challenging, rewarding experiences like this that we will share. As I watched my family just being family - Johnathan playing with his kids down by the lake, his wife cheering as he came in on the bike - I was indescribably grateful for this gift of new life.

The announcer at the triathlon told everyone about our team, and why we were doing the race. Many others asked about our matching T-shirts, encouraging organ donation. We were able to talk to a lot of people about the need for organ donors, sharing Johnathan's story with them. Hopefully, this and other efforts to increase organ donor awareness will make it possible for many others to receive the same gift that saved Johnathan's life. I can tell you firsthand that it is nothing short of a miracle.

Superstar

2007-09-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

In November, Ellie will attend the most fantastic, frivolous, glittering and glamorous event of the year. She's been talking about it for weeks. Scores of girls are green with envy. In fact, thousands couldn't get tickets and many of those who did paid up to $1000 or more. On November 24, Ellie, her best friend Iliana, and her valet, I mean mother, will be attending the Hannah Montana concert in Knoxville!

I hasten to add that we did not pay $1000, or anything close. In fact, we got our tickets online, in a special fan club sale, before the frenzy began (during which all remaining tickets sold out in only fifteen minutes). Since then, I've tried several times to convince Ellie that we should sell our three first-section seats, which we purchased for $156, for $3000 (which is what they're going for) - but she won't hear of it, so I guess the concert is a go.

Now, I'm not much into teeny girl bands. But I must admit that I'm kind of looking forward to this one. For one thing, I actually like Miley Cyrus's music. She's a good musician and, as teen stars go, not a bad role model for my star-struck daughter.

I'm also looking forward to having a whole day and a half of girl-time with my favorite girl (Ellie) and her friend Iliana, who is sweet, respectful, vivacious, and a good influence on Ellie and me.

Our planned schedule involves driving to Knoxville on Saturday, attending the concert, staying in a motel for the night, and eating breakfast Sunday morning before heading home - which gives us plenty of opportunity for relaxation, quality time, and downright self-pampering. I'm looking forward to such things as no charts, no alarm clock Sunday morning, and no family members of the opposite gender to care for (apologies to JD, Owen and Jonah who will be on their own!).

For these luxuries, I may just trade my hearing ability. And perhaps my sanity - consider that on the way home, I will be a captive audience to up to 3 1/2 hours of gossip, raves, and swooning over the Jonas brothers (who are opening the show). Oh, and I may just be crushed at the concert since our seats are in the section in front of the stage, and my child, along with who knows how many very determined girls, will be trying to get as close as possible to Hannah herself.

As I reflect on Hannah Montana and the meaning of life, I realize that this concert will take place just nine days after my 39th birthday. I am still not sure if it will make me feel younger or older to be there, but I am quite sure that, being there with Ellie, it will not matter. When I look at her, I see traces and threads of myself, but much younger and more energetic, and with a whole lot of improvements. That makes me really proud. And it kind of makes me forget about getting older.

So, here's to being a girl and feeling invincible. Watching Ellie now, I am quite sure that is how she feels. And who knows? In the words of Hannah Montana, "Who says I can't be a superstar?" It sure worked for her.

To me, Ellie is a superstar in the making, even if she never sets foot on a stage. The world is her stage, and I can't wait to see what she does with it.

Training Wheels

2007-09-03T20:36:00.000-07:00

Last week, Jonah got his first bike.

A surprise from his cousin (who had outgrown it), the bike was bright blue, covered with streamers and balloons, and even had a handmade name tog attached to the front handlebars. A bright yellow bike helmet completed the ensemble.

We had traveled to Fall Creek Falls, a state park several hours' drive from here, where we met my mother and two of my brothers and their families for a picnic lunch, followed by a swim in the river, then a family bike ride around the lake. The entire day was enjoyable, but my favorite part was watching Jonah as he took his first bike ride ever.

He set off down the bike trail, the smallest in the group, and I rode right behind him to make sure he was OK. Soon the others had left us behind. Jonah pedaled energetically, his bike wobbling back and forth, stabilized on either side by the training wheels which caught him if he leaned too far in either direction. Occasionally he would flash a smile at me over his shoulder. He was so proud of himself!

Often, he lost control of the bike, usually by going off the side of the bike trail where he tipped over in the uneven ground. Each time, he jumped up again, picked his bike up, and got back on the trail. "I'm not hurt," he kept saying.

Once, Jonah wiped out next to a several-foot dropoff with a steep descent to the lake. As his bike slid over the edge, he jumped off it and stayed on the trail, avoiding an accident which definitely could have hurt him. That time, I jumped off my bike to help him, but he was OK, just a little scared.

Our pace was so slow that I had a lot of time to think, and I found myself thinking about something I had read about the topic of falling. Apparently when toddlers fall, it's best not to grab them every time to keep them from getting hurt. Falling is part of the whole process of learning to walk; if we never fell, we would not learn about gravity and balance, or the body mechanics needed to prevent a fall.

It made me wonder if God goes behind me, like I was going behind Jonah on that bike ride, watching my progress but not intervening unless I am in serious danger. Perhaps when I could not feel him there, he was watching, proud of the progress I had made, but knowing I would not learn unless I did it alone and even fell occasionally in the attempt.

I have to give Jonah credit. Instead of crying and reaching for me every time he fell, he was so brave. "I'm not hurt, Mom!" He said quickly as he got back up to try again.

And even in that short ride of a mile or so, he did learn so much. By the end of the ride, he was
tearing around with his cousins like a little daredevil.

Next time I feel alone or have fallen, perhaps I should try the Jonah method - get up, assure God I'm not hurt, and keep going until I learn whatever it is he is trying to teach me to do!

Owen the Philanthropist

2007-08-18T13:39:00.000-07:00

My son Owen, age six, had an epiphany yesterday.

I had taken him on our monthly "date," a special time I spend with each of the kids and with JD every month. He had just gotten his allowance, so after eating pizza, I took him to Target so he could look for a computer game. Owen is a very careful, thoughtful decision-maker. He slowly walked up and down the aisles, considering his options.

"Ellie really wants that game," he remarked, looking at a PC game called Diner Dash. He picked it up and scanned the cover. "She would love this," he said.

"Owen, it will be a long time before you can afford another game," I said. "Why don't you get one that you want?" Owen put the game back and walked around some more, admiring the boy-games. But he kept coming back to Ellie's game.

Finally, when I had just about gone batty with his slow, deliberate decision-making, Owen told me, "I'm getting the game for Ellie."

"OK," I said, thinking he would soon regret this choice and want to go back.

On the way out, he asked me what was my favorite Bible verse. I told him, then asked what was his. "Do to others what you want them to do to you," he said. I thought about his recent purchase and wondered when he got so mature.

At home, when he handed Ellie the game, the happy squeals and huge smile on her face made it obvious that Owen had made a good choice. Later, I came into the living room and saw them sitting together at the computer, Owen watching as Ellie played her game. And I knew that somehow this was a rite of passage, a day that would change Owen, even as it changed me. He had put a Bible principle into practice and found out how rewarding it was.

So, here is a snapshot that I want to save and pull out again in the future, when my six-year-old is a grown man. I want to remember how he looked yesterday, his blue eyes so sincere as he told me about the Golden Rule, his hair the color of tousled corn silk, and two teeth missing. I want to remember the pureness of his desire to make his sister happy. In this, he reminds me so much of myself at that age, and I hope his innocence and love will not hit against too many crushing blows as he gets older, but will find a place to exert their influence and make the world a better place, even as he grows in the art of giving.