Just something I just felt like sharing…
Sing me the song that never dies,
Of little Love blinded and bold,
Blossoms unblemished and blue skies
And the green going into gold.
All the uproarious pipes we played,
Frenzy and Folly, Fire and Joy,
Carols we caught up for a maid
And ballads boisterous for a boy.
I hear the blended bells and bands,
The fiddlers fiddling on the green,
The clapping of a thousand hands,
The trembling of a tambourine.
O happy hours, run kindly slow;
Black lies the night, nauseous and grim.
Who knoweth what a man may know?
No – all he hath shall die with him. (*)
The man God made he dreameth deep,
Down in his heart. High in the air
His Heaven lies. How shall he sleep?
He had a dream, the dream was fair.
* Some early copy has the last line of the 4th stanza reading as:
Not all he hath shall die with him.
Shaw Neilson and Will Olgivie are some of my favorite Australian poets. I don’t know why this one has been racing around in my head this week.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
To The Nurses
Compiling this has been a while in coming and is long overdue, but here we go. As probably most people who know me are aware, my mum (or mom in US lingo) had a very serious accident just before Christmas (2010). After we understood the situation it worked out that I could go back to Australia for three weeks right after New Year.
My life was enriched just weeks before the accident when I was fortunate enough to spend a weekend with an amazing bunch of people loosely known as “Outlaw Preachers”. To feel so connected to 30-40 people, none of whom I had ever met face to face before is an amazing testament to their lives. Perhaps I will have more to say on that another day. In any event, when I am away from home, I tend not to broadcast it widely on Face Book and the like. I’m not paranoid about it and things get posted which is fine, but I just don’t say a lot that way. Other than some rushed direct communication then with various friends before I left for Australia, many were unaware of the whole situation.
There is a very effective bush telegraph however amongst the Outlaw Preachers (whose number is far greater than the 30-40 I met) so along with the ourpouring from my long time friends who were aware of the situation, the love and support from these folk was something I cherished during my weeks in Australia. One of the Outlaws, Rebekah is a nurse, and I was moved by something she posted on my wall and my experiences spending hours at the hospital. So I penned a note and distributed it mostly to Outlaw friends via Face Book message rather than a more public broadcast.
While no doubt there are other nurses I have known who are also very special people, my mind sometimes forgets these details but I will single out longtime friends Kristen and Nancy whom we met in our sojourn in New Mexico, and Debbie whose whole extended family were like a second family to me when I first moved to Colorado so many years ago. This then is a somewhat tidied up version of that message written a day or so after my mum came out of ICU, with a few of the amazingly touching responses tied in.
I wanted simply to share how impressed I had been by the nursing and other care giving staff in the hospital. I’m not real good at knowing how which type of Christian prays particularly – I’ve wandered through many parts of Christianity and have shied away from identifying with anything smacking of denominationalism (wow that is long, is it even a word?). But it occurs to me I’ve heard much prayer asking for God to guide the doctors, which often occurs to me in more cynical moments as “God I’m really not sure You are up to the healing I just asked for, but at least lend a hand would You”.
Apologies if that is sacrilegious or offends, sometimes I try not to be, but you just have to get used to me. Sometimes the nurses get tacked on, but mostly it’s the doctors. So don’t get me wrong, the doctors are vitally important, but I’ve probably seen / spoken to a doctor less than 5% of the now many hours I’ve spent in hospital, and while I haven’t spent a lot of time in hospitals recently, that would be consistent when visiting friends and such in for one reason or another.
But the nurses and other care givers, they are there a lot, and they have to take care of all sorts of things, some apparently trivial, many are routine, some to me at least anything but pleasant. It would appear from some of Bek’s posts / tweets that they see and hear some pretty amazing things as well – requests to “slap the shit out of me” must fit into some special category.
I am convinced of a few things then. God does heal. Sometimes it is out and out miraculous, and often it is through the care of the medical profession. The doctors (mum now seeing in addition to “regular” doctors a bevy of physios, speech pathologists and occupational therapists) have an amazing ability to step into the breach and do incredible things to save a life, reverse the damage of some injury or other and set a person on a course for healing.
But the nurses and other care givers I suspect have the major role in bring a person back to wholeness, especially in an extended hospital stay. I don’t know how many hours I and others in my family have spent at mums bedside these past weeks. It’s a lot for sure and this too is important for her healing, but it pales I am certain compared to the hours put in by the nurses, especially in the ICU where they seemed to have one per patient at times, no worse than one per two patients, but that may just have been when things were “stable” to cover breaks and the like. The nurses love the patients back to wholeness. I suppose there is a whole spectrum of emotion attached to the notion of loving the patient, but I will stand by that statement.
They love them with their constant attention. No detail or request it appears is not worth their efforts.
They love them by genuinely caring for their well being.
They love them in the tenderness with which they attend to them.
They love them by doing their best to give them dignity, no matter what their circumstance.
They love them with tough love, firmly but insistent about doing the things that promote their recovery, or not doing the things that hinder it.
They love them by talking to them about a million unimportant things.
They love them by coming by and gushing over the beautiful roses that came from a garden only recently under their care, their beautiful grandchildren and the like.
They love them in countless other ways I have not begun to think of or realize
To Bek and all the other nurses and caregivers in hospitals here and around the world, a huge and heartfelt thank you.
I was tempted to try and weave excerpts from some of the responses mostly in the form of additional tributes to nurses into my original note, but I’m just not that creative, and it would probably take away from both, so a selection follow:
Bek.
Sometimes I get really discouraged in my job, and you don't know how much it means to me to hear this.
Jeff.
I can attest to every one of those "love statements". When I was recovering from quadruple bypass surgery, it was the nurses that made all the difference in the world in my recovery. I have a "heart pillow" (used for rehab) that I had them all sign and I will treasure it as long as I live. Rebekah: you and those in your profession are the TRUE "pastors". Bless you all.
Maria.
In the time I have spent in hospitals and nursing homes, the nurses have been such a source of genuine love in the middle of very difficult situations, as well. I'm sorry for the way that gets taken for granted or ignored as hurting people vent anger at them directly.
Stephanie.
Although not a nurse by trade, your words illuminate so beautifully the particularities of this valued (& oft under-noticed) profession. Thank you, Bek & others, for what you do!
And, Peter, your words further highlight how the simplest things can have such profound impact on others' lives... May we each, in various aspects of the caring professions, minister well in the small & large moments given to us.
Pat.
I have had 4 surgeries in my life...and the nurses kept me sane and saw to my recovery.
It was a tough as nails and loving as all get out nurse who dealt with me in 2006 when I had my heart attack and helped me grow up and also get out of my funk or tasting mortality..which shook me up.
It was a nurse who firmly protected my wife and kicked an a-hole of a doctor out of the delivery room the day my daughter was born and got a more professional doctor to be in the delivery room who would respect patient rights.
It was a nurse who was my partner in crime in keeping my daughter calm when she had to have 7 staples in her head after a gym class injury.
In each of these there is a longer story...but your story is too lovely and heart wrenching...I just wanted to add to the appreciation and love and admiration for the heroes.
And so to wrap up the story…
My mum continues to recover. Shortly after I returned from Australia she was released from hospital to a rehab facility where she has continued to recover. As I understand it (and I don’t know all the exact details) she will soon be released from rehab to home. She had an overnight “home visit” last weekend as an interim step in that direction.
My mum will be turning 70 later this year, so that now being relatively young, in some ways it is hard to accept the possibility that she will never fully recover. But that while hard, it is a very real possibility. It will probably be hardest for my dad, for he has always been both driven and tormented by knowing just how things needed to be, and yet, they may never again be as he had expected. I am more my mother’s son in that regard. As I shared with a friend this morning, “There is a God, and I am not Him”. Perhaps the “serenity prayer” sums that up better for others. That does not mean I do not cry out to God, but I do know that one day, all things will be restored – whether in this life or the next is up to Him.
My life was enriched just weeks before the accident when I was fortunate enough to spend a weekend with an amazing bunch of people loosely known as “Outlaw Preachers”. To feel so connected to 30-40 people, none of whom I had ever met face to face before is an amazing testament to their lives. Perhaps I will have more to say on that another day. In any event, when I am away from home, I tend not to broadcast it widely on Face Book and the like. I’m not paranoid about it and things get posted which is fine, but I just don’t say a lot that way. Other than some rushed direct communication then with various friends before I left for Australia, many were unaware of the whole situation.
There is a very effective bush telegraph however amongst the Outlaw Preachers (whose number is far greater than the 30-40 I met) so along with the ourpouring from my long time friends who were aware of the situation, the love and support from these folk was something I cherished during my weeks in Australia. One of the Outlaws, Rebekah is a nurse, and I was moved by something she posted on my wall and my experiences spending hours at the hospital. So I penned a note and distributed it mostly to Outlaw friends via Face Book message rather than a more public broadcast.
While no doubt there are other nurses I have known who are also very special people, my mind sometimes forgets these details but I will single out longtime friends Kristen and Nancy whom we met in our sojourn in New Mexico, and Debbie whose whole extended family were like a second family to me when I first moved to Colorado so many years ago. This then is a somewhat tidied up version of that message written a day or so after my mum came out of ICU, with a few of the amazingly touching responses tied in.
I wanted simply to share how impressed I had been by the nursing and other care giving staff in the hospital. I’m not real good at knowing how which type of Christian prays particularly – I’ve wandered through many parts of Christianity and have shied away from identifying with anything smacking of denominationalism (wow that is long, is it even a word?). But it occurs to me I’ve heard much prayer asking for God to guide the doctors, which often occurs to me in more cynical moments as “God I’m really not sure You are up to the healing I just asked for, but at least lend a hand would You”.
Apologies if that is sacrilegious or offends, sometimes I try not to be, but you just have to get used to me. Sometimes the nurses get tacked on, but mostly it’s the doctors. So don’t get me wrong, the doctors are vitally important, but I’ve probably seen / spoken to a doctor less than 5% of the now many hours I’ve spent in hospital, and while I haven’t spent a lot of time in hospitals recently, that would be consistent when visiting friends and such in for one reason or another.
But the nurses and other care givers, they are there a lot, and they have to take care of all sorts of things, some apparently trivial, many are routine, some to me at least anything but pleasant. It would appear from some of Bek’s posts / tweets that they see and hear some pretty amazing things as well – requests to “slap the shit out of me” must fit into some special category.
I am convinced of a few things then. God does heal. Sometimes it is out and out miraculous, and often it is through the care of the medical profession. The doctors (mum now seeing in addition to “regular” doctors a bevy of physios, speech pathologists and occupational therapists) have an amazing ability to step into the breach and do incredible things to save a life, reverse the damage of some injury or other and set a person on a course for healing.
But the nurses and other care givers I suspect have the major role in bring a person back to wholeness, especially in an extended hospital stay. I don’t know how many hours I and others in my family have spent at mums bedside these past weeks. It’s a lot for sure and this too is important for her healing, but it pales I am certain compared to the hours put in by the nurses, especially in the ICU where they seemed to have one per patient at times, no worse than one per two patients, but that may just have been when things were “stable” to cover breaks and the like. The nurses love the patients back to wholeness. I suppose there is a whole spectrum of emotion attached to the notion of loving the patient, but I will stand by that statement.
They love them with their constant attention. No detail or request it appears is not worth their efforts.
They love them by genuinely caring for their well being.
They love them in the tenderness with which they attend to them.
They love them by doing their best to give them dignity, no matter what their circumstance.
They love them with tough love, firmly but insistent about doing the things that promote their recovery, or not doing the things that hinder it.
They love them by talking to them about a million unimportant things.
They love them by coming by and gushing over the beautiful roses that came from a garden only recently under their care, their beautiful grandchildren and the like.
They love them in countless other ways I have not begun to think of or realize
To Bek and all the other nurses and caregivers in hospitals here and around the world, a huge and heartfelt thank you.
I was tempted to try and weave excerpts from some of the responses mostly in the form of additional tributes to nurses into my original note, but I’m just not that creative, and it would probably take away from both, so a selection follow:
Bek.
Sometimes I get really discouraged in my job, and you don't know how much it means to me to hear this.
Jeff.
I can attest to every one of those "love statements". When I was recovering from quadruple bypass surgery, it was the nurses that made all the difference in the world in my recovery. I have a "heart pillow" (used for rehab) that I had them all sign and I will treasure it as long as I live. Rebekah: you and those in your profession are the TRUE "pastors". Bless you all.
Maria.
In the time I have spent in hospitals and nursing homes, the nurses have been such a source of genuine love in the middle of very difficult situations, as well. I'm sorry for the way that gets taken for granted or ignored as hurting people vent anger at them directly.
Stephanie.
Although not a nurse by trade, your words illuminate so beautifully the particularities of this valued (& oft under-noticed) profession. Thank you, Bek & others, for what you do!
And, Peter, your words further highlight how the simplest things can have such profound impact on others' lives... May we each, in various aspects of the caring professions, minister well in the small & large moments given to us.
Pat.
I have had 4 surgeries in my life...and the nurses kept me sane and saw to my recovery.
It was a tough as nails and loving as all get out nurse who dealt with me in 2006 when I had my heart attack and helped me grow up and also get out of my funk or tasting mortality..which shook me up.
It was a nurse who firmly protected my wife and kicked an a-hole of a doctor out of the delivery room the day my daughter was born and got a more professional doctor to be in the delivery room who would respect patient rights.
It was a nurse who was my partner in crime in keeping my daughter calm when she had to have 7 staples in her head after a gym class injury.
In each of these there is a longer story...but your story is too lovely and heart wrenching...I just wanted to add to the appreciation and love and admiration for the heroes.
And so to wrap up the story…
My mum continues to recover. Shortly after I returned from Australia she was released from hospital to a rehab facility where she has continued to recover. As I understand it (and I don’t know all the exact details) she will soon be released from rehab to home. She had an overnight “home visit” last weekend as an interim step in that direction.
My mum will be turning 70 later this year, so that now being relatively young, in some ways it is hard to accept the possibility that she will never fully recover. But that while hard, it is a very real possibility. It will probably be hardest for my dad, for he has always been both driven and tormented by knowing just how things needed to be, and yet, they may never again be as he had expected. I am more my mother’s son in that regard. As I shared with a friend this morning, “There is a God, and I am not Him”. Perhaps the “serenity prayer” sums that up better for others. That does not mean I do not cry out to God, but I do know that one day, all things will be restored – whether in this life or the next is up to Him.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
What Makes My Heart Sing
As church this morning, we listened to a beautifully simple dialogue on grace; at least that is what it was for me. The passage was from John’s gospel, the first 11 or 12 verses of the 8th chapter. My bible titles this passage rather austerely; “An Adulteress Faces the Light of the World”. My takeaways from this are:
Jesus doesn’t ignore wrongdoing, but He is so connected at a heart level to us when we have failed and are buried in guilt. He approaches the situation from the heart, in relationship, not via a set of rules or religious principles.
Jesus doesn’t say if you are the senior or most respected church leader, you get to judge and condemn someone who has done the wrong thing.
Jesus doesn’t say if you are the most religious person, you get to look down on someone who has done the wrong thing.
Jesus simply says, “The one who has done no wrong among you, go first: Throw the stone.”
Jesus after every one has drifted away asks her, “Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?” And when she answers “No one”, Jesus says two things. Firstly, “Neither do I.” Jesus came to mend a broken relationship with us which we were created to have with Him in the first place. Condemnation does not mend relationships, grace does, love does, caring at a heart level does… And Jesus caring about our heart, which does so poorly when laden with guilt or shame, also says, “Go on your way. From now on, don’t do the wrong thing.”
Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me
Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away, washed away
(Warning, awesome song but clips from The Passion of the Christ are a little graphic and may be disturbing to some)
With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live life under a continuous low lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death. (Eighth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Romans, first 2 verses)
But here is the thing. It doesn’t matter whether you are the self righteous judgmental type who thinks you have it all right and looks down on others because somehow their wrongdoing is worse than your own, or you know you have screwed up and are burdened with guilt and shame – or really anywhere on the spectrum in between. Jesus loves EVERYONE! It is not conditional, it is not based on anything we have done, or can do.
As the church, we are not always so great at this. Nick suggested this morning that grace is something everybody needs, and that the church should be a place they can find it. OK, maybe “not always so great” is being a bit kind. My gut reaction when Nick said this to be honest was that we suck at it. Thankfully however, Jesus is better than that. Jesus grace is not reserved for any particular person; no type of person, no color of person, no race.
And that is what makes my heart sing.
My chains are gone
I've been set free
My God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, Amazing grace
Jesus doesn’t ignore wrongdoing, but He is so connected at a heart level to us when we have failed and are buried in guilt. He approaches the situation from the heart, in relationship, not via a set of rules or religious principles.
Jesus doesn’t say if you are the senior or most respected church leader, you get to judge and condemn someone who has done the wrong thing.
Jesus doesn’t say if you are the most religious person, you get to look down on someone who has done the wrong thing.
Jesus simply says, “The one who has done no wrong among you, go first: Throw the stone.”
Jesus after every one has drifted away asks her, “Woman, where are they? Does no one condemn you?” And when she answers “No one”, Jesus says two things. Firstly, “Neither do I.” Jesus came to mend a broken relationship with us which we were created to have with Him in the first place. Condemnation does not mend relationships, grace does, love does, caring at a heart level does… And Jesus caring about our heart, which does so poorly when laden with guilt or shame, also says, “Go on your way. From now on, don’t do the wrong thing.”
Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me
Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away, washed away
(Warning, awesome song but clips from The Passion of the Christ are a little graphic and may be disturbing to some)
With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live life under a continuous low lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death. (Eighth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Romans, first 2 verses)
But here is the thing. It doesn’t matter whether you are the self righteous judgmental type who thinks you have it all right and looks down on others because somehow their wrongdoing is worse than your own, or you know you have screwed up and are burdened with guilt and shame – or really anywhere on the spectrum in between. Jesus loves EVERYONE! It is not conditional, it is not based on anything we have done, or can do.
As the church, we are not always so great at this. Nick suggested this morning that grace is something everybody needs, and that the church should be a place they can find it. OK, maybe “not always so great” is being a bit kind. My gut reaction when Nick said this to be honest was that we suck at it. Thankfully however, Jesus is better than that. Jesus grace is not reserved for any particular person; no type of person, no color of person, no race.
And that is what makes my heart sing.
My chains are gone
I've been set free
My God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, Amazing grace
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
A Quiet Stroll
I have purposed to take a morning walk. This is not a New Years Resolution. Rather, having arrived back in Australia for a three week period to be a part of my mother’s recovery from a serious car accident, it just seemed like something I could do each day. I have no particular intention of continuing this when I return to sub-freezing temperatures in Denver.
Perhaps part of my motivation lies in the recent trivia factoid I heard before leaving Denver that over the Christmas holidays, the average American will see a weight increase of 7 pounds. I feel like I have been at least average this year! But part of me just wanted to get out in the surroundings that remind me of my rural upbringing. Every time I return to Australia, particularly flying into Sydney, it stirs deep emotions. Yesterday was no different. The muted greens, not the rich green of North American trees, the red tile roofs, the streets that wander with no apparent purpose, the large expanses of water with all manner of watercraft going this way and that, the cricket ovals, even the commuter trains. I am not a city boy, nor did I ever even live in Sydney, but these are part of the kaleidoscope of images that is forever home. If you wonder why not throw in the Sydney Harbor bridge, if not already an icon, made so in those first images of worldwide celebrations as we rang in Y2K, or the Sydney opera house, it is simply because they were on the other side of the aircraft.
So what did I experience on my walk? Leaving the house at six, the familiar strains of the ABC radio news theme were pealing from my parent’s bedroom, and the broad, yet very proper Australian voice that began talking about the floods reminded me that my accent has indeed faded, despite what my people who meet me in the States think. Floods, fires and no doubt the sad state of the cricket would have dominated the news had I stayed to hear the entire bulletin. It will be repeated again more or less verbatim on the hour, so I can hear all I need to know when I get back.
The vistas across rolling hills of cleared dairy pasture land set the backdrop, and the views over the escarpment down to the ocean are always breathtaking, if today a little hazy. I saw almost no cars in what was a short first outing (about 35 minutes), testifying not that it was terribly early, but that it is indeed rural. In the sub-tropical climate, lush grasses and other undergrowth flourish often encroaching on the road. I notice with humor they have painted a white stripe just inside the edge of the black top, as if to say to nature, you can come this far, but no further. Nature in some cases is not listening.
My parents have retired on the Sunshine Coast hinterland. These farmlets and rural hideaways have been threaded through old dairy acreage. Not surprisingly, when you live on Murray Grey just past the intersection of Hereford, the bass notes are cattle lowing. The calls of the birds are perhaps the anchor into my past. Along with the cows, I hear the crowing of roosters, reminding me of our farm. But more prevalent and varied is the symphony of different native bird calls. I see few but hear the laughter of kookaburras, the strident demands of magpies and butcher birds, the peculiar chirping of whipbirds and a host of others that I can not readily identify. And in those lush grasses, rustlings I cannot be certain of. I saw a dead snake in the drain, but perhaps a little early in the cool of the morning for that. Something small then no doubt; mice, perhaps a bandicoot or non native rabbits, or just as likely, a bush turkey.
All of these sensory inputs release a flood of memories, nostalgic memories. The great thing about a memory is it is yours to fashion however you want, or perhaps need. Today, mine are pleasant and deeply comforting. I am looking forward to tomorrows quiet stroll.
Perhaps part of my motivation lies in the recent trivia factoid I heard before leaving Denver that over the Christmas holidays, the average American will see a weight increase of 7 pounds. I feel like I have been at least average this year! But part of me just wanted to get out in the surroundings that remind me of my rural upbringing. Every time I return to Australia, particularly flying into Sydney, it stirs deep emotions. Yesterday was no different. The muted greens, not the rich green of North American trees, the red tile roofs, the streets that wander with no apparent purpose, the large expanses of water with all manner of watercraft going this way and that, the cricket ovals, even the commuter trains. I am not a city boy, nor did I ever even live in Sydney, but these are part of the kaleidoscope of images that is forever home. If you wonder why not throw in the Sydney Harbor bridge, if not already an icon, made so in those first images of worldwide celebrations as we rang in Y2K, or the Sydney opera house, it is simply because they were on the other side of the aircraft.
So what did I experience on my walk? Leaving the house at six, the familiar strains of the ABC radio news theme were pealing from my parent’s bedroom, and the broad, yet very proper Australian voice that began talking about the floods reminded me that my accent has indeed faded, despite what my people who meet me in the States think. Floods, fires and no doubt the sad state of the cricket would have dominated the news had I stayed to hear the entire bulletin. It will be repeated again more or less verbatim on the hour, so I can hear all I need to know when I get back.
The vistas across rolling hills of cleared dairy pasture land set the backdrop, and the views over the escarpment down to the ocean are always breathtaking, if today a little hazy. I saw almost no cars in what was a short first outing (about 35 minutes), testifying not that it was terribly early, but that it is indeed rural. In the sub-tropical climate, lush grasses and other undergrowth flourish often encroaching on the road. I notice with humor they have painted a white stripe just inside the edge of the black top, as if to say to nature, you can come this far, but no further. Nature in some cases is not listening.
My parents have retired on the Sunshine Coast hinterland. These farmlets and rural hideaways have been threaded through old dairy acreage. Not surprisingly, when you live on Murray Grey just past the intersection of Hereford, the bass notes are cattle lowing. The calls of the birds are perhaps the anchor into my past. Along with the cows, I hear the crowing of roosters, reminding me of our farm. But more prevalent and varied is the symphony of different native bird calls. I see few but hear the laughter of kookaburras, the strident demands of magpies and butcher birds, the peculiar chirping of whipbirds and a host of others that I can not readily identify. And in those lush grasses, rustlings I cannot be certain of. I saw a dead snake in the drain, but perhaps a little early in the cool of the morning for that. Something small then no doubt; mice, perhaps a bandicoot or non native rabbits, or just as likely, a bush turkey.
All of these sensory inputs release a flood of memories, nostalgic memories. The great thing about a memory is it is yours to fashion however you want, or perhaps need. Today, mine are pleasant and deeply comforting. I am looking forward to tomorrows quiet stroll.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
It Goes By In A Flash
To borrow a comment from my wife's last blog, also posted several months ago, "I kind of stink at blogging right now". Time is ever fleeting and I wish I could say I have not wasted the time here or there that I could have used to assemble the collage of thoughts that run through my head into something that might be interesting, if only for my benefit.
But the occasion of Mallory's 16th birthday and an fairly well executed surprise party required me to make a short speech. I was not sure how well I would do at that in terms of riding a wave of emotion, so I set out to capture the thoughts I wanted to convey in writing. Having done this, it is I suppose now something that I can publish. The photos are from a slide show (funny we use that term still - I wonder if Mallory or many of her 16 year old friends have ever seen a real 35mm "slide"?) Joy and I, well mostly Joy assembled to run in the background throughout the evening.
Even as a baby the brightest - and most mischievous of smiles as she threw herself into everything with great enthusiasm!
They say our children are mirrors, reflecting the best and worst of our character.
With Mallory, sometimes I fear as parents we may get too much credit and our many failings are obscured. As she has matured into a young woman these past few years, we have marveled at how she has grown in confidence, grace and godliness. We have also realized that as parents we are largely past the phase where we influence and mould her character, and we are now mostly in a care and maintenance role, providing a little guidance here or there.
She is not shy. Whether or not you like it, you will know how she feels about what is going on, and if she doesn’t like it, she will not only say so, she will try to do something about it. We love her passion, her energy and how she embraces life. We also love her tender spirit, her practical faith, and the strength of her convictions, especially that she hates injustice.
All of you here have in some way been a part of her life, some for a long time, some of you for less than a year. You are all in some way impacting Mal, and being impacted by her. We want to thank you so much for joining with us in celebrating “finally” her sweet 16th.
But the occasion of Mallory's 16th birthday and an fairly well executed surprise party required me to make a short speech. I was not sure how well I would do at that in terms of riding a wave of emotion, so I set out to capture the thoughts I wanted to convey in writing. Having done this, it is I suppose now something that I can publish. The photos are from a slide show (funny we use that term still - I wonder if Mallory or many of her 16 year old friends have ever seen a real 35mm "slide"?) Joy and I, well mostly Joy assembled to run in the background throughout the evening.
In Recognition of MalloryNovember 10, 2010
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.
(Henry David Thoreau)
Even as a baby the brightest - and most mischievous of smiles as she threw herself into everything with great enthusiasm!
The first of many sporting adventures. 
Also that classic Mallory look - "Are you serious? You think I'm going to do what?"
Also that classic Mallory look - "Are you serious? You think I'm going to do what?"
Self confident and an attitude that she can conquer about anything.
They say our children are mirrors, reflecting the best and worst of our character.
With Mallory, sometimes I fear as parents we may get too much credit and our many failings are obscured. As she has matured into a young woman these past few years, we have marveled at how she has grown in confidence, grace and godliness. We have also realized that as parents we are largely past the phase where we influence and mould her character, and we are now mostly in a care and maintenance role, providing a little guidance here or there.
I have thought about how in some small way we have influenced Mallory, and three things we have done openly and obviously come to mind:
1. Joy and I have loved God and struggled (in a good way) to find meaning, reality and purpose in our faith,
2. As husband and wife, we have grown more and more deeply in love with each other and we let that affection show, and
3. As parents, we have unreservedly loved both of our children.
1. Joy and I have loved God and struggled (in a good way) to find meaning, reality and purpose in our faith,
2. As husband and wife, we have grown more and more deeply in love with each other and we let that affection show, and
3. As parents, we have unreservedly loved both of our children.
I am not sure how much these things have mattered, but I guess I like to think they have. But in some way, Mallory as with all other children was created to be the special and unique person she is. All we have done is loved her and given her the freedom to become that person. I think this really hit home when she went to Haiti for most of the summer last year. Different people asked me if I was worried about her going off there and I realized that I was not. She was in God’s hands. She always had been. We had just been given the blessing of raising her as a child.
I could spend a long time describing what it is we love about Mallory. But one of the great things about Mal is you know who she is and so I don’t really need to spend a lot of time telling you. She is confident in who she is and makes friends easily. She is not a wallflower or some quiet church mouse hiding in the shadows. Rather, she is always somewhere near the center of whatever is going on.
She is not shy. Whether or not you like it, you will know how she feels about what is going on, and if she doesn’t like it, she will not only say so, she will try to do something about it. We love her passion, her energy and how she embraces life. We also love her tender spirit, her practical faith, and the strength of her convictions, especially that she hates injustice.
All of you here have in some way been a part of her life, some for a long time, some of you for less than a year. You are all in some way impacting Mal, and being impacted by her. We want to thank you so much for joining with us in celebrating “finally” her sweet 16th.
And so to Mallory I say;
You have found your voice, and you are writing your own songs. Stay true to that voice.
You have found your voice, and you are writing your own songs. Stay true to that voice.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Wealthy Beyond Imagination
From My Journal, May 26th, 2010
Proverbs 1-3, Romans 7
Scripture: Proverbs 1:19
So are the ways of everyone who is greedy for gain;
It takes away the life of its owners.
Observation:I was driving yesterday and there was a song on the radio with repetitive lyrics along the theme of “I want to be rich”. By the wonders of Google, I have discovered that this is sung by an artist with the name “Calloway” and the words (and title of the song) are in fact “I wanna be rich”. Anyway – it got me to thinking about:
- How rich is rich enough,
- Am I rich enough,
- How would being rich be different, and so on.
So in simply material terms, am I rich enough – the answer would have to be yes. But if I were even richer, well then – I could have MORE stuff – but I don’t have room for all my stuff now – especially the stuff I never use, so I would need a bigger house – and so the futile striving continues… how long until the absurdity of this sinks in?
What if I measured wealth differently? Do I measure wealth differently? I think in part I do, but part of me still likes to compare also.
Do I measure wealth by the love I have known – from my wife, my children, my family and my friends. If I was to do this and this alone, I would know how wealthy I really am.
But better yet than this, I know the love of God. I know that:
"God's care for humanity was so great that he sent his unique Son among us, so that those who count on him might not lead a futile and failing existence, but have the undying life of God Himself."
(John 3:16 Dallas Willard translation)
Because I know this, I have life – my life is not being taken away.
Because God created me for the primary purpose of relationship with Him. The fall damaged this, the fall alienated me from God, from His creation, from other people – even from myself. But through Jesus, these broken relationships are restored - forever.
Praise God!
Action:So more counting my blessings – and less comparing to others. That’s it really.
And maybe a different song in my head – one of my favorite lyrics from “By Your Side” by Tenth Avenue North…
Why are you still searching, as if I’m not enough
Prayer:Lord, help me not only to realize how rich I am, but to act like I am rich and give what makes me wealthy away.
Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due,
When it is in the power of your hand to do so.Proverbs 3:27.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Reflections from the Christensen Family in Littleton
This was written as a Christmas letter just before I started blogging. It was such an eventful year for us full of emotional highs and lows. We sang a song a week ago in church that has meant so much to me in the wake of the events of just on a year ago when our sister in law Karla went home to our only true home in heaven - Blessed Be Your Name by Matt Redmann. Then on the web journal / blog of a good friend Phil McCallum, there it was again. It made me think of what I had written, and decided to use it as the subject matter of a blog, trying to be a little creative with music video as that had been a theme in the letter. Now if you were not as inept as I at the art of blogging and such, you could probably make the music video links pop up in a new window. But me - not so much, so you'll just have to hit the back button after the video to return to the blog. Enjoy...
What an interesting year this has been. It seems to have flown by such as the days do when you have so much going on you fall into bed exhausted at the end of them. So as in years past, here is a snapshot of our 2009. Some of you will have been very close to our goings on, and for others well, maybe we will get to see more of you next year. As our friends are scattered all over the world however, this is just the way of things.
An early highlight was a weekend in the mountains with three other families near the Sol Vista ski resort. It is after all not just what you do, but who you do it with that matters. The Ezman, Papay and Wilkin families have become an intimate part of our life and this was a fun weekend of skiing, kids being kids, cards, and just hanging out.
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
Somewhere about this time, we also threw an “Australia Day” party. We invited people to come as you would if you were in Australia (where January means sweltering midsummer heat) and a good number rose to the occasion venturing out in beachwear or Steve Irwin attire on a chilly winters evening. Peter did “prawns on the barbie”, we served vegemite on toast and fairy bread – and a good time was had by all.
Our family suffered a terrible loss early in the year with the sudden and unexpected passing of our sister in-law Karla. No matter what we believe and how strong our faith, we all struggle with an event like this. Perhaps the words of her oldest daughter Courtney say it best…
"There was a plan for my mom's life, and I believe that it's still in the works (it'll be a legacy). There's not been a single mistake in any of this. I am so blessed to see firsthand God's grace, comfort, peace, and most of all, organization. He is good, and his fruits endure, even in the midst of tragedy."
All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true...I was made for you
The Story - Brandi Carlile
This year the girls saw their first snow days – which meant they got to spend not 1, but 2 days just before spring break snuggled up at home, instead of at school. Joy thinks Peter knows something he is not telling as he was out of town (stranded as flights into Denver were mostly cancelled) not only for this sump of heavy spring snow, but also when it happened AGAIN in the fall! Oh well – shoveling is good exercise and the driveway thankfully is not too long (easy for Peter to say when he is stuck in Dallas!). The puppies love the fresh snow – but then they don’t do any shoveling either.
Well we have been back in Denver and in our own home for two years so we embarked on our first major home renovation project. We love to entertain – there is something special about bringing people together from all the diverse parts of our lives in informal gatherings and just seeing what happens. But our kitchen was frankly, not very well laid out – and as everybody knows – parties invariably congregate around the kitchen. The new kitchen is largely in thanks to a lot of help and great advice from Joy’s brother Jeff and our brother in-law Mike. It looks great and gives that part of the house a completely different feel. Peter still has some trim and finish work to do – and now that the weather has turned colder; and outdoor pursuits such as hockey, soccer and golf are pretty much done for a while; this will soon be underway. Joy LOVES her new kitchen!
But there never seems to be enough time To do the things that you want to do
Once you find them
Time in a Bottle - Jim Croce
Sport is something Peter enjoys, something Jillian seems to inherited from him, and if it involves a social aspect – something Mallory can also enjoy. This year Jilly got back into field hockey bringing a new dimension to our lives. In May she played with an under 12 mixed team from Colorado in the “Cal Cup” a large tournament in LA. The kids did amazingly well, competing mostly against club teams who have been together for some time and were only just held out finishing runners up. She and two other girls from this team were invited to play with a high school team (girls 3-6 years older) in the Colorado State games where they also finished runners up (Peter played with an adult team in this tournament also – they did not fare so well!). After playing in some summer programs, Jilly was nominated for the US Field Hockey Association “Futures Program” which will be some top level coaching – and more weekends come the new year – oh well – she loves it. Mallory decided to give field hockey a go also (having played one season in Australia) and played on the JV team for Golden high school. She had a great time, making new friends as she always does, and even picked up a few skills along the way. Both girls are now playing in a winter indoor league.
My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride
If this song lyric fits anyone in our family, it would be Mallory. Mal informed us at the beginning of the year that she really wanted to go on a missions trip – didn’t know where – didn’t know what she would be doing – but she wanted to do it. She has a sensitive spirit and a genuine desire to care for others. This led to her spending almost 8 weeks this summer with a team that went to Haiti to assist in building an orphanage for Hope in the Light Ministry. Her team was organized and prepared through a youth short term mission organization, Teen Missions International. It should come as no surprise that going from our comfortable middle class life in an American suburb, to working (hard) in one of the poorest nations in the world was an eye opening and life changing experience. We were fortunate that we could tie into her initial training in Florida by going out with here a week in advance and enjoying a relaxing family holiday at Cocoa beach.
While Mal was in Haiti, some extremely affordable tickets were available for travel to Australia, and this turned into a 2nd unplanned family vacation in the short gap between Mal coming back from Haiti, Jilly’s summer of hockey, and the start of the school year. We had such a great time – Brisbane provided the best mid winter weather imaginable, the kids got to go to the Ekka (a huge “state fair”) and we spent a lot of time enjoying the company of family and friends. We were truly blessed to have been able to do this and that if fit into an otherwise crazy summer schedule.
Since the resumption of school, we have Joy working quite a lot as a substitute teacher, Peter and Joy operating a 24/7 taxi service (although Mallory will have her drivers license learners permit next week – can you believe that), the girls involvement in soccer, hockey, choir, piano and of course a jam packed social schedule and once in a while, Peter and Joy enjoying some adult company – either with each other or with some of the many good friends we have made or reconnected with in returning to Denver.
God has woven an incredible web for our lives with friends; reconnecting with ones from West Virginia, Farmington, and Australia. We enjoyed spending some time in Oklahoma to celebrate the wedding of Laurel and Chris – Laurel being the daughter of Phil and Leslie, pastors of an amazing church we were part of in Australia. We also were able to spend some time on this trip with Joy’s older brother Jerry who lives in Tulsa – and are very much looking forward to an unprecedented third family vacation in Cancun just before Christmas with most of Joy’s family to celebrate Jerry’s 50th.
Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's "all as it should be"
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
You give and take away You give and take away
My heart will choose to say Lord, blessed be Your name
Our blessings this year – even a year of great loss - have been many. As Mallory got to see firsthand in Haiti – we are amazingly blessed to live in the comfort we do. We have been blessed also by the birth of Reese, Mike and Jenny’s first child and our youngest nephew. And we look forward to the arrival of the next generation – our oldest niece Courtney and her husband Adam are expecting their first in the New Year.
We hope and pray this Christmas will be merry and blessed for you.
Peter, Joy, Mallory and Jillian
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