It was kind of odd to ponder over a dinner date with my bride last night that this time last week (give or take some hours due to time zones) I was wandering the aisles of a farmers market in Turkey followed after a stroll by an enjoyable light meal on the covered patio of a nearby café. Covered was important as I was treated to a thunderstorm – I love the rain.
During my flight that day up from South Africa, I got to stop briefly in Dubai and then Doha. And while those skylines (particularly Dubai) were just as amazing as all the documentaries, it was an article I read in an Australian newspaper of all things in the lounge in Doha that kind of weaves this tangled mess of thoughts together, at least in my head, if not on paper.
The article covered the funeral the previous day of one Claude Choules, accepted as being the last known surviving combatant of the Great War as it was originally known – before even greater horrors descended and we decided to number them. Claude served in the British navy, but moved to Australia shortly after the war and lived there the rest of his very long life of some 110 years. So he was not the last “digger” as the Australian servicemen were known, but having lived in Australia for over 80 years the ties are strong. Coincidentally, longevity is at the forefront of our family this past week with the 100th birthday of my wife’s great aunt Mert.
It occurred to me that the changes Aunt Mert and this man had seen over the course of their lives are almost unimaginable. Those I have witnessed in my 40 odd years are amazing enough.
I mean, here I was in Qatar on the Arabian Peninsula. This area had been ruled in one sense or another by any number of foreign powers over the centuries and was the subject of a treaty between the British and the Ottomans at the beginning of the war. I was on my way to Turkey, where I hope one day to visit the beaches of Gallipoli where Australia in many senses found some sense of national identity and as a fledgling nation, stood up and was counted on the world stage. The bravery and valor of the men on both sides is undiminished by the stupidity and the sheer pointlessness of the combat in which they were pitted against each other. I had started the day in South Africa, a country that has undergone tremendous upheaval, and which I had been fortunate to visit some 21 years previous and just after the release of Nelson Mandela from his long imprisonment.
Sometimes I think I am at risk of taking my life for granted. I am incredibly fortunate to have travelled the world, mostly on someone else’s tab. I have had the amazing opportunity to have worked on every continent although I am excluding Antarctica – hardly anyone gets to work there, but that would be awesome. My current passport less than five years old bears stamps to that effect with the exception in that period of Asia. And it has about run out of pages with space for stamps. I guess for me, the travel associated with my job has become normal, at least in the sense that it is something I do regularly – it is a normal part of my life.
But I do realize that for most people, the travels that are part of my job are anything but normal. It is sobering to think that particularly for men like Claude Choules more than 90 years ago, were it not for a war, they may never have seen much in the way of foreign soil. And a long and dangerous journey by sea voyage was more than likely not going to be required. No hopping on a plane on Friday night in Johannesburg to wake up to sunrise the next morning over a middle eastern city for all the world more modern and contemporary than most in the USA.
So this Memorial Day, I will remember a generation now forever gone who gave their all in the Great War and in the peace and hard times of the depression years that followed must have hoped they had done enough to never see the like of it again. A generation who must have felt in some ways utterly betrayed when the world was again engulfed in another conflict of unimaginable horrors. A generation whose own children were thrown into the fray of that 2nd global conflict and have been tagged “The Greatest Generation”.
I am not sure what makes one generation greater than another, but the words of the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley and made famous in a movie of the same name ring in my ear. For me they are a glimpse of how one might have mentally survived the trials and tribulations of these and unfortunately so many other wars waged since. But this is not an argument over who has suffered the most. Has a mother who lost her child to drug abuse, suicide, or being beaten to death for being different suffered any less than the mother of a fallen soldier? Is the person shackled by poverty or prejudice even in this country of such riches and opportunity any less unjustly imprisoned than Mandela? Instead of the haunting strains of Taps or the Last Post then, I find hope and courage for what lies ahead in these words…
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Invictus
William Ernest Henley
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Dream is Deep (Shaw Neilson)
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.
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.
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.
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