Ripples

This fall, I went on an exploratory trip in Turkey. I have grown increasingly interested in Paul’s first two missionary journeys, the ones that remained in Turkey. Paul’s launching point was Antioch. I really wanted to go to Antioch where it all began.

I contacted tour groups, I looked at online trips, but could not find many that went to Antioch. It is out of the way. It’s hard to get to and it’s near the Syrian border, which makes some people nervous. Eventually, I got my trip scheduled and we met our guide on our flight from Istanbul to Antioch (now called Antakya or Hatay. Many of the worst pictures we have of the earthquake damage are from this area). I had spent several months preparing for the journey.

I had learned that Antioch was the third largest city in the Roman Empire behind Rome and Alexandria. It was the most diverse city in the Empire and a real melting pot of cultures. Anthony and Cleopatra got married in the city as a grand gesture linking the Mediterranean powers. It was an important Jewish population center. When the children of Israel came out of the exile, many were not allowed to return to Jerusalem. Instead, over 250,000 were relocated to southern Turkey. It is why Saul was from Tarsus and why he was such a strict follower of the Law. His ancestors were some of those displaced people trying to hang on to their values in a multi-cultural area.

I also learned about a number of terrible earthquakes that had transformed the area. Antioch has been ravaged by the shaking of the earth numerous times. In 115 AD it was leveled. The Emperor Trajan and his successor, Hadrian, were in the city for the winter. They were both injured, but recovered. It triggered a tsunami that damaged Caesarea by the Sea in Israel. The Roman historian Cassius Dio recounted, The whole earth was upheaved, and buildings leaped into the air; some were carried aloft only to collapse and be broken in pieces, while others were tossed this way and that as if by the surge of the sea, and overturned, and the wreckage spread out over a great extent even of the open country. As many as 260,000 people died. Trajan helped rebuild the city and they covered the place with mosaics.

The hotel we stayed in is built above the largest mosaic floor in the world which was part of that rebuilding campaign. That floor, however, is undulating because of another earthquake that happened in 526 AD (see the picture). What the earthquake did not destroy, the ensuing fires did. Again there was rebuilding, but in 528 AD it happened again. Then the reduced city settled into a long but slow rebuilding phase. It was much smaller and had reduced access to the ocean due to changes in the harbor caused by the quakes. A nearby earthquake in 1114 did more damage. As Matthew of Edessa wrote at the time, all creation shook and trembled like a churning sea, . . . all creation produced cries and groans as, with great dread, they were expecting their destruction.

There are scant ruins left telling the story of the beginning of the church, but it happened in Antioch. It’s where we got our name, Christians. It’s where the mission movement began. It’s where organized giving for relief efforts began. It’s where our Bible study methods began. It’s where the Gospel first met a multi-culture arena. In so many ways, we are Antioch Christians. And it’s a good reminder that what matters, what remains, what is lasting is the individuals who find Christ and eternity, because nothing else lasts. As it says in Hebrews, At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.” The words “once more” indicate the removing of what can be shaken - that is, created things - so that what cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our “God is a consuming fire.” (Hebrews 12:26–29, TNIV)

Frozen

I opened the door, the dogs ran out, I wish I could have captured the image on their faces. The grass, which was normally supple and inviting was now stiff and threatening. They lifted their feet like the needle on a sewing machine trying to find some soft patch in which to land. Pleading eyes swept toward me as they quickly retreated into the house. They turned and stood gazing in confusion at the frozen world. I locked their looks onto the photographic plate in my mind.

I stepped outside into the front yard and almost immediately heard a gunshot. I quickly revised my thoughts, not a gunshot, but a branch snapping. Then another explosion rent the air. It was like standing on a firing range. Across the street from me a huge branch collapsed with an antagonizing scream and then shuddering sigh. The wind blew and a thousand ice crystals shudder at the loss. If I sit quietly, I can still hear the creeks and breaks echoing in my memory. During the frozen night, a huge noise catapulted us to attention. A branch had fallen by our bedroom window missing us and great damage by only a few inches. Our hearts raced and our ears stood at attention through the rest of the restless night.

We drove out to find warmth, electricity and the internet. The truck swerved around limbs and drifted out of our lane to avoid heavy overhanging branches. Suddenly, a pop came from the windshield. A bright white lightening bolt flashed across the glass. It looked like it radiated from a tiny spot. If something hit the glass, we never saw it, but the moment is frozen in time. Every gaze through the transparent shield is marred by the ugly gash.

We traded messages with others in town, watching as one and then another lost power and hunkered down under blankets and gathered before blazing fires. We got more wood from friends and were so thankful for the wood when eventually our power also failed. We rearranged the living room so that we could get closer to the flames and the heat. I have a picture in my mind of us sitting in the total darkness with just firelight washing across our faces. We are safe from the danger and threat and are near one another. It’s what love feels like. The fireplace ate the wood at a ravenous rate. and we abandoned the idea of keeping it alive through the night. We retreated to blankets and quilts and waited for daybreak.

We went for a walk and I tried to grab moments out of the air. I wanted to gather a piece of the frozen art, knowing in just a few hours that this spectacle would just melt away. I saw the blooms of spring, fooled by the warmth of last week, rushing to emerge only to be frozen in their tracks. They were like brilliant jewels in a royal crown.

Some images are frozen inside of me, moments of great beauty, compassion and love. Others of insecurity and fear. I choose to hold onto the beautiful images. I went through my photos and deleted all the ones I had taken of downed limbs and damage. I choose to freeze my attention on God’s provision in the middle of the storm.

Dehaze

I took this picture years ago. I have always liked it. I like the mirror reflection of the boat, the water and the mountains in the background. Unfortunately, the haze above the water made the picture muddy and washed out (see the left side of the picture). It flattened the image and it did not pop like it had when I was looking in real life.

The picture languished in my digital photo album and occasionally I would go back and look at it. I tried editing it, but with mixed results. It might be another year before I tried again. Last year, I downloaded a new app that has a specific dehazing filter (see the right side of the picture). It can do wonders to a photograph. I have no idea how it works, but I love the results. Pictures that once were unusable are suddenly alive and vibrant.

I took photography in high school. We had a dark room at our house. I threaded film onto a development reel while standing in the pitch dark. I poured liquids into the canisters and shook them following the steps of an alchemist to change empty strips of negatives into photographic gold. I learned how to frame and crop an image on to photographic paper. I spent hours hunched over trays of chemicals, slowly rocking them back and forth as they revealed the hidden images. I still remember the hushed awe as I watched insights emerge under the safe, red glowing light.

Now, we just point and shoot and the process is done. If we want the pictures printed we send them to a machine that takes care of the rest. It is fast. If the picture is not any good, we just push delete and try again. When I learned photography, each step was costly and time consuming. We took lots less pictures and it was days if not weeks before we saw the result. It was not possible to retake the image. Instead, we had to coax the negative to produce a useful positive. I learned how to dodge (keep part of the image from printing too darkly) and burn (get part of the image to be brighter white) to increase the visual contrast. There were lots of other tricks and sometimes figuring it all out to produce a useful image could take days.

In an instant world, we have lost the art of slow. The ability to wait and reflect and ponder. We have lost the way to see the best in something and then work to improve it. It’s just so much easier to abandon the place, the project or the person. What if we tried to stick together believing that one day it will get better, if not this day? Could it be possible that the way of patience could be more rewarding than the way of discarding? I’m glad I did not delete the image and that finally what I saw years ago I can see again in that picture.

Slow down. Look at the Bible with new eyes asking the Spirit of God to dehaze the image. Be patient with people, believing that the image of God is within them, waiting to see it emerge out of the complexities of this life. Don’t give up when you disagree. Instead, marvel at the contrast of life and treasure other people’s perspectives, knowing that one day God will clarify everything and you will have gotten some of it right and some of it wrong. Come down on the side of grace and possibility.

Ceiling Hockey

I get to the church very early on Sunday mornings. I need the time to pray and prepare. I learned along time ago that God’s best work in my life happens when I am quite the longest. As I listen, God speaks. It rarely happens for me in the hustle and noise of life, but in stillness of reflection. My work office at the church is filled with some of my cherished mementoes, lots of papers and I am surround by a “great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1) - my bookshelves. I love my books they are my friends, my mentors and my teachers. Sometimes, I spin my chair thinking through them and wondering what some of those wise counselors my say.

Last Sunday, I was sitting in my chair thinking about Abraham and his stumbling journey towards become a follower of our God. Suddenly, I heard a very loud noise right behind me. I sounded like angry person stamping on a cockroach. I don’t know if you have ever been church all alone in the middle of the night. The huge, dark, cavernous space can be a little unsettling. My study office is small, so I knew I was in the room alone, but still I spun around instantly expecting to see at tall angry foot. There was nothing.

I scanned the book shelves and then the floor. Something must have fallen from one of the top shelves. I could not detect anything out of the ordinary. I stood up and walked around, checking in my closet. Still nothing out of the ordinary. I returned to my chair and my work. Then I heard sounds again. There was something in the ceiling.

It would not be the first time. Steve Gowan has caught other critters sheltering in our attic, but nothing had traveled the labyrinthian path to my corner of the building complex. It was a long way from any of the places we have normally found their entry places. Those spots have to be constantly defend from their incursions.

I could not concentrate. The skittering noise moved back and forth above my head. It went on and on. I finally decided to film the ceiling to see if I could capture the sense of it. This animal (squirrel, rodent, baby racoon?) was not trying to escape. Instead, this beast was practicing for the World Cup. It was clear that it had something round and was dribbling it back and forth to work on ball control skills. It worked from one side of the field to the other and then came back again. I started calling him “Roll-ando.”

I called Steve Gowan, our building manager, left to go preach my sermon. By the time I got back, the room was quiet again and the animal had made its way to Catherine’s office and then disappeared. Im editing the footage and should have it on my Facebook page this weekend if you want to see it.

Where and when do you spend your best time with God? What do you do to protect it in your life? Has it been too long for you? Have you gotten so busy with the game of life that you have pushed out the silence? The noise in my ceiling reminded me how much I treasure time alone with God. I would encourage you to spend some time carving out some quietness.

Warning

A friend shared this picture. I thought it was funny and serious at the same time. It made me wonder what was in the pipe. Then it made me think about the sign. I tried to track it down. I did an image source search, but it was unable to find a match. Then I typed in the words, “Do not Touch. Not only will this kill” and the screen erupted with pictures. Page after page of similar signs. Except they all seemed to just be merchandise to make money. There were water bottle stickers, T-shirts, dog shirts, hoodies, car decals, framed art, scented candles, refrigerator magnets, coffee cups, phone cases and more. The warning sign has become a joke.

I think because warning signs have become so common and seem so driven by lawyer overreach that now that we can hardly see them as real. We don’t take the seriously. We ignore the warning signs. We touch the wet paint to see if it really is wet. We walk too close to the edge. People text and drive while not earring their seat belts. We drive too fast. One writer has called it optimism bias. We don’t think it will happen to us. We eat bad food and pray for God’s blessings. We ignore the warning signs.

I was with a family in the hospital waiting room and overhead a man who was calling his family and describing why his wife was in emergency surgery and fighting for her life. Someone had crossed the double yellow no passing zone lines while trying to pass a truck. The car was in a hurry to get to see a sick relative. They ran head-on into his wife. He made a dozen calls having to explain it over and over again. It was chilling and emotional listening to his grief. By the end of it I wanted to yell to everyone follow the warning signs.

I have a picture on my phone of a warning sign that i saw in Ireland. It has a car falling off a cliff into the sea. It was posted near a harbor. The road runs right to the edge so that trucks can load and unload. There is no curb to stop a car from driving off into the water. From the road it is nearly impossible to see the drop off. You have to believe the sign and stop before you reach the edge. It only works if you trust the sign.

God’s word is filled with so many warnings. They are often about things we know nothing about until we are too far over the edge. People ignore the warnings at their own peril, but largely people have decided that the warnings are a joke instead of life giving love. It matters if you trust the sign maker because if you do, then you behavior must change.

I Can't See

I stared into the tiny hole. I used the flashlight on my phone to see if I could get enough light to see inside of it. Each time I moved the light where it illuminated the interior, the phone obscured my vision. I tried to use the video function of the phone to get a “live look” but it was too dark without the light. I then took repeated photographs forcing it to use the camera’s flash. This is the best of them. I got out several pairs of reading glasses, all with different magnifications, to look at the image. I still could not recognize what I was seeing.

Last week, a puddle developed on the floor behind and under the refrigerator. I knew at once it was related to the water pipe feeding liquid to the ice maker. I was in a hurry and headed to Dallas, so we pulled out the fridge, dried the area, and turned off the water until I could try to make repairs.

It was apparent that water was leaking out of the top of the fridge where the water tube entered the back panel. I took off the tube and was confronted by this tiny dark hole. I went around to the front and stared into the freezer. I took the ice maker mechanism apart and found the other end of the hole. It was a white pipe that slanted up and to the back. I could see nothing.

I used a tiny, but strong wire and began to see if I could find an obstruction in the pipe. I did not know what was inside the pipe. Was it a valve that opened? Was it a filter that could not be penetrated by my wire? From both sides, I kept reaching an obstruction. I consulted google. I watched videos of people replacing this tube assembly. I dug up schematics making certain that this really was just an empty tube. Finally, I got a wooden kitchen spoon and gentle tried to push the white pipe out to get a better look at it. Gentle pressure did not work. I popped the end with my hand and something cracked.

I thought to myself, “Awesome! Now I will have to call the repairman and explain myself to him and buy a new part which will cost extra.” I stopped attacking the problem from the inside and went around to the back. An ice core about the size of a short golf pencil was perched on the edge and about to fall on the floor. The ice was nearly transparent, almost no bubbles. For years the hole has stayed open, but I imagine that the cold water coming into the house from the city was just cold enough this time to freeze it closed.

I reassembled the project and it has been working since. We are keeping an eye on the floor just to make sure. Now that I know what I am looking at, I can see the ice core in the picture.

Sometimes problems are hard to detect. Things that used to work do not work any longer. I believe we can solve most problems through effort, through trying. We might break some things in the process, but in the end we will see the way forward.

Ducks on a Truck

As I bridge between the two years (Im writing this in 2022, but it will be published in 2023) I decided to go back through my articles for the year and see if any other should be revisited. One needs my attention.

Last July, I stumbled into the world of Jeep Ducking. It’s a thing that happens primarily among Jeep owners who gift little rubber ducks to each other as a way to solidify the “tribal” feelings people who drive Jeeps feel for each other. I really loved the idea. I loved the origin story. It started in Canada from a person who was trying to turn a hostel encounter at the beginning of COVID from a negative to a positive. She decided, on a lark, to put a duck on someones car as a way to brighten a stranger’s day. It did. It got posted. It went viral. The Jeepers grabbed on to it and it has remained a thing.

Not long after I wrote my article my friend Benjamin, who lives in Australia, sent me an Australian duck with a baby in its front pouch (see the picture above). Then within a few days, ducks began to show up on my truck. First one, then another joined my little flock. Occasionally one would arrive at my door. Then at a Plaza Fellowship one night, people began to hand me ducks telling me that had been asked to deliver them to me. Now about two dozen fly with me.

At the Christmas Eve service, Viola handed me a tiny little duck. She told me that there was a big flock of people who were in my flock and on my team. The ducks were just a way to encourage me and my work. She told me, “When you are about to quack up, remember us.” (well she did not say it that way exactly, but I could not pass up the pun). As we head to a new year, it’s important to remember that we need each other.

One of our Scripture memory verses seem to fit the occasion exactly, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching” (Hebrews 10:24-25). Thanks to all those that encourage me and thanks especially to Benjamin and Viola for my ducks.

Lost in Lancaster

We spent a wonderful morning in Lancaster, Pennsylvania getting ready for Thanksgiving. We helped shop for fresh vegetables and the turkey. We met people at a historic market. Then we decided to walk around the downtown area. We window-shopped down the street, peering in and occasionally going into different stores. We spent a long time in a Swedish candy shop. Then everyone agreed it was time to get back to the house. A chill was in the air and we were careful to walk in the sunlight.

While on the return journey I was playing Pokemon Go on my phone. It amounts to looking at the screen and noticing “points of interest.” These points have been marked by other games players and I have found in the past that they are like a shorthand to what local people think is important. One time in Salem, Mass we were playing and noticed something in the game. We diverted a block and found a historical marker to the place that Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. We would have missed it without the game. Last summer, we were driving down a highway on the Wind River Reservation and saw a sign to Sacajawea’s grave. I stopped as quickly as I could and headed to find it. I have made a deep commitment to the Lewis and Clark Expedition and was surprised that I did not know of this place. After turning off the highway we could not find any more signs. We decided to check Pokemon and sure enough in the distance we could see where the grave was marked and followed it to the right place.

I was so surprised, when walking down the street in Lancaster, Pennsylvania to see a marking in the game for a Lewis and Clark site. It was right on the way to the car so I diverted to see what I could find. I could not find the point marked on the map. Our car was at position #1. The family proceeded to the cars and everyone was feeling a little urgent as our side trips had taken longer than we expected. So I was in a hurry. Using the game I wandered through the parking garage which is where the game kept telling me the historical marker was located. I wandered all the way to #2 but was still not able to find the plaque. After about 10 minutes, I returned to the car very frustrated.

Once back at the house I looked up Lewis and Clark in Lancaster and immediately found that, in preparation for the great adventure, Jefferson sent Meriwether Lewis to meet with Andrew Ellicott “a brilliant and adventurous Bucks County surveyor and mapmaker who served in the Revolution, planned Washington, D.C., and made the first topographical study of Niagara Falls. Lewis spent two and a half weeks with Ellicott in late April and early May 1803, learning everything he could about frontier surveying” (explorepahistory.com). I found Elliott’s house on the map-it is labeled #3. I missed it by 91 feet!

It’s funny how twice I have found things while playing a game that connect to my side hobby as a Lewis and Clark fan. Lots of other people play that game and I bet most would not have noticed the connections. We are alert to the things we care about. It’s the same way for me with Latvia and Ethiopia. I love those places and I see them mentioned in the news, in the movies, and in popular culture all the time, because I care about them. You see what you love.

Most people did not see Jesus when he was born. He was unknown. It would have been a non event. The inn keeper had no idea who was in the manger. The place was not marked. He was forgotten. It was not until years later that people began to understand the significance of that night. At that moment, the only ones who loved Jesus were Mary and Jospeh. I’m so glad God picked them. Now God has picked us to carry the story forward to tell others what happened and why it matters to the whole world.

Blame

When the screen at the front of worship works, people rarely notice. They sing the songs, they look at the pictures and their brains are relaxed. If the image, however, is incorrect, their neck muscles almost always overwhelm them. They tighten, swivel their head and often stair menacingly into the balcony.

I can tell you that the tech team in the balcony is stressed enough. The delicate dance they do each week to get us through a worship service is punctuated by tension. Before the service starts they are juggling numerous balls. The lighting in the room. The sound in the room. The image on the screen. Another group of people are tending to the TV ministry: perched at the cameras, managing the sound, putting words on the feed, and selecting the right camera angle to show. Everyone wants to do a good job. No one wants the neck swivel coming their way.

Last Sunday, in the early service, the computer obediently sent the words to the screen and we sang the songs of Christmas with joy. I preached through my sermon and the clicker responded to the pressure in my fingers and the slides changed behind me and in the balcony. In the second service, as we began to sing we could tell it was going to be trouble. The words did not appear. Neck’s swiveled.

If you could have been in the balcony this is what you would have seen. The main computer stopped working. The beach ball of death just spun. The only choice was to shut the computer down and try to reboot, but this would take too much time. Instead, they decided to grab a computer which we use in the TV ministry and which also has the programs we use to control the LED screens. They relocated that computer, started the projection program and loaded my sermon from the server. They unhooked the struggling computer and wired in the substitute computer.

By the time I got to my sermon, it was ready. I pushed the button on my clicker and nothing seemed to happen and then the back screen changed. OK I thought to myself, it's working, but very slowly. I need to push the button a second or two before I need it to change. I struggled in my sermon delivery, it was distracting. I did not understand till later what was happening. I was controlling the screen on the stage, which is behind me and I cannot see. Logan was controlling the screen in the balcony. The substitute computer was only set up to control the front screen.  He was waiting for me to advance the slide and then he was pushing the button to control the back screen which was being controlled by the rebooted but unreliable primary computer. It was chaos. The team in the balcony did not show it. They were calm and deliberate. They focused on solving the problems with the tools that they had. I’m so proud of them. Most people would have withered under the pressure. Our team did the opposite, they flourished.

We got through Sunday morning and then had to face Sunday night. The Gloria concert was intertwined with images selected for the screen to help tell the musical story. Lots of time had gone into developing beautiful and compelling videos to accentuate the choir and the orchestra. The tech team started to work immediately. They solved the two screen problem of the substitute computer, they copied and reloaded the Gloria program. After an hour of work the computers were ready for the performance. The team stepped away for about 30 minutes for lunch and then were back at their posts. They had started the morning at 7:00 AM, they finished the day after 8 PM.

We made an appointment with the computer genius in Dallas who told us that the computer’s brain was broken. Repairs are being made.  It should be up and running by Christmas morning.

When things go wrong, and they will, here is a plan of action. One, take a deep breath and don’t let the chaos of that moment invade your soul, keep on worshipping. If you don’t know the words, hum along with the tune. If you can’t hum, smile. Two, relax your neck muscles and instead of swiveling backwards, tilt your head down and say a prayer for the people in the tech booth. It's a high wire, high stress place to serve. If something is not working, they are struggling to get it corrected. Pray for their spirits to have peace. Pray for the minds to have wisdom to know what to do. Three, tell the team thanks on Sundays when stuff goes mostly right. Don’t wait till it's perfect. Encourage, encourage, encourage.

Riot of Color

There was a day last week where the leaves seemed to be on fire. The sun was bright and hanging at that amazing angle that make the autumn so warm and kind. We drove around the loop and eventually went to Tyler pointing out trees to each other. Each tree seems like a compact miracle of life and energy.

I came home and marbled at the trees in my front yard. They same trees, Bradford Pears, but different colors. The northern most tree had fully engaged in the fall transformation, the southern tree seemed reluctant to admit that it was time for a change. I carefully circle the tree selecting leaves. I tried selecting the very best leaves, ones without blemishes that represented all of the colors I could see. I started with the tree’s traditional uniform of green and then picked up the maroons and scarlets that are the first indicator of regime change. Then the oranges like those of the Golden Gate Bridge to the color of the pumpkins on my porch. Finally, I selected the bright yellows. They reminded me of the high country Aspens of which I am so fond.

I brought them into the table and began to place them into a wreath as I marveled at the depth of their color and the miracle of Gods plan. Leaves feature in the Eden story to cover and hide Adam and Eve’s sin and shame (Gen 3:7). A tiny leaf announces to Noah the passing of the flood waters (Gen. 8:11). Leaves line the streets and the hands of those that welcome Jesus to Jerusalem (John 12:12). Leaves foreshadow Christs return (Luke 21:29-31). Leave make it into heaven (Rev 22:2). It makes me wonder if all the trees of heaven are evergreens or will will we get the most amazing autumns ever? I searched the the Bible for any indication that the ancients got to see a New Englandish fall foliage. Because the bible was written by people who lived in a zone without much vegetational transition, they missed out on this annual riot of color. I’m believing that when John says, “the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations,” in the Revelation that whatever is going on in heaven will be even better than what I saw last week.

What is it?

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, we went to the Central Market of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The website gives the following information, “Designated as a market town in 1730, the City of Lancaster is home to Lancaster Central Market, the oldest, continuously running public farmers’ market in the country. More than 60 local vendors call the beautiful 1889 Market House home three days each week.” We went to buy food for our feast. We stopped at the fresh vegetable stall and bought lettuce. We stopped at the poultry shop and picked up a never frozen and fresh turkey. We stopped at the fudge shop. We spent some time at the pickle vendor. We bought white sweet potatoes and fresh green beans.

At Elmer’s stand, we stood in awe of the colorful carrots (orange, red, yellow, white and marroon) We eyed the cauliflower which also came in maroon, yellow and white. We, however, were stopped in our tracks by this green other worldly growth. It sat between the cauliflower and the broccoli. Elmer assured us that he grew it in his field and that it did not come from the ocean as some people had assumed. The sign said it was a “Romanesco".

It has an odd spiky appearance, and all the spikes are curving fractals, as if it were designed by a math nerd. I assumed it was some new connection by modern science. I was surprised to find that it was first described in botanical descriptions in the 1500’s. I have never seen it, nor the crowd with me. According to wiki it is called Romanesco broccoli (also known as Roman cauliflower, Broccolo Romanesco, Romanesque cauliflower, or simply Romanesco, and sometimes Broccoflower). It seemed confused as to what it is.

I wish we had bought some and cooked it. We were hurrying to finish our essential shopping, so we missed this golden opportunity. I just took the picture, which does not answer my questions. What does it taste like? Is it sweet, sour, bitter? If it was any good, would’nt I have seen it before? Is it hard to grow? It is described as having a firmer texture than traditional cauliflower (which I only like if it is limp) and a “delicate, nutty flavor.” Next time, I’m buying it.

Have you missed out on something because you are distracted? Have you missed out on learning, growing, expanding your relationships because your menu is already filled? What if we all stopped just a little while longer and looked each other in the eye and found out just a little more information about each other. I bet we would gasp in awe as we learned each other’s story. Next time, buy the Romanesco.

Seasons

This is Fallingwater. It’s one of the most famous homes in America. It was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. It is his most famous building. It has been described as the building most suited for its location. It was built in 1935 while the world was still reeling from the Great Depression. It was designed by an architect that everyone said was washed up and finished. He was 67.

He had been employed by an influential family from Pittsburgh to build them a weekend retreat. They wanted the house built so they could see the two waterfalls in the stream. Wright walked the land, studied the surveys and searched for inspiration. Nothing came. After months of rejected ideas and frustrating empty pages he received word that the Kaufman family was leaving the city and headed to the land. They would arrive in a couple of hours and were ready to see his progress. He sat at a drafting table and began to draw. It was as if he was drawing a building from memory. The initial drawings were complete when the family’s car drove onto the land.

My first visit was in the summer of 2018. I had read about the building and was afraid that my expectations were too high. It exceeded my expectations. I loved the attention to detail, the subtle beauty and its integration with nature. Several people we met on our first visit encouraged us to return in the different seasons because they each revealed different aspects of the design.

This week, we got to see it with the leaves off of the trees. Again it did not disappoint. A soft blanket of snow covered the ground. Icicles hung off the rocks near the waterfall. Without the leaves on the trees it was easier to see how the layers of the home echoed the slabs of rocks in the hills.

Time and perspective make a difference. At 67, Frank Lloyd Wright created his finest work. When everyone counted him out, he created something of lasting beauty. Sometimes what we see is not the end of the story. Spring follows winter and new growth surprises and delights us. Don’t write the end of your story too soon. Don’t give up too soon. The best is yet to come.

Scraps

It’s one of these three cats. Im not sure which one, but I know it was one of them.

On most of my oversea trips I encourage the people who are traveling with me to follow a few simple rules. One, no open toed shoes (too easy to cut your toes and sanitation is a bit lower in most of the rest of the world). Two, eat only cooked food or peeled food. Raw vegetables and unpeeled fruits are one of the key ways that people get intestinal distress. Three, don’t pet the cats and dogs.

Animals in foreign countries are unpredictable. While many of us have dogs and cats as pets, in much of the Middle East and Africa, there is a different relationship. Most don’t have owners or tags. They frequently don’t have vaccinations. They are not always ready to be petted. It’s best to take a photo and observe them from a distance.

While I was on sabbatical, we traveled to Turkey. Turkey has a very different animal culture than the other places I have traveled. The dogs and cats are everywhere. Most have been “fixed.” It’s standard practice for the animal control people to pick-up the animals. They give them their shots, do preventative reproductive surgery, tag their ears and then release them back on the streets.

The people are responsible for feeding the animals, so many of the shops we entered sold animal food. It was very inexpensive to bag a baggie of kibble bits. Restaurants seemed very cooperative to help people take their leftovers into the streets to feed the animals. Table begging is a regular occurrence.

On one of the very last days of our trip, I violated my own rules. I had some extra food and decided to share it with the group of cats at my feet. I wanted them to share so I divided the food into three piles. I tossed some to one cat. Then I fed a second cat and was about to set some down for the third cat, when it suddenly rose on its back legs, stuck out its paws, extended its claws and slashed at my hand in an attempt to get the food. Its razor sharp talon slid across my fingernail and sank deep into the side of my finger.

I jerked my had back from the pain and the little knife edge slid to the tip of my finger. It throbbed and bled. The cat was not apologetic at all. I wrapped my finger in a napkin which quickly was soaked with blood. The cat twitched its ears at me. I changed the bandage and tried to clean it with hand sanitizer. My finger seemed to grow double in size.

Sometimes helping others hurts. Help people anyway.

Head Down

This is Cinnamon. Cinnamon can’t see well. She can’t hear well. Her legs ache and are hard to get them to move like they once did. When I came home from church last Sunday, she was walking down the middle of the road in front of our home. She had a bright pink collar with shiny ringtones that spelled out the word, “Love.” There was no tag on her collar. She was being escorted by a bright black perky dog. Cinnamon was trudging in the middle of the asphalt. Her companion was circling and greeting all the people in the area.

Several cars and people were near them and it was hard to tell if they belonged to any of the humans in view, but my hunch was that these dogs were on their own. They were about four houses away from mine. We know most of the dogs in the neighborhood, but had not seen these two. I pulled into my driveway dropped my stuff in the house and headed toward the front door. Logan greeted me as he came through the garage and told me about the dogs. We both headed out together.

The two dogs had now made it to my house. They were alone on the street. Cinnamon was unrelentingly headed south. The black dog looked our way. We spoke to her and she came near us, but then she realized the Cinnamon was not stopping, so “Pepper” ran back to accompany her. Pepper looked back to us, she wanted to stop, she wanted to be comforted, she wanted some food, but here commitment to Cinnamon overroad all the other concerns.

We quickly followed them. Pepper was relived. She did not have to choose between us and Cinnamon. Finally, Cinnamon stopped. We got her to turn around. We thought they would come to us. We decided they belonged to someone. They were loved and fed and lost. Cinnamon headed due north right past our house. She was lost and did not know what to do. She walked down the street and went into someones backyard. We knew they did not belong there. We knocked. The homeowner affirmed our beliefs. We got them to come out and they made it to the neighbors yard where Cinnamon finally seemed to give up and collapsed into the grass. That homeowner also had not seen them before.

Cindy retrieved our leashes. We hooked them up and cajoled them into our backyard. We fed them and cared for them and posted their pictures online. The next morning, we got a call early in the morning. Their humans had seen their photos and were desperate to reconnect with them. They rushed to our neighborhood. They told us the story of their desperate search for six hours on Sunday. They never imagined they could have gotten that far from home. They were gone so quickly as they had to get kids to school and then it was over.

I’ve thought so much of Cinnamon, head down and trudging along and lost. I thought so much of God searching for us and never giving up. I thought so much of the tender people who loved me when I was lost, alone and afraid. I’m glad God found me.

Ready to Pounce

I was walking the harbor of Alexander Troas. It is a small port in Turkey that once guarded the opening to the Dardanelles. Now, it accommodates a group of 30-40 fishing boats. It’s a languishing collection of dilapidated structures. There were a dozen fisherman sorting their nets. The rhythmic sputtering of a boat announced its return from the sea with a melancholy tune. The cafe’s that opened onto the waterfront were like the slumping shoulders of the defeated competitor - sad and lonely. The sea breezy swirled sand in the air spinning the flotsam and jetsam into little pirouettes at our feet. I stood and watched the men. Then I saw the cats waiting eagerly for the ocean scraps. Their eyes are fixed. Their bodies taut and ready to spring.

It is perhaps one of the most important places on the planet. One of history’s hinges swung wide open on this very shore. Paul, the apostle, had been traveling and preaching. He had made two successful trips. Individuals had accepted Christ, the good news had begun to take root, churches had been planted. He felt responsibility for them and wanted to return to encourage them. He had been thwarted and was not able to get back to them. He was frustrated and trying to devise a new strategy.

In a dream, a man beckoned him to come. Leave behind the familiar. The area he had been traveling and working was one of the most Jewish friendly in the empire. The largest Jewish population outside of Israel lived near the southern coast of Turkey (not what they called it). It was the area of Paul’s birth. It was where he had fled when his life was in danger. Now, this ephemeral apparition was calling Paul to leave comfort and the known, to leave behind one of the most diverse areas of the Roman empire for the homogeneous peninsula of the Greeks.

I was standing in the port, walking on the rocks marching out into the sea that Paul walked on as the boarded a ship and turned his attention to the West. He would not be the first Christian in Rome, but he launched the movement that became western Christianity. That choice shaped the destinies of Europe and then the Americas. If he had turned back to the East, Christianity might be centered in India and China. Instead, he went west.

Paul’s eyes were fixed on Jesus. He was ready to act. When God made it clear he sprung into action and he changed the world. When God tells you what to do, do it.

Blossom

On the last days of my sabbatical we took a few days to spend with family, rest and reflect upon our days of camping and following the route of Paul in Turkey. I’m still processing the things I saw while I was away and am planning a reporting time later. Next year I’m preaching a series on the life of Paul that will include some responses to the sites we saw and things I learned.

On the last days of our travels we stepped into a time machine. We went back to a place where we once gathered with Cindy’s family near Broken Bow, Oklahoma. We went to the place near the lake where they used to go on family vacation and water ski. It’s where I went with them as they enfolded me into the family. The same happened to my other brothers-in-law. We sat on lawn chairs in the area where we used to picnic. We looked at old photos when our kids were tiny and playing in and near the water. The walk down memory lane was sweet and sad. We miss Cindy’s parents who were the center of those trips.

On the way to the lake, I had been watching the map and realized we were also going near to Cindy’s grandmother’s hometown. I thought we would drive through that town on the way back to Athens. Cindy has found memories of the place. She took me to the concession stand where she used to work when she came for a couple of weeks in the summer. We tried to find her grandmother’s apartment, but it had been torn down. We drove past a different place Grandma Lee had once lived. We stopped in front of the church where we held her funeral so many years ago.

We also stopped at Dan’s Shed. When I joined the family I made the journey to Blossom. We drove all over town (pop. 303) in about five minutes. The most central memory was of Dan. For over 50 years, Dan Bolton drove his tractor to the center of town and oversaw the farmer’s market. He wore striped overalls, a tall straw hat and a big wide smile. He had tall tales to tell. He waved at everyone that passed by and he was the central nervous system of the town. The shed was built in 1948 between the railroad tracks and the highway. It was old and quaint and 100% Americana. The new shed is pipe poles and metal roof. It lacks the patina of the old building. Two big historical markers frame the entryway dedicating the space as Dan’s Shed and telling his remarkable story.

He lived in a small town. He made a deep impression of friendliness to the people around him. He was not fancy, but he was fruitful and his life made a difference. Blossom where you are planted.

At My Feet

I stepped out of the trailer and walked toward the beach. We had gone to Galveston to hang out with the Bilingual Ministry and I was excited to get to see sunrise over the ocean. I had checked the sunrise time and set my clock to be up and ready and outside before the event.

When we left Athens, it had been crisp and cool, so I put on a light jacket. I immediately turned around and put it back inside, the wind was blowing but it was not cool. I walked toward the dunes listening to waves, smelling the sea air and feeling the breeze wrap around me.

From just to my right a bright-eyed brown bunny hopped toward me. I froze, not wanting to scare him. The rabbit did not seem worried about me at all, instead it nibbled and munched its way toward my feet. Eventually, it was about a foot away from my toes. I frantically texted Cindy, “Look quick bunny at my feet.” I watched the door of the trailer, but she did not come out. Then I called her phone. She answered. I hung up. I did not want to make a sound and disturb my furry friend.

I was expecting her to look at her messages. She did not come to the door. I called again. She answered. I hung up. I did it three more times. Then I texted, “Look” four times. Still nothing. I sent one last text, “Come out and look.” Finally, her head emerged. I pleaded with eyes for her to stay quiet and to look down at my feet. By then hops had taken the beast at least 2 feet away and the encounter did not look like it had just a few seconds before.

Have you ever been really excited to share something, but no one was listening? How much would you go out of your way to get someone to see something joyful? When is the last time you shared with someone your delight in the world, in your faith? We are surrounded by the grace and mercy of our Lord, but we mostly keep it to ourselves. Our world needs us to bug them until they come and see the goodness of the Lord.

Upstream

My brother-in-law and I were kayaking on the Mountain Fork River near Broken Bow Oklahoma. We started on a simple journey, cruse around the island in the middle of the river. The journey would be about a mile. It was early in the morning and the water was clear, the sky bright blue. We took a leisurely approach, dipping our paddles into the water and gliding on the surface.

We saw turtles stacked on turtles basking in the sun. We saw much larger turtles lumbering under our boats in the crystal clear water. A few birds chattered tantiliziling in the tops of the trees. They never came out where I could Identify them. We came upon a group of cows chest deep in the water. They watched us intently and backed away as we got near.

We rounded the end of the island and had to make the decision of going back to the cabin or exploring more of the river. We opted to explore. The first leg of our journey had been in calm deep water and though we were paddling upstream, it was relatively easy. As we set out to this new area, the topography of the river changed. It moved from a narrow deep channel to a wide shallow and rocky riverbed. The water which had been quiet and calm churned and heaved into a white froth.

We turned our boats into the flow and began to immolate windmills, churning as fast as we could trying to overcome the onslaught of water. We made stead progress, but our arms and shoulders complained. Our lungs resisted. The water kept trying spin us around and push us down the river, but we did not give up. After about 20 feet Troy, my brother-in-law, reached a smooth patch of water. I stepped out of my kayak into the water and hauled my boat to the easier path.

We did this over and over as we progressed up the river until we reached a place that even Troy could not surmount. So, since I was already wet, I hauled both our boats up the stream. A man standing on the riverbank called out to us, “You are going the wrong way!” We kept paddling and hauling until we were over a mile and half upstream. Then the clock caught up with us and it was time to return.

The downstream journey was a snap. We raced through places we had conquered at a snail’s pace. In the calm water as we neared the landing, we both remarked on how much we enjoyed the journey, especially the fight to go upstream. Most people don’t fight the current, they just go along. Sometimes, we need to go against the flow, we need to struggle. There is joy in a life lived on purpose in a direction with meaning. We are living in times when being Christian will mean straining against the current of society and we will all need to paddle upstream.

Chasing Cows

This is a picture of one of our calves. She’s growing up well and has become one of our favorites. I am new to owning and managing our small herd of cows. Many of you have coached, supported and laughed with (at at) me over the last few years. When all is good, you can sit on the back porch and watch the cows graze with a good cup of coffee in hand, enjoying the sunrise. I have always loved driving through the countryside and watching these beautiful creatures as they graze peacefully under the glow of a Texas sunset without a care in the world. 

If you have had any experience with cattle, then you know well that this is just not always the case. Over the last couple weeks our little cattle operation has been more of a headache and much less a peaceful cup of coffee at sunrise. 

One of our neighbors recently has been clearing some land along one of our fence lines. That fence line is old and beat up and now has openings that were once filled with briar and underbrush. Cows will do what cows will do. In the last two weeks, we’ve tried to do everything we can to keep them close but they are always looking for new places to explore so I have had the pleasure of chasing them down more than once. They know my voice and the shaking and banging of a feed bucket and will come with haste if they can hear. 

Monday evening I left our house and enjoyed a few moments watching them graze and decided to feed them when I got home. When we arrived home I called and called but total silence. They usually come running from all corners of our property for that call. Tuesday I got up early and drove around our property calling and banging the bucket around every corner of our land. Still nothing, not a peep. All day we hoped they might show up like they normally do but I knew they had to be far off. 

We have good neighbors. Usually we call one another when we see each others cows on our property. I was expecting a call but it hadn’t come so the worry begins to build. I hopped on the tractor Wednesday morning determined to find them. I drove to the fencelines and walked them, shaking and banging the bucket and calling out, “COOOOOWS… HUNGRY?” “COME ON… COOOOOME ON.” Still nothing. I called for an hour and walked through briars and even onto neighbors property to look and call. Discouraged, I walked back to the tractor. Pulled my phone out and still no calls or texts. Drove back to the house and when I went inside I pulled my phone out and saw a missed call from my neighbor. Relief flooded me paired with anticipation and hope that I could get them back soon. 

Sure enough he said he thought some of mine were in with his. So I jumped in the truck and drove straight to his place with my red bucket of feed and called out. I heard my cows’ voices. They may just sound like “MOO” to most but I know my crew’s moos. I counted cows and the calves, they were all accounted for. Relief. They were happy to see me and I was happy to see them. 

I’ve still got a lot of work to do, fences to mend and build but I do somehow enjoy caring for these silly cows. If God made me to care about and chase down an animal such as this, it just reminds me that if we’re lost, he’s chasing us down, calling us out and he will use any means necessary to find us. So… be a good neighbor. Be kind without exception. Be the neighbor that calls and cares for things that are not your own. Our neighbors are amazing. Kindness is free so give out all you can.

Wade

Mt. Whitney Highpoint

Click on the photo to read the story.