Thoughts on Days to Come....

It looks like work, hard work. So it was, but it was joyous work. Perhaps the most joyous I have ever known. Intense concentration, somehow even when I was asleep. Caring for nothing but the book - and God. It seems to me that I was never in a sustained way closer to Christ. Decisions about what to include or how to include it seemed to make themselves as I got to them, and I believed that the book was under His guidance, to which I strove to be utterly open. I prayed again and again that Christ would think through my mind, love through my heart, and speak through my (two) typing fingers.

- Sheldon Vanauken

Democratic National Convention

I had the opportunity to attend the DNC on the night of Obama's speech. Click on the link to check out my pictures and video in a slide show presentation, or see a select few below.

http://www.filesavr.com/dncpp

Return to the Lake - Part I

A week from now I will be heading back to a place I have not visited in a very long time. My best guess is that I was around ten years old the last time I stood on the deck of my Grandparent’s cabin looking out at Fox Lake.

It is a small cabin, red painted wood with white shudders. A screened in porch on the left side of the cabin and a deck, also painted red, on the right. Standing on the deck you can see the lake, small to be sure but just large enough to be categorized as one. The dock that I remember extends several feet into Fox, and has three boats tied to its metal posts – the old speed boat, the metal fishing boat, and the tiny Blue Gill (as it is affectionately called.) Life jackets, fishing rods, and bait buckets wait patiently to be used, along with the random ore, anchor and net.

Fox, although small, is busy with life. Loons call out every evening as the sun sets. Each afternoon the sunfish bite from the lines cast from the end of the dock. Occasionally an otter stops by to see if anyone left the catch of the day still attached to the boat before cleaning. (Incidentally, and to the chagrin of many, the otter did indeed find such a catch one late afternoon.) Turtles and snakes pop up with frequency. Walleye and Northern Pike are the goal of each fisherman (and woman) who set out in the metal boat.

The inside of the cabin holds a strange hodgepodge of furnishings which prove to be very fitting for both my Grandfather and Grandmother. The eclectic blend of colors and fabrics soon becomes normal and some how matches the experience of a vacation at the lake. I have heard that since my days at Fox a window air conditioning unit has been installed. However, the biggest advancement in cooling I ever saw enter the screen door was a ceiling fan that hung above the kitchen table.

My memory recalls my Grandma cooking up a meal in the kitchen while my Grandpa could be found out fishing or tinkering down in the dirt cellar below the cabin, nestled in the side of the hill. (Sadly, only part of this memory is to be re-lived. Grandma has since gone on…however Grandpa will no doubt still be fishing or in the musty earth below.)

Mornings begin with breakfast sitting out on the deck at a picnic table. The day often concludes around the kitchen table with a game of Yahtzee or “I Doubt It.” What happens between these two events is to be determined. Many afternoons my siblings, cousin, and I could be found building what can only be described as elaborate. Beneath the deck the five of us would combine our efforts to construct the most kick ass fort known to man. There should have been blueprints for the thing. We would sit around an old tree stump and discuss the important matters of the summer like who was going to be president of our club, and who was going to make a run to the kitchen to get us all pop. After we dismissed ourselves from these meetings the tetherball tournament began.

On occasion a group of us would make the journey into downtown Detroit Lakes. Whether for a July 4th parade, the DL baseball game, or to hit the latest sale at Norby’s, going into town was not to be missed. Big Detroit, a lake of considerable size, is the local beach and amusement for families. Many times I slid down the metal slide that had been anchored to the bottom of the lake. Each time I did, no matter how careful and deliberate I was, I stubbed my toe on the cement blocks that kept the “fun” slide in place.

The Lake is a place of memories and I wonder as I prepare to return how things will be. I assume that Fox will look much smaller, as will the cabin and everything in it. Perhaps I will remember more as I open the creaky screen door and enter the kitchen. I hope that I do not forget things as they were, that my memories will not be tainted by the reality of the present. I also hope that new memories will be made- not foreign to the past but flavored appropriately by it.

P.S. I forgot to mention the trademark “biffy” (aka: outhouse) at the cabin. Perhaps this is not such a strange thing, the cabin is old after all. But one can not deny, even in the first days of the cabin, that an outhouse that sits three at once is strange. Yes, that is right- three “seats” for one to choose from, or three spots for three eager fishermen (not women…women would not do such a thing) to conclude their afternoon on the lake.

The Days Before the “To Do’s” (Oh, how I miss you.)

Study for my vocabulary quiz.
Meet with my mentor.
Drop of the rent checks.
Pay bills.
Mail Grace’s (late) baptism gift.
Mail Danny’s (late) birthday gift.
Clean the house.
Go to the gym.
Call all the people I owe phone calls . . .

. . . and that is just tomorrow.

It seems life has become one long “to do” list. Every day there is a list, often impossibly long but never impossibly short. Each “to do” has its proper position in the list, depending on deadline and/or importance. It stares at me reminding me of the hours ticking by, of things that I could be doing. Each item checked off the list is a small victory but somehow the list is never defeated. It rears its head every day reminding me that there is more to be done. A hopeless battle is what it is.

So, why I am fighting it?

Sometimes I think if I do not have the list running through my head, or looking up at me from whatever random piece of paper I happened to jot it down on, I am doing nothing. If I can not see the check marks I must not be accomplishing anything. At the same time the question runs through my head, “What am I really accomplishing?” Surely, some of these things need to be done because one does have to function in the life. But, if it was all over tomorrow, would I be satisfied with how I spent yesterday?

I think the “to do” list needs to be revised. The number one daily “to do” will actually be a “to don’t.” At the top of the list will be the new permanent priority, in bold Sharpe style type, “Don’t follow your “to do” list for at least one hour today.” This will be the magical line item because it can never be checked off. Yes, I think I like it.

If I really try, squint my eyes just enough, slightly tilt my head to the left, and dig way back in my memory I can recall a time before the aforementioned list. Ah, I remember. My sister and I are swinging on the swing set while my brothers toss the baseball back and forth in preparation for their next little league game. The grumble of the neighbor’s lawnmower serenades us while the smell of fresh cut grass lingers in the humid summer air.

In the distance the long awaited ringing of the ice cream truck sounds. Abruptly, the four of us stop our merriment and make a mad dash inside, up the 12 stairs to our rooms. The search begins. Loose change is the treasure we are seeking and we all know we have just moments to find it before our beloved truck leaves us behind.

Success! Our paces quicken as we head back down the stairs and out the screen door, closed fists around our nickels, dimes, pennies and occasional quarters. As our flip-flops hit the lawn we look to the left. We made it, and just in time. The truck slowly comes to a stop, and we are first in line. I order my usual sherbet push-up pop. It is the perfect color orange, has a texture that gets better as it melts, and tastes like summer. It is also the cheapest thing on the menu making it that much sweeter.

For a few minutes we sit on the porch step. The blue-grey concrete is cool, a nice complement to our frozen treats. Cotton, our small black cat, slowly walks up and sits beside us hoping that she might partake in the random drips that will undoubtedly fall. The plastic handle of my push-up pop begins to reveal itself telling me that the moment is almost over. We will discard the remains of our victorious ice cream and it will be a distant memory. A twinge of sadness runs through me. My ice cream is almost gone, but it is more than that. I have a sense that this special time will not last forever, a time when my brothers, sister, and I sit together and just simply be.

And, it doesn’t. Before I can think about it further we are up again. The cat runs under the bushes. My sister and I are back on the swings, trying hard to reach new heights. My brothers are playing catch, the thump of the ball rhythmically hitting their gloves. The taste of sherbet lingers on my tongue. Soon my mom will be calling us in for dinner, the defining moment that the day has come to an end. I will go to bed tired and satisfied. Everything that needed to get done that day did. Check.

Life Before Blogging

Here are a couple of updates I sent out before I moved into the world of the blog:

January 21, 2007

“You are about to cross through great waters.”

This is what the cookie tells me as I finish eating Chinese food from the plush accommodations of the Super 8 outside of St. Louis. I laughed to myself. Collin, Valerie, Khalil, and I had been driving through rain, snow, ice and fog for two days, and the rest of journey did not promise to be any drier.

Our final destination of Littleton, Colorado was still many miles away. My eagerness to arrive was only matched by my desire to never get there. Each mile we added to the odometer was one mile closer to the next three years of my life as a seminary student, something very unfamiliar.

After checking out of our roadside palace the fortune kept running through my head. “You are about to cross through great waters.” More than the weather, I realized I was ankle deep in my own River of Jordan. Where was I going, and why was I going there? There were the obvious answers, I was going to Denver Seminary to be a student, however it is the less obvious answers that I long to know.

Classes start this Monday and I still do not know where I am, or why I am here. Each day I battle my own self-doubt, “What are you doing here? This isn’t going to work, you can’t even begin to imagine what you are getting in to. You will never be able to read the million pages of assignments on your syllabi.”

I am comforted by one thing – those who have gone before me and laid the path. Joshua’s faith and obedience to God’s commands led the Israelites across the Jordan. I am certain that Joshua had doubts running through his head. He was asking people to walk into raging waters, who wouldn’t call him crazy? It was promised to him that he would know which way to go when he saw the covenant of the Lord, and it would be a path that was unrecognizable because he had never been on it before. Sure enough, the covenant passed straight through the middle of a river, and it was the exact way he and the Israelites were to go. The covenant went first, and the people followed on a very unconventional path.

I am striving to remember in this strange place that Christ has already come, the greatest covenant between God and man. He is pointing me on this path, although it is unfamiliar to me. He has promised me, as he did Joshua and the Israelites, that the Lord will do amazing things with me. He will plant my feet upon dry ground in the midst of these great waters.

After arriving in my apartment, and unpacking with the generous aid of my brother, sister and nephew I had to wade in the waters once again. Driving down C-470 towards the airport Collin tells me to relax, my furrowed brow was all he could see in the rear view mirror. I was not stressed though. Actually, I was fighting back tears, perhaps the greatest of all the waters that I had to cross in the past week.

When I got back to my room to attack more boxes I glanced down at the carpet and saw a small piece of paper. Unfolding it revealed these words, “Struggle as hard as you can for whatever you believe in.” This fortune was yellowed with age, but came at the perfect time. It was the dry ground I needed to plant my feet on.

I continue to be in awe of the time and opportunities God takes to speak to me, and the ways that He does. Many times it is directly through His word, other times it is in the voice of friends or family members encouraging me, often it is in the silence when He whispers to my heart. Occasionally, it is in the strip of paper hidden inside a bland, stale fortune cookie.

It is because of what I believe in that I will struggle through these great waters that I have only begun to be submerged in. I know that there will be times that I feel like I am treading water, barely keeping my ahead above the depths. I am certain there will be times when I will be close to drowning from utter exhaustion. Most importantly, and greater than all of this, is the faith I have that there will always be dry ground for me to stand on, fall face first in to, or kneel on in praise and thanksgiving for the refuge and comfort provided from the One who has come before me.
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Chronicles of Natalie, Vol. 1 Issue 2
February 20, 2007

“One of the difficulties in Christian work is this question – “What do you expect to do?” You do not know what you are going to do; the only thing you know is that God knows what He is doing.” -Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

Five weeks into this thing called seminary. I call it thing because I do not have any other word to describe it. It is a place, a type of education, but it is so much more than this. It is an experience all unto itself – unique in ways I could not have imagined. I have never worked so hard and been so challenged in all my life. The academics are intense. Daily reading, studying, and researching have made the library my second home. Occasionally, I leave class with a headache…I think it is my brain trying to keep up with my professors. (This specifically happens in my New Testament Theology class – it is three hours long, and I am pretty sure it is going to kill me.)

The first few weeks left me completely overwhelmed, but I was not alone in my condition. Looking around campus you could tell who the first semester students were – glazed eyes, heavy backpacks, and stiff necks from spending hours over books were clear indicators of our new student status.

Making new friends seemed almost an impossible task. No one had time to say more than a hello for fear that any time spent chatting would result in a poor quiz grade or the failure to answer a question from whichever professor might call on you in class. Perhaps worse, a fellow student would find out how completely scared you were, and unsure that you were in the right place.

When things get tough they tell you to take it a day at time. At seminary, you take it an hour at a time. Ask me at 11:00 am how I am doing and my response would be, “Great!” Ask me the same question at 12:00 pm and it was quite a different story. This rollercoaster of emotions continued for the first few weeks, and I was curious as to whether things would ever even out.

Lying on my back at night, trying so diligently to fall asleep, my eyes would begin to fill with tears, and I would confess, “Lord, I am not smart enough. What am I doing here? I can’t do this.” Back and forth I would discuss this with Him, and then finally I heard His reply.

“You are exactly where I want you to be – resting in the palm of my hand with nothing but the ability to rely on me. In your weakness, I will be strong. I have promised you that.”

So, that is where I am, five weeks into seminary. In the palm of His hands, and it is a good place to be. Here the rollercoaster evens out, and I am only overwhelmed by Him – His grace, His mercy, His love and His unceasing patience for me. I have no more fear about where I am or my ability to accomplish the task He has placed before me. He has got me, and I am humbly in wonder of it. The same one who crafted the majesty of the Rocky Mountains I see every day has taken the time to form me, know me better than I know myself, and put me in this place, in this time.

If nothing else, I know that God knows what He is doing. Amen to that.