It's a Tradition!

Family gatherings are both fun and challenging.  We look forward to spending time together, and really do enjoy seeing one another.  But the pressures of life can be multiplied when we're expected to perform.  Especially on Thanksgiving, everything must be just right.  We get out the china and the crystal, make special rolls and mashed potatoes, put the black olives and sweet midget pickles on the table.  Of course the bird must be cooked to perfection, and then there's the gravy.

We hosted some exchange students from Japan this year for what they were told was a "traditional dinner."  Traditions aren't something you examine directly, unless you're an anthropologist.  But when you're explaining them to someone from another country, you get a different perspective.  How many Americans think about the fact that in other countries they're not celebrating the last Thursday in November with a great feast to remember all there is to be thankful for?  And they don't celebrate the Fourth of July either!

Preparations for the "traditional meal" begin early at our house, as I suspect they do in most homes.   It starts with trying to find a time to go shopping when it won't be a problem just trying to push the cart down the aisle.  And making sure you really need another box of lime Jello for the special salad mold.  Storing a 22 pound turkey where it will thaw, but not too quickly, can give me fits.

When the out-of-town guests arrive we all get to put on our game faces.  But since it's my daughter and her husband there's not much need for masks.  They get more of the "real" sights and sounds of "home for the holidays.  This isn't the first go round for either of them, since Amanda grew up here and Joel was here last Christmas, so they're not surprised.

Soren runs out to help them unload the car, Haddon meets them at the door in his PJ's.  One of them takes Joel's bag and says, "You're sleeping on the futon, right?"
"No," he explains, "that's one of the advantages of being married.  We'll be sharing a room now!"
The boys look puzzled, but no further explanation is needed as they take both bags downstairs to Katie's room.

One of the last jobs the night before is to stuff the bird.  Division of labor calls for Susi to make the stuffing, making sure to put some apple in it.  Then it's my job to get as much of it as possible into the hollow cavity of the giant fowl.  It is then decided that the turkey will rest in the back of the Subaru until it's time to go in the oven the next morning.  The potent aroma of onion and seasoned bread crumbs will hover in the car's interior, but at least the poultry will stay in the "safe zone" - below 40 degrees - preventing the "proliferation of harmful bacteria."

At approximately 6:30 a.m. on the Big Day I check the weather and realize that my featherless friend has been out in 20 degrees, so I decide to get it in the oven a bit early.  Our friends will be joining us at 1 o'clock and I want to make sure everything is ready.  It's nice not to have newspapers to deliver on Thanksgiving Day - benefits of small-town living, there's no paper on Sunday either.

Finally it's time to drive to the University and pick up Mizuki, Yuna, and Marie.  There are five seets in the sweet-smelling Subaru so only one son can accompany me.  Haddon gets the honors because, "There has to be something that the younger brother gets to do that the older one doesn't!"

Our friends are happy to see us, even though we've just met.  Their English is quite good, making conversation easier.  Haddon acts shy at first, then, warming to his task, begins to explain things.
"Soren's at home, that's my brother, he's 11.  Amanda and Joel are there too."
"We don't live very far away, we'll be there soon."

At home it's nice having Amanda and Joel, who ask good questions.  Then the girls learn to play
Dutch Blitz while I carve the Turkey and make gravy.
"Do you think we should tell them that this card game was invented because the Dutch Reformed believed that common playing cards were 'tools of the devil?'"
Susi doesn't think this is such a good idea.  Some things tend to get lost in translation.

Finally the rolls are out of the oven, the turkey and gravy are on the table, along with everything else that our family considers the "Thanksgiving essentials."  We call everyone to the table, eleven in all, and I try to explain the origins of this holiday before having each one share something that we're thankful for.

Strange to think that families all over are sitting down to similar meals, at various times of day.  We explain to our guests that some things are pretty "standard fare" - the turkey, potatoes, stuffing and gravy.  While other items might be unique to our family, like the "frog pond salad" (not made with real frogs, I reassure them, getting a nice courtesy laugh.

It all turns out nicely.  The kids enjoy another game between the meal and the pie - "Wii dance."  The Japanese girls tell me our boys are good at it!  After apple and pumpkin with whipped cream I drive them home.  They assure me it was a memorable experience.  I am very glad we had them come.

One other thing sticks with me.  It's "Only in America."  Not because we're the only ones who are thankful, or even because we have the most to be thankful for.  But because the Governor of Mass. set aside a day to remember to give thanks, and we have continued to observe it.  That's my story and I'm sticking with it!         

On Amanda's Birthday

Nov. 25, 2013
On this day in '84 we learned what life was really for
having children, giving birth, souls in bodies on the earth
First-time parents, we were in awe, what we felt and what we saw
Dear Amanda had arrived and from day one this family thrived
She was sweet and kind to us, quick to smile and not to fuss
Her first laughter came one night filled our hearts with such delight
Had to wonder what we'd done, before she came to bring such fun
once she had an idea wild, get everyone to sponsor a child
with Compassion International, and her efforts were quite intentional
In home-school she set the pace, while her siblings found their place
she loved to read, she loved to learn, she always let others have their turn
In high school helping with youth group, or in our kitchen serving soup
Amanda's love and care for others, went beyond her sisters and brothers
Moving to India she worked to free families from sla-ver-y
meeting Joel in God's good time, made her life-long poem rhyme
now in Salem they're a team, in their eyes there is a gleam
Seeking God's Kingdom to advance, finding their Divine Romance
Daughter Amanda you surely shine, as you're turning twenty nine!
Happy Birthday! LOVE, Mom & Dad

Adventures in Mexico

Numero Uno o Numero Dos?

Leo and I took the van to have some work done. 
One of the “perks” of being a leader on the Mexico trip is that sometimes you just “have to” run errands and get things done - while others are working.
So you get the team going and you grab the van and head to the “Mechanico.” 
This time there just happened to be an awesome place to get some shrimp tostadas. 
It was looking very “tropical” with a thatched roof and stools pulled up around tall round tables.

We ordered up our tostadas and bought some “Ice-cold Cokes.” 
We were reminiscing about past trips, haps and mishaps, the time we ran out of gas, the time we had the flat tire,
all the times we got stuck in the mud, the one time when we didn’t get stuck in the mud . . .

We were feeling pretty fortunate, even a bit privileged, sitting at our stools, satisfied with our meal, sipping our sodas.
It was about time to go back to the mechanic’s shop and check up on the van.  Just one last thing -
“Donde esta El Bano?” 

For those of you who haven’t spent much time south of the border, this has got to be one of the most useful phrases in the Spanish language, a must for the serious tourist.
Loosely translated it means, “I gotta use the potty!”

And even if your comprehension isn’t  so good, the combination of facial expression, pointing and gesturing, along with other context clues will be enough to unravel the mystery:
Do they have a bathroom?  Is it in working order?  How far away is it?  Which way do I go? and, if you’re lucky, Should I bring my own T.P.?

Leo and I, being experienced travelers, have used this phrase often, with quite favorable results. 
We’re so proud of our skills we even offer to help the new kids out by asking this all-important question and interpreting the response. 
The one thing we didn’t expect that day at the Tostada stand was for our question to be met with a question. 
The restaurant proprietor smiled real big, and holding up his fingers inquired,
“Numero uno o numero dos?”
I was confused.  We had already ordered.  We had already eaten.  Was he offering us a combination plate?  The daily special?  Take-out?

It finally dawned on me what he was asking, though I still had no idea why he wanted to know. 
Never mind the “Bring-your-own-toilet-paper?” question. 
He could sidestep that once he narrowed down just how we wanted to use the facility.

But Leo, being just ahead of me on the uptake, was already answering,
“Numero uno!  Solamente numero uno.”
(Leo’s spanish is just short of excellent.)

With a pleased smile and some light laughter our host was now leading us around a corner and pointing down an alley to a chain-link fence about ten yards away. 
Having once been boys, we knew what to do.

As we stood side by side peeing through the fence, we laughed as we came up with various speculations about what would have happened if we needed “Numero Dos.”

“Down the street, second door on your right.”
“Excuse us, we’re here to use the Bano.”
“We gotta go ‘numero dos’”
“Yeah, we brought our own paper.”

It doesn’t take much to get me and Leo laughing, and we had soon worked out a scenario where we got the wrong door looking for the bathroom, and walked in on some unsuspecting family.
LOL ROTFL Almost busted a gut on that one.  Just another day in the "Adventures in Mexico" notebook.

Daddy's Girl

Sitting here at my desk in my office because my dear, wonderful wife loves me and wants me to fulfill my dream as a writer.  Inspired by what I have been reading:  My own accounts of campus ministry - conversations at the Cave with Andrew the Barista, Mike the Marxist, Christian the Buddhist and Greg the Wiccan.  My heart is strangely warmed as I recall the lively and passionate debates we had on the couches at the entrance to the cafeteria (a.k.a. "Cave couches.")  The fire in my chest is kindled again as I picture the Agnostic, Eastern Orthodox, ex-Mormon and Druid who recently joined me on those couches.

I read about past Mexico trips.  Pages and pages of adventure and excitement.  Harrowing accounts of risks taken, obstacles overcome, disasters averted and narrow escapes.  I smile and laugh as I think of my side-kick Leo and the experiences we've shared "south of the border."

Then I stumbled across it.  It catches me every time.  There must be a lot of dust down here in the office - probably from all these books - because my eyes are tearing up.  I just re-read a college English paper written by my oldest daughter, Amanda.  The assignment was "satire."  You don't normally confuse the satire genre with "tear jerker."  But in this case we must make an exception.

Here it is.  The names are changed to protect the guilty.   I call it "Daddy's Girl" but her original title is: "Just Give Me my Care Bear Chair"

What difference did my dad’s intense admiration of his baby girl –me –make? I was just a baby –I didn’t care that my daddy thought I was the most beautiful thing in the world. Years later, why would I possibly care to hear about my first night in the world when my dad took me out to show me off to all his friends?

During the first few months of my life I’m sure I would have felt just as secure in a one size fits all plastic swing as in my daddy’s big, strong arms holding me tight against his chest.
I didn’t need my daddy’s lap to crawl into when I didn’t know where I belonged –my fuchsia pink, Care Bear chair would have done just as well.

It would have been to my advantage if I had learned to read “Hop on Pop” to myself rather than bringing it to my dad time after time. After I was taught to look both ways before crossing the street, there was no point in my dad walking beside me holding my hand; that only reinforced my dependence on men.

I should have learned to wipe away my own tears, comfort myself with my teddy bear after a bad dream, and sing to myself in the waking hours of the night. After all, my dad wouldn’t always be around to pray with me before bed or play his guitar for me when I was restless and couldn’t fall asleep. Knowing that he wouldn’t get mad when I came to his side of the bed after a nightmare, set me up for failure when I moved away to college and found that my roommate didn’t appreciate being woken up at 3am because of a bad dream.

I should not have had reason to expect my dad to show up at every one of my piano recitals with roses in hand –this has only prepared me for a life of disappointment when my husband comes home without flowers on our anniversary year after year.

If I had learned to stand up for myself when I was 9 years old and Little Johnny told me I should love him, my dad wouldn’t have had to intervene. Then I would have been afraid of close relationships with guys and would have saved myself a whole lot of trouble.

If I thought I needed foundation, mascara, and lipstick to be beautiful –then by all means I should have believed it to be true. I could have thought for myself rather than my dad telling me I was beautiful without make-up.

When I was a junior in high school, it wasn’t necessary for my dad to take me to the father-daughter dance. I would have gladly stayed home and watched “Little Women” so I could remain ignorant of my dad’s incredibly enthusiastic dance moves and keep my classmates from becoming jealous that I had the coolest dancing dad in the world.

When I was lying on the couch feeling so sick I was sure I was on my deathbed, I could have easily comforted myself by reading “Enoch Arden” (complete with all the voices) to myself if my dad hadn’t been there.

I could have told that boy I didn’t want to go to the dance with him. I didn’t have to ask my dad to tell him for me, so I didn’t. And I went to that dance and I loved every minute of it –especially the parts where he danced dirty with other girls and then came to me for the slow dances, and when he wouldn’t take me home when I wanted to go. You wouldn’t believe all the good experience I got from that one date –it made me eager to accept all future offers promising a good time.

During my senior year, I would have been fine without my dad to help me with my pre-calculus homework. Having to get up early and go in to see Mrs. Fay before class every morning would have taught me discipline and the value of a granola bar at breakfast rather than the toast, eggs, pancakes, and waffles my dad made each morning.

If my dad had not listened about my latest crush, I could have filled the pages of my diary much quicker than I did. If he hadn’t told me I was perfect just the way I was, I would have focused on my appearance more and would have probably had more dates leading to fulfilling long term relationships.

It brought warm fuzzies to my heart when my dad cried while he gave a speech at my high school graduation, but warm fuzzies are only temporary. The satisfaction I could have had if I had made it through school all my own would have lasted forever.

When I was homesick and crying in the dorm parking lot away at college, I would have been fine without my dad answering the phone and telling me he loved me and that everything was going to be alright. Because of times like those, I’m insecure about who I am and to whom I belong.

In the future, I think it will be highly profitable for me to walk down the aisle by myself –with both my parents where they belong –in the pews on the sidelines. I won’t need my dad to validate the beauty of my someday daughter –her Grandpa’s opinion of her would only make me love her for foolish reasons –like the size of her baby toe or the way her finger clasps mine.

I’m sure my husband will agree that our daughter should not be brought up as a “daddy’s girl” like I was. Girls don’t need their dad’s to hold them, hold their hand, or hold their heart –there are plenty of Care Bear chairs to go around.

***** Dad's Comments *****
We didn't set out to raise a writer.  Though her mother and I certainly wanted all of our children to develop a love for books (beginning with "Hop on Pop").  I wasn't competing for "Father of the Year."  But it's great to be somebody's hero.  Especially when it's your daughter.

Thanks, Amanda, for being my guest author today.  You not only bring back "tear-jerking" memories of growing up in the Lundquist Family, you also demonstrate the power of satire and wit.  As Mark Twain observed, "the art of making your audience feel your point, as well as see it."

The Poem

Events careen towards wrack and ruin
wonder if God knows what He’s doin’
questions no one asks out loud
can’t see through this fog and cloud
stumbling, plodding almost falling
moving towards the voice that’s calling
fuzzy head and heavy heart
if only I could press “re-start”
feels like hell, I must press on
can’t stop here, I’m being drawn
the voice is still, the voice is small
I read the writing on the wall
cuz there’s no place He cannot speak
the light is dim, I get a peak
behind the veil, one clear thought
don’t forget that you’ve been bought
snap, the notion now in mind
implications soon unwind
He has walked the path before
built a bridge, unlocked the door
Once again my way is clear
costly love drives out the fear
Our Pioneer has blazed the trail
sprung the trap and gone our bail
We can follow through the night
knowing that His face is bright

Thoughts on Seeing

what we love and what we like, reveals the truth about our lives.
values and a sense of worth, set the agenda for life on earth.
once a child and now a man, seems mature to have a plan.
learn how to direct the flow, what to do and where to go.
our Creator lets us in, on the war He fought to win.
separate the truth from lies, a humble heart He won't despise.
the Maker's Son made us a way, brought us into light of day.
now we see that what's called sin, cuts us off from God and men.
reconciliation's prize, gazing into another's eyes.
peace like none we've ever known, revealed through Love that's being shown.
recognizing souls as part, of our Father's giving heart.
we can love in bold new ways, reflecting glory, giving praise.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Ever since I was little I have liked words.  But I also liked bicycles and minibikes, motorcycles and cars.  I like things that go.  I like words that go.  I liked forts and treehouses and have constructed buildings both here and in Mexico.  I like to build.  And I enjoy building ideas and concepts into lessons and sermons, with words.

Words are my friends. Thoughts and ideas keep me company all the day long.  If I can think it, I can see it.  And with enough vision, things may come to pass.

Jesus helps us picture the Kingdom.  He responds to Peter’s great confession of His true identity with a promise:  “Upon this Rock I will build my church.”  Brick by Brick, Board by Board, Jesus is putting up a fantastic structure. 

And it all begins very small, in seed form.  In Zechariah we are told not to “despise the day of small things.”  We all started small, even Jesus.  When an egg is fertilized, you have a zygote.  That’s about the smallest human being there is.  But whether it grows to be the giant Goliath or just the “wee little man” Zaccheus, the increase is phenomenal!

I want to paint word pictures.  I want to plant seeds that exhibit phenomenal growth.  I want to build thoughts and ideas with words and images.  I want to see skeptics become seekers, seekers become disciples, and disciples become leaders who show others the way. 

Things that go, things you build, things that grow.  These are a few of my favorite things.  But where is my passion?  I like asking questions - even when they get me in trouble.

Why can’t I see God?  Why is life so hard?  Why doesn’t happiness last?

A Response to "Scot McKnight & the Kingdom" - A Unitive Conversation

A few days ago I heard that two good friends of mine disagreed about an interview that was published on-line.  So I decided to find out what was being said so I could have some informed interaction.  As I read the article I found myself getting upset.  It happens to be a subject I am very passionate about: "Social Justice and the Gospel of the Kingdom."

I have liked much of what McKnight has written. However, he is very confused here. No doubt he is responding to a movement which has become "trendy" and as such may need some correction and clarification among the "hoi poloi." But I don't think he understands the real "Justice Movement." 

I've been to 2 Justice Conferences (http://thejusticeconference.com) and have visited an International Justice Mission (IJM.org) office in India where my daughter was working. In both places "Kingdom work" was being expounded and practiced. King Jesus was ruling and redemption was happening. McKnight goes off like a loose cannon, dropping names like James Cone, who I read in seminary 28 years ago, but has apparently no awareness of what's happening today with Gary Haugen, Nicolas Wolterstorff, Eugene Cho, or Lynne Hybels.  The Church is God's chosen people to bring the Kingdom and it is happening.

 McKnight says the Kingdom has to do with Land and gets very physical. I agree. That's one reason why it mustn't be seen as interchangeable with the church. The Church is people. The Kingdom has to do with extending God's territory. All that talk about people not knowing their Bibles and then he says that Jesus came to condemn the world! What about John 3:17? 

He suggests that many people who are pursuing Social Justice do not care about Evangelism.  

Today, in every evangelical church of any size you will find the especially the young adults to be active in social justice but have almost no interest in evangelism.

In my experience, it is precisely because of my interest in evangelism, and my history with attempted "outreach" that I wholeheartedly embrace the Church's pursuit of "Social Justice."  Have you ever wondered why Paul tells us "We commend ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God?" 2 Cor. 4:2  I have discovered that almost everyone responds positively when they hear that we are going to Mexico to build a house for a family in need.  And without exception people were intrigued when they heard that my oldest daughter decided to live in India and place herself in harm's way on behalf of families held in slave labor.  

Incidentally, the work in Mexico is done through the recommendation of local churches, thereby enhancing the credibility of the pastors and congregations who have an ongoing witness and ministry in these communities.  It sounds like Scot McKnight would want to make sure that homes are only built for christian families, if it is to be authentic "Kingdom Work."  There seems to be little warrant for such a distinction biblically, though the church in Acts seemed to mainly take care of their own, we are commanded to "do good to all men, especially those who are of the household of faith."  Beyond that, the LORD himself says, "If you love only those who love you, what good is it?"

Picture a community where the church has provided housing, but only for their own members.  There might be a strong incentive for others to join, but it hardly demonstrates the "love that God has lavished on us" or that love demonstrated in that "while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

 The work in India was also being done by the church, in the name of Jesus (and wouldn't be possible apart from His power.)  And no, those released from miserable lives of forced labor are not asked about their "personal relationship with Jesus" or required to be card carrying church members.  They are "set free" somewhat indiscriminately, by God's grace.

McKnight's shallow analysis is "going off half-cocked" and deserves a better rebuttal than I can give him. But there are plenty of people to do it, not just in words, but in deeds as well. "For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power." I Corinthians 4:20

The Summer of 2013

Days like this come one right after another.  The pace is overwhelming.  Let me catch my breath.
My daughter got married in August. 

Did I mention that my daughter Amanda got married?  It was a great day, a hot, August day that came at the end of a whirlwind summer.  I suppose the whirlwind had something to do with the fact that we were preparing for a wedding.  Yes, I'm quite sure we were preparing because, when August 10th arrived, we were prepared!

Susi had callouses on her fingertips from wrapping wires around silk flowers to fashion them into boutonnieres and corsages.  My contribution to that project had been a trip to Michael's Craft Store in Yakima, where I made up a game to play with the boys while Susi & Katie picked out the raw materials and sent pics of all the possible floral arrangements for Amanda's approval via text message.

I, on the other hand, had no callouses because I always remembered to take along my leather work gloves when going out to "The Meadow" to mow or use the weed whacker.  By mid-summer this had become a weekly trek: a scenic 7 mile drive out Highway 10 along the Yakima River, to milepost 100, almost to the Thorpe Bridge.  I'd load up the gas can and "whacker" and coffee and water and my floppy straw hat and sunglasses and some extra cord for the "whackin' machine," never forgetting my gloves.  It was peaceful out at "The Meadow," and it gave me a good feeling knowing I was helping get things ready for the "Big Day."

Susi wore mitts or used potholders each time she would take the large cake pans out of the oven, six or seven in all.  I lost count but before it was all over we froze enough cake to feed 250 people strawberry shortcake for dessert and then give leftover cake away.  They all loved it.  But how could you go wrong with fresh ground whole wheat flower, raw sugar and real butter, not to mention the eggs our chickens had just laid.   Then there was the whipped cream.  Mary helped us prepare for that.  We thought 12 Costco-sized cans would be enough, and we had done the "testing" to prove it.  But she said our portions were too small.  In the end we decided to let people put it on for themselves and have as much as they wanted.  We bought 24 cans and had only one left over!

Getting it all done early is what we call "Front-loading."  And if it could be done early, we did it.
Another thing I worked on was the electrical hookup.  That's how I know that the path I walked Amanda down was almost exactly 300 feet, from the basement of the house where all the bridesmaids were getting ready, to the start of the aisle that would lead us up front to the place where I would give my daughter away.  When we got that I was prepared for that too.  I had the notes for my comments written out and I had run it by Susi to get her feedback.   I shared what a joy it had been for us to raise Amanda and how she had really given her desire for a husband over to God and what a lucky guy Joel was to be "The One."  Then I just sat down and let Kev do the ceremony.

There was a thunder storm the night before the wedding, and we knew it could have rained that day also.  After the rehearsal dinner we put everything that was outside that we didn't want to get wet under canopies and lowered their legs down so stuff would be protected.  It did rain hard that night and the next morning Jessica Hudson called and said "Oh, I'm so sorry!  Do you need help with all the table decorations that got ruined by the rain last night?"  But we got out there and uncovered things and aired everything out and preparations went ahead with no problems.

It was warm and sunny but we had bottled water on ice for people to drink.  They seemed to like that and a lot of the seats were in the shade so that was cool too.  The ceremony was beautiful, including the cereal and milk unity bowl, which you probably have never seen before and will never see again.

When that was done we put all the tables in place for the reception and it was getting kind of hot, like about 90 degrees and I was thinking, "Are people really going to want to sit in full sunshine in this heat to eat dinner?"  But within five minutes of that thought there came an enormous overcast cloud cover for shade and it even rained large, wet, raindrops on us but nobody cared because it felt so cool.  Then we did sit down to a delicious dinner of Penne' pasta and Alfredo sauce and chicken and parmesan.  And the weather was perfect and the company was special.

After that we made good use of the rented dance floor for about the next three hours, dancing and drinking wine out of Mason jars and having a great time.  And even the cleanup the next day was no big deal because of all the wonderful people helping us.

So that's what I did in the Summer of 2013.