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Day 4. In a Dry and Weary Land

 

Our first stop of the day was a bit of a drive from Jerusalem so Gilad kept us entertained by helping us understand more of the complicated political history and current issues of Israel. There doesn’t seem to be any end to them. Seeing as it was Israeli Independence Day, we also got a history of the country. Gilad’s version was a whole lot different from what I learned in school. It was interesting hearing it directly from a native though.

Our first stop was Qumran–the place where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. We had to talk Gilad into letting us stop there and were so glad we did. What a fascinating place to help connect the dots for these incredible copies of Scripture so well preserved for a thousand years. I don’t really have time to tell the whole story in this blog, but it’s worth reading. In fact, I’m inspired to study up on it further myself.

We saw ibex beside the road on the way from there to the Dead Sea. I tried to get a good shot of the ibex and failed dismally. They are sort of a cross between a deer and a goat. Very graceful looking and believed to be the inspiration behind Psalm 42:1.

Masada was our next stop…one of Herod’s palaces–built as a fortress on top of a relatively flat mountain overlooking the Dead Sea. It looks like the top of a mountain next to the Dead Sea anyway. It is actually not much of a mountain…about 60 feet above sea level.

Masada had two lives. The first under Herod, the second as the refuge for Jewish resistance to the Roman rule just before the destruction of the temple in AD 70. Masada was the last place taken by the Romans, and given the unique military advantages of the fortified mountain and the provisions left by Herod one hundred years earlier, it took a huge Roman army months to conquer the tiny Colony. There’s an Alamo-like ending to the story which our guide has his own variation of. Whether the last stand ended by committing suicide, surrendering, fighting to the death or escaping is now a bit of a mystery. Hollywood tells the story of a suicide pact, so…there you have it: a reason to doubt that version.

One the most amazing achievement for the architects of this historic site is their means of capturing and storing water. The state of California could probably benefit from some of Herod’s engineers. It is truly amazing how an arid place with no natural water source and two inches of rain a year can survive, but that was true of Masada and Qumran.

The Dead Sea had a lot of attributes of any other beach…lots of people, not so much clothes, and loud music. There were a bunch on nuns in the changing room though. That was a little different.

Stephen and I got in the water and everyone else stood on the side and laughed at us and took pictures.

The Dead Sea is basically everything you’ve heard it described as. Salty.

Perhaps the best diversion of the day came after that when Curtis decided he and Stephen would ride camels. That turned out to be 100 shekels very well spent. Ask Anita for the proof. If ever there were priceless photos, she has them. That’s all I’m gonna tell you.

Just driving back to Jerusalem was interesting. It put a backdrop to so many passages of Scripture. From David as a shepherd to him hiding in caves…to the Psalms about a dry a weary land. There are still huge open spaces doted with sheep, goats, and wandering shepherds. In the thousands of years since his life, much has changed.  Some things have gotten very complicated. But much has not.

I suspect the road from the Dead Sea to Jerusalem largely has not.

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Day 3.5 – Just a Little Addendum

One of the things we learned in Capernaum gave us a taste of how the 613 Levitical laws have turned into the myriads of Jewish rules and regulations. If you are familiar with the law of Moses, you know that God said not to boil a kid in its mothers milk.
Well, apparently, that rule became “don’t boil a kid in any goats’ milk.” That became “don’t cook meat in a pot right after you have dairy in it.” That became “don’t use the same pot for dairy as you do for meat.” Ever. That called for two entirely different sets of cookware. That also became” don’t eat meat and dairy together” (lest they meet in your stomach). That became…in same cases…”don’t use the same kitchen to cook meat as you do dairy.”

That is just one example. Imagine doing that for all 613 laws.  Could get a tad cumbersome after a while.

Interestingly, when Jesus came, He himself raised the bar on a number of the laws of Moses. “Thou shalt not kill” became “don’t hate.”  “Thou shalt not commit adultery” became “don’t lust.”

At the same time, He did not seem to appreciate the efforts of the Pharisees to enforce the rules as they extrapolated them. He was not impressed with their efforts to tithe down to a tenth of their spices. He healed on the Sabbath. He broke rules and tradition by reaching out to foreigners and women.

It seems the difference between Jesus and the Pharisees is that they were concerned about the external while He was concerned about the internal.  Jesus reduced the law down to two commandments: love God; love others. Then He became the perfect fulfillment of that law.

We left for Jerusalem and Gilad taught us a lot as we drove through the annexed territory known as the West Bank.  We pulled in just about sunset and it was amazing to see the city spread over the mountain in the dimming light.

Since it was the beginning of the Israeli Independence Day, he warned us that Jerusalem would be a bit of a zoo.  And he was right.  At least, the Jewish side. It’s really remarkable how Jerusalem (new city) is divided into two by two very different people groups living side by side.

We checked in to our hotel and then tried to walk around a bit. It was already 8:30 pm though and the streets were filling with all ages getting ready to party hardy. They had stages set up for bands and music and all manner of booths selling everything from cotton candy to blow up torture devises. I’m not joking.

We decided to have a late dinner and upon putting in our table request, were a bit puzzled by the question they asked us…meat or dairy?

Yep, they have two completely different sides of the restaurant with two completely different menus. We opted for meat side considering the fact that we’ve had mostly vegetables since we’ve been here. We ended the meal with dairy-free ice cream and chocolate mousse and watched out the window as the party continued to gain momentum.

People wore the Star of David on their hats, headbands, faces, and it was printed on their blow up pitch forks and spiked mallets. I’m still not joking.

And there was nothing joking about the soldiers we saw walking around, (some dressed in civilian clothes) carrying M-4s. None of them looked over 21.  It was a wild scene in certain respects, but it was clearly an accepted part of the culture here. Anything goes…As long as you don’t mix your meat and dairy.

Thankfully, they warned us about the fireworks that would be going off in the middle of the night. Otherwise, we might have thought it was…something else. Still a little bazaar to think that they shoot off fireworks in the middle of a crowded city. I mean, for a bunch of people that won’t eat meat and dairy in the same sitting.

I mean that respectfully, of course. When we woke up this morning, the streets had been cleared and cleaned. It was as if nothing ever happened.  Any city that can pull that off deserves respect.

 

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Day 3. Jesus Was Here

IMG_0211We stayed in little cottages on the Sea of Galilee. It was after dusk when we arrived so it was hard to get a good picture. Gilad was apologetic for the darkness as well as the brownness of this time of year, but it was still beautiful. If you look across the sea, you can see into Syria and Lebanon.

Everyone else went to dinner but I went to bed. It was not a successful attempt at sleep, however. Tired as I was, my body seemed to know it was 2:30 pm, not 9:30 pm and I could not sleep. It didn’t help that my phone kept buzzing, beeping, and ringing. I was afraid to turn it off because it was my only alarm. I’m not so sure the international cell phone plan is such a good thing after all.

This day was spent around Galilee–basically, in the area where Jesus spent most of his ministry. In His time–just like today–one side on the sea was non-Jewish. So when Jesus went to the other side to get away, he was really going out of the country and into gentile territory. And, in His infinite wisdom, He didn’t have an international cell phone plan.

IMG_0171Jesus would have stood on that bank when He called His disciples out of their careers as fisherman into a new calling as fishers of men. A few years later, He would have fixed breakfast somewhere on those rocks just before returning to heaven.

We read some of the other stories of the Sea of Galilee from Mark, including Jesus calming the sea and his casting many devils out of the man who lived among the tombs.

From there, we saw the remains of the poor town of Capernaum as well as the Mount Beatitude and the place believed to be where Jesus fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fish. To this day, it is a desolate place with no place to buy food.

But you can get cell service.

The mix of Jewish, Christian, and Catholic influences have made for interesting touring. Many of the sites are now owned and run by the Catholic Church.   At first I found it a little irritating to see the Bible stories turned into basilicas and relics, but the reality is that the sites would probably never have been preserved if they hadn’t. The average Jew neither knows nor cares anything about New Testament history. Of course, the same is true for the Arabs.

As Gilad read the story of various miracles which took place at each site, He gave us a “Jewish” interpretation. Which was basically that they were not miracles at all–just allegories. I guess when you don’t want to believe Jesus is the Son of God, that is what you do–change literal into allegorical. But, as Curtis pointed out, one thing He could not explain was why the people in the stories would marvel. Lives were changed when Jesus touched them. People were not just healed physically, but willing to follow the Lord anywhere.

Magdala was our next stop. I was less familiar with this place (although we all know at least one of its citizens–Mary Magdalene), but the ruins were interesting and the history was fascinating. Basically, the entire fishing village was martyred for its Jewish faith by the Romans around 67 AD.

What was most interesting about this town, however, was that while most of the ruins we have seen–including temples, synagogues, and churches (though old and historical)–were built hundreds of years after the time of Christ, Magdala has remains of one which was existing at the actual time of Christ. In other words, given the close proximity to Capernaum, this was ground Jesus probably actually walked in and stones he actually sat on…not 30 feet above them and not built in His honor 300 or 1300 years later.  He was actually here.

IMG_0192 The synagogue was the remains of a fairly small stone structure with one podium and two rows of seating along the walls where Jesus would have read  from the Torah.  I could almost hear his voice ringing in the hall, Today, this Scripture had been fulfilled in your hearing. 

You can choose not to believe it and you can argue a lot of things, but this man and his fisherman followers definitely turned this world upside down. People are not traveling here from all over the world and all walks of life because of allegories and parables.

Truly, this was the Son of God. 

We stopped for lunch at a little Arab cafe and ate an interesting assortment of salads, bread, and sauces. The waiter spared us no smiles, slapped the food on the table, and didn’t mind touching it in the process. I tried not to think about that part. I was hungry.

Even without a scrap of meat on the table, the tab came to $10 a person.  This country is not cheap.

We headed up Mt Tabor–otherwise known as the Mount of Transfiguration. We stopped along the way to look down over the plains including the place where Deborah and Barak conquered Cicera and where Gideon and his army of 300 beat the Mideonites. We were also overlooking the plain where Elisha brought the Shunamite woman’s son back to life.

The Mount of Transfiguration, like so many of the other sites, has a Catholic Church built on top. The views were beautiful though and we could see the whole country it seemed. The story of the transfiguration from the gospels reiterates Jesus claim to be the Messiah as God foreordained and as John the Baptist declared.1

Our last stop of the day was at the Jordan River. Because it was the end of the day and the start of a holiday, we weren’t able to see the associated church or go down to the traditional baptismal site.

But Gilad said he could get us down to the Jordan another way. And he did.  Turned out to be one of the strangest experiences ever.

I thought someone was joking when they said they saw American Indians. But the next thing I knew, we were driving up to an arch decorated with a canoe and an American Indian mannequin.   There was a strip of land with water access decorated with totem poles, canoes, feathers, carnival games…the whole deal. IMG_0220

Apparently, in the normal course of things, you can rent a canoe and paddle the Jordan. Business must have been winding up for the day and there were just a few scattered Indian looking people, some girls sun bathing in next to nothing, and a little child running around in less than next to nothing.

So…as I mentioned…it was weird. Kinda hard to put my mind in the context of the baptism of Christ given the Totem poles and all. And sort of an anti climactic end to the day.

So…we watched the guys skip rocks and then left and got ice cream. That helped a lot. Seriously, I hadn’t had chocolate since yesterday morning.  That’s a lot of life lived between chocolate.

With that need met, we loaded up and headed for Jerusalem.  But I’ll save that story for another day except to tell you along the way we passed another site Gilad said is actually more likely the true baptismal site.  I think I’m going with that story. No totem poles. No cell service.

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PS – Anita wanted some olive oil and we stopped at a fascinating tea and spice kind of shop. Probably fifty different kinds of spices in open baskets competing for air.  Many shekels were spent on that diversion.  PPS – Donna…this place would have killed you. And all the Mileskis.  Period.

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Day 2: It’s Really Complicated

Tuesday morning came a little too soon after 24 long hours of travel. But I was pleased to find at breakfast that Israeli food was not as bad as I feared. They even had chocolate bread. I’m pretty sure that was Jesus’ favorite breakfast food too.

Our guide showed up around 9:00 and we headed to our first stop in Cesarea–the port town on the Mediterranean–first built by Herod, but conquered and rebuilt many times in the centuries following.

We quickly caught on that one of the hardest things about touring Israel is trying to keep your chronology straight. Biblical history covers thousands of years, but then we’ve also had thousands of years since…can make for some mental gymnastics trying to keep your centuries in order.  There is just no logical way to do the tour chronologically, so I’ll just try to take it as it comes. But I just have to say, it’s complicated.

I can also understand better why there is so much conflict over land. It has belonged to everyone at some point. In Cesarea, for example, The same turf was occupied by Canannites, then Israelites, then Romans, then Israelites, then Muslims, then crusaders (Catholics)…then…I lost track. Each built a city on top of the last which is why they have to dig so far to get to the Biblical sites.

Our guide is not a Christian, but he specializes in Christian history and tours so he knows a lot about the Bible. A lot. And clearly, he is accustomed to knowing more about it than the average Christian tourist. Kinda shameful.

While we were in Cesarea, he read to us the story of Peter and Cornelius — where God instructed Peter to take the gospel to the Gentiles.  It took on new meaning looking across the port town, theatres, shops, and all the culture that came with the gods of that era.

After Cesarea, we headed to Meggido.  This is a city on a hill that was originally built by Canannites. It was later taken by Joshua and the Israelites. During the days of the kings, it was developed–probably by Solomon.  There are only ruins no higher than your knees, but it includes the remnants of stables, temples, and the fascinating city gates–the hub of the city.  Over the years, it’s estimated the town has been rebuilt more than thirty times.

The most remarkable part of the city was the water supply. The town at the top of the mountain was fed by the spring at the bottom. For security reasons, the citizens couldn’t let the water supply be outside the city walls, so their means of diverting and accessing the water supply was absolutely astounding.  Somehow, they hand dug 187 steps down into the lime stone and got the spring to run into the town. It was quite a feat and made me appreciate what the chore of getting the water would have been like for the average girl. The local Planet Fitness.

This place is not just known for its past–it overlooks the plains of Armeggedon–where we believe the final battles in world history will take place. I don’t plan to be there, but if you think you might be, stay in shape. 187 steps is a long way to carry up your water.

As we passed Mt Carmel, Gilad had us read the story of Elijah–and another one I’ll probably meIMG_0021ntion later. Pretty cool to put places with stories. And pretty strange to learn so much about the Bible from a man who doesn’t really believe it. It comes alive a lot more here and you realize how rich the Bible is as a history book even to those who don’t see it as anything else.

Our final stop of the day was in Akko–another city with a long and sordid past but mostly revolving around the Middle Ages and crusaders. The fortress built by the Hospitalar Knights is incredible as are the tunnels under the city. Put perhaps the best part was walking through a town dating so far back, yet still growing and active (though Arab, not Jewish). It was full of cats, markets, and plenty of dirt and junk; but also screaming of history and surrounded by breath taking views of the Mediterranean.  Words don’t quite do it justice. It was quite a place.

Tired feet took us back to the van. The seven hour time difference was getting the best of me and everyone else (except Stephen). It was fitting that the Jewish days end at dusk because I could tell mine was fading with the sun too.

All in all, it was a great day, and I’m looking forward to learning more about this complicated place with so many stories to tell.

 

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Day 1: It’s Complicated

Musings from our trip to Israel…

I would say the experience truly started on the flight from Paris to Tel Aviv. It was a full flight. Full of Jews–most of them young men in dark dress pants, a white dress shirt with a prayer shawl underneath, and a dark head covering in one of two styles. About a third had a long curl of side burns.

I was seated next to one of the more “liberal” young men; black, white, and prayer shawl: check. But instead of the typical head coverings, he wore an Under Armor baseball cap.

He was pleasant, which was convenient, because I suddenly found myself with so many questions. I’ve been quite a few places, but these people and their culture intrigued me perhaps like no other.

A few years ago, no matter how many questions I had, I wouldn’t have asked. But I’m older and much less inhibited, I guess. I’ll ask if I want to.

I asked why some had the curly sideburns and others don’t. He sort of explained…complicated. That’s the answer.

Then another lady came down the aisle. Are you in the window? I asked, pointing at the only empty seat left in our row.

“Yes,” she replied. “But I would prefer to sit here.” She pointed to my aisle seat. Well then. So now I was in the window. But my victim was still stuck next to me.

This young man was from a Jewish community in Long Island. He was returning to Israel to finish the last of three years of schooling in Israel. Apparently, in their final semester, the boys do a combination of one-on-one discipleship and group partying.

Why did he come to Israel to school? Basically, the answer was, “it’s complicated.”

Sitting in the boys’ section gave me a little taste of what they probably mean by partying…they were asking the flight attendant for Whiskey and watching crazy stuff on their iPads. Probably not much different than a bunch of guys from Long Island not Jewish.

I asked him questions about the economy, the safety, the lifestyle… and the recurring answer was that Israel is a complicated country.

I asked him what he would do after school and he said, “Go into finance. Like every other Jew.”

At least that one wasn’t complicated.

He hoped to get married soon so I asked if he had a girlfriend. I got the impression that the girlfriend thing hadn’t worked out so well for him, but the fall back was matchmaking. Apparently, a process now largely handled by moms. Sounds complicated.

I asked him how many kids Jewish families had and he told me, “Some have as many as God gives them. Some have as many as they can handle.”

Okay, so I did refrain from asking how they keep their little caps on. Some had little clips, but others mystify me. But I had to let him nod off after a while.

While he slept, I tried to think of a creative way to bridge our conversation into the gospel. But when I tried, he was clearly not interested. That much was simple.

If the airplane food was in any way an indication of what food they serve in this country, I am going to lose weight on this trip. The only thing on the tray I would label as “good” was a piece or dark chocolate the size of my thumb.

But then, never judge a country by airplane food. Even my captive seat mate didn’t eat it.

It was about midnight when we landed. I said goodbye to my new friend and we took our weary bodies to the hotel looking forward to exploring this complicated country for ourselves.


Welcome to Israel!

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She Smiles at the Future

A cheery voice always greets me when I call my grandparents.

“Hi, Grandma, This is Danielle” I say–Figuring it is too much to expect her to recognize my voice among those of her five daughters and eight grand-daughters (not to mention grand-daughters-in-law, great grand-daughters, and whomever else).

“Well, what do you know!” She always says, as if she is both surprised and very glad to hear from me.

Phone conversations with my 97-year-old grandmother are always short. She was raised in the day when you paid by the minute; and as a child of immigrants, then a school teacher, and later as a missionary wife with six kids, every penny counted and she counted every penny.

My grandma—Frances is her name—was born in Pennsylvania after the milk man and the nanny to a wealthy family fell in love and got married.

I don’t know why, but her father never showed her affection. The only memories of him I’ve heard her recount are the rather painful birthday spankings he gave her and the stinging disappointment when he wouldn’t let her ride with him and a friend in his friends’ new automobile saying (in her hearing) “well, if we wanted to take a pretty little girl, we wouldn’t take that one.”

Whether he was joking or not, I don’t know. But ninety years later, she hasn’t forgotten those ugly words.

Grandma worked several jobs at a time to put herself through college at Wheaton. She attended at the same time as Billy Graham and recalls going a few times to hear him speak at the “Tab” as they called the Tabernacle.

I’ve heard her tell a few stories of her teaching years, first at a country public school and later at a private boarding school. At the country school, the students would take turns bringing the teachers meals as part of their pay. One of the students brought a live chicken which proved to be a little much for the two “city girl” teachers and their cramped living quarters. Fortunately, one of the other students’ mothers put an end to the indoor “chicken run” chaos by taking the chicken home and bringing it back fried on a platter.

At the boarding school, she counts Elizabeth Elliott among her students; but there were many others she taught over the years . As World War II drew to a close, my grandfather (whom she had gotten to know some at Wheaton) wrote to her from Japan and asked her to marry him. She wrote back and said yes.

Her students and fellow teachers were excited for her but the administration less so when they found out that she was leaving. The headmistress dropped her off with a single suitcase at the train station while the rest of the school was in a chapel service.  No thanks. No goodbyes. No well wishes.

“It’s probably for the best.” She told me. “Because I loved teaching. And the next few years would be fairly difficult ones.”  As it was, I never looked back.

She left everything she knew for what would soon be a fairly isolated life as a missionary wife in Japan—a several month boat ride away from anything familiar. She didn’t know Japanese. The Japanese didn’t know English. There weren’t grocery stores full of familiar foods or phones to call her family.

Before long, the couple had six kids, a budding church, and a historical opportunity to reach Japanese for Christ. And they did it with all their hearts for thirty years.

I love to hear my grandparents talk about their years in Japan and I love to tell their story—even though I know my knowledge of it is limited to a tiny window into a huge world. There is a lot I don’t know.

But the part that has really struck me recently is not what happened in the past for my grandma, but what is happening in the present. You see, after 30 years on the mission field, they “retired” to jobs in Florida—Grandpa as a property manager/maintenance man and Grandma as a bookkeeper. Then, just before Grandpa turned 80, they “retired” again to Penney Farms, where they volunteered in all manner of other ways—Grandma at sewing service, the resale shop, the dining hall, the assisted living center, and as a Sunday School teacher.

Slowly, in the last few years, Grandma has had to give each of those items up. Her vision got so bad she couldn’t see to sew. Eventually, her legs bothered her enough, she couldn’t do resale, Sunday School, etc. I think she still wraps silverware at the dining hall one morning a week, but things have scaled back greatly. For a while, she enjoyed listening to audio books, but I think now it is hard for her to stay awake for long periods to follow the story line.

Amazingly, Grandma still cooks and does laundry. But otherwise, she spends the majority of her time in her stuffed chair or her bed listening to the Bible on CD.

And her chair is beside the phone. And if I ring that phone, I will hear her cheery voice on the other end.

Because with each season of life, Grandma seems to have mastered the beauty of not looking back. She never whines about the ways her body has limited her activities. She will tell stories if I can get her talking, but she doesn’t longingly brag about who she once was and what she once did. She isn’t bitter about life being reduced to a two room apartment; she seems to embrace the simplicity of it and be willing to let go of the things she can no longer enjoy.

Another woman in my grandma’s shoes might be looking in the rear view mirror at the hard things: the father who was never affectionate, the growing years on a lonely island in the South Pacific, the need to work right up into her 80s. Her quiet life so far from her family.

But instead, with each passing year, I’m more and more amazed at how bravely Grandma looks forward. Praying for her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren. Taking care of my grandpa. Listening to her Bible. Living in an ever-changing, always complicated world and yet letting life become more simple.

When I wasn’t able to get down to Penney Farms for her 97th birthday, she told me about it on the phone in a voice that rivaled a kid at Disney World. Because she is a contented woman with a beautiful life.

I want to be like that.

And maybe there’s hope for me. I can honestly say that I’m glad that God saw fit to keep me single for a longer-than-average length of time. Because it was here, in singleness, that I learned to love life for the beautiful gift that it is. Not waiting for the next season. Not fearing what is to come. Just enjoying the precious present. Because I too have a beautiful, fulfilling life.

Not quite as simple, perhaps. But beautiful just the same.  I can look at the future and smile.

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Five Great Valentine Ideas to Make Your Wife Happy.

It all started because Pastor Joel asked me to design an invite to the church Valentines Dinner. I went of course, to Bing for inspirational graphics, and what I found was a ton of great blogging material. Which reminded me…my Valentines blogs last year were wildly popular. (I mean, as compared to my other blogs which, basically, nobody reads.)

Ahhh yes. Valentines Day. It started the day after Christmas. I guess Wal-Mart finds it necessary to display six aisles of pink and red merchandise beginning the 26th of December as a courtesy to all of the men out there who like to plan their romance a full six weeks in advance.

Six weeks is a long time if, for example, you are babysitting someone else’s kids. But it’s not a long time for other things. Like, being engaged.  Or being pregnant.  Or…well, planning just the right Valentines Day celebration. So, while the bad news is that most of your six weeks is expired, the good news, gentleman, is that I’ve found a few gems for you last-minute planners and there is still time to incorporate them into your epic celebration of all things romantic.  Because I know you’ve been stressing about what to do.

fingersOkay, so here’s the first little gem that popped out at me.  Show your wife you love her by drawing people hugging on your hand.  It’s really a great idea, because all it requires is a gel pen, just the right audience, and a serious lack of sleep and this could win  you some serious creativity points.   If nothing else, she will love the gel pen.

My second “find” was this touching little poem.  The upside: it wouldn’t be hard at all to memorize.  You could quote it to your wife on Valentines morning with very littlefingers5 prompting.  And if memorization isn’t quite your thing, you could tape it on a card and give it to her with a rose or candy.  Apparently, the author of these inspiring words chose to remain anonymous leaving the door wide open for you to take all the credit to be had after your wife recovers from the joy of being loved to bits.  If that makes  you feel guilty, I bet you could grab that gel pen and write a poem all your own (although it might be hard to match this one for quality and creativity).  Then again, if nothing else, she will love the gel pen.

 

fingers2This one I actually don’t recommend.  It sounds noble and all, but it was probably written by a bitter wife and repeated by cheap men who were hoping for a cop out.  Don’t be one of those cheap men looking for a cop out.  Of course we need special days.  Otherwise, we don’t have any special days.  And if nothing is special, well…what’s the fun in that?  Do something special.  Like drawing people with a gel pen.

Now things are getting interesting.  I mean, what wife doesn’t covet these lovely hearts for her finger nails?  What a practical gift.  It won’t make her gain weight like candy.  It won’t wilt like a flower.  It’s cheaper than dinner.  You might even offer to have the family help apply them for her–turning it into a great team building experience and cooperative effort.  She will be grateful for your thoughtfulness and can enjoy the beautiful results for a full couple of hours before she has to wash a dish or something.

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Here’s my final free suggestion:  A page of valuable coupons.

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Because nothing says “I love you” like a sheet of expired coupons.

Seriously though.  The expiration date is only the first clue that this was written by a very, very clever man.  A man who liked hearts, pink and purple, and fancy fonts.

I’ll leave the back rub alone I think and jump in to the dishes.  Note it doesn’t say, “I’ll do the dishes.”  It says, “free get out of dishes.”  That leaves a lot of room.  Room for the kids to do the dishes.  Room for paper plates.  Room for the dishes to be left for another day.  Yep, he was a very clever man, he was.  He used a lot of pink hearts, but he didn’t fool me.  He knows a thing or two about getting out of dishes.

Then notice the next one–“free watch what you want and I will watch too.”  Very clever here.  Very clever.  Because he used “watch what you want” and the “Free Video Game Night” to sandwich in “Free Candle Lit Dinner” in the middle of the page where it will never get clipped and used before the impending expiration date.  Because what wife has time to watch TV or cares about playing video games?  In 34 years, I’ve never heard a single wife complain that her husband won’t play video games with her.  Not once.

But I think he was even smarter than that.  He made the sheet look like something incredibly sweet and thoughtful, when, in reality, half the coupons were things he would enjoy more than she would.  His unsuspecting wife might even find it on the internet and give it to him for Valentines.

Okay, so maybe I’m mistaken about his motives, but I really suspect I’m on to him.  Which doesn’t mean you can’t use the coupons.  As long as your wife doesn’t read this blog.1

Finally, in addition to all the other ingenious attributes of this sheet, notice that the final offer is a “free night out–dinner and a movie.”  Free.  That sounds to me like a lap around Costco tasting all the samples and watching cartoons on the giant big screens.  If she complains, hey, remind her that you can’t get much for free anymore.

Especially not meaningful Valentines Gifts.

If I haven’t made anything else clear perhaps that is it:  Meaningful Valentines gifts are unlikely to be printed off of the World Wide Web.  Sorry I couldn’t carry the water for you on this one.  But Wal-Mart does have six aisles of merchandise.  And Office Depot has great gel pens.

—

1.She’s the one that showed it to you, didn’t she?  Guess the coupons are out. 😦

Posted on by lgandre · 5 Comments

Lessons from a Dirty Dog

I ate cookies for breakfast.

That was the only thing handy in the kitchen besides potato chips. And everyone knows you shouldn’t eat potato chips for breakfast.

Would it help if I told you it was 11:00? It seems a little more forgivable to have cookies for lunch. But then I would have to admit that the day was half over when I entered the kitchen for the first time. It was 11:00 and I had accomplished nothing. Nothing but finishing a good book that had kept me reading into the wee hours and then kept me glued to my bed in the morning.

I guess it goes without saying that I recommend the book–Laura Story Elvington’s, “When God Doesn’t Fix It.” I can’t remember the last time I read any book over a single weekend. I’m not even sure when I last finished a book. But the deeper look into the struggles Martin and Laura faced during his brain tumor and dealing with his resulting memory loss had me pondering through many of her insights about the God who sees and yet lets us suffer. God allows circumstances to show us that our problem is sin.

By 2:00 pm, I could still only claim to have crossed two things off my list. I was still in workout clothes–which means I hadn’t had a shower.

And I hadn’t actually worked out. I was just dressed like I was going to when I pulled in at Peaceful Way to pick up Julie Ann. She had spent several days there playing with Jack while we were in Kentucky.

Julie Anne seemed happy enough to see me when I entered the garage. She quickly lost her enthusiasm, however, when she realized what was coming next. But I had to do what I had to do because my little white dog looked more like a nasty grey wolf. She had dirt, grime, grease, and just general filth matted through her coat. It was a good thing I hadn’t bothered with clean clothes and a shower because this was going to be a mess.

Julie Anne fought me as I placed her in the sink and held her under the stream of water. She squirmed and slithered in my grip as I lathered whitening shampoo into her nasty fur. It was not coming clean easily and she was certainly not making it any easier.

I didn’t enjoy it any more than she did, but it had to be done. It was fine to run around the farm like a street urchin, but I knew once I took her home, she wasn’t going to want to be outside. She was going to want to be with me. She was going to want to cuddle in my lap, perch in my chair, snuggle on my couch, lounge on my carpet, and roam through my office.

I couldn’t let that ball of dirt do any of those things. I just couldn’t. If she was going to be with me, she was going to have to be clean.

But she sure wasn’t happy about it.  As I adjusted my hold on her soapy, squirming self, she seized the opportunity to try to spring from my hands.  I let out a bit of a shriek as I struggled to maintain my grasp.  What she thought was a leap of freedom would likely be death by concrete.  It was a long way down and there was nothing between my soapy hands and that garage floor.

By some miracle, I was able to hang on.  Barely.  So rather than a dead dog, I just had a half clean drama queen slithering back into the sink.

I was too relieved to be irritated at her.  And even more than the relief, I felt a twinge of humility that came from a pointed picture of myself in the hands of my Creator–perhaps more freshly in my mind after my read of “When God Doesn’t Fix It.”

He comes for me.  He picks me up when I am a mess.  He wants me to be with Him, so He takes me straight to the sink.  In love, He begins to clean me up.  I squirm, I twist.  I try to get away.  And He holds me close.  Directly in the way of the constant stream of cleansing water.  Patiently scrubbing the dirtiest, nastiest, most unattractive parts of my being.  He isn’t trying to torture me…It just feels that way.  And it takes longer and hurts more because I fight Him all the way.  We’ve been through it hundreds of times, and I still don’t trust that He knows what is best.  I’m convinced I’d be happier if I could only jump out of his grip.

When Julie Anne was back to a recognizable state, I set her down and she shook violently.  No gratefulness, just good riddance.  She couldn’t wait to get away from me.  She would look 100 times better when she dried (provided she could stay out of the dirt long enough), but she didn’t seem to care.

She is a dog. And some things she will never fully understand. That’s why I don’t let her make her all own decisions. Because she would go splat.

She would probably do things like eat cookies for breakfast.

So…I haven’t learned this lesson: this lesson of embracing the scrubbing process. I venture to guess you haven’t either. And neither has Laura Story Elvington.

God doesn’t have an obligation to “fix it.” He might. He might not.

But He does have an obligation to clean it. To purge it. To make us more like Him. If we want to be like him, He must clean us up. And while I may feel broken in the process, I’m learning to embrace every reminder that helps me squirm a little less and trust a little more. Fight a little less. Rest a little more. Complain a little less. Praise a little more. Be a little less like myself and a little more like Jesus.

Posted on by lgandre · 2 Comments

I’m 34 for a moment

Just because I haven’t been blogging doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking. In fact, the month of August is my own little New Years–partly because it is my birthday month and perhaps partly because it is the month I moved to Charleston and started a new job, new church, and new life of being on my own and having to do things like pay rent and purchase car insurance.

Or maybe because it is hot, rainy, and ridiculously humid.  Even after eleven years, I’m not quite over the 300% humidity.

In other words, the month of August always has me seriously thinking, planning, buying, selling, or wondering–very much aware of the ticking clock of life. (Yes, despite what some people believe, I’m very aware of that clock.)

And this year has been even a bit more so. Perhaps because I’ve had to face mortality in new ways. The untimely death of my uncle in January, serious health issues of my grandparents, the unexpected passing of a colleague, the agonizingly painful one of a client, and so many other reminders that life and health are a gift and not a promise.

Then, last week I went to a Bible study on Time. It was actually the last one of the series, but I missed all the others because…well…because of time. But Andy Stanley took us through the book of Ecclesiastes in one night and I believe it was on of the best summaries of the book I’ve heard.

Basically, there is nothing new under the sun. There is nothing to gain from your toil under the sun. In fact, life is futile under the sun.

Kinda depressing. Actually, depressing. Not kinda depressing.

His conclusion: Fear God. Obey His Commands.

His motivation: Because life is not about what happens under the sun. It isn’t over when the sun goes down. It isn’t limited by what you can see by the light of the sun; or by the time that the sun divides into days and nights.

We revolve around the sun; But God does not. We are a moment; But He is forever.

After challenging us to live in the light of eternity, Pastor Stanley wrapped up the video series by playing the hit song “100 Years.” I had never heard it before and in some ways I was surprised he played it; it isn’t a Christian song. But for some reason, the catchy line, “I’m 33 for a moment” stuck in my mind; playing over and over. I’m 33 for a moment…and then “I’m dying for just another moment…”

The simple melody wasn’t gloomy. The words weren’t particularly profound. Just gentle reminders that life is fleeting under the sun.

I’m 34 for a moment. Dying for just another moment.

My life is full. I don’t think there is much denying that. But I ask myself often, is it full of things that are just for a moment? Is it full of things that are just under the sun?

Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived. He had everything. He knew about royalty. He knew about riches. He knew about romance. And he wanted us to know how little all of that mattered.

All of his stuff was just for a moment. On the day he passed on, it was going to stay under the sun.

So He wrote a whole book to get us to pay attention to these four words: Fear God. Obey His commands.

I’m 34 for a moment.

Dying for just another moment.

Enjoying what is under the sun, but living for what lies above and beyond the fiery ball of matter we call the sun.

Posted on by lgandre · 5 Comments

Day Six: The Big Day

Today is Friday.

The Big Day. The culmination of years of prayer, planning, giving, and hard work. Our team has worked incredibly hard to get the facility as nice as possible. Today is the climax our our trip–the dedication of Hope.

We were a bit slow getting together for our morning announcements and devotions. But despite our slightly ragged beginning and the cumulative exhaustion of the week, everyone opted to leave for Hope right away despite being given the opportunity to spend a few extra hours at the hotel and come later.

The team had already accomplished a lot. 54 sets of bunk beds. Counters and  for the kitchen. Shelving for the pantry. Bookcases for the library. Power throughout three buildings. Plumbing for 7 sinks, 12 showers, 12 toilets…two stoves…and much more. And every building has been swept out at least 13 times. Just for good measure.image

There is always more to do…and the men were determined to get as much as possible done this last day before the kids finished school and joined us for our dedication celebration and dinner.

So that was the plan.

No clinics. No kids. All hands on deck as we got as far as we could making tables, benches, and cubby holes for flip flops and belongings. Then final set up and clean up and fun time with the kids–giving them their sponsor gifts and watching their excited faces as they saw their new home for the first time.

Yummy Gummy and Light & Shine rolled out of the resort something around 8:30. I was hoping this day would be a lot more profitable than the day before. There were a number of items on our shopping list to finish putting up fixtures and furnishings.

Somewhere in the course of the morning, I heard some rumblings about the day being a Bhuddhist holiday. But it was no big deal. We aren’t Buddhist.

Light & Shine was softly paying one of its three songs in its selection when we started noticing that we sure weren’t moving very fast. We were inching our way down the same roads we had been traveling all week. But rain the night before had flooded many of the streets and we found ourselves amazed at the cars forging the flooded streets. Some people were even bathing in the street. A few were washing their cars–using the street as a bucket.

A few times, we were concerned that we would get stuck, but we shouldn’t have been. These bus drivers are something else!

Finally, we reached what seemed to be the other side of the flood. That was encouraging. But if we thought we were going to be able to pick up the pace, we were wrong. Time ticked by with us just sitting in the road being passed by people on foot. It was a mess.

The busses were close enough and the pace was slow enough that we were able to go back and forth between the busses. It was then that we learned that the traffic mess had something to do with the BHuddhist holiday. School was out. People were out. It was a mess.

Pastor Paul, the linchpin of our local contacts also kept calling excitedly. There was some kind of intense storm due to hit Rangoon later that day. It was going to be even more of a mess.

We started doing the math in our heads. It was already 11:00. We had been on the road three and a half hours already and there was no end in sight. The road was combination parking lot and swimming pool. After dropping us off, the busses would have to return to pick up the kids. And then after the dedication celebration, they would have to reverse the process for us before taking us to the airport–a drive that by itself could prove to be an all day affair in this traffic. What a mess.

Our flights out Friday night and the wee hours of Saturday morning suddenly seemed to be approaching rapidly. Our work time was disappearing rapidly. In fact, the only thing not moving rapidly was us.

We hated not being able to see the kids again and not being there when the kids saw Hope for the first time, but between the ridiculous traffic and the impending storm, it was becoming increasingly clear that our plan was just not going to work.

So…We had to cancel the celebration and figure out how to turn busses around in the crowed street. It was about noon.

I was disappointed. But I didn’t feel bad for myself as much as for the kids, who had been looking forward to this; for the construction team who had worked so hard all week without getting to see much of the kids; and for the rest of the team who had traveled to the other side of the world to be ready for this big day.

But there didn’t seem to be any easy way out of this and the best plan seemed to be to stop the traffic and turn Yummy Gummy and Light & Shine toward the barn. As it was, we didn’t expect to get back until around 3:00.

The Agape home was near the resort, so we took the time to stop there, give the kids our gifts, and play with them for a few minutes. They sang for us in English–“Shout to the Lord!” and we were reminded by innocent voices of the incredible power of our God. We didn’t know the day would go like this, but He knew. “I sing for joy at the work of your hand. Forever I’ll love you, forever I’ll stand…nothing compares with the promise I have with You.”

It was a tough afternoon. It was tough leaving with projects undone that we really wanted to finishIt was tough not having the closure of watching everyone get to spend time, take pictures, and give gifts to their sponsor kids. It was tough not having the climax of watching the kids see their new home. It was tough feeling like our best efforts in planning ended in a mess.

But the maturity of this team came through this afternoon in incredible ways. It wasn’t what we wanted, but people accepted the circumstances and the decision and made the best of a day that turned out exactly how God–in His wisdom–knew it would. To me, it was a mess. To God, it was a rainy Friday, but not the least bit outside of His control.

We finished by praying with the kids, then loaded back on the bus to leave Agape. I tried to let go of the regrets and rejoice in the work of His hand. The girls were crying. We said our goodbyes. We took some photos. We hugged. We waived. We hugged. We waived. We took photos. We said goodbye.

And I thanked God that even though we couldn’t take the kids to Hope, we were still able to share with them the Hope we have as an anchor of our souls. These kids know about storms. They know about floods. They know about unpleasant circumstances. So more than anything, after each time we come, I want them to know a little bit more about Hope.

P.S. – the worst news is, I lost track of the score, but I’m pretty sure we lost. I saw two huge rodents scurrying around my room in broad daylight today.  Guess I didn’t make much of an impression.