A Simple Happy Day

September 30, 2014

How can I thank Thee? Let me count the ways. First, the colonoscopy. Everything came out all right in the end. Ha! All clear; no polyps or anything. When I got home, Harry was in our bathroom wiring two lights, a fan and the receptacle. It was quite a tangle of wires up in the ceiling, and although Harry had drawn me a wiring diagram, I wasn't looking forward to the job. Turns out there are a couple different ways switches can be wired, depending on whether the power flows first to them or to the fixture they control. Harry's diagram was for the first scenario; we had the second. He saved me a ton of work!

They told me today would be a sleepy day, but they lied. I feel fine; even though I had been up till about 2:00 am with the colonoscopy preparation, I'm not tired, so I practiced my bass and worked on the sink plumbing. The former was fun and productive; the latter was somewhat of a mistake. Old house, hodge-podge plumbing; it's not pretty. I needed longer supplies to the sink, so we drove to Cassadaga and picked up a couple, along with some wire for the lamp I'm working on. Of course, the plumbing to the supplies isn't standard, so nothing would connect without the adapters I don't have. Dinner with Matt and Jeanine, their kids and a couple of Nate's was a nice respite from plumbing woes.

Rewiring the antique floor lamp that's been tickling me when I touched it was more successful, at least after I tripped the breaker for the back room, leaving us in darkness. Twice. That was when I found the extra wire nut lying on the counter. Electricity has never been my forte, but it was an easy fix, and now I'm basking in the light of a non-tickling antique lamp.

There's more, but it's all of the same variety; life filled with simple things and good people, blessings from God that wash over us day after day. None of it will make the evening news, and none of it will likely change the course of history, but I am incredibly blessed by the small stuff that comes my way daily.

Old Dog, New Tricks

September 29, 2014

This morning I was reading my Spanish-English Bible and got to thinking about a pastor friend in Cuba who is going through some difficult times. He wrote to me a few days ago asking prayers, and I have yet to write back. My Spanish isn't very good, so I have to depend on a translation app which only allows short sentences. I end up cutting and pasting a few sentences at a time into my response. It's a bit cumbersome, but it works. It continues to amaze me that I have friends in Cuba, and that there are computer programs that enable me to converse in ways otherwise impossible.

Bit by bit, I'm learning to read Spanish, but it is slow going for me. Having the Spanish-English New Testament is very helpful, as I can quickly reference words and phrases I don't know, plus I am familiar enough with the English versions that most of the time I have a fair idea of what is the Spanish says.

Tonight I've had to stay home from men's group in preparation for the colonoscopy scheduled for tomorrow. Routine stuff, but it does disrupt plans. While waiting for everything to kick in, I spent an hour or so practicing my bass skills, which while certainly not legendary, are getting better. I've watched skilled bassists play; their dexterity leaves me in the dust, but I am learning to read the sheet music, and can play some of the music in a halting, on-again, off-again manner. I'm afraid that for awhile, I'll be more of a hindrance than asset to the jazz band, but no one else was standing in line to do it, and I've been having fun working on it.

Both my Spanish and my music are stretching me, requiring me to develop mental and physical skills. It's not rocket science; I just keep chipping away at it. One of these days, it will start to come more fluently; until then I just keep at it. John Maxwell used to say, "Practice doesn't make perfect; Practice makes permanent. So learn to do it right." I'm learning, and grateful for the opportunity and the time to put into both lessons. Whoever said "You can't teach an old dog new tricks" was mistaken. Old dogs can learn; it just takes us a little longer, and in the meantime we know a few tricks the puppies haven't yet seen, so they better watch out!

Under the Water, Over the Top

September 28, 2014

This morning Pastor Joe baptized three people. At the 11:00 service, it was a young girl and her toddler brother from a family that's been in my life for a number of years. It was a privilege to share in this baptism; the father has been wanting it for some time, but it's taken awhile for him to really come to an understanding of the significance of the parental role in it. It was good to have the family up front, to take part in the baptisms and in the renewal of vows for the girl's older brother. It was a big step for both of them, and a particular pleasure for me as I've watched them grow over the last couple years from not really understanding faith in Christ to making their own profession of that faith.

Our early service was witness to something I've never before had happen at a baptism. First of all, the stage was set in a most unusual fashion; most Methodist churches have baptismal fonts, but no baptistries. Ours is no exception. We've had the wonderful privilege of holding baptisms in our son's swimming pool, and lately in the pool at the foot of the waterfalls in the creek on our property. However, with the weather cooling, people are a bit reluctant to enter the creek waters, so pastor Joe poked around a bit and came up with a cattle stock tank which got rolled into the sanctuary and filled. That was today's baptistry.

The young man who inaugurated this erstwhile baptistry has been coming to Park for a few months, attending worship, men's group, and generally making himself at home. I first remember meeting him a couple years ago when he was helping our son in law set up our first ice skating rink. Dan was right in the thick of things, getting this new project off the ground. After the service, his mother told me some stories about him and his connection with Park church over the years, stories probably best left untold. One disadvantage of a long term pastorate is my short term memory. I didn't remember any of the incidents of which she spoke. Dan grew up here, is well known in the community, and had an entire crowd of well-wishers who came just to witness his baptism.

At the end of worship, pastor Joe called Dan up front, got in the tank with him, and baptized him. Joe's method is to immerse the candidate three times, "in the name of the Father (dunk), the Son (dunk), and the Holy Spirit (dunk)." When Dan came up out of the water after that third immersion, the entire congregation broke out in spontaneous cheering and clapping. It was the most enthusiastic reception I've ever seen, and powerful testimony to what it means to be translated from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of God's dear Son.

Most pastors don't get to witness what I've been seeing over the past three months as I've watched new people come to church and even more importantly, come to Christ. Pastor Joe is a people person, is passionate about Jesus Christ, and even more passionate about connecting the two. Ten years ago, my prayer was to be able to turn over a healthy church to my successor. I was given that privilege, and Joe has begun taking things to the next level. It doesn't get much better than that, and makes me a very grateful former pastor.

Foggy Morning, Clear Heart

September 27, 2014

This morning began with a rather cool ride through the morning fog and bright sunshine as pastor Joe and I headed to Gowanda for Keryx training. Keryx is a prison ministry we were invited to join by the same guy in our church who got me into Koinonia. I suspect Ted is getting even with me for some of the projects I've gotten him into! Seriously, I've seldom met a more dedicated and tightly-run group of volunteers. The trainer was top shelf. I have to admit I'm somewhat nervous, not about going into the prison, but about the long term commitment I suspect this will involve. The people who organize this weekend, like those who pull together the Koinonia weekends, are of the highest calibre, and the results in the lives of those who attend is ample testimony of its value. I am glad to be a part of it all.

But it's the ride over that caught my heart. The sun dancing off the fog settled in the valleys, leaves on the maples just beginning to flame into color alongside the road that twisted and turned its way through the hills only to open out upon fields of harvested corn or Amish haystacks, roadside stands just beginning to shake off the early morning dew; it was a breathtaking ride through a part of the world where time seems to have slowed down to a stop.

Dayton. The road snakes down a hill, crosses a train track and stops at the intersection that bends into view only as you slow down to stop. A few broken down old buildings, remnants of stores and businesses line the road on our left, but to our right is a huge commons on the other side of which looks like an old hotel getting a long-needed facelift. I wonder what it was like in its heyday. I can almost picture it buzzing with activity, children playing in the dirt, old men smoking and talking outside the hardware, horses and wagons drawn up alongside those new-fangled automobiles; but today, the ghosts of the past are more populous than the inhabitants of the present.

After the morning's training, we headed home. I arrived, let Emma out for a run, and settled down to read my Bible, during which Linda called to let me know the women's retreat was over and I could come to help clean up any time. The crew had most of the work done when I arrived, but it still took an hour to finish up, after which we went out for dinner, just the two of us. That doesn't happen often, so it was a rare delight. The retreat was outstanding, as I knew it would be, given the quality of the preparation and the presenters. The theme was forgiveness, and powerful testimonies were given of what God has done in their lives. This was the second women's retreat our Park women have created; what they do is equal to anything being done today on a larger scale by organizations and churches with much larger budgets and audiences.

We ate and talked, came home and walked our land, taking in the cool evening, the sound of the creek beside us, the beauty of all around us, thanking God for all our blessings, especially the people he has placed in our lives. I cannot imagine better friends than we have been given; however glorious be the countryside that surrounds us, far greater it is to be surrounded by those with whom we have had the privilege of sharing our lives! They are truly God's gift to us.

Reflections on Life from a College Campus

September 26, 2014

Sitting in Starbucks on the Fredonia college campus on a beautiful fall day; how can you beat that? I'm waiting on my friend Harry, who is finishing concert band rehearsal. I bowed out this year; no instrument. Instead, I play bass for the jazz band followed by a half hour lesson, leaving me plenty of time to enjoy the afternoon with a cup of joe by my side. We had arrived a bit early and having a bit of time to spare, stopped in for a cup before rehearsal. With SB's policy of giving you a 50 cent cup if you present your receipt before closing time, I'm grinning.

Earlier, we were talking about how blessed we are. Most people in the world cannot even conceive of life as we know it. We are well-clothed, well-fed, live in a luxury with conveniences unknown by kings and queens a mere three generations ago. We sat in the afternoon sun on a pristine fall day, enjoying our coffee and conversation, surrounded by natural beauty and young adults who have a lifetime ahead of them.

And yet...

I am grateful to have walked through that chapter of my life years ago, emerging on the other side relatively unscathed. The world I grew up in was far different than these kids face (No, this is not going to be an old man's diatribe against kids and life today). We didn't have even touchtone phones, let alone cells. TV was three channels with rabbit ears, it wasn't until my junior year in high school that what was to become the scourge of drugs made its tentative debut among a few classmates who toked a bit of weed on weekends.

The economy was humming, the future seemed ours for the taking, but wasn't all sweetness and light. JFK and RFK, Martin Luther King, Jr. were gone before their time, murdered by evil men, and as a result the Civil Rights Movement was beginning to fragment. The Vietnam war was in full swing, Nixon's presidency was beginning to unravel, free love and LSD were in vogue. Yet in spite of the unrest and turmoil, Woodstock and Watergate, there was a measure of optimism that seems lacking today. A high school education could still land you a decent job in manufacturing, the war was winding down, the economy picking up, and NASA was sending men to the moon.

Today we are mired in the Middle East, despite our president's declaration of "no boots on the ground." ISIS is determined to bring the fight to our doorstep, income disparity between rich and poor is widening, the bureaucratic state continues to grow, real median income is shrinking, and the mood is generally subdued at best.

And yet...

It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed,
   because his compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is your faithfulness.
The LORD is my portion, says my soul; therefore will I hope in him.

These ancient words from the prophet Jeremiah, recorded when his nation was disintegrating before his very eyes, are my comfort and hope for today. My retirement nest egg could end up like Humpty Dumpty, but ultimately my hope isn't in eggs, no matter how many of them I have. My confidence is in Jesus Christ, seated at the right hand of the Father in all authority and power. I never know for sure what tomorrow brings, but I always know for sure Who brings tomorrow, and for that, I am truly grateful. So I bask in the warmth of the sunshine, knowing that before they fall the leaves will turn golden and scarlet, prelude to the frost and snow, and the springtime that will surely come.

Proud Papas

September 25, 2014

Tonight at the girls' swim meet I talked with the father of a girl who dove for the team till she graduated last year. She had full scholarship to a number of colleges, but chose to enter the Naval Academy instead. Her grandfather and father had both served in the Navy, in WWII and Vietnam, and she wanted to carry on the tradition. It's been tough, but she is determined to succeed. We talked about how diving, with its strenuous flips and twists combined with the subjectivity of the judging process, had prepared her for the rigors of the Academy.

He told me one story of the physical tests she had to pass, one of which was sixty situps in two minutes. She did her sixty, but when she stopped, they failed her, telling her that three of them weren't good enough. She passed everything else, so it wasn't really an issue, but two weeks later she told them she wanted to retest. She did eighty in under two minutes, till they wouldn't let her do any more. Now she wants to go for the men's test.

He was clearly and justifiably proud of her. Instead of choosing the easier path of college, she is carrying on the family pride, and rising to the challenge of military life. He gets to go down to visit her in two weeks, and is so excited.

Watching your kids grow up and begin to make their own way in the world is a satisfying, yet at times terrifying task. I know there are parents who don't deserve the title, but we worked hard at it, guiding, teaching, correcting, challenging, and most importantly, showing the way by our own imperfect example. Then comes the day when all of that parenting faces the ultimate test, when we send them off to their independent lives.

Fifteen years ago, I stood at the front of the church beside a beautiful young woman who would in a few short minutes change her name from Bailey to Andersen. It was, to be sure, a most unusual wedding. Her brothers stood before us, greeting the guests and officiating the preliminaries. Weddings don't normally begin with comedic entertainment, but put Nate and Matt together for a momentous occasion, and you never know what you'll get. Jessie got a touch of Monty Python combined with a dash of Chevy Chase. The guests were certainly in a celebrative mood by the time I moved from father of the bride to officiating pastor.

I can't remember just when it all started, other than it was sometime when Jess and Todd were dating when I first told her that although I wouldn't always be her best, I would always be her first love. From that time sixteen or seventeen years ago, emails, letters, and texts have always ended with "AYFL." At the time of her wedding, the song "Butterfly Kisses" was popular on Christian radio. It was a good song, but I think my "Always Your First Love, written for her wedding," is better. I sang it to her for the first time that afternoon.

Entrusting your only daughter to a relative stranger who hasn't loved her nearly as long as you (and, you are sure, not nearly as well), is a daunting task, but over the years I've witnessed too many times when parents were unable to let go, and their interference is always deleterious, and often fatal to the newlyweds. The greatest gift a father can give his daughter is threefold: his love for God, his love for her mother, and his loving attention to her as she is growing up. Sadly, too many girls are looking to boys mostly interested in their own hormonal fulfillment for the love and attention their fathers should have given them. The hardest, but ultimately most important gift a father and mother can give is to release their child to the love and care of another. I can't imagine doing that when the child's choice is less than ideal. Fortunately, we didn't have to do so.

Talking with this proud papa was fun. It is always a pleasure to see a parent justifiably proud of their kids, and profoundly sad when they cannot. Our goal as parents has always been to let our kids stand on our shoulders that they might see farther and accomplish more than we did. It doesn't matter to us how much money they make as long as they make a family that knows what it means to put into life more than they take out, to live with integrity, love, faith, and forgiveness. We're blessed to be seeing this with our own eyes as we honor Jessie and Todd on their fifteenth. Happy Andersen Anniversary!

Love, Family-style

September 24, 2014

Today is Miss Madeline's ninth birthday. Beepa goofed when he wrote in her card, believing it was her tenth, but maybe she'll give me back the card so I can use it again next year. Life consists in ordinary, everyday events; the humdrum of getting up, getting showered and dressed, having breakfast and going to school or work, etc. Except for the details, one day is much like another until a momentous event or special anniversary comes along. The momentous event was her birth; the special anniversary are the days we remember and celebrate. Linda and I had the honor of joining her and her family for her birthday dinner tonight.

In my mind's eye, I see a photo of her and me together wearing our do-rags and eye patches like pirate twins. She was perhaps two, with one eye that didn't track quite right.  It has been a challenge for her, but the smile on her face back then is the same as I saw tonight; bright, cheerful, winsome. With her dark eyes reflecting her dark hair, that smile lights up her face...and my heart.

It almost goes without saying that each of our grandchildren brings her or his own gift into our world. Without question, Madeline's gift is her tender heart, an inheritance from both her mother and father. She is generous and kind, loves the Lord Jesus, and works hard to be the best she can be. It's not unusual to hear her singing as she goes about whatever task she tackles. If she were to enter a beauty contest, I have no doubt she would win "Miss Congeniality." Even at her young age, she knows her own mind. Last year at Halloween when other little girls were dressing up as princesses and the latest Disney character, Madeline chose to be Mary, the mother of Jesus. Needless to say, we are proud of her, and grateful to be able to be involved in such depth in her life, as we pray for her to continue to love and serve Christ throughout the years.