Promises

Letters to My Adult Children: On Journeying Toward Death - Spring 2020

Maggie and Thomas,

This is the ride I signed up for; that I knew it was coming, and yet, it is still unfamiliar and passes through a canyon of death who provides echoes of the past that sweep over me as I ride through.

Late on the evening of July 4th, 2014 I asked Paula to be my wife. They set off fireworks to celebrate the event and they have on the anniversary of that date ever since. As we navigated what our wedding was going to look like and how we were going to pay for it, we needed to have a conversation with her folks where Paula got really vulnerable. Some of my first impressions of her Mom weren’t great; she was the power broker in the family. She was used to getting her way and dictating what was said and unsaid -- even what her family was allowed to feel. The day we had that conversation with her folks was the day my relationship with Char forever changed.

I don’t remember exactly what was said, but Paula's fears of the conversation materialized and she began to cry, racing from the room in tears. This made Char really uncomfortable and she demanded that Pabs stop crying. At that moment I did something she wasn't used to. I kindly but not nicely stepped in and spoke to Char in ways I’m pretty sure no one ever dared to speak to her. I loved her but also stopped her, putting up a boundary that needed to be erected, protecting my fiancé from the vitriol that never should have been uttered. Simultaneously, I made sure that Char knew I loved her, but what she was doing, saying and demanding was not OK. Without shaming her, I made certain she knew she was wrong. From that moment on, Char and I became besties.If I could lovingly stand up to her, I could create a safe space for her daughter to thrive.

How I grew to love that woman! We learned to laugh together and I loved to tease her. She always tried to tease me back and loved the playful banter we shared. I knew she was losing her marbles. All the signs were there. I had been here before. This was different but familiar all at the same time. I traveled a similar road with Gramgee when she transversed the Alzheimer’s plain. I already knew many of the tricks, and I quickly relearned them as Paula learned how to distract, and redirect; crack a joke and make Mom laugh.

These days, I try to get to see her between appointments; she is just up the street from my office, about a four-minute ride. It has gotten harder and harder though as she sinks lower and lower, disappearing into a pit of despair.

To her, I’m not nearly as funny as I once was, and she can’t understand why I simply don’t take her home to be with her pets. Her confusion is no longer simply forgetfulness, rather it is delusion and hallucination. She is living in a world crafted in the ecosystem of her anxiety and shame. This is a cycle of life I wish didn’t exist.

Our medical advances help us stay alive while internally we fade and die. We breathe too long these breaths of death that merely fill us with hopeless dread.

Two days ago, as I visited Mom, the TV droned on in the background and as usual COVID 19 was on the tongues of the talking heads. Mamma’s comment was, “I wish I could catch that.” She is so ready to be done. She is ready to find a resurrected life somewhere other than here where she isn't confined to a chair or a bed; where her memory doesn't desert her and leave her forlorn.

Bearing witness to Char is only part of the journey for me though, I also get to watch my wife wriggle in discomfort that refuses to let her go. She loses thoughts and ideas under the duress of having to grieve and heroically carry the weight of her parents’ journeys. She has sat with her Mom in the Pit of Despair for so long, that the despair has invaded her -- soul-sucking the light from her eyes.

This beloved wife of mine can find no respite. There is nowhere for her to run, nowhere to hide and escape. There is no drug that can make her well. There is no safety from the onslaught of a loved-one's slow and torturous death. I can’t lift the veil. Doing so would break the sacredness of her journey, so for now, I too have to grieve the temporary loss of my partner and friend.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we find moments of joy together along the way. We are too good of friends for those to be taken from us. We function and make it through, but this journey my wife is on, though sacred, is taking her to the very gates of hell, and it is a slow burn. That burning of her heart sears my soul as well. These are painful days.

This is why I hope to go out on the back of my bike. But then again, your Gramgee told me that her greatest fear was Alzheimer's and it ended up being God’s good gift to her. I don’t want to be kept alive. If I wander off to die alone in the wilderness, please let me go, it would be a kinder death.

Though I have no intention of leaving the planet anytime soon; there is still too much life I want to live with Pabs and with you; I’ve been ready to go for a long time now. It feels like I’ve done what I was placed here to do and from here on out it is all gravy. It feels good to be at peace with my soul, with my God, and with His creation. It feels good to not have regrets and to be free to love and live without fear of messing up the future. It is a place in life I hope and pray you discover early in your lives and enjoy for as long as possible, for it feels like this is what we were created for. It is not free of pain, as you can see. Right now, life hurts like hell most of the day — but it is good and it is rich, and it is full, and it has meaning.

I think the reason Gigi’s and Miggy’s journeys are so hard to witness is it feels as if their meaning is being ripped from them. I think that is my fear for the end of my life — that meaning would be ripped from my chest and stolen from me. I have to choose to believe that what appears to be the case isn’t; that their lives and the number of heartbeats God has given them is pre-ordained and held in His hand. It is hard to believe some days… like today.

Letter to My Adult Children: My Politics

Hey guys, 

Because I am trying to adopt Pabi's "political atheism," I don't publish my political ideas. However, if these posts are what they are supposed to be, it is only fair that you understand what I think about some of these things. As you will see there is enough here to piss everyone off. That is why I don't publish them. I do not hold to any of them very tightly but rather hold them in an upturned, open hand, more than willing to be wrong and recognizing that what I believe doesn't matter much in the large scope of things. Ultimately Pabi's campaign slogan from her last presidential bid is as good as any, "No bad beer." Let that be our motto. With that being said, here ya go. This may not be everything, but it is a start. Let's see how many people get up in arms

My Political Beliefs

Assumptions

1. Political systems are never good. The best we can hope for is to structure them and limit them to be less bad.
2. Some things we band together to do more effectively as a community.
3. Nearly always, less is more.
4. Political systems exist to hold evil in check. This requires force. So not everyone can be a Christ-following pacifist. Only those called to non-violence need be completely nonviolent. We are always to be a prophetic voice using Love as our weapon to reign in power.
5. Love cannot be systematized nor politicized. And, since it exists as the greatest unseen force in the universe, it must inform how we think about politics.
6. Individuals are made in the Image of God and thus are created to
   1. Live in and appreciate beauty,
   2. Be interdependent (designed for perfect relationship),
   3. Be creative (designed to design),
   4. Have dignity (a value that is independent of what they do, create, and think), and
   5. Live into freedom.
7. Modern political theory on both sides of the conservative/progressive divide takes away some of how a loving God created us.

These things being true. I:

1. Am completely pro-life:
1. No abortion,
2. No capital punishment,
3. No wars to export democracy or protect economic interests.
4. No capital punishment
5. Only self-defense of life and property (not material)
2. Believe in a single-payer health care system. This is purely pragmatic as it runs counter to most of the rest of my political theory of limited, or no government interference.
1. There are too many stakeholders in the current system: hospitals, doctors and nurses, big Pharma, and insurance companies. Everyone has their hand out to grab whatever they can.
2. Medicare works and has proven to be sustainable when not raided to pay for other services. It allows for people to purchase supplemental insurance so it does not completely bankrupt insurance companies and put their thousands of employees to of work. It has negotiated reasonable drug prices for members and can keep those costs in check.
3. If it can be combined with the current Health Savings Account Model that slides for peoples’ needs, it will actually make doctors and hospitals compete for patients in a free-market manner, while encouraging individuals to save and allow those savings to roll into an IRA (assuming it functions as the current system does).
4. You don’t hear Canadians, Brits, and Aussies complaining about their system. For sure there is the odd horror story but these are the outliers,  and they do not compare to the thousands of families that are bankrupted by their medical expenses and are either swamped by insurance premiums that are out of this world, or simply uninsured because they cannot afford the premiums to begin with.
3. Think all drugs (not just marijuana) should be legal, and that we should tax the hell out of their sale to fund education and recovery programs (as well as other things). Prohibition does not work and only fuels crime and the “Penitentiary syndicate.”
4. Think that someone who is trained and demonstrates proficiency should be allowed to privately own an aircraft carrier or F-16, or any other kind of weapon they so desire. I do not believe in gun registries. I think they are dangerous. However
1. Given the prevalence of guns in America, gun safety needs to be taught in schools by people who know, understand, and respect guns.
2. Before anyone can own a weapon they need to show proficiency in using that weapon. I suggest levels of licensure: basic (single action weapons), Hunting proficiencies, semi-automatic training, fully automatic, explosives, heavy gunnery, etc… People can only own that which they are trained to own, but they don’t have to own, nor are any records kept of what they own.
3. What I love about my stance on guns is that it tends to piss everyone off. So, I must have something right in my thinking.
5. Believe government should have no say in marriages period. The “rights” (taxation, etc…) that marriages now give need to be transferred to a registry of partnerships that will do the same thing. But the government should not be in the marriage business.
6. Think that permitting private property improvement is inane. Though public buildings for businesses need to be inspected for safety
7. Believe property should not be taxed
8. Am a flat tax guy:
1. A Straight across the board 10% tax on EVERY financial transaction divided between the state and the federal government. In my world: 7% to the state 3% to the Feds.
2. Vehicle license fees should be calculated based upon vehicle weight and the miles driven each year.
3. Utilities need to be regulated to ensure equitable distribution. The internet is a utility
9. Believe traffic police need to be required to drive marked and highly visible cars. The question here is: Does traffic enforcement exist to make the streets safer or increase revenue. If it is to make the streets safer, heavily marked police cars slow traffic, unmarked vehicles merely catch speeders.
10. Think that most but not all police need to be foot patrols and unarmed. (See the UK)
1. The militarization of the police has led to severe mistrust and increased violence
2. Body cameras need to be required.
11. Believe that individual neighborhoods need to be given more power to build the types of the community they want without government overuse
12. Think that the US military needs to be recalled to bases on American soil. No troops on foreign soil. We need to stop being the world’s police. That money needs to be poured into US infrastructure and economic partnerships that build US interests economically rather than politically and militarily. We need to cap our military spending at no more than two times what the next strongest nation is spending.
13. Think that education needs to be free all the way through 16th grade. School choice and vouchers are good.
14. Hold that corporations ARE NOT to be treated as individuals. Free speech rules should not apply to them.
15. Think that elections need to be publicly funded to keep big money out.
16. Think that we need term limits across the board. (No more than 12 years in Washington DC for any politician).
1. Lists of which politician a corporation gives to and how much needs to be public record and easily accessible. I really like the idea of sponsor patches on politician’s suits.
2. Senators and Representatives need to live under the same financial rules that collegiate athletes follow regarding accepting gifts and trips, etc…)
17. Believe that churches need to start paying tax on income that is not spent on community enrichment and social services. This would take a lot of thinking and work, but, I can dream, can’t I? The funding that comes in for multi-use building that is open to the community as a rec center or emergency homeless shelter wouldn’t be taxed where the money that comes in for a worship center that is only used for worship services would be, etc… See the Sally Army for what I mean here. They do this well.
18. Think the government should never be allowed to compel speech.
1. Giving money is not free speech
2. If I am an artist I should not ever be compelled to create art that runs counter to my religious beliefs.
19. Think the government should not be allowed to limit pipelines etc… but neither should private property owners be forced to allow them. Fines for any kind of environmental hazer need to be so severe that companies work into their financial plans contingencies and safety that mitigates the chance of disaster. In other words, disaster fines need to be so outrageous that companies will go above and beyond to avoid any spills.
20. Believe that pollution needs to result in “outrageous” fines so that we do not have to micro-manage how they do it, merely punish them so severely they will avoid pollution at any cost.
21. Think there need to be caps on personal liability but none on corporate liability.
22. Believe that federal minimum wage be set at $15 / per hour for adults and $7.50 for those under 16 years of age
23. Hold that Shop, art and music need to become staples of both primary and secondary education. Recess needs to regain stature in primary education. Primary schools should start earlier than secondary schools do.
24. Believe that Veteran’s, first responders, and educator’s (with ten years of service or more) healthcare should not be limited (to the VA) and should always have a very low deductible, lots of freedom of choice, and low out of pocket expenses without having a lot of paperwork for the providers, so that the best providers will want to care for veterans and teachers.
25. Think every high school grad and drop out should be required to do a minimum of two years service either in the Military, Peace Corps, or something like the Ameri-Corp (building and serving local communities and infrastructure) before going onto college or trade school.
26. Banks and financial institutions need to be very heavily regulated.
27. The bigger the corporation the more regulation it needs. If it is an international it needs to have the most regulation
28. No ID no vote
29. We need to loosen and allow more immigration in, once that is done, we need to make it difficult for illegal aliens to be comfortable, We do need to create pathways to citizenship for illegals who have been here for years and have started families here.

Letters to My Adult Children: Look for the Good - February 2019

In 1994,  a weird and wonderful spiritual event began. The BBC labeled it the Toronto Blessing and the name stuck. For many, it was the stuff of a horror show. For others, it was a movement of the Spirit of God they had prayed for their whole lives. People got on their hands and knees and barked like dogs or fell over while convulsing violently. Others experienced miraculous physical healings. The conservative church watched it in horror. Mainline churches were bemused. And charismatics and Pentecostals flocked to it as if it were Mecca. they hoped to be a part of something they saw as a miraculous movement of God.

During that time, an intellectual, mainline Presbyterian minister named Bob Ekblad who spent much of his life working with the poorest of the poor in Honduras and then, upon returning to the USA, worked with men just-released from prison was invited to go to Toronto to experience the phenomena with a family member.

It wasn't his thing. He really didn't want to go. He was a social justice guy and the Toronto movement had little or nothing to do with justice. Toronto was about a supernatural experience of God. For some reason, Ekblad ended up going. Before he went, he spent some time praying and was impressed that though he might see 100 things he couldn't stand, he needed to look for "one good thing." He listened and went to Toronto keeping his eyes open for one good thing. And, while there, the Holy Spirit moved in him in ways he couldn't explain.

He was changed because he looked for the one good thing. He still works for justice, among those on the margins, but now when he lays hands on people to pray with them, there is a power that can't be explained any other way than that it comes from God.

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I was at Hillsdale College in the fall of 1986 when Dad surprised me with a phone call. Remember this was before cell phones. We stood in the dorm's stairwells to talk to our family and friends on the payphone. There was one on each end of each floor in the dorm. My dormmate said, "Hurry, it is some sort of emergency." 

Dad explained that he and Mom rushed home to Portland from Idaho, canceling one of their evangelistic missions, because Mom was in incredible pain. Once home, the doctors performed emergency exploratory surgery and discovered tumors in Mom's abdomen that were pressing on her spinal cord and major organs. Dad told me that they were the size of my fists -- bigger than a softball. They closed her up because it would have been too dangerous to remove the tumors given their proximity to her spine and vital organs. In another week, Mom & Dad were scheduled to be in Vermont for more meetings. Dad wanted to cancel because Mom couldn't go. She didn't want him to. He needed to go. We arranged for me to fly out to meet Dad in her stead since the dates coincided with my fall break. My fraternity pitched in money so I could buy the emergency ticket.

There wasn't really much hope for Mom. The doctors told her they would do what they could and scheduled a catscan in order to pinpoint the radiation that they would shoot at her. They weren't talking about a cure. They were talking about doing the best that they could. The tumors they had seen during surgery were simply too big. The catscan was scheduled for the Thursday I arrived in Vermont to join Dad. The week before Mom called their pastor, Dwight Steele and asked, "Do you believe James 5?" Now, James 5 tells sick people to call for elders to pray for them in order that they may be healed. Conservative Baptists typically didn't believe in the miraculous, and typically didn't follow through on Jame's teaching.

Being crafty, Mom knew Dwight couldn't say no to her question because he couldn't say he didn't believe Scripture. In essence, she tricked him. And to his credit, scared as he acknowledged himself being, he studied, prayed and called the elders together to pray for Mom on the Wednesday night before her catscan (the day before I flew to join Dad). Mom had to wait a long time top be prayed for that night, because Dwight questioned each of the elders, looking for uncovered sin in their lives before finally calling Mom into his office to pray for her. I don't know what anyone expected out of that time together but the next day, over my Dad's objections that there would be no news, I called Mom to find out what was going on. She announced, they can't find the tumors, they are gone. "The report says that there is a slight swelling of the lymph nodes,  and we can't rule out the possibility of lymphoma." Mom was healed, in part, because Dwight was faithful.

That same man, a longtime pastor at Montavilla Baptist Church completely screwed up when it came time to deal with me and my sexual sin and double life. His handling of the situation couldn't have done more harm to me, the church or the gospel if he'd wanted it to. He was in over his head, couldn't acknowledge it, and reacted rather than responded to the news of my sexual betrayals. He became so intent on trying to read Scripture literally that he missed its message and ended up twisting it so that it said what he wanted it to say. This gave him a license to publicly read a list of my sins during a "worship service." His friend at Portland Foursquare followed his lead, also reading a list of my sins out publicly. I think he'd still argue he was right to have done so. In case you were wondering, he wasn't. He chose the action because of his shame rather than my sin.

My family had been at Montavilla Baptist since 1969 and Mum and dad were universally loved. Mom and Dad were power brokers in the church and potential threats to any pastor coming in to shepherd the church. Pops knew that Dwight viewed our whole family as a threat. And he warned me to be careful. Dwight could be caring and fantastic as well as vindictive and cruel. Out of his respect for Dad, he went with Timothy, Dad, and me to pour out Mom's ashes at Ecola State Park, caring for us in amazing ways. Later, he allowed me to preach at my Dad's service and helped me make wise decisions surrounding that service so that I didn't alienate Timothy further and cause a wider schism between us. And then he'd do something crazy like take the elders of the church without seeking any discernment to Timothy's house to perform an exorcism because I stayed there. If there were evil spirits in the house when they prayed, it had more to do with my brother's choices than mine. He was seeing a dominatrix at the time. So Dwight practiced evil, and stupidity as well as kindness and love, all at the same time.

In my anger, I could only see his evil. In the wake of my blow out, he was one of the hardest of all the Church patriarch's for me to forgive. I seemed to be incapable of holding the good and the evil that resided in the man. And for me to heal, I needed to be able to do precisely that. I needed to see and remember the good as well as the evil that always seemed to blind me to the good. He was not as evil as I made up in my mind that he was. I had to consciously look for the good. I had to consciously choose to see it. SOmeone said, "there is a little good in the worst of us and a little bad in the best of us." My job is to see the good while acknowledging the evil. It is in that balance that I find freedom.

The biggest example of this is Mom. You know her story. She was an early pioneer in the women's movement in the church. She was the first person - male or female - to produce a weekly Christian radio show across Europe, She was a noted Christian women's speaker. She was a better preacher than most of the men of her day -- certainly better than Dad. Her Bible study notes are amazing. She was a poet and a performer. Hundreds, if not thousands of people found life, meaning, freedom and authenticity because she was a faithful warrior, fighting against the darkness, And, she sexually abused me in evil and horrific ways.

In spite of the horror of that, for me to be free, I need to see the "and" that allows for the good in her, Just like in the story, I told you about Dwight. I will begin with the good before citing the bad. I have to, in order to be sane. I chose to look for the good so that I can be free.

Without knowing it, most of my work in recovery has been the work of recognizing and holding the "&." I hold that my Mom was an amazing, wonderful woman who chose to act evilly. I hold that Dwight was a good man who chose evil. There are countless more stories I could tell. You have stories to tell as well.

I believe that God uses evil, pathology, and narcissistic people for good in other peoples' lives. God uses seemingly crazy things to impart His power. In discovering the good I find freedom. I look to find the image of God in the shit. When I find it, I find hope. Calling forth the image of God from the shit creates the Kingdom of God. that is why seeing the "shit and magnificence," in Paula was part of my wedding vows to her. We do well together for a lot of reasons but one of them is that we can hold the "crap and glory" (her phrase) and shit and magnificence (my phrase) that we see in ourselves and in the other.

So, for me, to be a Rebel for Love - A rebel for the Kingdom -  means that I do this work. I look for the good in the midst of the shit. In some crazy ways, this starting point is the fuel of my freedom. But I think that needs to be held for another letter.

Looking Back... Looking Forward

Growing up the son of a missionary and gospel singer/evangelist who were committed to living, "by faith:" asking no one but God to meet the family's needs shaped me in some interesting and challenging ways. I grew up having visited many of the 48 contiguous states, and seeing many things my peers only dreamed of seeing. At the same time, Mom would drive up to the house with us in the car and there would be groceries on the front porch that she needed, hadn't asked for, and cooked with that night to feed us. We were always dirt-poor, and always had enough.

If Dad was called for meetings in East Texas or Florida, he'd always say yes, and then he'd pull out the Rolodex and begin calling churches and pastors along the way to build an itinerary so he could afford to get there. You see, Dad never required any payment and never knew what he was going to get (if anything) and so the idea of the church covering his expenses was foreign to him. We paid our own way and graciously accepted whatever was offered to us upon completion of our mission or crusade in the community. Nearly always, every weekend and every Wednesday night were booked and we'd simply travel from community to community in order to reach the place that first booked us. It could take weeks, but it is how we traveled. 

In today's world, I wonder what my parents' Facebook accounts would look like. Undoubtedly, they would post pictures of churches where they ministered and pictures of Dad singing or Mom telling a story or leading a Bible Study or women's meeting, but I imagine there would be a lot of pictures of Timothy and I swimming outside of Boonesborough, Kentucky in the Cumberland Gap where I spent my 10th birthday, or of us touring the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and Straight Street in Philly on the 4th of July 1976. Perhaps you'd see pictures of us playing at Niagara Falls or Fort Ticonderoga, looking at Mt Rushmore, Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons or the Grand Canyon. 

Maybe my parents would have been smart enough not to post those photos that family and friends wanted to see on their public pages so that people wouldn't get the wrong idea about the family and think that we were flush and simply playing all the time. Because that certainly wasn't the case. I don't know how they would have worked that out and I wish I did.

This summer has been a celebration summer for Paula and I. We spent the first two years of our marriage never qutie having enough to pay the bills, and spending at least one, or many times two or three nights each week apart, as I traveled to the Little Fishing Village to the North of Portland for School. Supporters stopped supporting Paula because they assumed, as a man, I'd take care of her financially. After all, isn't that my job? They don't realize that as a grad student, living on the edge, having betrayed my former ministry partners through my adultery, I simply couldn't. 

Like many couples, especially older-- poorer ones, blending our financial lives is one of our greatest challenges. In contrast to my background, Paula grew up in an affluent family who trained her how to manage money well. In some ways, we're good for each other and in others we sometimes want to kill each other. 

So this summer, in the wake of three life-changing years, we've chased beauty as we've lived, using many of the travel strategies I learned growing up. We've taken Dr. Dan Allender's advice and taken the time to connect to each other more tightly, and God in new and fresh ways. It is easier now that I don't have another book to read and paper to write. When we've gone somewhere for business, we combine it with a day or two to relax along the way.

In June I graduated in Seattle and took Thomas to check out a school in British Columbia. I combined the two because I couldn't afford to take him on this campus visit any other way. Since we were in BC, TL and I tagged on two days in Whistler that didn't cost us anything except for the gas to get there. We took our food and had a kitchen in which to cook. We had a brilliant time.

In July, Paula gave me a 50th birthday/graduation gift and we rode 1701 miles to Canmore, Alberta to see the Canadian Rockies. It was a vacation to be sure, and it cost money to do. We were celebrating major milestones. And our celebration was also an act of worship. Paula called it a Pilgrimage. The bonus was that we stopped along the way to develop new ministry partnerships and see people we'd never get a chance to see if we weren't making the trip.

August is Paula's birthday month and September is our anniversary month and so we planned to go to Bend on a working vacation/celebration to see and connect with people for the Kingdom. After that trip was planned friends gave us an actual real-life vacation at Depoe Bay. It caught us both off guard and was probably the best vacation ever, and yet, even then we spent our mornings reading, planning, and writing together before going to play in the afternoons.

So you can't imagine my disappointment when Paula told me that someone said to another of her friends,"It seems like all they do is vacation."

I teach, metaphorically, that there are three legs of the stool upon which I rest. One of those legs is that "what other people think of me is none of my business." I believe that wholeheartedly and I am also aware that this person's hurtful statement will lead us to make some changes, not to how we live, but how we portray the way we live.

The second leg of the stool is  "If you spot it you got it." The person thinking we're always on vacation has his/her own insecurities in regard to our actions. Regardless, we live in a world where perception matters. And as supported missionaries, we need to make sure that we are not harming our ability to develop kingdom partnerships with people who are called to support Kingdom work financially.

Unlike my parents, we can't post pictures of the people with whom we meet or even tell the stories of the lives that are changing when we meet with them. It isn't appropriate or ethical in our line of work. Those stories aren't "Facebookable." I thought the beauty we've chased along the way was, but that is apparently not so. APparently we need to limit that to a very few close friends. That is a sad reality we are going to have to face. I think you can expect some further changes to our Facebook feeds as we move forward. It might be that we need to cancel them altogether, creating other ways to communicate with our friends around the world. We'll see. We have some talking to do. 

Please feel free to chime in on this topic either in the comments below the blog or the Facebook post, or in a personal message on FB, or even in an email to Paula or me. On quite another note, I am sure that this is the reason that Allender doesn't use Facebook.

By the way. Here is the link that Paula's friend was sharing with Paula's other friend. It was this link that led to the discussion that has led to this post:

 

Chasing beauty, Day 4 - A long, Beautiful ride north to Canmore with Paula Gamble Grant, MA, NBA

So it ended up being a long 384-mile day. My foot is messed up, swollen and black and blue. The injury slowed us down. I move like Tim Conway in a Carol Burnett sketch. Because of that, we were 40 minutes late to see Josh & Rebecca Jaklich in Hayden, ID. They patiently waited for us and it was so encouraging to see them and catch up. After we left them we grabbed a quick bite to eat.

 

As we finally pulled out of Hayden, my comment to Paula, over our comms was, "Well, we are only getting away 2 hours later than I thought we would." My injury was making things tight. I don't like riding as late as we were going to have to ride. We couldn't mess around.

 

We were both in sweatshirts until we suited up for the rain south of Sandpoint, ID on the shored of Lake Pend Orielle, because of an isolated shower that caught us off guard. We found a pullout and put on rain pants and coats in the rain, but we didn't pull on our boot covers. She asked if we should and I said no thinking that Paula's cute, rugged, Harley boots were waterproof. I was wrong, and her boots leaked water through the laces even after that short downpour. Sorry, Babe.

 

The ride up Hwy 95, through Idaho's panhandle, was peaceful except for my inner state. The panhandle is full of racists, and my stomach turned when I had to follow a Jeep in need of a new muffler who had plastered a Stars & Bars, KKK Battle rag sticker to her back window. Racists notwithstanding, it was an alright ride. The last section of road north of Bonners Ferry is a fun sweeping drive up to the Eastport Border crossing. 

 

Neither Paula or I had crossed into Canada on motorcycles before. Before crossing, we read that:

1. We didn't need to take off our helmets to talk to the border agent but did need to remove our sunglasses and turn off our bikes when we pulled up.
2. We needed to approach the agent one bike at a time. If the officer waves the partner up, that is fine, but we needed to roll up one bike at a time.

Paula likes me to be in front, and so I went first. After I had turned the bike off, the agent informed me he hadn't gotten my license plate. This meant that I needed to walk the bike forward so he could read my plate. Paula had to do the same. This may vary from point of entry to point of entry, but I found it odd that they weren't taking pictures of our plates when we crossed into Canada.

My goal is always to leave people I meet happier than they were before they met me. It is part of how I try to bless my world. How that happens varies, but at border crossings and with customs agents, the general rule of thumb is that if I am friendly, honest, and engaging I leave them with a smile on their face.

The ride from the border to Cranbrook, BC was majestic. The road follows the Moyie river north past Moyie Lake. It has beautiful bends and wonderful scenery. We rode under glorious sunshine and that only added to or joy.

Soon after Cranbrook CA-95 merges with CA-93. They stay together until Radium Hot Springs. (We didn't know any of this as our phone navigation doesn't work in Canada. We could have stopped to get new SIM cards in Cranbrook  but decided not to waste the time. Instead, we relied on the wisdom of people we met in rest stops and gas stations to get us to our destination.

CA-93/95 proved to be a "nice ride" rather than a stunning one. This might be because we knew we were heading into a storm (we could see it just ahead of us. We chose to ride into the darkness.)

That choice changed my anxiety level and affected my enjoyment of this stretch of highway. (I feel as if I have to at least pretend that I know what I am doing so that Paula doesn't worry. And, though I don't really know what I am doing and may make different choices at different times, if I were making the trip alone, this kind of trip does not feel unusual or worrisome to me.)  

My impressions if this stretch of roadway were also colored by the fact that there is major construction that held us up and then slowed us down: We were stopped for a good ten minutes by a flagger and then rode 45 mph on grooved pavement for a long 16 kilometers. Remember, Paula has only been riding a year and she hates grooved pavement. Please don't get me wrong, none of these 384 miles were boring. All of it was beautiful, and a lot of it spectacular. During this particular stretch, Paula's voice came over comms, "The Cliffs of Insanity!" Sure enough, at the north end of Columbia Lake, the headwaters of the mighty Columbia River, just south of Fairmont Hot Springs are some striking brown cliffs. We stopped to get gas and share a subway 12-inch just north of there.

From that point on, God directed the clouds to spit or pour on us. Dropping into Radium Hot Springs, I wanted to stop to get a picture of a stunning river curving below us. It was spectacular, but because of the rain, we pressed on.

The picture I didn't take as we came into Radium Hot Springs

Radium itself is a picturesque tourist mecca that borders the pass that crosses the Continental Divide. On a different kind of journey, we would have stopped, explored and enjoyed it more thoroughly. We didn't even pause on this ride.

At Radium Hot Springs CA95 / CA 93 split. We turned right to follow 93. Just as we did so, we saw a fleet of bikers coming down the pass, dressed in their rain gear and still pretty wet. 

Stock picture of a motorcyclist climbing out of Radium Hot Springs on Hwy 93

As we rode up the pass, I marveled at the road. It is most easily the steepest most incredibly engineered road I've ridden. It was a glorious ride in the rain. I can't imagine how glorious it would be in the sunshine! Parts of it seemed to be cut through the rocky mountain itself, and the stream that falls down the mountainside next to the road is a majestic shade of blue that is indescribably beautiful. Going up is always easier than going down. We rode down cautiously in the pouring rain. It's a very rough road. Once down the other side in the Mountain Valley, traveling along the Kootenay River, the rain stopped, and we increased our speed.

The Kootenay River Runs along Hwy 93

The rest of the way up to the Trans-Canadian Hwy was rough, but I continually shouted my wonder at the beauty through which we rode. There were, "Wow, look up to your right." and, "O my, wow!" escaping my lips along with songs of worship and an occasional verbal outburst from Paula at an unexpected bump in an unexpected place.

Once we reached Hwy 1, we sprinted to get to Canmore. The Trans-continental Hwy is a well-maintained and easy to ride. Canmore is 22 kilometers past Banf and so by the time we pulled in we were both massively sore. I could barely pull my bad leg across the bike to get off and hobble into our unit. We have covered parking that is close to the elevator to head up to our unit on the main floor. 

So far the clouds have us sopped in, and we can't see much, which is a crying shame because we get glimpses of breath-taking grandeur that we can't quite see. Hopefully, we'll be able to take some pictures over the next few days. 

This morning we rode through town to the grocery store, and Paula bought me a retractable cane so that I can hobble around. Our plan is to lay low today to try to give my foot the time it needs to heal a bit, then spend tomorrow exploring  So pics will come as we get them. Weatherwise, this is not the best time to be here, and it is still the best birthday gift I've ever been given. My wife loves me, and I am grateful. I've decided that her business cards need to read, "Paula Gamble-Grant, MA (Master of Arts), NBA (ninja badass). Maybe I can talk her into it when she orders more.

Chasing Beauty, Part 2: Day One Ride

The "Rever*" map of our first day's route

There is a downside to Coms -- Things you say out loud that normally no one else but God can hear, get heard by your spouse. And it may be hard to comprehend, but I can be impatient sometimes. When Paula heard me giving directions to a car that was slowing me down in angry tones with cursing, she responded, "Stop it! I am viewing this as a pilgrimage. I am not in control. I am not in a hurry. I walk in faith and hope. I greet everyone with peace. I bring back only what God gives me. I'm chasing beauty."

I don't think I swore the rest of the ride. We looked at multiple possible routes to get here to the South end of Coeur D' Alene. We had to stop for gas before leaving Portland. Riding sanely, my Goldwing gets approximately 39-40 miles to the gallon. Paula's NT700 is supposed to get 54 but got over 57 MPG. My tank is only 4.6 gallons, and so I can only safely go 175 miles on a tank of gas. Paula can go 260 or so. We weren't overloaded fo the trip, but we are loaded. 

Monday morning traffic through Portland was relatively light. We cruised out Interstate 84 taking note that the exit to Multnomah Falls was closed since the parking lot was full. They pull a gate across to stop even motorcycles from entering. Traffic in the Dalles was gnarly. At one point an RV pulling a trailer did change lanes causing Paula, who was riding behind me to gasp, me to lay on my air horn and hit the brakes quite hard. 

Paula occasionally would shout surprise when heavy wind gusts tried to push her over or out of her lane. That is when the coms were toughest on me. Her shouts made me nervous, but we both got better at handling the wind and the subsequent verbal responses to it.

Biggs Junction at milepost 104 was our first gas stop. We also shared a "two for four" deal and hit the road again. The pic above was taken at this stop. When riders get to Biggs, they have an option, continue on I-84, which nearly everyone encourages, or cross the Columbia and take WA 14 east. We chose the road less traveled. It was the right choice. 14 is enjoyable. It is well maintained, and it stays within a stone's throw of the river most of the way. Not two curvy, but not boring either, with ample opportunities to pass. I followed Paula, turned the music on and up, kicked my right foot up onto my crash bar, resting my right elbow on my knee and rode without a care in the world, chasing my wife -- who is beauty -- down the road.

Our next stop was Columbia Park in Kennewick Washington. This park is the host of the hydroplane races in the Tri-cities. It was a necessary oasis for us. We stretched and held Yoga poses to stretch some more. We snacked and then hit the road again. A few miles up the road we made a gas stop in Connell, WA. So far I was familiar with all the roads on our route. That was about to change. We turned East on WA 26 toward Pullman. We immediately noticed a difference. The road was bumpier and not as well maintained. It wasn't bad, simply rough. We were still able to travel around 70 MPH, and there was hardly any traffic going our way. After about twenty miles of straight, "Nebraska-esque" road, it began to find some curves through unique, liminal land that transitions between the Eastern Washington planes and the foothills of the mountains we were approaching. The shifts are subtle but also profound. When you are on a bike, you have the opportunity to take it in and observe the subtle changes in ways you never could, if in a cage, traveling the same roads.

The road becomes so curvy and hilly that it became virtually impossible to pass safely and, as is often the case, this was precisely the place that five cars in front of me, the two of us and a couple of cars behind us all lined up behind a slow moving rancher in his pick up. I remembered Paula's pilgrim prayer those last five miles dropping into Colfax, WA. At Colfax, we turned north on WA 195 toward Spokane. 195 bends up a hill as it leaves town to the north. It is a two-laned, pot-hole laced road. Halfway up the hill, Google maps beeped at me to turn off the major road onto Hume Rd. Hume passed to the east of Steptoe Butte, and though the posted speeds said 50 MPH, we traveled much faster as we climbed into OakeDale.

This last section of our ride was a hoot. It was twisty and windy with good surfaces to place our tires. We traveled through Oakedale, Tekoe, and Plummer, through beautiful farming valleys that are tucked away from the rest of the world. We transitioned from the high, arid planes to lush forest lands, through the fertile green farming country. We never did see a sign that we entered Idaho.

On the last section of road on the way to Pat's

And what can be said about Lake Coeur D Alene itself? It is truly a beautiful and wondrous lake, over 26 miles long with fingers that explore the hollers of Idaho's panhandle. We are staying with Pat Cooke, a long-time friend of the Gamble family and one of my favorite people. She has a beautiful lakeside home on the shores of Lake Coeur D'Alene's south side, across from Harrison, ID (the blue dot on the map). It reminds me of the lakeside home on Chelan where I used to vacation growing up. We are here until tomorrow when we head north, meet some friends for coffee, then ride further north, cross the border to Canada to Lake Louise, Canada. 

After a hard day's work the bikes get to take a break

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*Rever is a free app that tracks riders, letting them know their speed, maximum speed, time riding, and miles ridden. It then maps the route you ride. I'm liking what they are offering and they are continually making improvements.

Chasing Beauty: Introduction

On Monday morning Paula and I will start a motorcycle trip that will take us to Coeur D' alene, ID. On Wednesday we will leave Coeur D' alene and head north to Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada. 

Amidst the insanity this country is creating right now, we've decided to search out beauty that neither of us has seen, so we can encounter it together, find refreshment, meet God together, and enjoy the hope that beauty creates.

For the next week or so this blog will become a travel blog of sorts. Some of the wonder of this trip is that the journey on the bikes together is as important as our destinations. We will be free to roam, saunter on our bikes and frolic along the way. We will get to spend time with longtime friends while lingering on the shores of a majestic Idaho Lake, hiking in the majesty of the Canadian Rockies, or traveling with the lazy Columbia River as it flows south through Washington. 

I hope as we post pictures you will get to enjoy our ride with us, as we celebrate life together, and revel in God's absolute delight with us, and you. I'll post again soon. Enjoy the ride. #livetoride #ridetolive #wiveswhoridearethebest #adventuretogether #saunterlingerfrolictogether #worshiptogether #transformedtogether 

An Open Letter to My Love

My Love, 

When we married, Given the misogynistic culture we inhabited, I knew that a part of loving you meant creating space for you to be all God made you to be. I needed all those skills I gained as a lineman on my high school football team to "block for you" clearing obstacles from in front of you so that you could score. This wasn't because you needed help to function joyfully with your King. It was because others in our world would try to stop you. My first job was to make sure no one held you down and secondly, to ensure; I didn't get in the way.

We've known for several months that this was gong to be tough, for me at least. I took a risk last fall telling you that this year, my 50th birthday, as I entered the back half of my life, and as I finished graduate school, it would be a good time to learn how to be celebrated. I was going to leave it in your hands, partly because the idea of celebrating me is so f**king awkward, and partly because after all the shit I've pulled in the first half of my life it doesn't feel right to celebrate me. Today, it seems as if God doesn't either. That feeling sucks, and it is mine.

None of that is said to make you feel guilty. You are living into the fullness of your ontology. It is truly glorious and beautiful to watch. This is the moment we (you and me, Babe) get to reflect Trinitarian love and sacrifice back into the heavenly realm. This is where I get to be who God made me to be for you and those 80 folks you get to love this coming week. It costs more than I thought myself able to pay. 

The weight seems heavier in the furrow of Cyril's death somehow. I will take the kids to Ecola to talk to both Dad & Mum tomorrow. I kinda think Mum & Dad might like how things are turning out on this side of the implosion of "Clan Grant." Besides, it will be good for the kids to see where their grandparent's ashes are poured and remember them. 

As we physically move in opposite directions these next days; and as thousands of miles divide us, I'm writing to help us (me) remember that we've made Kingdom choices this week, and though in this moment they feel shitty to me I believe they will ultimately lead us to worship. 

When I married you the biggest surprise was discovering that I didn't need to be a lonely rebel. So, as you preach this week to many who are weary from "running for God," I pray that they find rest and delight -- like the little boy jumping off a park bench into his Daddy's arms == "Running to God." I'll pray as you "kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight."¹ And while you are unleashing the Spirit of God on the Demons of a well-meaning system that destroys its people, I will revel in beauty, and rest in the love of my son. I too will battle the darkness by playing in the light of creation. Maybe through our joint efforts, we'll create a crack that will let the light get in. That is my prayer, anyway.

it's gonna seem like I'm changing the subject in one of my famous ADHD moments, but I'm not. Earlier today I watched this U2 video. It moved me and I imagined us worshiping together as we live in the presence of our King. "

I like everything about this video. "Yahweh," the first song, feels descriptive of us. Everything from Bono's pleading lyric: "Don’t make a fist,” to the call for a broken heart at the end of "Yahweh," all rocked my world on this day where I find myself being so tender.

The second song, "40," was a soundtrack for our young adulthood, and it always moves me. Toward the end, when Bono picked up the spotlight, people knew they mattered. When the camera person caught the look on Edge’s face as he listened to Chicago’s choir ask, “How long?” he captured a transcendent moment. And when Larry needed to join the choir's plaintive question one last time, all of our corporate, pent up frustration with God not living up to our demands went into his rhythmic Gestaltic act, unloading on his drums and cymbals.

"How long, must we sing this song?"

I don't have a great answer to this question. I know that I am singing the chorus to "40" this week while you are away. And, I know that singing the song with you as we patiently and sometimes impatiently wait --  and as we point and walk with people toward Jesus, toward hope, toward freedom, and peace; we too touch the transcendent reality for which we were made. Touching the transcendent with you makes everything worthwhile; even the pain that we experience in moments of profound disappointment, when we feel not only unloveable but unworthy. Those moments of hopeful eternity are bigger than the moments of turmoil. So, break a leg, sweetheart. I love you. The Kingdom is better because you love and delight in our King. 

Jim Elliot wrote, "I have one desire, to live a life of reckless abandon for my Lord, putting all my energy and strength into it." It was my prayer for a long time. Now, I've added, so long as Paula is by my side.

______________________________________________

^{1 Bruce Cockburn, "Lovers in a dangerous time," performed with Steven Page of "Bare Naked Ladies"}

 

 

 

Ruth Grant, 30 September 1929 - 6 October 2007

I wrote this in the fall 2015, soon after All Saints Day. Recently it returned to my mind. Some will wince at what they feel is dirty laundry. My response is that I think that Mum is smiling, that for one of the first times in history, she can be loved, not for what she presented to the world, but because as a God's creation, she is an object of love.

I haven’t written or honored my mother like I have my Father. If you keep reading, you’ll understand why, and today it is time to change that fact.

As the Church remembered All Saints Day, my mind went to her. It is time to tell her story from my perspective. My remembrance is only one such story. It is mine, and mine alone. Thousands tell stories of her faithfulness and devotion. They have a different story to tell. This one is mine, and yet it is also a story of loyalty and devotion, and it is no longer a white-washed story. It is real; at least in my psyche

To hear her tell the story, her father was a school teacher in the Deep South that was forced to leave his profession so that the family could eat when the Great Depression hit. He became a dam builder - moving the family first to Hoover Dam in AZ and then north to Grand Coulee Dam in WA before moving to Vancouver Washington to work in the shipyards during WW2.

She was the youngest of four and felt unwanted. Her life reflected that truth. Having said that, she worshiped her mother, who by all accounts was an incredibly gracious and Godly woman.

Mom confessed that she always lived in the shadow of her drop-dead gorgeous sister who had the world by the tail. She never thought she measured up to a standard even she couldn't identify. As far as she was concerned, she was the unwanted, ugly one. To counter that belief she overachieved. She graduated a year early from high school and then went “back home” to the deep south to study Speech at Bob Jones University, where she excelled.

While at Bob Jones, she realized she was supposed to be a missionary and she got engaged to Stuart Bundy, a man that was also called to the mission field. The trouble was, Stuart was called to South America while Mom knew she was supposed to go to Europe. She remembered steaming out to Great Britain on the Queen Mary. Passing the Statue of Liberty with tears streaming down her face because God’s call was away from all that she knew and loved. Her God never had her best interest at heart. He seemed heartless and demanding.

Once in London, Mom became the first human to produce a weekly Christian radio program broadcast across Europe. Because of a dockworkers strike, the tapes of the American preacher she was supposed to use couldn't get through. The strike afforded her the opportunity to put Englishmen such as Alan Redpath and Martin Lloyd-Jones on the radio for the first time.

At the same time, she met a handsome English gospel singer who was taking the English church scene by storm. She would put him on the radio along with the English preaching sensations. Though they had a hit show, the American’s who were financing the program were not so thrilled. The show was intended to showcase the head of her mission to Europeans, not English interlopers. The mission decided to pull the plug on the show and end all she had created.

About that same time the handsome English singing sensation asked her to be his wife. She initially put him on hold, saying that she was in England for the purpose of producing radio, and she was not sure how her English suitor fit into God’s plan for her. Though completely smitten with him, she didn't think God would give her such a gift.

She could not find any other missions or radio ministries that wanted to do what she felt called to do, so she married the Englishman in the fall of 1952. They soon joined the Eric Hutching’s Hour of Revival Evangelistic Team where Mom took control of the sound and the radio broadcasts while her husband played emcee, led the choir and soloed for the team. They traveled the world, preaching, teaching and loving one another. It was a fairy tale romance, and though they were poor, this was the happiest period of Mom’s life.

In 1963, my brother, Timothy was born. While his birth slowed Mom down, she was still able to run the sound board and produce the radio with an infant in tow, by her side. There are some fantastic photos of her in the sound booth far above the mission's venue. When I was born, that all changed. Two children were too much. Mom went from queen of the studio (where her words were law, and she reigned over the sound teams), sought after as a teacher (indeed she preached better than my Dad), and traveling Europe and Southern Africa, to a stay-at-home mom of a toddler and an infant. She told God and whoever else would listen that she was no good as a mother. She was good at the other things, but not mothering. It seems now like those early days of my brother's, and my lives were the darkest days of her life.

After being a virtual single mother proved to be too much, the family moved to the States so that Mom could be nearer her family and not have to feel so alone. She hoped her depression would lift. The move proved not to be such an easy transition, however. All of a sudden, the family that everyone knew was known by no one. The celebrity was gone. And though Mom had family to help she was still alone with two small boys, feeling all alone, like a failure, unloved, and back in her sister's shadow.

As we grew older Mom found a few ministry opportunities for herself and was the administrative force behind what would become Grant Gospel Communications — my parents non-profit.

Somewhere during this time, she also began to groom me to be a surrogate and started sexually abusing me. It would be wrong to say more than that here, for she was broken and doing the best that she could, and she didn’t mean harm, and she needed to kill her pain — and I paid the price. I do not know what price my brother paid. I know it was steep, though.

As my brother and I got older and left home for college, Mom and Dad began to travel together again. Mom’s second golden age began. She would practice piano for hours so that she could accompany Dad during his concerts. She also began to write and perform again. And when I say, "act," I mean, "act."

She memorized Romans 8, and large chunks of Revelation, along with other sections of Scripture. She presented them as dramatic performances for hundreds, probably thousands of admirers and fans. She brought the Word of God alive for her audiences. She was good. People loved her, and she blessed them.

She also wrote Christmas fiction, designed to help listeners enter into the Christmas and Jesus stories in ways they hadn’t been able to before. She would memorize her narratives and present them as a one-woman show. I can even remember her challenging me to learn Psalm 119 faster than her. She was serious and I knew I couldn’t compete, so I turned her down. I don't know if she did it out not. It wouldn't surprise me, though.

Twice she battled cancer. The last time she was miraculously healed. That is its own story, and is so incredible; it is almost unbelievable. I know that I wouldn’t believe it had I not lived it. I was with Dad in New England when we made the call to Mom to find out what the doctors had said and hearing her, overjoyed report, “The doctor states, ‘There is a slight swelling of the lymph nodes, we cannot rule out the possibility of cancer.'” The tumour, about the size of my fist the doctor discovered only two weeks earlier during exploratory surgery was gone.

For the next 12 years, Mom and Dad rediscovered their love story, They made over 20 trips to India and Europe for ministry and mission. Side by side they labored. Then in 1999 the diagnosis that my Mom feared more than any other was given, “Ruth, you have Alzheimers disease. We can slow it, but that is all."

In 2002 on the heels of my divorce, my Dad asked me to move in with him again to help care for my Mum. He couldn’t do it alone.

Already she had proven that she was not afraid to interrupt my sermons with some embarrassing story from my childhood. Now her story grew darker. She knew that her deepest fear was becoming reality. As her mind left her, she began longing for home and wandering off unsafely, sometimes barely dressed. In 2006, Dad and I realized it wasn’t safe to keep her at home anymore. Of course, she didn’t understand a locked down memory unit. And yet, she would still say, no matter how bad it got, “I know one thing, I am a child of the King.”

Those last years, those last months, everything that gave her self-worth were stripped away from her. She was left with that simple statement, “I don’t know, but I know I am a child of the King.”

Mother’s Day of 2006 was the first day she no longer recognized me. I merely became a sweet man that visited her. Some days I was her brother, sometimes I was simply there. Never again was I her son.

Finally in October 2006 with family around her bed, Mom passed into glory. Finally getting to go home and see her Dad, the king.

I am so grateful for those last years. All her life, Mom worked her butt off to gain acceptance, to get out of the shadows of her sister, to be worthy, to be loved by her Dad. Then, in the end, she discovered that she was.

That is a story that needs to be told. I don’t tell it to besmirch my Mother’s memory but to relate her story in a way that I think she now wants to be told. She was deeply wounded, and she deeply hurt my brother and me, not from spite, but because she didn’t know how not to.

People on four continents know Jesus because of her faithfulness, I know Jesus, in part because of her brokenness. That story has shaped me, for good and for ill. It deserves to be told. My Mom was an imperfect saint, like every saint who lived before her. In the wake of All Saints Day 2015, for the first time, I remember her among the great saints of the church — perfectly imperfect; full of crap and glory; shit and magnificence.

Celebrating Faithfulness

I first met Carson in the fall of 1993. He was in the second Arrow Leadership Program cohort, a year behind me, and yet, at the same time, so far ahead of me. In those days he ministered alongside a spiritual hero of mine, Bruce Milne who had come to the Lord through my Dad’s ministry back in the UK, and who wrote the wonderful book, Know the Truth. Back then, all of us in Arrow were a lot younger and I, for one, was a lot cockier. Springsteen might as well of been referring to those heady times as the Glory Days. And indeed, from a corporate perspective, those were my glory days.

Our cohort’s president described our class’ first meeting in1992 as a time where we measured one another up, wondering what the others had that we didn’t; and wondering what we had that they didn’t. After all, each of us had been hand-picked, recognized as being leaders of the next generation of Christian leaders; and indeed, many of us would prove to be just that, while others of us fell by the wayside, caught up in narcissistic sin and idolatry that destroyed us as humans, as pastors, and as leaders. Leighton’s vision to bring to bear the resources of the Kingdom to personally raise up a new generation of leaders who would “lead more like Jesus and more to Jesus,” was up and running. Those wonderful days were life-changing for all of us in one way or another. Much of what I learned over those eighteen months twenty years ago is still a part of my practice and my faith.

Back then I didn’t know Carson well. He was one of many, and yet he was different too. He was completely unassuming, quiet, ponderous, peaceful, and yet possessed a unique inner structural integrity I wished I knew in my own life. Even then this unassuming and, in many ways, unremarkable strength invited those who knew him into the presence of Jesus in ways that are rare and beautiful.

As time went by and our lives changed, I watched him transition to lead Arrow Leadership Ministries; and then transition again to pastor in the local church again. When I sinned and ended up in rehab, many of those I loved were nowhere to be found. One of my staff wrote to me while I lay broken in rehab, informing me that he wouldn’t come down to eat with me in the pig’s trough. Yet Carson always took my calls. Occasionally he even called me. He was always kind, gracious, encouraging and inviting. Fairly soon after my fall into grace, he invited me to an Arrow Leadership family camp held at Barnabas Family Ministries. While we were there he sat with me and listened, probably to a lot of garbage, as well as much holy desire. He never gave up on me when others did. He never looked down on me even though it meant he had to get pretty low to look me in the eye. He was willing to come meet me at the pig trough, if that was what he needed to do. He embodied Leighton’s call to, “Lead more like Jesus and more to Jesus.” I was... no... I am grateful to call him friend.

This past winter, like many of their friends, I received an email letting me know that Brenda, his dear wife who is a extaordinarily remarkable lady in her own right, had been diagnosed with advanced stage lung cancer that had already spread to her brain and other parts of her body. I wept. Some things simply aren’t fair.

Many months have gone by and many of us who don’t live close enough get to walk with them via their Caring Bridge blog posts. Last month via a Facebook post and the First Baptist Church Vancouver’s website the news was published that Carson had stepped back from pastoring to care for Brenda. I wept again as I read, not because the church was losing a champion (It isn’t); but rather, because one of its champions was living faithfully in spite of an unfair world that is breaking his heart.

Carson is living out what Leighton called us to. Carson is being faithful. My faithlessness is not made up for in his faithfulness, and yet, his faithfulness calls and beckons me to redemption’s story.

Colin Gunton, the remarkable English theologian, reflected on the story of Abraham praying for Sodom. If you remember the story, Abraham gets God to promise that if there are ten good men in Sodom, He will hold back his wrath. Gunton goes onto suggest that perhaps our job as Christ followers is to stand for those who would encounter the wrath of God without their faithfulness.

I think, in many ways, Carson has done this for me. For while I will never be able to be faithful like Carson; I threw that opportunity away many years ago. I can live faithfully today because one of God’s champions is showing me how. Without knowing it, he is standing for me, so now I am able stand for others, who like me, need someone to stand for them.

Thanks for standing fast, Carson. Thanks for your faithfulness to Brenda – to you Lord, and to His Church. Brenda, thanks for standing with and for Carson over all these years I continue to pray for both of you. I love you both, and give thanks for you so very often.