Neighbors

A picture of the picture of us as new homeowners.

A few years ago, my wife and I purchased our first house. We were a small family of three, but we planned to expand through biological means and foster parenting. We had looked at the house many years before, and were impressed with the huge trees oak trees that shaded the house and large backyard, but it needed to be renovated. Between work and graduate school, I didn’t have the time to remodel a house section by section. Fortunately, another person purchased the house with plans to flip it. We came to an agreement on the price, and it wasn’t long before we sat at a large table in a conference room, signing paper after paper.  As we moved into the house with the help of several friends, I could picture her and the rest of the family playing and running on summer days in the shade of those oaks. I even imagined building her a tree house with a zip line between two trees, much to my wife’s dismay!

Even though the house had been renovated, I knew that there would still be work to be done. I have definitely found out who my crafty friends are over the years! Our house has been great to live in. We’ve hosted friends, family, and acquaintances for meals, birthday parties, holidays, and playdates through the years. Those trees have seen it all, providing shelter from the rain, shade when it was sunny and hot, and lots of leaves to rake and jump in fall. Being a native West Texan, tree care and maintenance has been a learning experience for me, but I have kept my trees pruned and periodically checked.

My dogs are notorious photo bombers!

Some of you may have noticed the blogging hiatus (well, really, I just transferred to photoblogging  on Instagram and Facebook) while my wife was hospitalized for a little over two months. During that time, people poured out of the woodwork and offered to cook meals, clean, mow, babysit, and shop. I am very grateful for those who helped, gave, or prayed, because my life narrowed to a pinpoint of keeping my family together. Extraneous things didn’t really matter; taking care of my daughter, wife, and work responsibilities were my only priorities. Even though Kara was hospitalized, I continued my morning routine of getting up early(ish) and reading my Bible on our back porch. One morning, I staggered through making coffee, poured a cup, grabbed my bible, and went to the back door.  I’ll never forget the wall of green that greeted me and thinking, “What is that? Do I need a new prescription for my glasses?” A limb had fallen off one of the trees during the night, and there it was, laying across half of my backyard. When others saw the downed limb, they thought it was a tree. It was BIG, but it had fallen perfectly so that there was no damage. A good friend of mine saw it and immediately came over (without my knowledge) and cleaned up the limb before I could even try to tackle it on my own.

First, let me take a selfie!

I called a tree service, and had the trees inspected. The trees were declared healthy, but the tree service guy told me that the original tree would need to be cut way back and half of it removed or I would lose the whole tree. It turned out water was collecting in the fork of the tree and had rotted the juncture to the point that the limb fell. I won’t tell you the estimate to remove the tree and prune other spots, but let’s just say that I could buy a small car for the amount he wanted. Fortunately, one of my buddies told me not to worry about the tree service and that he and I would tackle the limb and tree maintenance. It was a win/win situation. My friend needed firewood, and I needed a tree removed.  Problem solved! So, one Friday, I rented a boom, we collected our chainsaws, and got to work cutting limbs and pruning.

A month passed, our due date approached, relatives came into town, I moved into the hospital with Kara, and we began wait to meet our little girl face to face. I was excited about the birth of my daughter, Kara being able to come home, and that the weather was turning! It meant I would be able to wear the new cardigan Kara gave me as a “push present” in our going home pictures. After a few days in NICU, we were released to come home and we arrived safe and sound with a new baby girl! Unfortunately, the weather only turned cool and muggy, not cool enough to wear a cardigan. With the cool front came the rain. Lots of rain. It did not flood in our area, but just a few miles south of us there was flooding. According to reports we received approximately 17 inches of rain over five or so days.

They forgot monsoon season.

A week later, Kara and the girls went out for a doctor’s appointment and shopping trip. I was home alone for a few hours, cleaning up odds and ends, and tinkering. It had been drizzling all morning, but the rain was supposed to stop after lunch. I planned to work outside most of the afternoon, cleaning gutters and raking a few leaves. I was in the front of our house putting up folded clothes when I heard a loud crack and banging noise. The dogs went NUTS! At first I thought it was a garbage truck emptying the dumpsters at the school we live near (they are LOUD), then I realized it was Saturday. I immediately looked out the front windows, but didn’t see anything. I decided to go outside and look around from the backyard. (I have chain link fencing, so you can see quite a bit.) As I walked down the hall, I realized the sound I heard was one of my trees falling across mine and into two of my neighbor’s yards.

 

You know you this picture came to mind when you read the words Home Alone.

My jaw hit the floor when I walked outside, I checked to make sure there were no dogs (or people) trapped under it, and grabbed the phone to call my Dad and see what I needed to do first. (Did I mention this was my first home?) At my parent’s recommendation, I started called the insurance company and made a claim. When I got off the phone, I drove around to my neighbor’s house to see if they were home. They were, and we went in their backyard to look at the damage. All I could see were dollar signs, hospital bills, and damage, but my neighbor was pretty jovial about the whole thing. As a matter of fact, both of them were. (They’ve been around.) They were cracking jokes about their expensive zero turn mowers being under the tree, my tree knocking limbs off their highly valued trees, and other remarks. Both told me not to worry about it, that no one could have known the tree would fall, and that we would see what insurance would do about it and divvy up costs. I have learned quite a bit about insurance since that afternoon, and am still not quite sure that it’s not one big Ponzi scheme. I say that even after dealing with a great and courteous adjuster who explained to me how insurance liability works.

For those of you in the know, insurance doesn’t cover damage to others’ property unless you’re negligent, which I wasn’t. Also, the damage estimates weren’t more than the deductible, so we pay out of pocket for repairs. That meant I had to call my neighbors and tell them that insurance wouldn’t cover their property repairs. Both were excellent about the matter (as I said, this wasn’t their first rodeo) and told me that they knew I had a new kiddo, an extended hospital stay, and that we could split the cost of fixing the fence three ways. One neighbor told me he wanted to be neighborly. Dealing with the hospital bills and everything else, I cannot tell you the relief I felt at that. Will I still cover as much of the cost as possible?  Yes.

The Great Tree Debacle of 2015

Laugh at my naivety, but I have a hard time understanding how I’m not liable for their damage when it’s my property that caused it. I asked the insurance adjuster about the ethical premise for this, but he wasn’t a philosopher, so he declined to answer. (I realize that I think differently than most of the people I interact with.) Most people say, “I don’t know if it’s right, but that’s how the insurance system works,” as I discuss this event with others. I spoke with an unnamed party the other day who told me they agree with the insurance companies, and that if their tree fell on their neighbor’s house, they would go over and say, “No hard feelings, but my insurance covers my property and yours should cover yours.” I replied, “Not only do I have to look myself in the eye as I brush my teeth every morning, but I have to look across the fence at these guys as long as I live there. I cannot feel that I did them wrong, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

Philosophy and ethics aside, I do know one thing from all of this: I have learned what it means to be neighborly. Both of my neighbors could be angry about this event. They could accuse me of negligence, badger me about the cost, whatever. Instead, they’re staying friendly, even as the tree service can’t work due to the weather, the fencing contractor can’t start until the tree is gone, and we all have to keep our dogs under watch so they don’t cross fences. Everyone is making a little extra effort, and I’ve done nothing to deserve it!

The Parable of the Good Samaritan

Just then an expert in the law stood up to test Him, saying, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life? ”

“What is written in the law? ” He asked him. “How do you read it? ”

He answered:

Love theLord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.

“You’ve answered correctly,” He told him. “Do this and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor? ”

Jesus took up the question and said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him, beat him up, and fled, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down that road. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way, a Levite, when he arrived at the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a •Samaritan on his journey came up to him, and when he saw the man, he had compassion. He went over to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on olive oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two •denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him. When I come back I’ll reimburse you for whatever extra you spend.’

“Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers? ”

“The one who showed mercy to him,” he said.

Then Jesus told him, “Go and do the same.”

As I live through the Tree Debacle of 2015, the world seems to be in turmoil. We’re all neighbors today. What if all the Christian churches in the U.S. who have an empty parsonage or home stepped up and took 1 refugee family each? Appropriate security checks could be made, boundaries set, and they could provide for the families for a limited time, help the men/parents find jobs, education for the kiddos, and integrate them into their towns and American culture. I’m no mathematician, but I would think there would be enough places to take in 10,000 refugees (and even more in the coming years). I believe America has over 200,000 Christian churches.

I've never been a refugee, but I can only imagine that I would be a lot more open to assimilating into a new country's culture and customs (much less hearing about a foreign religion) if I were greeted, cared for, and helped to support my family by the average citizens of the country. I'm not saying it would be easy, and I'm not saying it wouldn't come with challenges (cultural gaps, security checks, etc…), but in lieu of a) creating more government dependents and b) isolating groups of refugees in large urban areas where they'll be isolated and disoriented, and ripe for the picking of extremists and scam artists, let’s welcome them and help them become Americans! I felt lost enough in a foreign country where English was prevalent and I was with friends; I couldn't imagine the disorientation and fear of having lost all home connections and being in a new society where I was viewed with constant suspicion. It can be done, and has been done before; see this article in WORLD magazine.

While there is a valid point that we could be letting in enemy combatants among the refugees, ISIS already has followers here and is constantly recruiting from American citizens. They brag daily that they have operatives here! The vast majority of the refugees are running from war, not to it! Let's step up to the plate, get over our fear, recognize the dignity of fellow human beings, provide and care for the oppressed, and let the governments and military appointed by God to dispense justice do their jobs! Think about the impact being neighborly would have on our states, our nation, and the globe!

Phenomenal

Proof that I finished!

Now that I’m finished with grad school (at least for the moment), I have been enjoying the newly discovered free time by filling it with activities: projects around the house; taking Kate into the great outdoors for hiking and swimming; playing games; grilling out;  and attending social events not involved with school or work (although I do enjoy those). Kara and I have a little tradition of spending time together each night and watching a series together. Over the course of our marriage, we’ve watched several: The Office, Lost, 30 Rock, Sherlock, and probably a few others I can’t remember at the moment. At the recommendation of some family members, we began watching Parks &Recreation. 

#knopeforpresident

Our initial reaction was a hearty, “It’s okay…” and we almost stopped. However, we were told that it improved with each season, so we’ve persevered and just began season 3. While the humor is very simple (yet dry and funny), I find myself laughing more and more as the characters develop and the plot moves forward. They’ve recently added Chris Traeger (Rob Lowe), a state auditor who is ordered to Pawnee with his co-worker Ben Wyatt (Scott Adams) to help slash budgets so the city can stay afloat. Traeger is an interesting character who seems to be an intensely positive health freak and workaholic at first, but as his relationship with Ann develops, we discover that he views everything as “phenomenal” because he was born with a blood disorder and wasn’t supposed to live more than a few weeks. So, in his eyes, each week is a gift that is to be lived to the fullest. Interestingly enough, we watched this episode after having a small crisis when Alisa (our unborn baby girl) became really still (she’s normally an active kiddo) and almost booked it to the ER.

My dog Pete's reaction when we told him we were having a baby.

As most of you know from my wife’s posts, we’ve had a whirlwind adventure with our new baby girl. The surprise and joy of discovering a new member of our family, the excitement of the initial tests and OB visits, the shock of discovering she will be born with Down Syndrome, the renewal of joy as supporters rallied around us and our little ones, dreaming and praying as we  feel and see Alisa play and grow in the womb, the cold fear of learning that her life was in danger due to blood flow issues in the placenta. As we drove into Dallas that morning, Kara’s suitcase in the backseat, there was little conversation between us. My mind was full of questions and thoughts about taking care of Kate, keeping my job afloat, house chores, how weird it would be to sleep alone for the next few months, and even the possibility that my child could possibly be stillborn. (It’s pessimistic and morbid, but I actually had a dream that I was planning her funeral a few days before.) I also thought about things no parent wants to consider. “Where would she be buried?” “What Bible passage would I preach through for the sermon?” “What songs would we sing?” “How would we tell Kate?” (Thankfully I know there is an age of accountability, and that we would meet Alisa in Heaven one day.) Traffic was normal, and I dropped Kara off at the entrance to the Landry Center a few minutes before 9. I squeezed between two cars and strolled into the building, entered the elevator, and went up to the doctor’s office. The nurse called for Kara, and we were escorted to the ultrasound room. Our first doctor came in to check Alisa’s heart, and had good news: the hole was smaller and blood flow looked better. Good news! We thanked her and were escorted to another room for the next appointment.

We laughed and rejoiced as we waited on our next doctor to enter. He is a great guy, but a very quiet man. That, combined with the soft hum of the machinery in the room and my hearing problems, means that I have to really concentrate to hear him. I closely watched as he sat down and begins running the ultrasound. It is not long before the screen goes from a charcoal blank to a chaos of shadows and light, revealing Alisa’s bone structure, shape, face, and even internal organs. He spent several minutes focused on Alisa’s heart while he talked. I literally sat there and watched my baby’s heart as it beat, constricting and relaxing, valves opening and closing, and thought, “This is the most awesome thing I have ever seen. I won’t even be able to see her heart beat after she’s born, and I’m watching her life flow while she’s in the womb!” (If you haven’t figured it out by now, I am awestruck by technology, and very thankful for it.) I kept watching her heartbeat, the valves fluttering open and closed, in awe as I thought about the driving force and strength behind that heartbeat, as well as the fragility of it at the same time. I even thought that, had I slightly known all the work of bringing a new life into the world when I was younger, I would have had a lot more sympathy on the cows and calves I helped through birth!

That day, our doctor delivered the encouraging news that Alisa’s umbilical cord blood flow looked better. Relief flooded through us both as we learned that Kara would not be admitted for observation and Alisa would not be born 11 weeks early. (But we would be admitted a week later! More posts to come!) Right there, sitting in the semi-darkness of an ultrasound room, watching the tiny little heart beat on the screen, I realized anew that life is so precious, so beautiful, so strong, and it is to be cherished above all things. Instead of spending my time worrying and planning, maybe I should spend more time living.

Life is a gift. You might even say that it is a phenomenal gift. Enjoy it!

Losing

In April 2015, I traveled to Kenya for the first time. I don’t know about you, but I am always amazed at human ingenuity every time I fly. I cannot help but think of the creativity, the drive, and the intelligence of those who contributed to flight. The complexity of All these different individuals and resources coming together to produce technology that allows others to travel across the world in hours! So, during my trip, I found myself sitting over the northern Atlantic, reading signs in Arabic and English and amazed at the thought of flying across the world in luxury. Only a century before a trip of this size would have taken several months, if not a year to accomplish; and that would have been only one way! 

The months prior to my trip to Kenya had been a whirlwind. Writing letters, raising support, emailing back and forth with contacts in Kenya, texts and phone calls with the team leader in the States, etc….. Not to mention working full time and finishing up my last semester of graduate school. Along with that, I was prepping for the mission trip by writing sermons, spending time in prayer, and trying to discover all I could about travelling to Kenya. Needless to say, reading the travel warnings as you register with the US Embassy will make you want to stay at home.

*taken with Iphone 4S, baby!

As I sat looking out the window at the clouds over the Arabian Ocean on the second leg of my trip, I imagined all the new experiences I would have over the next 10 days. I would make new friends, see new places, eat new foods, learn about a different culture, and EXPLORE! (Did I mention that I was excited?!) As I thought about it, I could not wait to land, and I certainly could not sleep. (Or maybe that was the excellent coffee I had a few hours earlier.)

"Stirred, not shaken."

This trip was the culmination of several months’ work on my end. Not only had I spent time preparing sermons, I had also spent a lot of time raising support. (That’s a nice way to say that I was fundraising.) As I contacted people and advertised on social media, I was hoping that funds would be provided. Not to say that I didn’t invest in this trip from my own money, but I didn’t have a few grand lying around to immediately pay my way. While I was advertising the trip, several friends wrote in support, letting me know they had made a contribution and would be praying for me. (For which I am extremely thankful!)  Most of the messages were very similar, “Praying for you!” “Somebody made a donation, but I don’t know who…” “Let me know how the trip goes!” and so on.  However, one friend brought up an old memory that I had not thought of in years. This particular friend has travelled all over the world on short-term mission trips, and reminded me of a statement I had made in my younger days about not wanting to go on mission trips  because I couldn’t see myself not sleeping under the Texas flag.

That particular message came to mind as I sat miles above the Arabian Ocean, listening to the soft roar of the engines and looking into the dark sky. I laughed to myself as I thought how much I have changed in those short fifteen years. Back in the day I thought I was sacrificing a lot to follow Christ- giving up status, the freedom to do as I pleased, like smoking a Marlboro and have a cold Colorado Kool-Aid. That was also when I had a real “salvation by works” mentality, even though I didn’t know it. Compared to others who have lost family, jobs, friends, or freedom, I gave up almost nothing to follow Jesus. Even during the time I was prepping for the trip, There were some  who didn’t understand what I was doing. Giving up vacation time to go on a mission trip? Spending my own money to teach and preach? Missing my brother in law’s wedding? Leaving my wife and family alone for two weeks?

All of those are fair questions to ask, and rightly considered sacrifices. As I thought about the questions I had been asked, the small sacrifices I had made, I thought, “What am I really going to lose? From a completely secular perspective, I am going to teach and empower others to contribute to their societies in even greater ways than they already were. I would contribute to human flourishing. From a Christian perspective, I was following Jesus’ commission to go and make disciples. (It’s always smart to do what the boss says.)

(This image may or may not look like the real thing!)

In 1 Corinthians 3, Paul writes that he and Apollos (preachers of the gospel) are “co-laborers” with God, then goes on to state that the members of the church are part of a temple that they are building for God. Paul shifts the emphasis from himself and Apollo to the audience, stating that every Christian’s work will be tested, and they will be rewarded for that which survives. Think about this for a moment- Paul writes that he and Apollos (preachers of the gospel) are “co-laborers” with God, then goes on to state that the members of the church are a temple that they are building for God. As we participate in the spread of the Gospel, we too are acting as co-laborers with God.  As Christians proclaim the gospel to others, they are building a temple for God, a temple that consists of fellow believers (at this point, the word “Church” should be bouncing around in your brain).

Just as Paul and Apollos were preaching and teaching, I would be preaching and teaching, joining God in his work of building his temple. (disclaimer: I, in no uncertain terms, am not claiming to be an apostle, nor the stud preacher that Paul was.) Not only that, I would be travelling to a new land to do so. (Kind of like Jesus did when he came to Earth as a man.) That work will stand the test of eternity, and I will be rewarded for my work.

Maybe I'm not the one who's losing.

Left of the dealer

        Growing up, we played a lot of cards. By "played a lot of cards," I mean, A LOT. I have found memories of many nights at my grandmother's kitchen table, drinking coke over crushed ice in her green cut-glass cups, eating snacks, and staying up way later than any second grader should. Those nights of competition, laughter, and bonding continued through the tumultuous teen years and even into college. Nana shared so much of her home and life with all of us, family and friends.

       It’s amazing how many life lessons we learned around Nana’s table. We learned that a little competition never hurt anyone, that you should stay focused on the game, laugh a lot, be a good loser (and winner), and always be ready to play. Now, my niece, nephew, and own children are old enough to begin playing games with us. We are passing the torch of family, camaraderie, and learning to be good sports on to the next generation, just as Nana passed it on to us.

       A few months ago, I went on a mission trip to Kenya. It wasn’t my first time to travel internationally, but it was my first time to travel to a third world country. It was also the farthest I have traveled in my life. The journey to Kenya began in Dallas, TX and had two legs; DFW to Dubai International Airport, then Dubai to Nairobi. When I met my teammates the morning of our flight, I was excited. I knew communication might be sparse, but was confident in my safety and my return. While I would not have cell service once I left the plane, I was informed that I would have wifi in Dubai and could contact my family then.

       When we boarded our first flight, I was a little disappointed I would not be sitting with my friends, but not too disappointed because I had great leg room! After a fifteen hour flight, we landed in Dubai in the middle of the day. While signs were in English, I stuck closely by Richmond and Kevin, both veteran travelers. I made sure to follow where they went, say what they said, unload the same things from my luggage, and mimic their actions. After we passed through security and were sitting in the terminal, I pulled out my phone and turned it on. I was ready to talk to my wife and daughter! Unfortunately, the free wifi offered in the Dubai airport was so slow that I couldn’t even get a text through, much less a call. I was a little disappointed, but the excitement of being in a new place and culture overrode any disappointment.

       After a quick meal, we made our way to our gate for boarding. We still had plenty of time, but my travelling companions wanted to go on and wait for boarding. I was not sure how much food I would have for the next ten days in Kenya, so I decided to fill myself up even more and have a smoothie while we waited. I watched as Richmond and Kevin went through the security checkpoint, made my way back up to the main terminal area, and found the smoothie shop. I had some trouble with communication as I ordered my smoothie, but didn’t think too hard about it.

As I walked back to the gate, sipping my smoothie, I looked around at all the different signs and languages, and began to feel a little lost. I went down through the gate to the waiting area for boarding, and Richmond and Kevin were gone. I walked up to the counter, and a stewardess with a heavy accent pointed down the walkway. I looked at the rack of Arabic newspapers that I could not read at all, and a small voice in the back of my head wondered if I was getting on the correct plane. I walked down the ramp, and came to a fork. I had never seen that before. The little voice spoke more loudly that time, but I walked on. I entered the plane, and the stewardess greeted me, looked at my boarding pass, and directed me to the back. The plane was not full, but there were no other American passengers. I had to tell myself that I was on the correct flight or else the stewardess would not have let me on.

 Finally, as I walked into the far rear section of the plane, I saw two heads sticking up over the seats with blond and black hair, and recognized my travelling companions. The near panic attack was averted, and I settled into my seat like an old pro. I looked at the seat in front of me, and saw the instructions in Arabic where I would normally see English, and the thought settled in that I was for sure going somewhere that I couldn’t get around without depending on someone else! As the plane took off and reached cruising speed, I reached into my backpack to find something to read. I had brought along Defying Isis (believe me, the irony did not escape me as I saw the flight path skirt around Yemen and Somalia).

                       

          After a few hours of flight, I got up to move around and step into the restroom. Maybe I never paid attention before, or maybe it was the fact that I was feeling very out of place, but I had a small panic when the lavatory light didn’t turn on when I closed the door. I stood in the dark for a moment, thinking, “I’m lost!”  until reason asserted itself and I pushed the door open to look for a light switch. That’s when a stewardess informed me that I had to close the latch for the light to come on. (I took some comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t figure out how to turn on the light if she had to tell me without my asking.)

        For the rest of the flight, I sat looking at the maps on the screen in front of me, the people around me, and watching the ocean and land out the window. I reflected on the loss of contact and familiarity. Richmond and Kevin seemed so confident and knew their way around. I had to remind myself that they had been to Kenya several times, and traveled internationally a lot, unlike little old me. I told myself, for the first time of many times, that thousands of people do this every day, traveling around the world. Most travel as individuals, and they make it there and back. If they did, I could, too.

       We landed in Nairobi and deplaned, and the next step of my journey began. Over the next week and a half, I would change locations many times, traveling with others that I didn’t know, even separating from my friends for a few days and traveling off into the bush alone. Many times, I would start to get nervous as I realized that I didn’t speak the language, know the customs, and wasn’t too sure about my sense of direction and location in a foreign country. I would remind myself many times that God had called me there, and whatever happened, I was in his hands. Obviously, I made it back, or I wouldn’t be sitting here writing about my experience. (More details to come!)

       Everywhere I went, I traveled with a guide who knew their way around, spoke the language, and helped me learn the local customs and ways. Each person taught me more than I could teach them, and I am glad that I had the opportunity to travel to Kenya. Next time, I will know the ropes, and travelling will be much easier. As a matter of fact, I plan to invite others to go with me so I can show them the ropes!

       In card games, the first player sits to the left of the dealer. Someone has to go first, then others join the game. When will it be your turn?

Breaking bad

On Friday, April 24, my wife had a sonogram checkup for our new baby. Usually, I am able to go to these appointments with her. Each session is a celebration as we see the life growing inside Kara on the monitor and hear the baby's heartbeat through the speakers. I enjoy watching our child grow through the different stages of pregnancy, until eventually we meet face to face on the day of their birth. Unfortunately, events conspired so that I was not able to go with her. She called me after the appointment, and was a little shaken up. It turns out the tech had some trouble finding the baby's heartbeat, and mentioned some irregularities. Since we've experienced the loss of a child through miscarriage, things that seem small to others are not to us. The OB checked Kara and the baby, looked at the sonogram, and said everything looked fine, but did mention that we could have a blood test done to make sure everything was okay. As Kara and I discussed it, we decided to have the test, called Verifi, performed. We would know more about our baby and the gender weeks earlier than expected.

A few days later, Kara dropped me off at the airport for my flight to Kenya. I was doubly excited since I was headed to a new place, and would return to news of a boy or girl. The days went by quickly, and I deplaned on a Thursday morning, expectant to hear news of my baby. I discovered that the doctor's office had not called yet, but was not worried. Friday morning rolled around with no call from the doctor's office. We moved through the day, waiting to see the OB's number pop up on our caller id. Finally, around 4 pm the phone rang. Our OB was on the other end, and she was very nice, but I could sense hesitation in her voice.

She was very gracious, courteous, and professional as she informed us that our baby had tested positive for Trisomy 21, otherwise known as Down's Syndrome. She immediately informed us that everything else seemed good, the tests weren't 100% accurate, and there was a small chance that it could be a false positive. As we ended the phone call, emotions coursed through both of us. Excitement about our child. Gratitude that the baby was healthy and yet some sadness at the news that our child most likely has Down Syndrome. Immediately, worries arose. "Will we be able to meet the needs of our child?" "What if the baby has heart or kidney problems, or another serious defect?" "What will I do if someone mocks or ridicules our child?" "Will our little one be able to live independently?" "Will she be accepted by others, including extended family members?" The fears, worries, and selfish concerns all swarmed in my head and heart.

Psalm 127 tells us, "children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward." In Psalm 139 one reads, "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

Through the evening, we called our parents and family members to tell them the news and ask for prayers. There were tears, reassurances of love and support, and joy over the life of another grandchild! That night, Kara and I spent a few moments praying to the Lord, thanking him for the blessing of a new child, her health, and asking that she be protected from any dangers faced by Trisomy 21. We also asked that, if possible, our child could be healed and not have Down's Syndrome. Yes, it sounds and feels selfish for us to pray that, but we're in good company. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus did pray that if it was possible, God’s wrath could pass from Him, but he asked for God’s will to be done. That’s what we will continue to pray.

Did we receive bad news that Friday morning? Some may consider it bad news, but we will rejoice in the gift of a child. In our society’s rush for perfection, we lose sight of the importance of all people, made in God’s image. People are judged by their contribution, their production, and their ability. But that’s not God’s ideal for us; the ideal is found in our being. That’s why salvation is through grace, not by any work we do. With all of our foibles, imperfections, and weirdness, God views us as valuable because we are. Christians are his children, and completely accepted by him (check out Colossians 1:21-22). You see, what bad news was for One, turned out to be good news for others! Our new child, a gift from the Lord, is good news! We will rejoice!

Look on the bright side

Runners and marathoners place stickers on their cars to let everyone know how far they have run in competition? You may have seen the little white ovals that say 13.1 or 26.2 and not realized what they were for, but now you know. The other day I saw a meme on Facebook that had the 13.1 and 26.2 stickers, but if you looked at the fine print, it read “13.1 hours: my longest Netflix binge,” and “26.2: the most oreos I’ve eaten in one sitting.” While I’m not quite the definition of this meme, I can certainly relate to it, and am a lot closer to the Netflix binge than I want to be! I justify it by thinking to myself that Netflix is cheaper than running. Read that again; Netflix is cheaper than running. I’m not talking about a gym membership, but running down the roads and trails. That might be free, but running gear isn’t! Granted, I haven’t put pencil to paper, but I think the per show cost of Netflix is cheaper than the per mile cost of running!

Needless to say, I watch Netflix. For those of you who have known me a long time, you know that I enjoy science fiction, particularly Star Trek. I grew up watching the original series most afternoons, then Star Trek: The Next Generation. For a span of several years, new series spun off of the Star Trek name right and left. I tried watching one or two, but just couldn’t get into them, and ended up dropping my commitment to Star Trek. Maybe I was a Trek purist, or I obtained my driver’s license and found better things to do. Either way, for several years I didn’t even think about Star Trek.

Then Netflix came along with instant streaming. Lo and behold, one day I found Enterprise in my suggestions menu. I decided to watch it, and enjoyed the series. I slowly worked my way through it all the way to the end of the series. (I’ll admit that I thought it was actually pretty good, unlike a lot of the other Trek spin offs that are as cheesy as the original.) Needless to say, over the past few years I’ve worked my way through Enterprise, Voyager, and the Star Trek movies. (I tried watching the original series and The Next Generation again, but just couldn’t do it. Too much cheesiness, I guess.) I am finally watching Deep Space Nine, and enjoying the series. The Dominion/Federation war has just begun, so don’t spoil it for me if you know how it all ends.

Why wasn't he ever on Star Trek?

Needless to say, most Star Trek series have the same characters. The strong commanding officer, the straight man, the single ladies’ man, the gung ho security type, the ultra-handy engineer, the pessimist, and the eager youngster. On DS9, the pessimist is the station’s chief security officer, Odo. He’s always the negative one of the bunch, finding the “cloud in the silver lining,” as one character told him while I watched the other night.

I’ll admit my guilt: I’m really good at finding “the cloud in the silver lining.” I don’t know if it’s my problem-solver attitude, a learned behavior, or just a pessimistic nature, but I have to battle against it. No one wants to be around a wet blanket, including the wet blanket! So I work to “keep it light.”  That can be hard to do in today’s world. The news revolves around the latest perceived crises, public figures of all stripes are proclaiming doom and gloom, and social media is littered with bickering dialogues of extremism. Fortunately, the world goes on as people everywhere live their daily lives, going to school, work, raising families, socializing, and participating in community activities. (If there were ever an argument for hope and the persistence of the human spirit, that alone is it. Media and public figures can drum up crises all day long, but the rest of us have to work for a living and keep society moving.)

You have to find some relief somewhere! Laughter is good for both the soul and body. According the pundits, there isn’t a lot to laugh about, so sometimes you have to create your own. Therefore, my dog has a fan page. The Pete Holmes Fan Club currently has 34 fans, and posts every few days. I use it as a form of stress relief, creating some opportunities for laughter and fun. Also, Pete is the coolest dog ever. Weenie dog, happy attitude, cute and snuggly, somewhat playful, and as laid back as can be. I like to post some funny pictures, dachshund jokes, a little cultural commentary, and of course, pictures and comments from Pete himself (or at least my imagining of Pete’s comments).

Some people like to laugh at me for creating a The Pete Holmes Fan Club, but I don’t mind. The point is to create laughter, and it’s doing that. Proverbs 17:22 tells us “a cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” In other words, laugh! Laugh long, laugh loud, and laugh hard! King David, who saw some hard times, even wrote in Psalm 16 “in Your presence there is fullness of joy.” (He’s talking about God’s presence, in case you didn’t know.) In a sense, when we laugh with joy, we align ourselves with God’s will. We show that we trust Him; and His sovereignty; and his plan for our life.

When is the last time you had “fullness of joy?” Maybe today would be a good day to look on the bright side.

The Winner

“I can win an argument on any topic, against any opponent. People know this, and steer clear of me at parties. Often, as a sign of great respect, they don’t even invite me.” Dave Barry, a syndicated columnist and Pulitzer winning journalist, is noted as saying. In my earlier posts about speaking up and dialoguing with others, especially those of opposing viewpoints, I noted that we must be able to have actual conversations with others, and seek to understand their side before we begin to bash it.  Unfortunately, most of us either a) retreat into silence when confronted or b) use violence to dismiss and condemn other viewpoints. (Find out your style here.) For all my talk about shyness and timidity, I realize that I pride myself on winning arguments, and am guilty of these two extremes (and all points in between) when interacting with others. If I am unsure of my knowledge on a topic, I will be silent. If I am confident in my knowledge, I will go in swinging (metaphorically) forcefully dropping facts and opinions to cause the other person to retreat into silence.

I often use these tactics when I am caught by surprise. Many of you know that I am headed to Kenya in less than two weeks, and I am set to go no matter what happens. I committed to the trip several months ago, and have been advertising it on Facebook and through emails, asking for people to pray, give towards the trip, or share the pictures so that others can do so. Most of the feedback I have received concerning the trip has been positive. At least until the shooting at Garissa University in Kenya on April 2. Upon seeing the news, my wife immediately emailed me, asking how close that was to where I would be staying while I was in country. (You can read about our exchange here at my wife’s blog, if you’re interested.) That did not surprise me. (I will admit that being a husband and #girldad made me think a little harder the dangers involved.) As a matter of fact, I spent the next few days fending off queries from my family about my trip, not realizing they were only expressing concern for me. I was busy defending my theology, and my pride. I was also winning, at least in my mind.

Questions from my family did not surprise me one bit. They’re supposed to be concerned for me, after all. It did surprise me, however, when Sunday morning rolled around. Easter Sunday morning, to be exact. (If you know what Easter is about, the irony should not escape you either.) I walked into church like any other Sunday morning and began making my way around the building, greeting people and preparing for the day. To my surprise, one of the men of my church almost jumped me as I passed through a doorway. “Trey,” he said, “You’re not going to Kenya now, are you?” “I most certainly am.” I replied confidently. “Jesus told us to go, and unless the organization I’m travelling with cancels the trip, I’m going.” I was really surprised that someone else, a fellow follower of Christ, would have that attitude. Even though I know it exists, I have never had people say I should not travel to tell people about Jesus. (That, in itself, is not so much a condemnation of the church, but more a reflection of the easy life I have led as a believer in Jesus.) We discussed it some more, with my companion assenting to my affirmation that we are told to go to the ends of the Earth, no matter the cost. I think I even threw in the quote from Tertullian (probably the Major John Reisman  of the early Church; except maybe without the gun) “the blood of the martyrs is the lifeblood of the church” in the conversation. (As if that settled everyone’s nerves who was listening!) I had “won” another conversation!

 A few days later I was at a meeting, waiting for it to start and chatting with others. Another woman walked in and said, “Trey! I heard you’re going to Kenya soon. Is that true?!” I replied in the affirmative, and she said, “You can’t go! Those people over there are butchering each other, and you may be killed or hurt. They’ll kill someone just for the fun of it.” I don’t know what caused me to light up more: “those people” or the blanket statement concerning another people group, automatically condemning them. Immediately, my hackles were raised, and I was about to start in on her (I sure am brave! Verbally jousting with a woman who was only speaking out of concern for me) when a passerby quietly interjected into the conversation and said, “The Bible tells us to go, we go, and Jesus goes before us.”

If you’ve read my post about encouragement before, you’ll know I believe that some people are mouthpieces for the Holy Spirit. They will say things that ring true without knowing what they are saying, and that wisdom can only come from above. This man is one of those people, and someone whom I greatly respect. Almost immediately, the tension bled itself from the air, my hackles laid back down, and she looked a little surprised. In a matter of seconds, the situation had gone from tense to calm. She looked at him, then at me, and said, “You know something? He’s right. I’m glad you’re going to Kenya to serve and train other pastors.” I had not even opened my mouth, and her attitude completely changed (so had mine). Throughout breaks in the meeting, she would say encouraging things about my trip to others, surprising me with the sincerity of her words and tone. All because of one person’s words of persuasion, not force.

In Proverbs 25 one finds this little gem: “A word spoken at the right time is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” In other words, it is very valuable! I write this post not to make myself sound like some verbal J.J. McQuade, practicing my judo chop words on everyone I encounter, but to show that I often need to recover old ground in my life, so that I can make improvement. Not self-improvement, but other-improvement. (Yes, I made that up!) If you find yourself in these stories, I apologize for my words of arrogance and pride to you, and admit that I should have recognized the concern and value you see in my life (one of you even told me that, but I missed it at the time), and have (and see) those same things for you in return.

Do I feel strongly about missions? YES, but my wife can express the same feelings I have concerning missions much more eloquently than I can, and you can read her blog to discover them. So for the next week or so, I will try to drop my black-and-white attitude about missions, set aside my distaste for the effeminate church culture that values safety over mission we find ourselves in today, and work to bring unity into the Church, not division. After all, St. Paul the Apostle, the Han Solo of Christianity, when he spoke to the elders of the Ephesian Church for the last time, did not reprimand them, but spoke to them in a way that brought closure, unity, and peace. Paul wasn’t trying to win the conversation; even in disagreement he sought to keep the conversation open. So, instead of trying to win conversations, I’ll work to set aside my pride and seek to honor others who don’t share my view. Will you join me?