A Keeper, for sure

In my e-mail inbox, I have a folder labeled "Keep What is Worth Keeping." (It's a line from a poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik...but that's a whole other post.) The folder is for non-personal-correspondence that I consider worthy of hanging onto and even referencing in the future. Once in a blue polka-dot moon, an e-mail makes it into that folder that was forwarded from my mom. She likes to send me e-mails with subject lines like "Fwd: 10 More Uses for Vinegar!" and "Fwd: Hints to Protect your Credit Card Account." Most get deleted with hardly a glance (no hard feelings, Mums, if you're reading this), but like I said, the rare informative and legitimate message is worth keeping.

Otherwise, approximately 95% of my "keeper" e-mails is comprised of messages I've received through a gem of an e-mail subscription. It's called "In the Nick of Time," and it's sent by Dr. Kevin T. Bauder, president of Central Baptist Theological Seminary in Minneapolis, MN.

Dr. Bauder's premise for "In the Nick of Time" is this: "American Christianity needs leaders. American Christianity needs Christian leaders. Christian leaders explain the Scriptures, bringing them to bear upon life's urgent questions. Christian leaders exemplify the life of faith, finding their ultimate satisfaction in God alone. They unite intellectual discipline with ordinate affection, turning their entire being toward the love of God."

To the noble end of developing such leaders, Dr. Bauder (and the occasional guest contributor) pens essays examining relevant and often controversial topics. Past subject matter includes Christians and theater, Christians and scholarship, Christians and educational choices, observing the Sabbath, church organization, and church planting.

I'm no philosopher or theologian--but I do want my faith to comprise more than just a set of Sunday school lessons. In the last two years especially, I have gotten to know scads of folks who blindly believe what they've been taught, with little or no real thought. I shudder to think of my faith resembling that in any way. That's why I started subscribing to "In the Nick of Time" about a year ago. I truly desire to "unite intellectual discipline with ordinate affection, turning my entire being toward the love of God." I hope you do, too.

Of course, I must reference the other splendid element of these e-mails: poetry! Dr. Bauder dusts off a short sampling of classic Christian verse for the close of each e-mail. What depths of wisdom (and entertaining spellings!) lie in the poems of John Bunyan, William Cowper and the like! Worth reading...worth keeping.

You can subscribe to "In the Nick of Time" or check out the archives here (copy and paste into your browser's address bar): http://www.centralseminary.edu/index.asp?m=674

Red Green would be proud

My Sheltie, Trixie, had surgery on Friday to remove a softball-sized tumor from her shoulder. There is a whole lot of stitches and bare skin under all that bandaging. There's also the bare spot on her front leg... I'm not sure what the vet was thinking; maybe he wanted to give her a poodle 'do? The careful observer will also notice Trixie is sticking out her tongue. It's as if she's daring us to mock her goofy looks. After all, it is a far cry more dignified than the previous version:
The duct tape was Dad's idea, after Trixie started chewing on the bandages. Do not try this at home, kids. Duct tape, as it turns out, is merciless when it comes into contact with hair. When we went to the vet's to get Trixie's dressing changed yesterday, he had to cut a good bit more of her hair off. Vets have nightmares about pet owners like us, I'm sure. Pets have nightmares about pet owners like us. But at least Red Green would be proud.

The Case of the Enigmatic Doctor

[Editor's note: Here's a story I wrote for the newspaper. Cheyenne Bottoms is the nearby wildlife refuge and wetlands.]

A few days ago, I didn't know the difference between the calls of a speckle belly goose and the snow goose. I had no idea Barton County is plagued by out-of-state poachers. I never realized one of the downtown pole art features a pair of greyhounds. And I certainly didn't know what went into a Redneck Tour of Cheyenne Bottoms.

Thanks to some great local activities last weekend, I have been enlightened.

This was my first Wetlanders Festival and I was impressed. From the Waterfowl Calling Championship to the demonstration by Game Warden Brian Hanzlick and his dog Alley to the pole art hunt to the Redneck Tours—everything was well done and well-attended.

I appreciated the educational bent of the Festival and I certainly increased my knowledge of Cheyenne Bottoms, hunting, local talent, and all things redneck.

But I'm still in the dark on one thing: who is Doc Payne?

His was the first stop for the Redneck Tour Bus (a pontoon boat on a trailer, towed by a very un-redneckish sleek Chevy truck) I rode, along with five other tourists and our worthy tour guide, Bubba. Doc Payne was manning an antique cannon on the side of the road. There was a sign propped up against it advertising the doctor's medical services—all three of them.

Apparently, Doc Payne specializes in the fine art of pulling teeth. As we watched, he brandished a pair of 14-inch rusty pincers and generously offered to take care of any toothaches. From the looks of Bubba's “redneck teeth” (or lack thereof), Doc Payne had made a profitable career choice.

I think we upset Doc Payne by turning down his tooth-pulling services, because he kept mumbling and waving a cannon ball at us. He seemed to think he would find comfort in the dirty glass bottle he pulled out, however. He pointed to the one lens of his glasses painted red—which, through Bubba's interpretation, we were made to understand was a result of the “red-eye” in his whiskey bottle.

Finally, Doc Payne was left waving and muttering in the road, as the tour bus carried us across the Bottoms to more redneck adventures.

That was Saturday. On Monday I uploaded my photos from the digital camera and began sorting through the pictures I had snapped during the Festival. I came across a good portrait of Doc Payne...and that's when the mystery deepened.

I e-mailed the photo to Rod Harms, who had signed me up for the Redneck Tours, asking him to identify Doc Payne. Shortly after that, I received a call from Gene Manweiler, owner of Hoisington's Manweiler Chevrolet dealership. Rod had forwarded my e-mail to him.

Gene had done much of the work coordinating the Redneck Tours (hence the sleek Chevy truck) and had called to help answer my question. Except he couldn't. Turns out, Gene didn't know who was underneath Doc Payne's wig. The character's appearance alongside the Bottoms backroad had been a surprise to him, too. He had played along with the Doc, though, for the sake of us tourists—but he does admit he couldn't understand half of what the man had mumbled through his fake beard.

When the last tour bus left, the Redneck Tours staff shed their plastic teeth, tore down the misspelled signs along the trail, and met back at Gene's home overlooking Cheyenne Bottoms—all except Doc Payne. No one knew who he was or where he had gone, Gene said.

Later on Monday, another e-mail appeared in my Inbox, indicating Gene had discovered the identity of the mysterious Doc Payne. However, he said the Doc didn't want to reveal who he is—a request Gene was honoring. Those rednecks stick together like honey on a biscuit. The only hint I have is that Doc Payne is “a prominent local citizen.”

The man was so well-disguised—even his voice was altered—that it could have been anyone. I went home and took a hard look at my own dad, scrutinizing his face for the tell-tale marks of a tie-on beard. Not that I'm good at seeing through a disguise... It had taken me a while to realize Bubba was Gene Manweiler himself, underneath an unkempt Willie Nelson-esque hairpiece.

So I'm left with a mystery. And since I've failed at my journalistic duty of uncovering the truth, I turn to my meager skills as a poet:

There once was a man in disguise
With beard on his face and shades on his eyes
He won't tell his name;
He thinks it's a game!
If so, it's the kind I despise.

This doc has me out on a limb.
Is he Bob? Is he John? Is he Jim?
He makes my job hard
(I'm reporter, not bard!)
A Payne in the Bottoms--that's him!

I Can't Believe I Work Here: A Photo Essay

The newspaper office where I work part-time is...um...interesting. Some things about the place crack me up. Other details would horrify me if I stopped to think about them, but I try to do that as little as possible. Anyway, here's a glimpse into the building where I spend about 20 hours each week...

1. This is the office where I work. To avoid looking at the unbearable clutter, I sometimes close my eyes and curl up in a fetal position on the 40-year old vinyl desk chair.
(Yes, the wall is purple. The former owner was a huge K-State fan.)



2. We have this great filing system for our back issues. Patent pending.




3. At some point in the building's long and grim history, an individual (I'm guessing a pre-pubescent girl, from the looks of the exclamation point) cheerfully set out to bring order to the chaos. Just one box into the process, she was apparently overcome by the hopelessness of the situation. I can't blame her. Her efforts are preserved and stand as an enduring monument to the frailty of the human spirit.

4. Something tells me that even if the bathroom sink were to give forth water with any sort of regularity, it would not be the sort of water one would want to wash one's hands in.

5. This is the ceiling directly above the toilet. The ceiling panels are being held up by the light fixture--none too secure itself. It does lend a sense of urgency when doing one's business.

6. I should have laid a coin beside this rat trap to give size perspective. It's massive. For months, I had vaguely wondered the dark reason for its existence. Today, a lady who used to work here told me the story. One day 5 years ago, she heard noises in the bathroom; this led to the capture of what she claims was "a cat-sized rodent." Since no others of this size have shown up, she thinks it probably wasn't a rat; her guess is a renegade prairie dog. At any rate, the trap has stayed since that day.

7. This is a yellowed document nailed to the wall, titled "Safety and Health Protection on the Job." One line reads, "The Williams-Steiger act requires that each employer furnish his employees a place of employment free from recognized hazards that might cause serious injury or death." I can't help but wonder if Mr. Williams and Mr. Steiger didn't mean to imply caving ceilings and gargantuan rat traps as forms of "recognized hazards." Actually, I think the constant, insurmountable clutter is more hazardous to my mental health.

8. Oh the irony of it. The irony! This sign hangs high on a wall--faded, smeared with dirt, splattered with paint--but still boldly proclaiming its long-forgotten message: Neatness Counts!

Clarks, Clarks, and more Clarks

March 18, 2008 Kristine, Grandma, Mom, me; Tim, Aaron, Grandpa, Dad.

A suggestion. And a strong one, at that.

Hey you! Yeah, you. The one staring at the monitor.

Mind if I give you some advice?

It is simply this:
Keep a reader's journal.

You thought I was going to advise changing your underwear daily or taking vitamin C supplements, huh? I'll leave the tidbits of common sense living to your mother; I want to address this void in your life that you probably didn't know you have. After all, I myself hadn't even heard of such a thing until March 6, 2004. Oh, I'd been keeping track of books I'd read ever since I was 12 or so...but it wasn't until that blustery day in Virginia Beach that I saw an actual hard-cover book entitled The Reader's Journal. It had a little nick on the cover and had thus been relegated to the clearance table--which is the only place to shop in bookstores, if you ask me. (Henry Ward Beecher once exclaimed, "Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore!" But I wonder if even Hank himself wouldn't find today's book prices a bit steep.)

I am sure there are many different versions of reader's journals out there and I just didn't know it. I'm glad this area of ignorance didn't last any longer than age 21.

Let me tell you about my reader's journal, which quickly became one of my most beloved books itself. It is divided into 11 sections, each cleverly titled with a famous work of literature which describes the purpose of that section.

One section I use often is Great Expectations. It is there that I record books I would like to read. I'm always on the lookout for good reads and when I hear of one I add it to my list of great expectations. Then I take my reader's journal with me whenever I visit the library. Gone are the days of aimless wandering amid bookshelves thinking, "I wish I could remember that one author's name who wrote that one book I heard about!"

Another section (Sense and Sensibility) is for detailed records of the books I have read and my thoughts about them. Thus, with the flip of a page, I can find what I was reading in October, 2006: Giants in the Earth by O.E. Rolvaag ("Great character development and interesting storytelling techniques. Reminded me of Willa Cather's work--the land, Dakota territory, was such a big part of the plot. Made me long for the prairies...") My dad, for example, never watches a movie or reads a book twice. But I return to favorite books over and over again and its always like a reunion with an old friend. With my reader's journal, I have a record of my dearest book-friends.

Then there's Kidnapped, for recording lists of the books I have borrowed or lent. (If you borrow a book from me and don't return it: beware!) And there are other sections for recording addresses of bookstores or libraries, memorable quotations from favorite books, lists of books I have given or received as gifts, and those I have added to my every-growing personal library.

The great Francis Bacon wrote, "Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some to be chewed and digested." Keeping a reader's journal, I believe, helps one be aware of every bite and savor the best.

It's a hard life, blogging.

If you blog, you can identify: "I really want to write a post. But what?!" You look around the room for inspiration. The framed cross-stitch, the old lamp, the clock ticking... Nothing's coming. Maybe you could write about something you did today. Let's see...shower, job, supper. Not much to work with. Oh, it rained today. Rain is always inspiring to the melancholy artist-types. Write a poem about rain! Hmmm..."I see the lights of the city gleam through the rain and the mist, and a feeling of sadness comes over me that my soul cannot resist." No, that's taken: Longfellow. Try again..."I have walked out in rain--and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light." Rats, that's Frost. Huh, never noticed the bardic connection between rain and city lights. Maybe there's something there worth exploring...

Light and rain,
Rain and light.
One is wet,
The other bright.

Bob and Henry,
Henry and Bob.
Both wrote poems
I want to rob.

It's not Pulitzer-worthy--you know that. But that orange "Publish Post" button has a tempting glow. You can go to bed satisfied if you just post something. Tomorrow, you will roll your eyes at it...maybe even delete it. But tonight, you will sleep the sweet sleep of the published blogger.

Happy Resurrection Day!

De
ath
is swallowed
u
p
in
v i c t o r y !

And the winner is...

It's official...Carol Floyd is the winner of a free copy of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness by Andrew Peterson! Her odds were good: 1 out of 3 (one entered via e-mail, in case you're keeping track). This evening I threw three slips of paper into one of my dad's baseball caps and asked my mom to do the honors. First, however, I had to explain to her what the drawing was about--a terrible blow to my pride to think that my own mother doesn't even read my obscure little blog. I consoled myself with the fact that Bach's compositions were not widely appreciated until after his death. But I digress. Congratulations to my friend Carol and best wishes for happy reading!

A Rare Recipe: book review of "On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness"

Singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson has given about nine years and seven albums-worth of proof that he is a wordsmith par excellence with a heart uncommonly in tune to eternal truth and mystery. I was not surprised, therefore, to find his first full-length book to be well-written, creative, and full of biblical concepts like forgiveness, redemption, loyalty and servanthood. Indeed, I would have expected no less.

What I wasn't quite expecting is the downright silliness on the surface of AP's story. I say "on the surface" because it quickly becomes obvious that, though AP, with a boyish adventurousness, invites his readers to share in the quirky world of Aerwiar--complete with talking lizards, snot-wax candles, toothy cows, and a revolting recipe for "maggotloaf"--his real concern is that his readers are given cause to ponder the eternal truths of our own world. In fact, as I read, I began to envy AP for the incredible fun he must've had writing this book! He peppers thoughtfulness with humor, deep truths with goofy fantasy. That's a nearly impossible recipe to pull off--even trickier than mixing up a batch of maggotloaf!--but Andrew Peterson does it as well as it can be done, I dare say.

Whether or not you fully embrace the wacky humor of the author, you will be drawn into the story and amazed at the twists the plot takes toward the end of the book. One of the mysteries I figured out a few pages before the characters did--and when it hit me, I actually had to lay aside the book for a minute to process the stunning and glorious implications. Later, a conversation among the main characters prompted tears on my part, as it gave me a glimpse into the beautiful mystery of self-sacrificing love, epitomized in Christ's love for the Church.

Some mysteries remain with the closing of the book. What tragic secret does Arthram harbor about his past? What will happen to the Igiby children? Will the sea dragons sing again? These questions will be answered in the coming installments of "The Wingfeather Saga," and along the way I look forward to lots more laughs, a few more tears, and plenty of food for thought--none of it maggotloaf-type fare!

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness can be purchased here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1400073847

And now the cool part...
I was privileged to secure two pre-release copies of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness for a blog tour of the book. One copy has my name on it and it shall remain in my library for ever and always...but the other copy is up for grabs! Leave a comment on this post and I will randomly choose a comment-er on Saturday, March 22, as the happy recipient of the book. I'll send it straight to your home and you can begin "The Wingfeather Saga" for yourself!

Kingdom Kids

The following is an article I wrote for today's Hoisington Dispatch.

Kingdom Kids Offers Fun with a Purpose

Three minutes isn't long, but it's enough to transform the Hoisington Bible Church building every Tuesday afternoon. At 3:00, the foyer is empty, the fellowship hall downstairs is neatly lined with rows of chairs, and the adjacent table is spread with cookies and forty cups of Kool-Aid. By 3:03, however, the first wave of kids has arrived from school, chattering and laughing and jostling. By 3:30, backpacks fill the foyer, kids fill the chairs, and there are no more cookies to be seen.

Welcome to Kingdom Kids, a weekly after-school Bible club for children in kindergarten through 6^th grade. For the next ninety minutes, the kids will hear a Bible story, learn a Bible verse, play games, and sing songs—all of it what leader Roland Broeder likes to call “fun with a purpose!”

This is the sixth year that Hoisington Bible Church has been holding a kids' club. “Our purpose from the beginning,” Pastor Gary Clark explains, “was to make boys and girls aware that God has a plan and purpose for their lives, and that plan and purpose begin with a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. We want the kids to be 'kingdom kids': to know God and be a part of His family.”

In addition to Broeder and Pastor Clark, there are four regular staff from the Church and several others who help as needed. Some Church members give to fund the program; others provide supplies for the snack time that begins every Kingdom Kids club.

Predictably, “snack time!” is one enthusiastic answer you'll get if you ask the kids what their favorite part of Kingdom Kids is. Other responses include, “the games,” “singing,” “playing Zonk” (a popular review game), “meeting new people,” and “learning about Jesus.”

Broeder explains his favorite part of Kingdom Kids using a story. “Three or four weeks ago, there was a little girl who got hurt, but she told me she didn't want to go home because she wanted to hear about God. It melted my heart! Hopefully, we're changing lives for eternity—and in the present, too.

Changing lives is a constant theme of the club. As the kids hear the adventures of Samuel, Saul and David from the Old Testament, they are challenged to apply what they learn to their own lives. “David had to wait years after Samuel anointed him king of Israel, before he actually began to rule as king,” Broeder teaches, “But what about you? Are you patient for God to reward you when He decides the time is right?”

Later, the kids work on memorizing I Peter 5:6, a verse about being humble and waiting on God's timing. Then they play a game, reviewing the Bible story by drawing pictures and letting their teammates guess what they're drawing. “Mountains!” one boy guesses when a row of triangles is drawn. “No, it's a crown!” another exclaims, “King Saul's crown that the messenger brought to David!” It's apparent they've been listening.

Why is it important to learn those old Bible stories? Pastor Clark says, “Because the Bible is God's unchanging truth for every situation and time. We want the kids to evaluate life decisions in light of what God teaches—everything from 'What should I do with my life?' to marriage to end-of-life decisions.”

That's a lot to get across to children when you only have an hour or two every week. But Pastor Clark recognizes parents play an important role, too. “We want to reinforce the moral and spiritual values that the children are learning at home. We appreciate the opportunity parents allow us to teach and work with their children.”

The Enigma of Joseph Smith

When I checked out No Man Knows My History, I was planning on a skim read. That was three weeks ago, and I have just now finished the epilogue. I read every word, including the footnotes, and I anticipate appendices A, B, and C to provide another few days of top-notch reading.

This book is the definitive, thorough biography of Joseph Smith, founder of Mormonism. Thinking of the detailed research author Fawn Brodie performed in order to write these 500 well-documented pages makes my head hurt. Nor was the book simply a dry recitation of names, places and dates. Brodie's rich, colorful language would make the most drab historical figure leap off the pages of her book.

But Brodie's subject was anything but a drab historical figure. No, indeed! I wonder whether anyone at all has ever squeezed so much drama into thirty-nine years of life. There were Joseph Smith's spectacular religious experiences, of course; but controversy, scandal and persecution were just as much a part of his days. His charismatic personality drew people to him—rich and poor, young and old, Americans and internationals—but many turned traitor and some of his closest friends became his worst enemies. He was a dreamer and a schemer; he rewrote the ancient history of America, he gave revelations as from God, he attempted miracles (sometimes successfully), he ran for President, he earned a reputation as a champion wrestler, he escaped from the law multiple times, he married over forty women, he formed his own army and founded his own city. He was rarely treated fairly; either he was adored and blindly obeyed or he was savagely attacked with word and weapon. He fell victim to the hostile frontier mob and in the end died a violent and unjust death at their hands.

Yet for all his biographer's hard work, Joseph Smith remains an enigma to me. Reading one page made me shake my head at his genius, the next at his outrageous blunders. He kept extensive journals, but these contain only guarded expressions of his thoughts. It's as if he expected to be the subject of a 500-page book. There is, therefore, no way to know his mind. Quite frankly, I am mystified by Joseph Smith.

"In a wanton moment of self-searching," Brodie writes, "[Smith] said with a kind of wonder: 'You don't know me; you never knew my heart. No man knows my history. I cannot tell it: I shall never undertake it. I don't blame anyone for not believing my history. If I had not experienced what I have, I could not have believed it myself'" (366).

More baffling than Joseph Smith's life is his legacy. How could a man—a poor, uneducated man at that—singlehandedly raise up an entire religious system, complete with its own prophets, missionaries, scriptures, business holdings and social culture? One hundred and sixty-four years after Smith's death, Mormonism is 13 million strong and steadily growing. And each individual convert must confess Joseph Smith was a prophet and the first book he authored ( The Book of Mormon) is true.

It would seem, then, that Joseph Smith was successful. He sought after fame all his life; now his face plasters billboards and looks down from fireplace mantles across Utah and around the world. He wanted to speak for God; now his books are confessed by millions to be equal with the Bible. He yearned for respect; now he has the unparalleled glory of a martyr.

It could be argued, however, that success is measured by the extent that one's work endures through the passing of time. In this respect, couldn't Joseph Smith be labeled a failure? After all, the church that enthusiastically claims him as prophet does not claim many of his teachings. He taught that the Lamanites of The Book of Mormon were the "principal ancestors" of the American Indians; the LDS Church has changed his wording, realizing this claim to be completely unjustifiable by modern science and archeology. He specified his son Joseph III should be his successor; after his death, the church was split into several factions, with the majority following Brigham Young. Perhaps most notably, he claimed "spiritual wifism" to be "a command of God" to last "for time and all eternity"; today the LDS Church denounces all who practice polygamy. And the examples could go on and on. There is no doubt that mainstream Mormonism today is vastly different than in Joseph Smith's lifetime. Essentially, the prophet is ignored among his own people. His work has not stood the test of time.

Being a Christian, I cannot help but draw a contrast with the person of Jesus Christ. His words have endured for thousands of years. His teachings have remained the same. Although not all of His prophecies have been fulfilled yet, not one of them has been changed to accomodate modern discoveries. His historical claims have been backed up repeatedly by archaeological proof. There is no need to backtrack, gloss over, or give more recent revelations. Jesus Christ is Truth. And truth doesn't change. It endures.

Like Joseph Smith, Christ remains something of an enigma to me. However, the mystery surrounding Christ is not dark at all. It inspires awe, not a confused shake of the head. The more I learn about Christ and the closer I grow to Him, the more I find Him to be, well, Himself. I have never found cause for disillusionment. That's one point where Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith differ irreconcilably. The only surprises I encounter in Christ's character are good ones. And the more of those surprises I find, the more I long for. I will be happy to spend my eternity endeavoring to plumb the depths of His wisdom and ways.
No Man Knows My History: The Life of Joseph Smith, Second Edition by Fawn M. Brodie. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1971.

Putting the "ick" in Limerick...

There once was an anonymous girl
Who lived in a Kansas town rural.
She stayed with her folks
To prevent going broke,
And gave the newspaper a whirl.

On Tuesdays she taught girls and boys,
Who hollered and made lots of noise.
Kansas was great,
But she couldn't wait
To return to the west--oh joys!

Best of 2007

Here I sit with my laptop and my journal, looking back on 2007... Before it becomes ancient history, I thought I would review some highlights and notable memories. I do this in the form of an awards ceremony. It's like The Memories Emmys. Except without the $5,000 dresses and the "I want to thank my make-up artist for always being there" speeches.

Fiddlesticks. I just realized my journal only goes back to July; the previous journal is sitting in some cardboard box in Provo. OK, so it's more like "Best of the Latter Half of 2007"...

Most Interesting Food Tried: Tie between octopus tentacles and pig tongue. My weekly supper with my Chinese and Taiwanese friends was always a culinary adventure! (FYI: octopus is strangely chewy; pig tongue is rather tasty!)

Best Hike: Squaw Mountain, 8/25. It was a moderately difficult hike--which is perhaps more a statement of my lack of physical prowess than of the height of the mountain--but the view on top was sensational, all 360' of it! Utah Valley and the city of Provo to the west, and to the east miles and miles of rugged mountain wilderness, seemingly untouched by civilization.

Best Concert: The Wailin' Jennys in Park City, UT. Heavenly, flawless three-part harmony from a trio of Canadian singer-songwriters. This event would also win an award for Highest-Priced Ticket Karisa EVER Purchased...but it was worth every penny.

Best FREE Concert: Sam Bush and David Grisman in Salt Lake City. Two legendary mandolinists on one stage...for FREE?! I'm there! This event could probably also get some kind of award for how many standing human beings I've been squashed against at once. But I'll leave that one alone.

Funniest Teaching Moment: While I was teaching a Bible story to some kids at my church, one of the students suddenly gasped with a horrified expression! Noticing he was looking at my feet, I abruptly halted mid-sentence, thinking there was some massive hairy spider crawling up my pants. When I found nothing and asked the student what was wrong, he replied (still horrified), "Your shoes! They're so... different!" Mind you, they were the same nondescript brown shoes I have been wearing for the past 4 years. Evidently, something about them is shocking to that young boy. I laugh every time I put them on now!

Best Purchase: Mandolin. Sure, it's made in China and it has a bad 7th fret. But still! It's beautiful because it's the beginning of realizing a long-time dream.

Most Sobering Moment: Leaving Mrs. R. She had been my senior care client for over a year and had grown dear to me. A shut-in, she sees nobody except her daughter, her doctor, and her church's visiting teachers. When I had to quit my job and leave Provo, I knew that this dear, lost lady would likely never have contact with a believer again. Sobering, indeed. And how many more are there in/near Provo just like Mrs. R??

Best Wildlife Spotting: Bull moose. My folks and I spent a few days at Brighton, UT, a ski resort in the mountains. While taking a walk one evening, Mom and I stumbled upon a huge bull moose lying in the grass, not 10 feet away! We were too surprised to be scared, I guess, so we just stood there gaping. Wow, was that sucker BIG. Later, we read that a sign of a moose being annoyed (and thus dangerous) is when he lays back his ears; I remember our moose doing that. So this could possibly be filed under "Closest to Being Mauled Beyond Recognition by a Wild Animal," as well.

Most Notable "Helpless Female" Moment: Calling Chris late at night because I "smelled something." See, I was house-sitting for some friends, and when I caught a whiff of an unidentifiable odor, my over-active imagination conjured up a picture of their house burning down--because of my negligence. How would I explain THAT one?? So I called Chris and woke him up. Trooper that he is, he drove over and went through the entire house with this helpless female meekly following him around, murmuring helpful things like, "It smells stronger here," "It's probably nothing," and "So you don't think their house will burn down?" Chris finally sniffed out the culprit: the locked up motor of a ceiling fan. (The pathetic thing is that I had to choose this Helpless Female moment out of many nominees. I should probably just come to terms with this role, as much as I despise it.)

Most Unlooked-for Blessing: A $1,000 check. This arrived in the mail the day before I left Provo, enclosed in a Christmas card from some old friends. I kept looking at it again and again to make sure I had counted the zeros correctly! Really, though, it was just case-in-point of God's unbelievable provision of my needs throughout all of 2007. He keeps surprising me with how He provides for me--and it is often through the sacrificial gifts of believers sensitive to His leading. An awards ceremony isn't complete without a few tears, and I feel 'em coming on...

Greatest Privilege: "Letting my light so shine before men that they may see my good works and glorify my Father in heaven." Not that I succeeded at this even half so well as I should have... But 2007 was a year of realizing anew my privilege of bearing and demonstrating Truth in a culture of deception. That meant scrubbing my elderly clients' toilets till they shone! That meant taking the time to share the gospel with two confused young women I ran into while hiking with some friends. That meant making it a point to nurture a heart of compassion for unbelievers. ...Because everything I do, in word or deed, should be for the Lord's glory. Whether people notice or not, whether I see results or not, my job is simply to let my light shine. Hide it under a bushel? NO! I'm gonna let it shine...

Shine in 2008, I'm gonna let it shine!

Christmas at the Clarks'

Thinking about leaving...

10 things I'll miss when I leave Provo for a while (in no particular order):
1. The wonderful Utah Valley Symphony, one mile away.
2. Constant access to good Christian radio.
3. The mountains.
4. The sunsets.
5. My fellow missionaries, whom I love and admire.
6. The spacious, quiet public libraries.
7. The kids I teach and their eagerness to learn.
8. All the plays and concerts and museums of this cultured little city.
9. The inherent morality of the heart of Mormonland.
10.The privilege of carrying the light of the gospel in such a needy area.

...And the list could go on and on!

There are also a few things I will NOT find hard to leave behind...
1. Showering in a public restroom.
2. Brushing my teeth in a public restroom.
3. Being sick in a public restroom. (Thankfully, that's been rare!)
4. Going 5 miles in twenty minutes, due to the infamously heavy traffic.
5. Having dry, cracked skin.

Joining the ranks of aunt-hood

My little nephew was born October 21. Welcome to the world, Aaron Pressler Clark!

Allow me a brief moment of self-pity.

I fondly recall the time when "job searching" meant flipping through the Old Testament, hoping to find that obscure book about boils and potsherds and well-meaning friends. "Application" meant Microsoft Word or Internet Explorer; "interview" connoted Stone Phillips. Alas and alack for the bygone days of yore.

Shatter Me

I took a long walk this evening, beside Provo River. It was for the purpose of clearing my head and making some tough decisions. Along the path, I noticed some of the largest milkweed plants I have ever seen--and they were at that picture-perfect stage when the pod has popped open and the fluffy seeds are poised for flight. The sight brought to mind a Richard Wilbur poem I memorized years ago but hadn't thought of in a long time...
Anonymous as cherubs,
Over the crib of God,
White seeds are floating
Out of my burst pod.
What power had I
Before I learned to yield?
Shatter me, great wind;
I shall possess the field.
I'll not belabor the exquisite metaphor. Suffice it to say, the Lord is teaching me to yield my will to His.

A Picture, a Memory, and a Wallpaper Shirt

Here I am with Daniel and Karen, Sarah and James, all former classmates at Appalachian. Daniel and Karen were attending Candidate Orientation with me at Biblical Ministries Worldwide in July. Lord willing, they'll be missionaries in Japan soon. Sarah and James live in the Atlanta area and are involved in youth ministry in their church. It is an awesome thing to see my classmates living out what we learned in Bible college! I remember praying in chapel services and during the annual missions conferences for the Lord to send out workers into His harvest. I don't think we really grasped back then that He was answering those prayers by sending us!

Warm fuzzies aside...check out the shirt! Didn't know they make coordinating clothing and wall decor, did ya?!

Neutrality Loathesome

God will have all, or none; serve Him, or fall
Down before Baal, Bel, or Belial:
Either be hot, or cold: God doth despise,
Abhor, and spew out all Neutralities.

Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

Odds 'n' Ends from a Traveler

Some varied reflections after five-plus weeks on the road:

1. Don't take the cross for granted.
One of the first things I noticed on my bus trip out of Utah was the regular appearance of church steeples with a cross on top. You'll see precious few of those in Utah! A cross is just a symbol, but it stands for something inexplicably profound and deeply precious to the child of God. The very Son of God "humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross."

2. I'm an S/C.
We BMW candidates took the DiSC personal style survey--and lo-and-behold I'm a hybrid "Steady" and "Conscientious." (The other two possibilities are "Dominant" and "Influencer.") That means I'm agreeable, consistent, diplomatic, and orderly; but I'm also overly tolerant, indecisive, fault-finding, and too detail-oriented. (I see you nodding your head!) We discussed how different personalities interact and complement each other. So my new singles ad is going to read, "Female S/C in search of male D/I; must take responsibility for all decisions and accept criticism for every detail of those decisions."

3. Fly Frontier.
This was my first experience with the airline, and I was impressed with the roomy seats, cheerful service, flawless landings, and fresh donuts!

4. Go Greyhound.
I'm serious! There's no better way to take in the sights of our grand nation while interacting with some of the most interesting characters she can boast!

5. Evangelism. Discipleship. Leadership training.
You want to know what God is truly passionate about? I'm convinced these three inter-related concepts are a big part of it. This is His direct, 3-step approach to planting and growing an effective church. It was convicting to sit under the teaching of experienced Christian leaders (at candidate school) who reminded me to get back to the basics.

A rare public appearance of The Clarks

In June, my folks and I spent a few days in Rochester, Minnesota with my brother (Tim) and his wife (Kristine). We painted and ate gyros and had a baby shower and went to the Clark reunion and grilled out...and in the midst of it all took a moment for a family portrait.

Dear Frank...

Dear Frank,

When I first met you in the Denver Greyhound terminal, I thought you were a wee bit eccentric. After all, you were wearing dark shades in a dimly lit public building. Your eccentricity was confirmed in my mind when you explained you are a poet--albeit unpublished--preferring the medium of "life rap." I was intrigued to learn you were somewhere on the downhill slope of a 3-day ride from Tacoma to Branson, with only a backpack full of belongings. You said you were going to Branson to be a chef's assistant, "specializing in sauces." Or, if you couldn't find a chef in need of your specialty sauces, there was always painting. And after Branson? Spend a year or so on the beaches of Costa Rica. Know Spanish? Nah, but it can't be too hard to pick up a few words.

You were kind enough to help carry my bags as we inched forward in the line to the bus. When we finally boarded, you sat down beside me, commenting, "You're thin and I can't detect any B.O...you're the perfect seat-mate." Then you promptly fell asleep, dreaming of specialty sauces while I enjoyed the fantastic sunset.

As you slept, I did some thinking. I thought about you. I thought of your comment about an aching neck from two days spent in uncomfortable bus seats. I thought about your directionless life. You had nobody to meet you at the bus stop in Branson, nobody to greet you with a hug and a homemade meal. I imagined the ache in your heart to be far deeper than your physical discomfort.

Then I thought about myself. I thought about my dear friends on one end of the bus ride and my wonderful family on the other end. I thought about the direction, the joy and the hope I will always have as a child of God. I also thought about the gift of a good friend the day before I left Utah: a fleece blanket that rolls into a pillow. It was the perfect size and firmness for both a neck and back support, and it had spared me the aches you had mentioned. And I remembered with tenderness my first Greyhound ride years ago, when a kind stranger noticed I was cold and lonely, and gave me her soft blanket to keep.

I glanced over at you, Frank. You were still asleep, your head resting at an awkward angle. You would be even more sore when you awoke.

I knew then that I should give my blanket to you. You needed it. More than that, you needed to be shown love.

Selfishness is an ugly instinct. It causes one to cling to things that have absolutely no eternal value. It makes one forget he's been on the receiving end, himself, of countless blessings from a generous Father. It's something of a lid that fits tightly on the cup of life, preventing the overflow of love into other lives. And I'm ashamed to admit that I let that lid close tight, that night on the bus. You see, I wanted to keep my blanket, and I thought up all kinds of (what I considered) valid reasons. I desperately didn't want to give up this parting gift of a close friend--a friend who was moving across the country, whom I didn't know when I would see again. In the end, of course, a blanket is just a blanket, just a "thing"--but I allowed selfishness to blind me. I was choosing my selfish desire over your legitimate need.

You woke up somewhere just west of the Colorado/Kansas border, Frank. We chatted in the darkness until you switched on the overhead light and began reading your book. Even then, you were your friendly self. Every few paragraphs you would stop to read me an interesting sentence or fill me in on the story. We shared a love for words and good writing, and you made the miles pass quickly for me. Our conversation turned to the book I had been reading, about the life and imagination of C.S. Lewis. I explained the most recent chapter had been about Lewis' conversion from atheism to Christianity. It was the perfect opportunity to share that I am a Christian, myself, that my sins are forgiven by God's grace and I am bound for heaven. But you had picked up your book again, and I was weakened in boldness by the selfishness I harbored in my heart.

The bus pulled in to Colby, where my parents were already waiting, at 11:30 p.m. As I gathered my things, you caught me off-guard with the question, "Are you keeping your blanket?"

It was as though the Lord were giving me another chance to do what I knew to be right. He does that often, and I usually give in by the second or third time--but it's never as good as immediate obedience. This time I finally chose your need over my desire, Frank. I pulled off that lid, allowing the love of Jesus to flow, which I had selfishly kept bottled up for myself. And--oh!--did it feel good!

I gave you the blanket as we said our hurried goodbyes; you said it would be something to remember me by. I, too, have plenty to remember. I am poorer by a blanket but richer by a valuable life lesson. Next time, I hope I won't hesitate to show love to the one who intersects my life for a brief and opportune time.

Rise and Shine!

Psalm 90:14

O satisfy us in the morning

With Thy lovingkindness,

That we may sing for joy

And be glad all our days.

This is the latest addition to my collection. Some people collect stamps or baseball cards or garden gnomes; I collect Bible verses about morning. Believe it or not, I used to be a "morning person." Then college hit. Staying up till 2 a.m. writing a 10-page paper on "The Silent Years of the Apostle Paul" made it verrrry difficult to rise and shine a few short hours later. Then I found Psalm 143:8, "Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love." It became a kind of daily prayer--and every day I found it to be true. God's infinite, constant love greeted me with each ringing of the alarm clock. Since then, every time I came across a verse that would help me roll out of bed to begin a new day, I took time to memorize it, and many times I find those wonderful words to be my first thought upon waking up. Interestingly, the Bible has a lot to say about morning. The Lord's mercies are new every morning... rejoicing comes in the morning... in the morning He hears our voice as we lay our requests before Him and wait in expectation. Thankfully, I have no more papers to write or exams to cram for, but sometimes the challenges of the new day--real or imagined--are enough to make me want to unplug my alarm clock and roll over. Don't tell me I'm the only one! Aren't you glad God promises His love, mercy and grace sufficient for each day? It makes all the difference when you know the "bright Morning Star."

Easter

O death, where is your victory?

I Cor. 15:55

~

Death and darkness, get you packing,

Nothing now to man is lacking;

All your triumphs now are ended,

And what Adam marred is mended;

Graves are beds now for the weary,

Death a nap, to wake more merry...

Henry Vaughan (1622-1695)

Good Friday

He made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf,

that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.

II Corinthians 5:21

~

For some thought-provoking essays on the Passion week,

I recommend:

http://andrew-peterson.com/journals.php?q=2&y=2007

Y?

It's a Utah thing. Most towns have a massive concrete letter on an overlooking mountain. The letter above Provo is a "Y." As the story goes, it was built to mark Brigham Young University, but the "B" and the "U" were never finished. Thus it stands alone, hovering over Utah Valley, silently asking a single perpetual question...While my friend Jess was here visiting in March, we ambitiously set out hiking up the steep trail to the giant letter. Despite cramped calves and heaving lungs, we managed smiles half-way up...
At last we made it to the Y! (Now if I could just get pictures on mountains M, C, and A...)
On the way back down, I slipped and for one heart-pounding moment I was in danger of plummeting to the floor of Utah Valley...
Jess came to my rescue... after taking several pictures, a drink of water, and a good laugh. There's nobody like a true friend. The moral of this story, kids, is: always travel in pairs.

His name's Stein... Frank N. Stein

Mom! I met this guy! He dresses nice and he's actually taller than I! And I can tell he loves my sense of humor 'cause he's always in stitches!

Necesito una casa

house
habitat
abode
dwelling
residence
apartment
home
lodging
quarters
accomodation
digs
domicile
nest

It's like this.
I need a place to live.

And while we're listing necessities...
I need a whole lot of patience!

A word from Miss Rossetti

O Lord, I cannot plead my love of Thee:
I plead Thy love of me;--
The shallow conduit hails the unfathomed sea.
--Christina Rossetti

A penny for my thoughts

Move over, Bill Gates and Benjamin Franklin! Their money-making inventions are pretty good, but I've got 'em beat. Their ideas required too much work and waaaay too many risks (i.e. lawsuits, lightning). Wait till you hear my innovative (and safe and easy!) strategy to pull in the bucks hand over fist. It is simply this: take a walk.

Sounds too easy, right? Ah, but the proof is in the pennies. This photograph shows eleven pennies and one dime which I found while doing that very thing. What makes this impressive is the fact that I collected the fistful of coins in four different locations in a total of approximately twenty seconds throughout the last four days. With that kind of a return, one could make $32,000,000 (that's 32 million, kids) in one short year! The only overhead would be the twenty pairs of shoes you'd go through.

I only wish dimes and quarters showed up as often as pennies. I mean, when was the last time you saw a Sacajawea golden dollar lying in the gutter?

Seriously, though. Twenty-one cents/four locations/four days is pretty good. I challenge my own mother to top that. She's the one who taught me the skill of finding dropped coins. Years ago, I coined the acronym (pardon the pun), LFM--Look For Money. "Don't forget to LFM," I would say to her as we walked the dog or crossed the street. Not that she needed reminding. It's a hobby for her. During every stop on road trips, while Dad was filling up, the rest of us would tumble out of the car and scour the parking lot for that promising glint of metal. I was often tricked by the rusty bottle top or the video game token. Not Mums. Her practiced eye was rarely fooled, and seldom did she return empty-handed. Until now I thought she was unbeatable. (Until now. Wha-ha-ha.)

Of course, now I'm grateful for this parental quirk. It's paying good dividends--all of which are being collected in a jar, to be counted and turned into the bank when the jar is full. (That, too, I got from my mom.)

More than the financial reward (mediocre at best, I admit), I love the thrill of finding a penny. Green and nicked though it be, it's a treasure. It means I'm richer than I was a moment ago. It means something worthwhile that was lost is now found. There's a parable like that, which my Savior told, recorded in Luke 15:8-10. He explained the meaning in verse 10: "In the same way, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents." That thrilling truth is the essential motivation behind any endeavors to share the gospel. It's why I'm here in Utah. Even one lost person would be worth all the work, time and investment. I often fail to remember that--until I catch a glimpse of a dull round object near the curb. Though many would walk right on by, I stop, smile, and pocket the coin. Even a penny is a treasure.

Good News!

Good News Club

at Provo Bible Church,

every Wednesday at 7:00 p.m.

Caregiver (a.k.a. Gracegiver)

If variety is the spice of life, my job provides seasoning even the folks at McCormick would envy. My title is "Caregiver." It's a vague term and I'm sure the ambiguity was intended by those who coined it. It covers a lengthy job description, including--but not limited to--visiting, shopping, reading, watching TV, putting together puzzles, changing Depends, feeding pets, pushing wheelchairs, giving hugs, scrubbing tubs, vacuuming, dusting, taking walks, cooking, laughing at bad jokes, and eating pie. The last task was added to my repertoire this past Monday, when Mr. and Mrs. W took me to Village Inn and persuaded me to finish off a slice of Lemon Delight. I laugh to think I get paid the same hourly wage to do that as to scour a toilet!

Not only is there variety in my tasks, but also in the people. My clientele is in a constant state of flux. (Right now I have about thirteen clients, about five of which I see regularly.) Besides that, each client is unique--and I love them all! There's the dear 101-year-old deaf lady who will pass an entire afternoon playing teddy bears, coloring pictures and eating chocolates with me. There's the 6'4" man who spent an hour bent over his stool with a snake and shop vac after I managed to flood the bathroom in the process of attempting to clean it. There's the interesting lady who has me massage her feet for 30 minutes while she explains at length all seven of her chronic diseases. Then there's the elderly man who loves to play catch with a beach ball and kisses me goodnight every time I leave. And there's the wealthy lady who suffers from irregular blood pressure, thus prone to fainting and hallucinating about refrigerators moving across the room. That's just a sampling.

Each client is one-of-a-kind and special to me. The one thing they have in common is their desperate need of a Savior--all the more urgent because they are nearing the end of their lives. What an honor it is to represent the Lord Jesus to them! I enjoy my job immensely, but I also take it seriously for that reason. My prayer is that I would be a model of diligence, dependibility, compassion, and joy. May these qualities point to God's grace--a grace so wide that it spans all generations and all circumstances. How badly I wish for these dear people to experience that grace for themselves!

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Or maybe he wants 2 more pictures taken...

KEYY staff (12/06)

Some people--those who think they know Steve--would say that my boss is teasing me. They would take one look at this photo and exclaim, "He's giving you bunny ears!" But me? I know better. I know Steve's true character. I am confident he is simply expressing his heartfelt desire for...peace.