2014

What a year.

My personal theme for 2014 was "Learn to labor and to wait" (a line from Longfellow).
I grew in both diligence and patience (Heb. 6:11-12).  Mostly just learned how much I need to learn.

New friendships; also some painful goodbyes.
Buried more friends than in any previous year.  Heaven seems sweeter now.

Recovered from my first surgery, not sure how I would pay for it...
And then got a happy, happy surprise that the majority of my bills would be covered.

Strategic planning at Key Radio... meetings, goals, lots of prayer, some failure, more prayer.

Heard Fernando Ortega and Ravi Zacharias in the Mormon Tabernacle, of all places.  (pictured)
Light shining in darkness.  Still pinching myself.

A part-time job that paid ridiculously high wages for two months.  More pinching.
Another job fell into my lap in the fall, just when I needed it most.

National Religious Broadcasters convention at the Opryland in Nashville...  (pictured)
Ate breakfast with Erwin Lutzer, sang hymns with Joni Eareckson Tada.  Pinch, pinch.

Two witnessing opportunities stand out: one in front of the MTC, the other over BBQ.
Still praying for both people.

The 25th anniversary of Provo Bible Church.  Soli deo gloria.

The world's largest scavenger hunt, right here in Provo.  Is it legal to have that much fun?

Held a workshop for children's ministries workers: a longtime goal.
Spent a day going door-to-door in a polygamist community.  Strange and heartbreaking.
Roughed it at Bible camp for a few days.  Shared my home with an intern for a month.

A supporting church sent a group to spend a July week with me.  Ain't nobody like Kansans.  (pictured)

A few refreshing days with my folks in the rugged majesty of Capitol Reef Nat'l Park.
Another few days at the missions conference of Appalachian Bible College: more refreshment.

Got an accountability partner and a new morning routine including memorization time.
Memorized Colossians 3 and Psalm 25.  All the paths of the Lord are lovingkindness and truth...

Three of the most spectacular Utah hikes I've ever done:

Mt. Timpanogos via Timpooneke  (pictured)

Y Mountain (the true, less-traversed summit)

Grand Wash Trail, Capitol Reef

Good reads included:

Breath for the Bones: A Reflection on Creativity and Faith by Luci Shaw

Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus by Nabeel Qureshi

The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom (for the 3rd time)

...And in all of this, the Father's goodness and grace and faithfulness proven each day.

An excerpt from my journal entry, March 2, 2014:

In the Bleak Midwinter

For as long as I can remember, I have lived in places between 37º and 44º N latitude.  That means that Christmas has always been accompanied by cold temperatures, and usually snow.  I savor the change of seasons and I especially like having white Christmases.

It's no secret that Jesus probably was not born in December, and there almost certainly wasn't any snow falling that night in Bethlehem.  But there's something so apropos about celebrating Christmas "in the bleak midwinter" because it reflects mankind's condition.  It is not the weather that was bleak when Christ was born, but our hearts.  Cold, hopeless, lonely, miserable.  Into this bleakness Life and Light came!

But Christina Rossetti said it far better than I.  Her poem came to mind as I took a chilly Christmas Eve jog with this in view:

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago. 

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ. 

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk,
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore. 

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air -
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss. 

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man
I would do my part;
Yet what I can, I give Him -
Give my heart.

Farewell, Bubbles

There's nothing like a near-death experience to get one blogging again.  So here I am.

And here is the interior of my car, Bubbles, at 1:06 a.m. on August 30, near Ellis, Kansas:

After traveling all day, I was just 65 miles from my destination when a deer stepped in front of me.  She  lived to regret it for approximately two seconds as she flipped onto Bubbles' windshield and came to rest in assorted pieces behind me.

You know how those television commercials touting a car's safety rating show air bags inflating in slow motion, like big, soft marshmallows?  Inaccurate.  Air bags are shockingly loud and incredibly fast.  They are also very smelly after the fact.

And here's something commercials never address: the difficulty of driving your car with a limp, bulky air bag hanging out of your steering wheel.  How would I know?  Because I drove Bubbles that final 65 miles, at the encouragement of the surprisingly-cheerful-for-that-hour-of-the-night sheriff's deputy who came to my assistance.  "It's just cosmetic damage," he concluded as he circled the car with his flashlight.  "Just take 'er slow.  I'll follow you to your exit."  And he was right: Bubbles started up and ran fine.  Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'.  Hits a doe 'n' keeps on goin'.

Never mind the fact that I couldn't see through half the windshield, and that a headlight was left lying in the ditch.  We made it to my folks' house near 3:00 a.m., Bubbles and I.  Our last trip together.  My insurance determined it was a total loss "two or three times over."  I guess smelly air bags are pricey to replace.

Thus ends a seven-year friendship with the first car I have ever owned.  Last I knew, she was sitting at the Insurance Auto Auction on 53rd Ave. in Wichita.  I like to think that her various parts are being tenderly salvaged and inserted into other worthy vehicles, giving them the heart and soul of a car that was well-loved.

Is it absurd to grieve an automobile?  I make no apology.  Farewell, beloved Bubbles.

And—hello, Wendell the White!

My folks.  What can I say about them?  Generous is certainly a good start.  Their daughter wrecked her car and stranded herself 900 miles away from her home in Utah.  What to do?  Not a moment's hesitation—they promptly pulled out their well-worn SuperDad and SuperMom suits and came to her rescue.  It wasn't enough that they let her take their best car back to Utah and pay for it as she is able—they also gave it an oil change and scrubbed every last bug speck from its bumper before handing over the keys with a smile.

And so I write this with a gently-used 2006 Taurus in my carport.  And merely a sore wrist from the air bag.  It's cliché but true: it could have been so much worse.  If the plastic binding had not held the shattered windshield together... or if there had been a vehicle directly behind me when I hit the brakes and swerved—this would be a very different story, friends.

Though I [drive my car] in the midst of trouble, You preserve my life.  Psalm 138:7 NIV

The Case of the Upside Down Glass

It's been precisely two years since the single most bizarre discovery of my life.

Late that evening, this is what greeted me when I walked into my kitchen:

When I left that morning, this glass and cookie sheet, along with a bunch of other dishes, had been sitting in the dish drainer on my counter.

Two questions.  How did these things get out of the drainer without disturbing the other dishes?  And how did they happen to perch themselves on the floor in just such an arrangement?

See what I mean?  Bizarre.  If I had found Lyle Lovett doing Yoga in my kitchen, I could not have been more surprised or confounded.

The first thing I did, upon making this discovery?  Laugh: good and hard.  It was just so absurd.

Then it occurred to me that the only logical explanation was that someone had placed these dishes there.  Someone had been in my home.  Someone very much uninvited.

Was the Someone still here?  There was only one way to find out.  With a bread knife in one hand and pepper spray in the other, I cautiously peered into every closet, under beds, anywhere a human body could fit.  All the while, I kept making ridiculous loud announcements like, "I know you're here.  Just give yourself up now, and I won't slash your eyes out."  When in doubt: feign confidence.

Nothing turned up.  I slept that night with a chair wedged under my bedroom doorknob and the knife within reach.  Plenty of other people were far more concerned when they found out.  If you're into Facebook, you can see the original comments here.

In two years, I have yet to think of or hear a decent explanation.  I had my house key with me that whole day.  My landlord had the other copy.  He lives next door and had not noticed anything strange.  My windows were all secured.

I settled on the following story: there were two slight earthquakes (Provo is near a fault line, you know); the precariously balanced cookie sheet fell onto the floor during the first; the glass followed during the second, landing at the exact angle necessary to keep it from shattering or falling over.  Ha.

So it's a mystery.  People often say how they are going to ask the Lord questions when they reach heaven—why He allowed them to get sick or lose a loved one.  I simply want to know: how did the cookie sheet and upside down glass end up on my kitchen floor?  And why couldn't it have been Lyle Lovett instead?

Meanwhile, I rest in the care of a loving, sovereign God.  Cause for fear?  I can't think of any.

Faith is so much better than feigned confidence.

Through the Windshield

Bubbles and I logged 3,300 miles through eight states last month.  That's a lot of tanks of gas (ouch), a lot of "traveling mercies" (thanks, Lord), and a lot of time to contemplate the scenery.  Here are some of the sights I enjoyed at 65 mph.

Colorado on a sunny fall day.

A few weeks ago, I told a native Coloradoan (Coloradite?) who I'd just met that theirs is my "drive-through state."  I think this was taken negatively, but that's certainly not how I meant it.  Those eight hours on I-70 are scenic and thoroughly enjoyable, minus the Denver traffic.  West to east, desert to mountains to plains, I find Colorado provides just the transition I need, physically and mentally, from Utah to Kansas.  Plus, I have not yet grown out of the stage where it's exciting to drive through the tunnels and hold my breath.

A Colorado cottonwood: "...the light-reflecting, wind-loving trees of the desert, whose roots are always seeking water and whose leaves are always talking about it, making the sound of the rain."

That's a quotation from The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather, which I had finished reading just a few days before this trip.  The book is set partly in a small town in eastern Colorado, and the windswept landscape plays an important role in the story.  As I left Denver and the Rockies behind and made my way across the prairie toward Kansas, I couldn't help but think of Cather's vivid descriptions—the lone, stalwart cottonwoods in particular.  And it occurred to me: I could learn a lesson from the desert cottonwood, how it yearns after water and speaks of it unceasingly.

But as for me, the nearness of God is my good;

I have made the Lord God my refuge,

That I may tell of all Your works.  (Psalm 73)

Grain elevator west of Susank, Kansas.

"I love the prairie!  So often have I seen the dawn come and the light flood over the land and everything turn radiant at once, that word 'good' so profoundly affirmed in my soul that I am amazed I should be allowed to witness such a thing."  (from Gilead, Marilynne Robinson)

Wyoming, in all its snowy, windy, foggy, freezing glory.

While I was staying in LaGrange, Wyoming, a storm blew in and dumped several inches of snow on top of a layer of ice.  So I postponed for a day the last leg of my trip.  I should have waited another day or two for the roads to clear, but I was itching to get back to Utah and I just plain didn't know what I was getting into.  The first two or three hours were... an adventure.  I lost count of the wrecked or abandoned vehicles along the way.  Still, there was no denying the beauty of snow-covered southern Wyoming—a cold, treacherous sort of beauty that I was glad enough to leave behind and reach Utah.

I drove west through Provo Canyon as the sun was setting.  The Utah horizon was the only "welcome home" I needed.  Thank you to the many who prayed me through this trip.

Summer Travels: Weeks 5 - 7

Let's play a game.  I'll show you photos I took in the last couple weeks, and you guess where I've been.  Ready?

#1  Fried green tomatoes.  Scrum-diddly-umptious!

#2  Turnip greens, flavored with Bruce's tabasco peppers in vinegar.  First and last time I order this.

#3  A Baptist church with an auditorium roughly the size of a football field.  The music reminded me of a Gaither homecoming, and the Bible preaching was fantastic.

#4  Police directing Sunday traffic.  There are so many people going to church services that this is a matter of routine.  I couldn't believe it.

By now, you should be zeroing in on the South: land of fried foods and a church on every corner.  But where in the South?  One more picture:

#5  The World of Coca-Cola.  I got to sightsee here and at Stone Mountain with my new friends, Nathan and Kristin.  We also managed to squeeze a visit to Chick-fil-A into this very full day, and a quick walk through Olympic Park.

That should give it away.  The answer is, of course: Atlanta, Georgia.

I was in Atlanta for two weeks of training at the international office of Biblical Ministries Worldwide.  There were 26 of us preparing for service in South Africa, Australia, Ireland, Vanuatu, and a creative access country (traditional missionaries are not allowed in a CAC, and they must enter as professionals in some trade like medicine or education).  And don't forget the U.S.—Utah, to be exact!

 

Julie (left) and her husband joined the Utah/Idaho field.  Elaine (center) is the wife of our Area Director.  These ladies are not just my co-laborers, but also dear friends.

It was an encouraging and challenging time at BMW, made all the better when my dad flew in to participate for a couple days as my sending church's pastor.

Upon my return to Kansas, there was a commissioning service at Hoisington Bible Church.  Although they already sent me to Utah several years ago, I will now be working in a full-time ministry capacity, so this was a special service.  It was wonderful to be among these believers who have known me, prayed for me, and supported me for over half my life.

A rare reunion with old friends.

During my final few days in Kansas, two last-minute opportunities presented themselves.  The first was being "camp missionary" at Solid Rock Bible Camp.  Eight years ago, I was a counselor during the inaugural summer of Solid Rock; it was very special to return and share about ministry in Utah.  And the last evening I was in Kansas, I was given the chance to speak at the meeting of a church's missions committee in McPherson.

Now I'm back in Utah.  Looking back on all my summer travels, I'm deeply grateful to God for safety, unlooked-for opportunities, practical training, special reunions with friends, time with my parents, and—best of all—several new daily prayer partners.  I'm sure those prayers have something to do with how energized I feel to tackle the piles of catch-up work and to implement some new ideas for ministry.  Onward and upward!

Summer Travels: Weeks 3 & 4

Quick!  What am I naming here?  Cracker, shredder, chisel, probe, strainer, spear.

No, not names of WWF wrestlers.  Kitchen utensils?  Getting closer.  How about types of bird beaks?  Ding ding ding!

Yes, each and every bird species has a beak custom-fit for the type of food he eats, crafted by our endlessly creative God.  Birds and their beaks—a case in point of the amazing variety in nature.

Exhibit A: a handsome little screech owl at the Kansas Wetlands Education Center.  He winked at me and I was smitten.

Exhibit B: a baby (grackle?) that was sitting on the sidewalk in front of my folks' house a few days ago.  There's a certain point when extreme ugliness becomes cute, no?

And Exhibit C: the chicken which lives in the backyard of my Provo duplex.  I call her... Fluffy Head.  I also think she looks like a "Veronica," but that's harder to explain.  I miss her.

Yes, the last several weeks have been curiously bird-filled.  I wasn't even surprised when I attended vacation Bible school at Newton Bible Church and the theme that day turned out to be... bird beaks.  They were using Answers in Genesis curriculum, which emphasizes the wonders of our Creator and His creation.  And that's how I learned the difference between a cracker and a shredder.

The night before, I taught NBC's kids' club about Jim Elliot (an inspiring true story—very much not "for the birds").  Then Thursday morning, it was my privilege to share with the 60-some VBS attendees a little about KEY Radio.  Their offerings all week were collected to assist me with promotion around the listening areas—how encouraging is that?  Thanks, kids!  You made me happy as a lark.  Uh... Clark.

Mrs. Unruh and her class at Newton Bible Church's VBS.

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Part of my purpose statement is "to share God's grace through radio, church planting and evangelism"—so how fitting it is that two of my supporting churches are named Grace.  Sunday, July 1, I spent with Grace Community Church; they are located in Great Bend, Kansas, and have been supporting me for four years.  I shared briefly in both their worship services, and taught the junior high Sunday school class.  Then about thirty people stayed afterwards to view the hour-long movie produced recently to show the progress and challenges of church planting in Utah.   It's a fantastic, engaging film, and if you haven't seen it yet, contact me for details.

Between all the hugs and the scrumptious sloppy joes and the ubiquitous "technical difficulties" and the questions about Mitt Romney—it was such a busy day that I failed to take a single photo.  Rats.  But special thanks to the GCC missions committee for all their work hosting me.

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What's a summer road trip without a little car trouble?  It's as unthinkable as Laurel without Hardy and roast beef without Arby's sauce.  If your trip goes by without being towed at least once, you have missed half the adventure.

This is the sort of pep talk I give myself while standing in knee-high grass by the highway, in 110' heat, waiting for someone to come tow my dead car.

But, really, I feel more like this:

I had spent part of the day in Hays, Kansas, visiting some churches and KPRD. On the way home, Bubbles suddenly died—right there at the intersection of two highways.

Thankfully, a kind man in a truck came along and pushed my car to the side of the road.  Thankfully, I had my cell phone and had just purchased a AAA membership.   Thankfully, the AAA dispatcher bumped up my status to "priority" due to "the location and extreme heat," so I had to wait less than an hour for help.  Thankfully, my mom came to wait for the tow truck with me and brought a bottle of ice water.  Thankfully, I was only a few miles from home and incurred no towing expense.

And the biggest "thankfully": my star of a father was able to get Bubbles running the next day!  A simple battery replacement was needed—and it was covered under warranty.  I am happy to report that Bubbles is still with us.  Long may she roll.

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Now I'm in Georgia, beginning Candidate Orientation with Biblical Ministries Worldwide.  Not that I'm a new candidate, but with my switcheroo from tentmaking to career missions, I was encouraged to attend these two weeks of assessments and training.  Some of the info is repeat.  Some is not applicable (I'm able to write this while everyone else is taking a "marriage assessment").  But it's good to be here among people I love.  I know I'll come away with new ideas and new friends.  Also, the food is amazing.  Tally ho.

Summer Travels: Week 2

When I was about thirteen, the grand opening of the factory outlets in Newton, Kansas included a concert by none other than Johnny Cash.  It was the first and only time I got to see my favorite singer in person, but it was just the beginning of a strong connection with this little city near Wichita.  I am fascinated by this area that has a strong Mennonite influence, an impressive number of solid churches, and a zeal for missions.

And so June 17 found me rising early and making the two-hour drive again, to spend the day at Newton Bible Church.  NBC has been faithfully supporting my ministry in Utah since 2009, and it was high time to reconnect.  I wasn't scheduled to speak until the evening service, so I got to just enjoy the Sunday school hour and worship service.  The preaching was spot-on and the music, while not quite Johnny Cash: outstanding.

That afternoon, Marisa and Ginger hosted me for delicious pork chops and good conversation.  Oh, and a perfect caramel latte from the coffee house which is practically in their backyard.  Totally jealous of that.  Many thanks, ladies!

I'll be back at NBC this Wednesday-Thursday for their kids club and vacation Bible school.

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The following Monday began four days of Bible clubs in Hoisington.  Two CEF-trained young ladies came to lead the two clubs, so my involvement was minimal.  They did a good job teaching, and the twelve-or-so boys who attended had a great time—especially on the last day when they got to put a plate of whipped cream into Miss Kris' face as a reward.  I like this picture of the kids engrossed in a story about John Paton.

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Over the weekend, I helped my folks host a reunion for my mom's cousins.  Here we are modeling the t-shirts that everyone got to take home as souvenirs ("Hoisington, Kansas: the heart of Cheyenne Bottoms").

All eighteen of us visited the nearby Kansas Wetlands Education Center, and some also toured Ellinwood's Underground Tunnels.  It was my first time at these two local attractions and I highly recommend both if you're looking for something to do in central Kansas.

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How hot is it here?

A few degrees warmer and the thermometer would be useless.

How would you like to be dressed as a fireman on a day like this?  Oofdah.

Hats off to these guys who responded to a call

a couple houses down from my folks' this afternoon.

Summer Travels: Week 1

My summer trip began a week ago with the trek east through the deserts of Utah, over the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado, and down into the plains of western Kansas.  It's a beautiful drive, every inch of it except the minor congestion of Denver.  I know many were praying for my safety; thank you.  Bubbles purred like a kitten the whole way, and even her tape deck was functional most of the time.  Nothing makes the miles fly like Gordon Lightfoot tunes and Jungle Jam episodes.  I reached my folks' home in Hoisington at nightfall.

The next day, I was off again—this time to Garden City, Kansas, for a weekend of ministry at Grace Bible Church.  They were the first church (apart from my home/sending church) to start supporting me, but it had been four years since my last visit—too long to stay away from these dear missions-minded, prayer-committed people.  Pastor John and Joyce Zoschke were wonderful hosts.  I loved spending time with them, exchanging ministry stories and ideas, and even eating sourdough bread from Pastor John's starter rumored to be a couple decades old.

I spoke during the kids' Sunday school class and the morning worship service, and also taught at the church's summer Bible school on Monday.

Grace Bible Church has a unique ministry among the Karen (pronounced Kuh-RIN) people who have come to Garden City for jobs.  From what I understand, the Karen (and other ethnic groups) have been displaced from Myanmar (Burma) due to civil war.  I was surprised to learn that many of them come from a Baptist background, thanks in large part to missionary pioneer Adoniram Judson.  When I spoke during the worship service, I had a Karen translator (thank you, Sheila Paw), since many of the adults are not yet fluent in English.

Pastor John and Joyce and their church have welcomed this cross-cultural ministry, though it's not always smooth sailing.  I was amazed by how they remember all these foreign names (my favorite was a child named Bleh Bleh) and truly care about the kids and their families.

VBS crafts: always a hit, no matter one's ethnicity.

Crayons and glue transcend cultural barriers, I've decided. 

Has the U.N. picked up on this yet?

I left Garden City Monday evening with that peculiar mix of weariness and refreshment that ministry so often brings.  Thank you, Grace Bible Church, for a great weekend.

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There is a particular lonely stretch of Highway 156 east of Garden City that grabs my attention every time I drive it.  The scene is the same on both sides of the blacktop: wheat fields stretching unbroken to the horizon.  No irrigation systems, no farm houses, no wind breaks or drainage ditches, not even a lone tree.  Elsewhere along the drive, the custom combiners were out in full force, but this wheat was just patiently waiting its turn to be cut.  I had to pull over and take a photo, though it doesn't begin to do the scene justice.  All that gold is positively dazzling in the summer sun.

"Wheat that tall and ripe has its own sound in a Kansas wind, pushing across the fields without a single tree to break its flow.  The wheat moves in the wind, and it sounds like the sea, only better because there's something of the earth in it and something of man's work as well.  It's a strong sound, always changing and a little wild." (Reed Arvin)

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Well, hello there.

Nothing brings back that childhood feeling like riding

around the hometown in the back seat of the folks' old Buick.

We like our gasoline pumps analog in Hoisington.
Credit card swipe?  Heavens, no.  One must go in and exchange
small talk with an actual human being while paying.

Looking over Main Street with the parental units.
What a refreshing change from the traffic and noise of city life.

Motives (The Post That Survived)

"Mis-sio-nary (noun): someone who leaves their family for a short time, so that others may be with their families for Eternity."

This is a plaque I saw for sale at a local thrift store, and it got me fired up.

It was more than an editor's reaction to the incorrect possessive pronoun (the first "their" should be "his").

I mean... "Leaves family"?  "Short time"??  (Yes, I just used double punctuation.  I feel strongly about this.)

So I drafted three different posts in response.

But the first was far too snarky, the second was chock full of nauseating righteous indignation, and the third was both extremely boring and embarrassingly juvenile.

Thus, I'll cut down the commentary.

If you're a Latter-day Saint, you may not understand what my problem is with this definition.  That's okay.  I would rather spend the time on more crucial definitions, like "grace" or "saved".

And if you're a Christian...  Oh, dear Christian.

There are over 50,000 missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints currently serving around the world.  They do this, at least ostensibly, "so that others may be with their families for eternity."

May I ask: what drives you to participate in missions (pray, give and/or go)?  Is it a biblical motivation?    

Lord, lay waste to our pride, our pretenses, our fears, our mindless habits, our feelings of obligation, our faulty concepts of success—and all other wrong motives as we seek to live the Great Commission.

This is why I keep returning to II Corinthians for a realignment of my motives:

Therefore we also have as our ambition, whether at home or absent, to be pleasing to Him. 

He died for all, so that they who live might no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died and rose again on their behalf. 

Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were making an appeal through us; we beg you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.

Valleyisms: The Ratio

The Ratio.  It never ceases to amaze me: the number of Latter-day Saint congregations versus other churches here.

This is a photo I took after climbing Squaw Mountain in November.  It shows a section of north Provo along with a sliver of east Orem.  Near the center of the picture is the building where I work part-time.  If you zoom in and you know what to look for, you'll count at least nine LDS meeting houses.  Each of these chapels hosts two or three LDS wards (congregations).  (The size of a ward varies, but if we can trust Wikipedia, it's typically between 200-500 people.)  To the best of my knowledge, the only church of any other type located within the frame of this photo is the lone small Lutheran church in the city.

That's a congregation ratio of something like 21:1.  Do you know of anywhere else in the U.S. like this?

To live here, one must all but dismiss any notions of American diversity.  But you can always, like me, work out the angst of this by climbing a mountain.

Only in Utah Valley.

Valleyisms: Missionary Shoes

Missionary shoes.  Google the phrase and you'll get sites like MissionShoe.com.  They have a clever logo, a catchy slogan ("Helping you serve, one step at a time"), and a page of glowing testimonials ("I have worn them everyday since I got out of the MTC [Missionary Training Center] and they rock").

But for those local Latter-day Saints who have received their mission callings and who prefer a brick-and-mortar store for their footwear needs, there are shops like this one I photographed.

If you're wondering what exactly a "missionary shoe" is: it's black, pricey, nondescript, and ultra-sensible.  It must stand up to two years (or one and a half for the ladies) of almost constant wear by a Mormon missionary going door-to-door in Boise or Buenas Aires or Bangkok.  It has also been paired for time and all eternity to a matching shoe for the opposite foot.  <---This is a joke.  I think.

Only in Utah Valley.

A Considerable Tent

To celebrate my two-year anniversary at A Considerable Speck,
I purchased this lovely original artwork for the empty space above my piano.
(Check out Willowgrass Designs on Etsy.com.)

Two years.  That's how long a young man serves a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  It's also how long I've been living at my current apartment, A Considerable Speck.  This is the longest I've stayed in one residence, since leaving my folks' ten years ago.  I have called this little duplex "home" for over a third of the time I've been in Utah.  Some day I would like to move to a bigger place, capable of hosting groups more comfortably.  But for now this is home, as much as a manmade building can be.  I am here for something far more permanent than a two-year mission.

And so I find myself living a delicate balance: purposefully sticking around, putting roots down, building relationships, investing in long-term ministry here in Utah Valley; yet being careful not to grow too comfortable in a place whose very existence is a fractioned heartbeat relative to eternity.  For all the grandeur and rugged strength of these mountains outside my window, they will pass away at God's appointed time.  Meanwhile, I seek an Abrahamic perspective:

By faith he lived as an alien in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, dwelling in tents [...] for he was looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.  (Hebrews 11:9-10)

A Considerable Speck, therefore, is just a "tent": a temporary residence on my way to heaven.

That said, I'm tickled that this tent comes with a carport and programmable thermostat.

Snow in June and Other Utah Humdingers

Lydia and I, hiking on the east side of Mt. Timpanogos.

There is something about yards-deep snow on a 90-degree day that I can't quite comprehend.  Shouldn't it be—oh, I don't know—melting or something?

I know this winter's was a record-breaking snowfall.  I know the eastern slopes of mountains don't get as much sun exposure.  And I know the snow is melting, but the runoff occurs under the snowpack and out of sight.

Add up all the facts—and still! wading through snow in shorts does not compute in this prairie-raised brain.  It's a humdinger to Midwestern me, but a matter of routine in Utah.  Like fry sauce.  And billboards advertising modest clothing.  And church steeples every few blocks, all void of a cross.  Many Utah anomalies I gladly adapt to.  Some: I pray I never do.

What a Spectacle

I have been told I have my father's eyes.  Thanks to the (somewhat absurd) American fashion cycle, I can now have my father's glasses, too.

A Considerable Speck

This past week marked exactly one year since I moved into my Provo duplex.  To celebrate, here are a few photos of my home, affectionately called A Considerable Speck (a nod to Robert Frost's poem).  This little place is a "good and perfect gift from the Father of Heavenly Lights."  Come on a virtual tour of the first floor.  (And then come for a real honest-to-goodness visit!)

My cozy kitchen, where many a box of Mac and Cheese meets its demise.  Laundry niche behind the red curtain.

The patio window looks out to a small private patio and lawn.  And beyond those, an unkempt lot with an apple tree, several cats and an abandoned car or two—reminds me of West Virginia for some reason.

Robert Plant hanging out with some wall decs I designed in the background.   (Anyone who achieves the otherworldly experience of singing harmony with Alison Krauss deserves to have a florum named after him, I think.)

More plants that have somehow survived my "care" and also escaped my propensity for naming inanimate objects. Also notice the thrift store vinyl jackets which make very cost-effective decs.  Move over, Martha Stewart.

I'm a firm believer that pillows make a room.  I haven't found Scriptural backing for this yet, but it's gotta be in there somewhere.

A close-up of my new curtains.  Is it just me or does the design look Tolkien-ish?  I could see this flower gently waving in the warm breezes that blow through Rivendell...

I am quite fond of my piano, odd-ball knob or no.  Before it came to A Considerable Speck, it belonged successively to three dear friends, believers here in Utah.  My heart warms to think of the many hymns played and sung around it.  And that picture on the right gets more compliments than anything else I have, making it fully worth the one buck I spent on it at a dollar store in Beckley, West Virginia.  Score.  I do love a good road picture/song/poem.

Any P.D.Q. Bach fans out there?  This "Black Forest Bluegrass"
album cover tickles my funny bone.  As P.D.Q. himself would say: "It's got that certain je ne sais quoi."

I found these fantastic book ends at a yard sale a few weeks ago.  This one's name is Gog and the other's is Magog, a nod to L.M. Montgomery's Anne of the Island.  Sometimes we bookish sorts overdo it on the "nods".
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