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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I recently changed the settings so readers can leave comments without logging in. That simplifies things. (Now you have no excuse for not telling me what a fantastic blog this is...)

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.

Death in Black and White: The Sequel

I had a cow today. For lunch! Remember my nemesis, Torro the steer? Well, I have now ingested a nice, juicy, round beef patty made from his tender flesh. Who's laughing now, big guy?? Ah, the sweet revenge of the carnivore.

Likeable Persons

Above, there are likely some likenesses of a few very Likeable Persons. Tim and Kristine, Kira, Nathan by name. I like Likeable Persons because they save me a lot of effort. I try to like Everyone, and generally I succeed, but it sure takes a lot of work in some cases. Likeable Persons ease my emotional work load. Likeable Persons are far from being classified as endangered species, but they are just rare enough to make them extremely special. That's why I am blessed to have had four of them visit me in the past couple weeks! How did they earn such an honored title? Well, two of them flew 1,100 miles, one drove 3 1/2 hours, and the other drove 2,000 miles to reach Provo, Utah. This makes them ready candidates. Besides that, they are all believers full of edifying speech, sincerity, and the joy of the Lord. I know quite a few Likeable People. If you're one of them--which you probably are if you're reading my lame blog--I hope you know how much I appreciate you. Thanks for your friendship! Keep up the Likeableness. (If you're not but you're dying to be, sending me gourmet chocolate and crisp $50 bills facilitates the process...)

Vacation in Utah: Try it! You'll like it!

Let me say up front: the Utah Tourism Bureau is paying me absolutely nothing for this. But they should be. So if you work for them, you may send a check or make a direct deposit to my savings account.

Here's a quiz about my state! Those who have enjoyed the pleasure of visiting or--even better!--living in Utah will do quite well; for those of you unfortunate souls who haven't--try your best!
1. Utah emcompasses A) vast deserts and salt flats B) sky-scraping mountains and forests C) narrow canyons and sheer cliffs D) all of the above
2. Utah scenery is A) amazing B) gorgeous C) breath-taking D) all of the above
3. Who should at least visit Utah at some point in their lives? A) hikers B) photographers C) anyone else who has a pulse D) all of the above

Answer "D" is correct for all three questions. And yes, there's only one right answer to each!

I had an amazing vacation during the first week of October. It was wonderful to hop in Bubbles--when she was running smoothly!--and play the tourist in my own state, seeing something new each day.

Of course, I must give credit to my fellow sight-seer, who made everything twice as enjoyable. My friend Brock flew all the way from Virginia to soak up the Utah beauty and it was my honor to be his hostess.

These pics don't do the place justice; come see for yourself!

"Name them one by one..."

My thanks, Father, for free salvation, imputed righteousness, and the promise of heaven. Thank You for sanctification--both positional and practical. Thank You for the cross, for Your Son's free-flowing blood, for the empty tomb. Thanks for the Comforter. Thank You, thank You for the privilege of serving You and the hope of suffering for You.

Lord, I have loved Your sky,

Be it said against or for me,

Have loved it clear or high

Or low and stormy,

Till I have reeled and stumbled

From looking up too much,

And fallen, and been humbled

To wear a crutch.

--"Astrometaphysical," Robert Frost

The sky! Somehow the sky is different here... It's big. Technically, it's bigger in Kansas, since the horizon is utterly flat there. Something about the skyline of the distant mountains makes the sky seem bigger here, though. "Elsewhere, the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth is the floor of the sky." Willa Cather penned that about Nebraska, but perhaps she never saw Utah. Here, the sky is not a detail to complete the picture of the landscape; it is the defining element of the scenery. When I step outside, my eyes are often drawn immediately up. I see the clouds, piled up on top of the mountain peaks or spread out in thin wisps from horizon to horizon.

...And the sunsets here! They're unreal--night after night. One of my choice ways to relax is to walk or jog right about dusk and soak in the serene setting of the sun behind the Lake Mountains. Sometimes the colors are dramatic and breathtaking. Other times they are soft and muted, delicate. Father, You are the expert Artist!
Gazing on one of His masterpieces is humbling, like Frost wrote. It also leaves a feeling that I can only describe as longing.

I've been listening to an Andrew Peterson CD a lot lately... He sings, "Like a golden sky on a summer eve/Your heart is tugging at your sleeve/And you cannot say why.../There must be more..." And there is more! Much more. And that's it: heaven. Could it be that in my heart of hearts, I feel a fascination with the sky because it is the veil between me and my true home? To quote AP again: "We are wandering/In a foreign land/We are children of the promise of the faith/And I long to find it/Can you feel it too?/That the sun that's shining/Is a shadow of the truth..." Heaven! It's not just the place I'll end up when I die; it's my home (Hebrews 11:13-16). And it's real--more real than this earth, truth be told. Heaven!

"For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet of God; and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and thus we shall always be with the Lord" (I Thess. 4:16-17). To the believer, the sky is more than a layer of gases around the earth. It is a curtain that could be torn open at any moment, revealing his Savior. That is why, I conclude, I feel more sensitive toward the reality of heaven here in big sky country. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Kidding around...

Here are my buddies in the back yard...
Top: Nannette--goat with an attitude!
Middle: Cisco Kid--going to great lengths to get the last of the yummy grain.
Bottom: Buckwheat--hamming it up for the camera.

What cuties!

These are some of the Chinese kiddos who I've been teaching on Friday evenings at Provo Bible Church.

The Adventures of a Station-Sitter

Here I am in the control room at KEYY!

Living at a radio station means rarely is there a dull moment. Case in point... I was staying here alone for several days while the Barsuhns took a vacation. It was a fairly uneventful week until this morning when I woke up at 6:12 to a frightening BEEP-beep-BEEP-beep. Too loud to be my alarm clock. It took me a moment to comprehend what was going on. This place has more alarms rigged up than a penitentiary: one for "dead air," another for the Emergency Alert System and Amber Alert; and then there's the motion sensors, and of course the fire alarm and the carbon monoxide alarm--even one signaling mail has been deposited in the box outside--although it hasn't been working lately. But the beeping I heard was none of these; it was the dreaded Intruder Alarm, set off when someone enters the building without disarming the security system. An unknown person was in the radio station and I alone was there to defend it. Of course I could've investigated, or at least called out to ask who was there. But those very logical options seemed like very illogical death-wishes at the moment. So...I did the less-than-heroic thing and stayed in my room with the door locked and tremulously dialed Chris on my cell phone. I woke him up. "The intruder alarm went off... I don't know who's here..." I tried to sound very ho-hum about it all but really I meant: "HELP! Save me from the axe murder standing outside my door!" and I think Chris read my mind. He hurried over from his home a few blocks away. I was more than ready to let him be the hero. As I waited, I contemplated how best to respond if the intruder were to break into my bedroom: stand and fight with my curling iron? Or fall at his feet and plead for mercy? Thankfully, I didn't have to decide. Turns out, the "intruder" was just the local pastor who comes once a week to record his messages that are later played on the air. He didn't know that the switch to disarm the security system had been moved and thus he was unable to prevent the hair-raising ordeal for me. What possessed him in the first place to record his sermon at the unearthly hour of 6:00 on a Saturday morning is beyond me. I am simply grateful for the following: locks on doors, cell phones, curling irons, and Reader's Digest-type everyday heroes (you're the best, Chris!).

Death in Black & White

What a great time to start a blog! There's nothing like a near-death experience to get one feeling like he's got a story to tell. I had a close brush with Death this very afternoon, or at least his first cousins Bodily Injury and Intense Pain. They came in the form of a Holstein steer named Torro. Now, in Torro's defense, he is NOT mean; he IS waaaaay overly friendly--but the difference between these adjectives becomes very slight when you weigh 800 solid pounds and possess two sharp horns. I bottle-fed him and his brother, Outback, last summer when they were cute little calves with knobby legs and soft brown eyes. Outback--may he rest in peace--bit the dust a few months ago, presumably from swallowing a foreign object that had blown into the field. Which is why today, when I saw Torro with his head stuck in a trash can full of styrofoam packing peanuts at the other side of the field surrounding the radio tower, I raced to his rescue. First I made necessary precautions: I put hay in the rack to keep the beast occupied; I armed myself with a 3-foot metal pipe; I said a fervent prayer. Then I spent probably ten minutes picking up small pieces of the lethal white stuff (who dumps two Rubbermaids of styrofoam over an 8-foot fence into a pasture with animals in it?). I was just headed back across the field with the trash in tow, when the steer came lumbering over to meet me. He had lost interest in the hay and wanted to "play," i.e. shove me around with his horned head. I walked backwards, tripping over cowpies and the three pygmy goats, keeping the trash cans between the steer and me with my left hand and warding him off with the pipe in my right. Several times I thought he was going to bust the cans when he took a running start at me, but blessed be Rubbermaid for their sturdy products. Once I poked him in the eyeball with the pipe. He bellowed, turned away, blinked a few times... and ran right back for more. I stumbled backwards across that field for what seemed like a very long time, praying the whole way. At last I made it to the safety of the chest-high electric fence which keeps him out of certain portions of the field. After a few moments of deep breathing and taking inventory of my appendages, I promptly got the hose and sprayed him right in the face. Ha! Take that, you animal, you beef with legs to be butchered in a 6 weeks! He bellowed again and ran off. I win. Expense: shoes and pants smeared with manure, and dignity all but lost. Those nice city-folk in their condos lining two sides of the field had something to talk about over supper.