Precious in his sight: A meditation on Matthew 19:15

"One day children were brought to Jesus in the hope that he would lay hands on them and pray over them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus intervened: 'Let the children alone, don't prevent them from coming to me. God's kingdom is made up of people like these.' After laying his hands on them, he left." Matthew 19:13-15, The Message

It's another day in the life of Jesus, the wandering healer/teacher. He's just finished yet another round of discourse with a group of religious types who continually are looking for ways to discredit him. This time the subject happens to be about marriage and by the end of their conversation he has managed to confound both his enemies and his friends. A group of locals have been patiently waiting for him to finish their interchange that he might pronounce a blessing on their children. The disciples, acting more like his handlers than his students, are more intent on shooing them away. 'Give the guy a break for crying out loud,' I imagine one of them saying to these groupies of sorts. But Jesus will have none of it and tersely rebukes his disciples and announces, "Bring them to me, everyone of them. They are a blessing and they represent just the kind of citizens that the kingdom of heaven is made up of."

So here's Jesus, sitting in the midst of a gaggle of parents who have been bringing them their children to bless. We don't know how many and we don't know how long it takes but I love the little detail Matthew gives: "When he placed his hands on them [that is to say, all of them] he went on from there." No one gets missed. Every child is welcomed and lovingly touched. We're not told if there were any in that group that were afflicted with birth defects or suffered from abject poverty (although both are possible). We're just told that he warmly gathers each one to himself and blesses the Father for creating each life.

I've been reading at Roselawn, our city's elementary school, since our oldest was in kindergarten (and she's 22 now!) I show up on a scheduled day and read the stories that kids love to hear - about talking pigs and frogs and teddy bears who are really mean and pirates who refuse to change diapers (oh, now that's a good one!) I don't read many Bible stories. It' not that I'm not allowed; it's just that I haven't found many good Bible stories in children's books that are neither too preachy or illustrated well. All I do is read to them and make them laugh and want to hear more. This year, more so than ever before, when I enter a room kids flock to me to hug me. And not just little girls (that's a pretty normal occurrence) but lots of little boys, too. They want to show their love and delight with my company and are in need of the same. I return each hug - first, because I love hugs; second, because each of these children are precious.

I celebrate their significance and this is my reward: they hug me. But this is what I really think: I think that when I read to them somehow, some way, they hear their Maker's voice in mine; that just like animals can sense things lost to our human perspective, children often have a means of discernment that evades we grown-up ones. And I also think (or I certainly hope) that the Spirit of God in me stirs something within them and this is why as they hear my voice they are drawn to me. But not me, Christ in me and as I return their hugs Jesus in me blesses each one. So, I love reading at Roselawn. Sure, I like to entertain people and I think I'm a pretty good story teller, too. But I love this certain intangible transaction that occurs every time I enter a room via the Spirit of Jesus who dwells in me.

A few days ago at our local Justice Center, I shared a similar thought with about 20 inmates ranging between 18 and 50 years old. I took them into that moment of Jesus touching, blessing, celebrating each child that was placed on his lap or thrust in his arms. For a brief moment I saw these assorted individuals in their jail issue orange jumpsuits as little children with their whole lives ahead of them and not as the scarred, broken, chewed-up people they have become because of sin, pain and self-hatred in all its manifestations. I told them that in a group this size, it was possible that there was someone here that instead of being celebrated at birth they had been rejected or seen as a burden and a hardship to this very day they bear the emotional scars from such abandonment. And then I said this, "But if that had been you as a child thrust into Jesus' arms he would have received you gladly and blessed you and thanked the Father for you." In that moment, a 50-ish year old woman in the audience began to weep. And so before I closed the service on inspiration I lifted my hands over that group of sex offenders, alcoholics and drug addicts and blessed them and thanked God for each one. Hugging is discouraged at the jail - for good reason - but perhaps in that moment of blessing I'd like to think the Father reached out to hug each one.

Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in his sight

Jesus loves the little children of the world.
  - "Jesus loves the Little Children" by C. Herbert Woolston, 1856-1927

Finishing his course

'...for them that honor me I will honor..." (1 Samuel 2:30, KJV)

Our son, Ed, who is a senior in high school, has been a runner for a good part of his young life. I think it was during his first season of middle school Cross Country that his coach and teammates gave him the nickname, Fast Eddie, and for good reason. While he never won any of the races we ran in as a team, he consistently finished near the front end of the pack. These last two years, he's been our Number 1 guy and our Team Captain. Running is more than a sport for him. It's a passion and a means of expressing his heart. Eric Liddell, the famed "Flying Scot" of Chariots of Fire fame, is one of his heroes and Ed (in the best Scottish brogue he can muster), frequently quotes his favorite line from that movie: "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure."

His runnin' bud, Andrew

One of his goals for this season was to finish in the Top Ten at our conference meet. He missed it by one spot last season (and on Hayward's "monster" course, too!) and this year his hopes were solidly pinned on gaining that platform on Ladysmith's far more flatter and runner-friendly course. The day of the Heart of the North Conference meet dawned bright and clear. Midway through ou family's devotions that morning before school began, the phone rang. It was Andrew, Ed's friend from Ladysmith and their Number 1 guy. He called to wish Ed well in the race that afternoon and to have him pray for him. And so Ed did as much and wished him best of luck. The day was off to a propitious start.

Praying with his teammates

For October 12, the day actually turned out to be on the warmish side of things when the temperature was at or near 65 degrees by race time. As he has every race this season, prior to the girls' race he gathered them into a circle and prayed over them and then he and his teammates cheered them on as he ran. When it was the guys' turn to race, he gathered them up into a circle and prayed over them. He then ran over to Andrew and hugged him quick and wished him well before resuming his own pre-race preparations. Soon all the guys were off to the races.

Leader of his pack

He ran well and at the mile marker he was running solidly in the fifth or sixth position. But Cross Country is all about stamina and speed over 5 kilometers not just 1600 meters in and by the home stretch he was in 10th place and a Northwestern kid was closing fast. That kid caught him with about 40 yards to go and for the second time in two years, Ed crossed the line in 11th place at our conference meet. Given the fact that the race was still going on, I had to turn my attention to the rest of my runners. He joined me soon enough, dejected and fighting back tears but to his credit, cheering every one of the guys into the chute.

After the guys had all crossed the line, our team began packing up their things due to the fact that no one would be standing to collect any hardware that afternoon. I was reluctant to join them wanting to see the official results before heading to the bus myself. So there Ed and I stood before the results board waiting for the chip-timing guy to post the official times, Ed looking as if he had just lost his best friend. The team results were posted first listing not just the scores but the ranking of each one of the runners from every team. So imagine our perplexity when we noticed that the print-out stated that our first runner (Ed) was listed as finishing 10th. I had counted him as 11. Linda, who had stood nearer the finish line, had counted 11 and the rest of the members of our team not running in the race had counted 11. So how could the computer have calculated incorrectly?  While we were waiting for the individual results to be posted, one of the coaches from Northwestern revealed the mystery to us: one of their runners, who normally ran Varsity, had been entered in the JV race that afternoon. While these races were run at the same time, the computer considered them two individual events and while their runner had, indeed, finished sixth, he did not count in the final tabulation. Ed had made Top Ten after all and his face went from dejection to joy in a heartbeat.

Top Ten Heart of the North 2010

But now there was another matter to deal with. His teammates (and his mother) were now all on the bus waiting for he and I to join them and the bus was parked about 100 yards away. The awards ceremony was about to begin and none of them were present to cheer for him. I managed to flag one of our guys and shout enough for him to turn and get Linda. She got to the awards ceremony ring just as his name was announced. Neither of us were prepared for what happened next. For at the mention of his name, members from several of the other teams and many of their parents joined our cheers in loud acclamation. Here his own team wasn't  present but his network of friendships on some of the other teams took up the slack. And when we finally got back to the bus, his teammates stood to their feet, began clapping and shouting his name: "ED! ED! ED!" Were we not on a moving bus, they might have tried to pick him up and carry him from the field. I am more proud of those two moments than any hardware he might have brought home that night or any other night for it speaks loudly of the character of the man he is becoming.

Moments before the start of the Sectional race

I wish I could write the rest of the story of his season like this: "Two weeks later, in the WIAA Sectionals race, Ed ran the race of his life and qualified for the State meet at Wisconsin Rapids." But it didn't play out that way. He ran well at the Sectional meet but did not qualify. Truthfully, time-wise he wasn't even close. His four year dream of competing at State will have to remain that way - a dream. Just like the morning of the conference meet, Andrew called him up on Friday morning to wish him well and have Ed pray over him. Just like he has done at every race this season, he gathered the team up to pray over them before they ran and wished his friends on opposing teams well. If I were writing his story, I would write it the way I dreamt about it, too: Ed running to Sectional glory and being able to testify from that platform of God's strength and power in helping him to do just that. But I am not the Author of Ed's story - and that's a good thing, too. The Father works in our disappointments as much as He works in our accomplishments and will certainly use yesterday's "defeat" as grist in Ed's life.

After the conference meet, when we had a quiet moment, I told Ed this: "You didn't luck out, Ed. You didn't get any charity here today. You earned it and you were due. God says, 'He who honors me I will honor' and God wants you to know how proud of you he is for being faithful to him and being a good captain of this team.' During our last practice the night before Sectionals, I had our team sit in a circle and go around and affirm each other. When it was Ed's turn, Rachel - our other team Captain - said, "Ed, you're a champion. You are definitely the leader of this pack." And Joey added: "When I think of Chetek Cross Country, I think of you. You are the face of this team." Okay, I admit it. Today, I'm feeling a little sorry for my son because, yeah, I think he deserves to run in the Big Race at Wisconsin Rapids. I'm sure so many dads of so many runners who won't be there next week as well are feeling the same today. But in the bigger picture how proud Linda and I are of Ed because of his care for his teammates and the guys on the other teams and the faithfulness to Jesus both on and off the trail, whether it was a good run or not. No parent could ask of their child more and there can be no award greater than the "well done" of heaven.

The champion

Being reminded of the obvious

This past weekend, I was given a reminder of something that I know already: I have been blessed with a pretty wonderful family. Case in point: on Saturday alone, Ed turned in arguably his best race of his running career, Emma scored in the ribbon category and Charlie won (to him) the coveted Trail Walking trophy in the Adaptive Riding competition at the County Fair. “Hardware” was being collected copiously that day in two different counties by Martin kids.

On Saturday morning, Ed ran in the Woman of Courage 5 &10K race in Ladysmith. Even though he has been focusing on 10Ks of late, I wanted him to run the 5K to get a read on how his summer training was coming along. What’s more, this gave him opportunity to run with and against his budding friend Andrew Hetke, who is Ladysmith’s No. 1. All during this past track season, Andrew was the rabbit Ed chased at almost every event. Also showing up that morning was Schmidt from Flambeau, the guy who beat Ed out for the last State qualifying spot in the infamous “snow” run in Bruce last October. I knew Ed would run well but it was a bit of a thrill when in the home stretch there was Andrew and he running 1 & 2 respectively. Andrew had 3 steps on Ed and was able to hold him off but even so, Ed crossed the line at 18:18 crushing his previous best by 7 seconds. And, oh yeah, Schmidt was nowhere in sight. But taking 2nd place overall is not what thrills me but seeing Ed being rewarded for his work ethic and doing it with so much class. Before the race he asked Andrew if he could pray for him and I managed to capture that moment on camera. It’s a picture that speaks. It means that as much as Ed is passionate about running, he is as much or more passionate about Jesus and his relationship with his friends. I am more proud of that moment than the picture I snapped of him crossing the line.

That afternoon, it was off to the Fair to be wowed by two more of my kids. Our daughter, Emma, is remarkably talented – artistically, musically, dramatically and dance-wise. What’s more she’s a good golfer and a darn smart kid. She entered a variety of projects at this year’s fair – a painting, a tin man lawn ornament, jewelry, a tie-dyed shirt, an exhaustive poster about the anatomy of rabbits, a flower pot and flowers and a scrap book. She collected various ribbons – several blues, a few reds and a white and, in the case of her scrap book, a purple which spells G-R-A-N-D C-H-A-M-P-I-O-N. Emma is a very focused individual and I sincerely believe that whatever she puts her mind to she can do and do well. I not impressed with her because she is so talented. I’m impressed with her because though she is so talented she works diligently to develop her craft whatever that happens to be at the moment be it developing her golf swing or painting a picture or working on a term paper. But just as earnestly as she takes school or dance, she takes her friendship with Jesus, what one guy refers to as “the most important love relationship in our life.”

But as good as the day already had been it was about to get better. Charlie has been in the Adaptive Riding program of 4-H for the past four years. During “horse season” (May-June), Linda faithfully drives Charlie up to the fairgrounds every Wednesday night where he and his “pardner”, Lannie, work on horsemanship and riding skills. Lannie and his wife, Shirley, loan their steady mare of 14 years, Dakota, and the three of them – Charlie, Lannie and Dakota – make quite a team. But Saturday afternoon, here came Charlie sitting tall in the saddle riding Dakota without a lead rope. Lannie was at this side but Charlie was riding and, as he has been coached, smiling. He looked like he had been doing this all his life. Charlie’s autism aside, to me, his birth was so traumatic that in many ways he is like a snarled ball of string that slowly but surely as the years pass and people pour into his life and prayers are prayed over him, he unfolds and reveals the mystery that he is. Here’s a kid who when he was five years old hardly spoke a word and now is more fluent than he ever has been. He continues to grow and develop and seeing him ride atop Dakota so confidently while wearing his brand new shades was a poignant moment to me and I was reminded that he’s going to be alright. Maybe more so than when it was announced that he had won the Trail Walking trophy, the one that mattered to him more than any of the other awards they were handing out that day.

But we have another amazing kid to be proud of as well. Christine graduated from high school in 2007 and that summer spent five weeks in South Korea tutoring kindergarten through college-age kids in conversational English. Now, it’s the place she wants to get back to most of all. She works these days at a day care in Rice Lake saving what money she makes while at the same time, paying her own way. She has a wonderful eye for photography but one of her greatest strengths is her heart. Christine loves and believes in people. She never forgets a birthday and frequently buys little gifts for her friends and the other special people in her life. She has a way with babies and is a blessing to those who know her. In so many ways she is very Joan-like (referring to my mother): inordinately considerate, always encouraging and via her camera (which is always in her big bag she lugs around) ready to celebrate the moments of her life be they large or small.

And I must not forget Linda, my wife and life-companion. During the twenty-four years we have been married most certainly I have been loved more than I have loved. She’s cheerfully and willingly followed me whether we ended up living in an apartment, a trailer, a rented house or in the home we have owned since a week before Ed was born. But on this Saturday afternoon, I was reminded again of what a wonderful mother she is to her our children. There she was in the stands cheering for Charlie while Emma nestled in her lap, and in between performances, either joking with Ed or talking with Christine about trivia at the day care in a way that only mothers can multi-task.

So, I’ve taken nearly 1,200 words to state what most of you already know or could have told me much fewer: I am very fortunate to be surrounded by such good company. But it’s good to be reminded of these things because the response can only be gratitude for the small circle of love that you find yourself a part of.

The Madness of John the Baptizer

“The king was distressed, but because of his oaths and his dinner guests, he ordered her request be granted and had John beheaded in the prison. His head was brought in on a platter and given to the girl, who carried it to her mother.” Matthew 14:9-11


So ends the life of a man who truly lived a life set apart. His birth was foretold by Gabriel the archangel and when still in utero, he recognized his Lord though he, too, was still within his mother’s womb when she had come to visit her kinswoman, Elizabeth. True to the angel’s words, when he came of age he embarked on the ministry foretold of him hundreds of years before by the prophet Isaiah. He tirelessly prepared people for the coming of the One who would “take away the sins of the world” (John 1:29). For a season, the whole country as it were turned out to see this strange “Robinson Crusoe”-like figure living in the desert places. When Jesus finally did begin to reveal himself, John pointed him out to those who ultimately would cease being his disciples and become those of Jesus. “A man can only receive what is given him from heaven,” he would reply to those who wondered why he wasn’t upset at those who chose to leave his ranks to join the following of Jesus. “He must increase and I must decrease” (see John 1).

But as astute as John was he, too, was confounded by the purpose of Jesus when he did not begin to do the things John expected him to do. While sitting in prison for (presumably) calling the king on the carpet for his illicit affair with his sister-in-law, John sends a delegation to ask Jesus (in so many words) “Was I wrong? Aren’t you the one who is sent to establish God’s kingdom?” (Matthew 11). Jesus makes his inquiry a teaching point. “John is a most godly man and the greatest and last of the great prophets and yet, those who “get it” – who understand what the kingdom is really all about – are greater than John the Baptizer. You are blessed if you are get this point.”

And so here sits Zachariah and Elizabeth’s son, sitting in cell for being unafraid to stand up to the king wondering if he has indeed fulfilled what his mission had been, if somehow he had let God down or missed that which he was born to do. And then one night, quite suddenly he is dragged from his cell and executed for reasons that are, in the scope of things, quite trivial. Herodias, in her best impression of “Lady Macbeth”, wanted to settle a score and when her daughter dances the Dance of the Seven Veils and Herod and his court are all agog at her, she finds a way to do it. So dies he whom Jesus referred to as “the greatest of all who have ever been born of a woman.”

This past winter I read (for the first time in its entirety) Foxe’s Book of Martyrs followed up by VOM’s Jesus Freaks. I’d like to hope that if it was ever called upon me to die for the faith that first, I would be found faithful and second, I would know that I was dying for “the Cause.” Like so many of the faithful witnesses that have gone before us, I would hope to say something on the level of those brave words uttered by Daniel’s friends before King Nebuchadnezzar: “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up” (3:17-18). But what if you meet your demise simply because there was a glitch in the paperwork? I mean, it’s one thing to go to your death Sydney Carton-style knowing that it is a “…far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest than I go to, than I have ever known” but it’s quite another to be martyred because a king in a drunken moment is embarrassed to lose face with his guests and against his better judgment orders your execution.

I think of Jeremiah who though he was invited to live in relative comfort in Babylon after the fall of Jerusalem chose to remain with people who never listened to him in the first place. According to tradition, he died in Egypt – the very place he was adamant that the remnant should not return to. I think of Paul alone languishing in the Maritima prison dictating his last letter out (2 Timothy) before meeting his demise. “Do your best to come to me quickly, for Demas, because he loved this world, has deserted me and has gone to Thessalonica. Crescens has gone to Galatia, and Titus to Dalmatia. Only Luke is with me” (2 Tim 4:9-11). I’m only speculating here, but I wonder if the rigors of his circumstances even caused the indefatigable Paul to second guess his plight in weaker moments. Did I do that which I was asked to do? Is God unhappy with me? Is this how it ends? Preach righteousness and the glory of the kingdom and then die for what amounts ultimately for silly reasons?

And maybe that is one of the things that can be gleaned from John’s story. Some of us will die in worthy causes – a soldier bravely manning his post so that members of his company may gain higher ground, a preacher refusing to fold in the face of public pressure to recant. But many of us do and may suffer or perish at the petty whims of the powers that be. But God knows our heart and in the end, we can only do what we can do with what we have been given to do and trust our lives to Him reminding ourselves that we walk by faith not by sight.

Brennan Manning puts it this way,

     In the final analysis, discipleship is a life of sublime madness.

    The truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ does not rise and fall on the issues of corrupt clergy,
    the exploitation of the poor, the stinginess of multinationals, or the irrational fanaticism      of  modern dictatorship. It deserves to be accepted or rejected for what it is: an answer to the most fundamental questions a person may ask: Is life absurd or does it have a purpose? Jesus replies that only do our lives have a purpose but God has directly intervened in human affairs to make abundantly clear what that purpose is. What is the nature of Ultimate Reality? Jesus responds that the Really Real is generous, forgiving, saving love. In the end, will life triumph over death? With unshaken confidence Jesus answers, The kingdom of My Father cannot be overcome, even by death. In the end everything will be all right. Nothing can harm you permanently; no loss is lasting, no defeat more than transitory, no disappointment is conclusive. Suffering, failure, loneliness, sorrow, discouragement, and death will be part of your journey, but the kingdom of God will conquer these horrors. No evil can resist grace forever.
The Ragamuffin Gospel, Pp. 199-200

May God find we who trust in Him equally mad as the one Jesus referred to as he who was not surpassed by any in history regardless of what circumstances ultimately result in our own death.

Missing the Barn

ALL:

There's no business like show business

Like no business I know

MEN'S CHORUS:

Everything about it is appealing

WOMEN'S CHORUS:

Everything the traffic will allow

MEN'S CHORUS:

No where could you have that happy feeling

ALL:

When you aren't stealing that extra bow

There's no people like show people

They smile when they are low

MEN'S CHORUS:

Yesterday they told you you would not go far

WOMEN'S CHORUS:

That night you opened and there you are

MEN'S CHORUS:

Next day on your dressing room they've hung a star

ALL:

Let's go on with the show

“There’s No Business Like Show Business” from Annie Get Your Gun

Last night, Linda and I took in “Mame” at the Red Barn Theater east of Rice Lake. We were treated to an evening laced with some wonderful performances and a show that left you humming some of its songs on the drive home. I never tire of getting wowed by what some creative people can do with paint and plywood in creating sets that are believable and (from a community theater’s point-of-view, cost effective). Having been fortunate to perform in other venues around the county there is something unique about the atmosphere of the Barn, the sense of intimacy the audience feels with the performers and the performers with their audience. It is a very special place.

When we knew we would be going on sabbatical leave this summer we made a conscious decision not to audition for any of the shows this season. To commit to a show, you commit pretty much a month to five weeks of your evenings to it so if any of us would have said yes to a show that would have meant a third of our summer. It was the right choice to make for this summer. But sitting out in the audience last night I also was aware that I was missing being up there as well as missing our friends many of whom were dancing and singing upon the stage.

We’ve been attending performances at the Barn since the mid-1990s when many of the kids in our youth group – one of whom was also in the audience last night – were cast in various shows: “Sound of Music”, “Camelot”, and “You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown” are three that come to mind. I always said to myself if I was ever offered an opportunity to perform I would give it a whirl but January auditions would come and go and I’d either forget about the date or chicken out. And then in the summer of 2003 Barn veteran Chris Fritz called me up and wondered if I would be interested in a part in the upcoming production of “Minnie’s Boys,” a Broadway musical I had never heard of about the Marx Brothers. The guy they had cast as Harpo had pulled out and they were in dire need of a replacement. I spoke with the director (Nancy Erickson Dutmer – who, by the way, was Mame last night) and with a little rearranging of my schedule said, “Sure.” The rest is (for us) history. I enjoyed myself capitally and, to my surprise, grabbed a “Barney” nomination for “Best Male New Comer”. Someone else won that year but I had been bitten by the bug and with the exception of 2004 and this year, members of our family have been performing upon the stage at the Barn every season since. Ed and Emma joined me in 2007 with “The King and I” and even Charlie got in on the act with “Alladin and the Wonderful Lamp” last year.

While watching the show last night, I found myself empathizing with all the performers having to wear winter coats or sweaters during their dance routines. I’ve been there before. I don’t know if I ever was so hot as those nights I played Fagin in “Oliver!” wearing heavy wool coat, full beard and long hair and capering about the stage in my best impression of Ron Moody. But what joy it was each night to throw all that garb on just for the moment I could step into the audience to sing “Reviewing the Situation.” In the opening scene of “Mame”, there was Ross wearing the Aladdin's turban from last year’s show and later, he reappeared as a different character with that same damn trench coat I wore as Harpo, Sydney Lipton in “God’s Favorite” and Oscar Lundquist in “Sweet Charity”. What memories were made in all those shows as I sweated my way through each song and dance routine. There to stage right was the proscenium “window” where by virtue of climbing up a ladder and then standing precariously upon a chair, I sang “Sweet Chairty” to Tzeitel Dutmer while literally the sweat poured off my head upon her face looking up lovingly at me. Now that’s acting!

All this aside, for me the real icing on the cake is to be able to hang out with some truly wonderful and talented people, many of whom have become very dear to us. As we exited the Barn last night and made our slow walk down the hill shaking (and in many cases) embracing friends who had wowed us with their performances I knew that as soon as the parking lot was empty they’d be walking back to their various dressing rooms which would be pretty rank with sweat and body odor, change out of their wet clothes and head over to Adventures to celebrate a standing o and cool off after a hot night’s work. I miss that, too, the fellowship of the Barn and the shared joy of making some people laugh and enjoy themselves for a few hours of their night. So, here’s to the Barn now in her 49th year. Hopefully there’ll be a part for me next season even if it means putting on that trench coat yet one more time.

For the love of Linda and of painting

After a month of hiking, canoeing, geocaching and essentially waking up most days and following my whimsy, I find myself longing for some routine of late. In fact, as much as people have been joking with me about it, I have come to remind myself that I am, in fact, not retired but on hiatus. So, this past week at about the half-way mark of our Sabbath’s rest, I am trying to establish some measure of routine to my day. After Linda leaves for work, I get up, grab a quick bite to eat, shower and clean up and then spend a good chunk of my morning, journaling, reading and meditating in the Word. The weather has been beautiful which has allowed me to find some space for quiet out in my yard. Following this, I change into my grubbies and take up what is one of the major projects of the summer – painting the trim of the house. It’s slow – painstakingly slow – work and requires a great deal of meticulousness but after four days I may have the north side of the house done today. And if the weather holds, who knows I may have the majority of the work done before we head out on our trip out to D.C. Besides, one thing I have in abundance of is time so I putz my way through my day.

Admittedly, this is a major item on Linda’s “honey-do” list but truthfully, I enjoy the work and am reminded again that by spending five or six hours each day in this manner is in reality a way of loving my wife. When we were young, foreplay was…well…what usually comes to mind when you think of that word. But at mid-life, foreplay is laying in bed with her at night watching the evening news or spending a good part of day with a paintbrush in hand walking up and down a ladder. In ways that I will never understand painting and yard work is an aphrodisiac to a woman whose primary love language is gifts of service. So, I paint away knowing it’s one way I may honor and love her.

At this point of our summer, I feel I have received no new revelation about the Lord or about myself or about my ministry. There have been no “a-ha” moments, no resolutions made or plans laid upon my return. I have enjoyed myself capitally and feel incredibly blessed and fortunate. Due to Linda’s job – a job that originally was only going to last a week – we have plenty of space from each other during the day so that we are not weary of each other’s company. I see her each evening – which is way more than I am wont to see her. Christine is off to work early, Charlie has a certain path that he follows each day and Ed and Emma, spend a good part of their day reading. Last night when I knocked off around 8, we went for a long family walk together ending up down at the beach. The kids jumped on the swings and Linda and I sat on a bench watching the boaters and pontooners and the beautiful sunset God graced us with. Doing stuff like this is on the big, white board in the living room, too.

So, these days I paint and I am content. Yesterday, while working out in the yard, I met a neighbor I had never met before. Joe is a Chicago-native who lives with his lady-friend down the way. He was out for his morning constitution and saw me power-washing the house and stopped by to ask me what solution I was using. Forty-five minutes later, I learned something about Joe’s vocation, his kids, what brought him to Chetek and he learned some things about my garden which he was curious to see. When Linda comes home these days she usually asks me, “How was your day?” and I reply – usually from atop a ladder – “Well, this is it.” It’s not whining. It’s just what it is and what it will be for another few weeks. There are worse ways to spend a summer day and, in my case, few better.

Rediscovering Huck

“Now, we’ll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer’s Gang. Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath and write his name in blood.” From “Our Gang’s Dark Oath”, Chapter 2 in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Recently, I picked off my book shelf The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and, after a 30-some-year hiatus, began to read it again. I had to read it my junior year of high school and our teacher, Mrs. Rafoth, seemed to have skipped or disregarded the author’s warning that appears immediately prior to Page 1 warning that “persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.” Mrs. Rafoth must have figured that was Twain’s way of being witty. Honestly, she ruined that book for me for many years by forcing my classmates and me to look for plots and subplots and motives and morals within the narrative, the very thing Clemmons seemed death on. I have a memory of lamenting aloud in her class one afternoon after she summoned us to look for yet another theme in the book, “Do you really think Mark Twain was thinking of all this stuff when he wrote the thing?” I might have been a 16-year-old, but as it turns out I wasn’t too far off the mark. As far as Twain was concerned, he was more Finn’s amanuensis than author or so he believed.

In any case, 32 years later I’m reading Huckleberry again but this time simply for the fun of it. I have no term paper to turn in, I care not if I find a theme or a motive or a plot. The book is more episodic than I remember it and given my penchant for read-alouds at Roselawn Elementary, I’ve found some new material for next year. You could read just a chapter from it and appreciate the taste even if you never got farther than Cairo (Illinois.) In fact, this past weekend while we were camping in the Green Bay area, I found myself chuckling aloud while reading about the forming of Tom Sawyer’s gang. Linda and Ed were sitting by the fire so I got out of the camper and went and sat by them and asked if I could read a portion of Chapter 2 to them. For the next 15 minutes or so, we sat around the fire enjoying the company of a good book and laughing aloud at the antics of a bunch of country boys who might have lived in pre-Civil War Missouri.

In the middle of the night, Tom Sawyer, forever the ring leader, summons his companions to a secret cave to form a gang of cutthroats. There is a dire oath that each must swear on pain of death as well as the death of their nearest kin should they leave the gang. And here’s where they reach their first impasse because unlike his fellow conspirators, Huck has no family to take revenge on.

            They talked it over and they was going to rule me out, because they said every

            boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it wouldn’t be fair and square

            for the others. Well, nobody could think of anything to do – everybody was

            stumped, and set still. I was most ready to cry, but all at once I thought of a way

            and so I offered them Miss Watson – they could kill her. Everybody said:

           “Oh, she’ll do. That’s all right. Huck can come in.” Then they all stuck a pin in their

            fingers to get blood to sign with, and I made my mark on the paper.

I’ve read that passage now three times in the last few days and it still makes me laugh. But the rest of the chapter is just delightfully good reading as Tom, Huck and the Gang work out just what kind of gang they’re going to be. According to Tom, their line of business was going to be “nothing only robbery and murder.” But unlike stealing cattle and robbing houses (“We ain’t burglars. That ain’t no sort of style,” says Tom), they will be highwaymen. “We stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill the people and take their watches and money.” But while Tom is of the opinion that killing those you hold up is best, allowances can be made for those you keep until they are ransomed. The only problem is nobody quite seems to know what that involves. All that matters to Tom is that whatever they do should be done “by the books.”

Sitting by the fire, reading to my wife and son, I discovered, perhaps for the first time, the joy of Huckleberry Finn. Sure, there are plots and witticisms and themes that run through the story but if you stop too long to look for them, it’s like Huck’s raft getting caught up on a snag. The current is pushing you down river and your raft is straining to get loose.

At the close of the chapter, they reach yet another obstacle in the forming of their gang: just when were they going to start their murdering and thieving ways?

            …[Tom] said we would all go home and meet next week and rob somebody and

            kill some people. Ben Rogers said he couldn’t get out much, only Sundays,

            and so he wanted to begin next Sunday, but all the boys said it would be

            wicked to do it on Sunday and that settled the thing. They agreed to get

            together and fix a day as soon as they could…

I don’t know if Twain is commenting on the foolishness of those who talk about doing great deeds but never do anything or just letting us eavesdrop on boys at make believe. Perhaps it is both. But I don’t have to turn in anything to Mrs. Rafoth any time soon so if they’re there, well and good. I laughed out loud in Chapter 3 (“We Ambuscade the A-rabs”) when the gang lay in wait for what Tom has told them will be a large troupe of “Spanish merchants and rich A-rabs” coming to Cave Hollow with “two hundred elephants and six hundred camels” all loaded down with “di’monds.”

              …when we got the word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill. But there

              warn’t no Spaniards and A-rabs and there warn’t no camels nor no elephants.

              it warn’t anything but a Sunday-school picnic, and only a primer class at that.

             We busted it up and chased the children up the hollow, but we never got anything

              but some doughnuts and jam, though Ben Rogers got a rag doll and Joe Harper

             got a hymn book and a tract, and then the teacher charged in and made us drop

             everything and cut. I didn’t see no di’monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so.

Somehow, I’d forgotten these episodes from Huck’s story. It’s good to read them again. Better to read them aloud in the company of people you love and who love you. And I can’t wait until this fall when I’ll be reading again at Roselawn to share a chapter or two from this book with kids who really need to hear this stuff before an English teacher comes along and sours the milk way before they’ve even developed a taste for it.