Things I Have Taught Our Kids

Things which make my children laugh, yet I remember as true:

• I walked uphill both ways to school, in three feet of snow, after milking the cows and doing the chores . . .
• I was a pretty good basketball player in Grade School. In my mind I scored from anywhere on the court and always under duress. Actual statistics can be cruel . . .
• When I was a kid life was simpler. We never had much, but we always had enough. Homemade ice cream was a staple of summertime evenings and swimming in the pond was a nice way to end a hot day of baling . . .
• We never baled hay unless it was at least 100 degrees, with 95% humidity, the hay shed was always nearly full so that we had to stack every bale directly under the tin of the roof, and all the bales weighed at least 100 pounds each . . .
• If I got in trouble at school it was guaranteed I got in trouble at home. Period. 
• The school bus ride back and forth to school was a country boy's first hot box of socialization and, often, the place where rank and privilege were first taught . . .
• Mom and Dad always knew what we did, even when we were sure they didn't . . . and now I know that because I understand they first did some version of everything I did long before I ever imagined it . . . the same way we, as parents, do now . . .
• Don't ever underestimate the power of a Dad's hand on your backside or the safety of a Father's embrace when you are in need . . .
• Mom sees what you do behind her back, including the faces you make while she is lecturing you, but continues to love you anyway . . . and is quite capable of leaping over that chair and wiping that sneer off your face with the hardened side of her hand OR pulling you into the embrace of her love at any moment . . . 
• A grandparent's job is to quietly dispute a parent's teaching about what the five food groups are and how much of each to consume . . .
• A grandchild's job is to encourage their grandparents in their work . . .
• Before there was cellular technology, we used our imaginations in games, rode bicycles to our friends homes, played outside by the hour, shook hands when we met, talked with each other, and believed that it was okay to disagree, even to fight, but also imperative that we make amends . . . after all, in the country we needed each other . . .
• A handshake was a form of contract and was understood to be binding . . .
• Your word was your bond - and you always knew who could not be trusted . . . 
• Lawyers were really only needed to do legal descriptions of land and property transfers or to deal contractually with people whose handshake or word you couldn't trust . . . which says something about the number of lawyers today . . .
• Especially when in town, when a funeral procession passed you always pulled over in a show of respect for the deceased and their family. Always . . . 
• When country folk wave at you with just their index finger in that slow back-to-forward motion they are being friendly . . .
• There is always enough food on the table for visitors, family and friends, regardless of when they show up . . .
• There are always enough chairs for everyone to have a seat at the table . . . 
• Visitors, friends and family have first choice of all dishes on the table . . .
• Your friend's parents had as much authority over your behavior as did your parents . . . 
• Even if you aren't caught in a lie, it is still a lie . . . the same with the deductions you take on your taxes . . . 
• One of the most telling ways to recognize integrity, respect and honor in a person is in the way they farm their land and keep their home place . . . the cleanest places aren't always the best and the messiest aren't always the worst, but where there is pride in the job there is heart for others . . .
• There are few smells more wonderful than newly worked soil, freshly cut alfalfa or corn pollinating on a hot Summer afternoon . . . 
• Every person has the right to remember their history in the manner which gives their life the best light - allowing, of course, that there will be an intersection of Truth and Accuracy somewhere in the general vicinity of where your story goes . . .
• Always remember: the person to whom you are busily telling your story also has a story to tell you, which is why God has given you one mouth and two ears. Listen more than you talk . . . which is a good place to end this rambling . . .

I pray you see a bit of yourself in where I have been and am in this journey . . . and give thanks to God for allowing you the joy and responsibility of passing your experiences on to the next generation, which kind of makes me wonder how their stories to their children will begin . . . 

Only time will tell . . .

Ched Is Home

Ched is home.


In our thirty six years of marriage, Nancy and I have learned that there are few words sweeter to say . . . not just about Ched, (Though having him home is abso-tively su-onderful!) but about each of our children. To say, "Matt is home", or "Ray is home", or "Ched is home", is to savor a moment in time that always seems to pass far too quickly.

Each of our boys now have their own home settings, certainly, and with Matt and Ray, each has their own family obligations, yet, when they walk in the door of our home, they have come home to our hearts. The same would be true no matter where we lived. The ones birthed in the love two people share become co-inheritors of that family legacy. It gives me a deeper appreciation for the father of the Prodigal Son, who ran down the long lane of his estate to meet his youngest son as he returned home: 'The one once lost to whatever the world has to offer has now returned to spend time in the home of my heart.' Such moments are rarely rational to the casual observer and motivations are oft-times questioned, still, to the parent, 'Our child has come home' are the words of sacred liturgy few worship services are blessed to speak.

Hugging my Dad yesterday as we gathered for a different family celebration, I confess to hanging on just a little longer, to saying, "I love you" with a lot more meaning, and to appreciating a whole lot more all that he has done for each of us boys over the years. Even trying in these moments to give language to what only the heart can express leaves my eyes a bit teary in the failing of my words, for I wonder how many times my Dad and Mom said exactly the same thing of me . . . . and I went merrily on, not understanding how much my most casual visit meant. And, if so for we who are here on earth, how much more is it so for God, the Parent of all creation?

Ched is home . . . and I will cherish these days for the gift they are. Thank you, God, for this simple and powerful blessing. May I return the joy in being Home in You, always.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take . . . "


Evening prayers . . . the words of which taught my young mind and heart the transiency of life and the need to trust all our days to be in the Lord's hands. These words are followed by petitions for blessings to surround family, friends, the church, and anyone/anything else which might be on your mind.

This prayer, along with "Come, Lord Jesus, be Thou our guest and let this food to us be blessed. Amen." were the two prayers that shaped my early prayer life most profoundly and consistently, primarily because they were spoken every day and, often, with my parents.

How many parents still pray with their children? How many children witness their parent's bowed heads, folded hands, and heartfelt words? How many times do young eyes see and developing ears hear a humble cry, a faith-based appeal, or a praise of thanksgiving rendered unto God? How many children grow up with the sense of God's imminence because someone who loved them sat with them and prayed with them? How many parents or even grandparents dare to render devotion and worship of Something/Someone greater than themselves with those who are depending on them to give them real survival skills?

"I can do it myself!" are the words of child wanting to take on the next big step and prove to another their abilities. "I can do all things in the One who saves me" are the words of wisdom and faith which are grounded in life's toughest experiences. Which are the words, the actions, you are teaching the most impressionable around you?

Thank you, God, for parents, grandparents, a church family and a loving community, all of whom taught me to love and trust You! Grant me the wisdom, faith and pace to do the same for those who most depend upon me. Amen.

It's Sunday

It's Sunday.


"I don't want to go to church. I don't have to go to church. You can't make me go to church. I have better things to do than go to church."

"Dad, what do you mean, 'Am I a Christian?' Of course, I'm a Christian! I've been baptized, I've made First Communion, I've been Confirmed, and whenever something happens in our family I know that the church is the first place I can go. But, that doesn't mean I have to go to church on Sunday. After all, sitting in a church no more makes me a Christian than sitting in a garage makes me a car."

"Mom, yes, even I take really good care of my car. In fact, that's one of the things I want to do today: I'm going to wax my car. If I go to church, I won't have time to wax my car. And, yes, I do regularly change the oil, make sure the coolant is right and check the transmission fluid, all because I don't want my car to break down. But, how will I get that done if I spend all my Sunday mornings in church?

"No, my car doesn't mean more to me than my life. I just want to take care of it. I just want to make sure all my friends know that what matters to me has my attention. I just want to make sure my investment lasts . . . . . ."

. . . .which is precisely why God invited you to worship today: to make sure God's investment in you lasts.

It's Sunday.

Which is worth more? Your car or your life?

Pray to see you in church . . . to wipe away the dullness of broken living, to top off the essential fluids of God's Word to guide you in your days, and to fill you with the Sacraments to strengthen your daily journey. Make sure God's investment in you lasts.

It's Sunday. Where will God find you today?

My Boys Didn't Believe Me

My sons didn't believe me and I was crushed. Actually, they made fun of me which hurt all the more and I couldn't understand it.

Yesterday evening, playing golf in the Thursday night Men's League at the White Oak Golf Course in Marissa, my tee shot on #2 rolled up to the 100 yard marker, just a bit to the right of center on the fairway. I had never hit a shot that far on that fairway before and, knowing that both of our older boys regularly hit it that far and even farther, I stopped and took a picture of the ball with the yardage marker in the background with my cell phone, saving it to send to the boys and Nancy later. After the round was over (No, I will not tell you my score for the round, but suffice it to say, I always get my money's worth.), I took a few moments to bring the picture up from the Gallery, prepared it to Share, and added a message explaining the picture.

It didn't take long for the responses to come in: (Matt) "Yeah, I'm not believing you hit a 420 yard drive . . . from the men's tees. Those senior tees are treating you well!"; (Ched) "Oh wow. Hell of a tailwind, eh?"; and, not to be left out of the fun, (Ray) "Did you tee off from the green and play the hole backwards?" Nice guys, my sons! I wasn't sure how to respond, but just laughed it off granting each of them the amnesty of having a good time at their Dad's expense. Thursday night crowds can be tough on the golf circuit. (Mind you, Nancy didn't say anything through all of this, loyal and dutiful wife she is.)

Later in the evening, as Nancy and I were getting ready for bed, my cell phone rings and it was Matt. Curiosity was killing the cat, I thought as I waited to see where the call was going to go. And, as always with Matt, it didn't take but a moment: "Okay, Dad, tell me where you were, what hole you were on and how the ball flew that far." "What do you mean?" I replied, "I was at White Oak, on #2, and my drive went to the 100 yard marker, and I parred it. What's so hard to believe about that?" Matt said, "Well, there's nothing hard to believe about that, but what you said in your text with the picture was, "My drive on 4. That's the 100 yard marker across the way. Par."

Suddenly it all made sense! I had inadvertently typed in the wrong hole number, which is no small difference. Number 2 is a 398 yard hole, making my drive 298 yards. Number 4 is a 523 yard hole, which would have made my drive 423 yards, leaving the likes of Tiger and Phil in the dust. No wonder my boys were making such fun of me! After laughing at the irony and humor of it all, I hung up with Matt and texted Ray and Ched and explained the gaff, taking them off the hook for their apparent lack of faith and making fun of my own texting ineptitude.

Finally, laying down and watching the last of the Cardinal game and the news, smiling at the exchange between the boys and myself, I began to relax. Somewhere in the twilight of sleep it occurred to me: 'The boys really didn't believe me! Not that they should have, given the context of the situation, but the boys really didn't believe me!' Coming fully awake, I pondered the thought of that, then smiled all over again, 'We've raised our boys well and they question everything which seems out of the ordinary or out of line. And, if they can do that with that own Dad about a golf story, how much more likely are they to do that in the things that really matter?'

My sons didn't believe me . . . and that is quite alright. I slept well last night and I hope you did, too

Matt's Surprise

"Your oldest son took care of me", is what a friend and colleague told me as we chatted on the phone yesterday. Caught a bit unaware and wondering what Matt might have been up to, I asked, "How?" All the while thinking, 'Changed a flat tire', 'Helped moved a couch', 'Organized a meeting', or 'Spoke to an issue I supported', would be among the responses my friend would cite, instead he said, "I asked him a question about parsonage allowance. Matt researched it and got me the answers I needed."

Imagine that, our son is a professional and people ask him to help them! Never mind that Matt is 33 years old and has had a variety of professional experiences added to his resume already. Never mind that he studies constantly, works continuously, and networks unceasingly. Never mind that Matt has served on the Illinois South Conference of the United Church of Christ Personnel Committee for a number of years, chairing it for the last two years. Never mind that Matt is deeply invested in his faith and endeavors constantly that his daughter's would know the Christ of his faith. Never mind all that he has and is accomplishing . . .

I was still taken somewhat aback when my friend and colleague said to me, "Your oldest son took care of me", for in my eyes Matt is still 'my boy', my son. As my friend affirmed Matt's gifts, I connected with the Baptism of Jesus in a whole new way: "You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased" (Mark 1.11), became for me, "Yes! Alright! Way to go! You did it! I couldn't have asked for more! I'm so proud of you!" If we could see it, what would be the 'happy dance' God does when we live in the way we are birthed to live, when we follow in faith the hope within us? Scripture records a rather 'dry' affirmation from God of Jesus in Baptism, but I would like to bet that, much as I did in hearing of Matt's assistance of a friend, God did that parental dance in the public setting of the Kingdom which mortifies every child who sees it. Maybe God said those words just as they are recorded, but those words cannot contain the joy of a parent's heart when their child amazes them all over again.

Thank you, Matt, for being the son you are. I am so very pleased with you! And, thank you God for giving me the language and the 'moves' to express such joy! May our children always surprise us so powerfully and may our response to their gifts always cause us to sing and dance, regardless what they may think.

Noah Thinks You Are Jesus

Olivia Captain came into the vestry yesterday after the 10:30 a.m. worship service with something clearly on her mind. "Pastor Don", she started, "Noah thinks you are Jesus." Noah is Olivia's younger brother who, for a long time, has been calling me 'Under-God', which in and of itself is a bit of leap for anyone, including me, to either understand or live up to, so I can relate to Olivia's consternation with her brother now thinking that I'm Jesus. Smiling, I said to Olivia, "Well, you know that I'm not Jesus, right?" To which Olivia responded, "Oh sure! I just didn't want Noah to get that messed up."

I knew what Olivia meant, yet I couldn't help but smile at how I had heard it. 'No, Olivia, I don't want Noah to get that messed up, either!'

I am not Jesus, nor am I anywhere near to whom Jesus is. Jesus is the One who is my Lord and Savior. Yet, especially for the young ones among us who are just formulating faith and understanding, seeing and knowing the difference is sometimes a hard thing, particularly when the Jesus of the faith is constantly being spoken about by the one who is Pastor of the congregation. 'Pastor speaks of knowing Jesus' = 'Pastor is Jesus'.

Seem like a leap to you? Not to me, at least when you think of it from a young child's point of view. For Noah, I am to him what he hears about in Jesus. One equals the other. I am touched that he made such a connection. I am also deeply uneasy with the implications . . . as well we all should be.

To those who are new to Jesus, to any who are just in the formative places of faith and understanding, to all who are searching for answers along the way and come to this peculiar community called 'Christian', we who are the ones they encounter, the ones who witness to Him, the ones who embody His welcome, are as Jesus to them. What is it of Jesus that they see in us? What is it of Jesus that they hear in us? What is it of Jesus that feel in their hearts in who we are with them on the journey?

The very thought of it humbles me beyond words. Still, there it is, "Noah thinks you are Jesus." I pray that Noah sees only the best, hears only the words, and knows only the feelings of Jesus in his heart in who he perceives me to be. Maybe that is the truest test of whether or not we Christians are who we pray to be. Time, and Jesus, will only know.

For now, whether known as Under-God or Jesus or just simply Pastor Don, I had better be who God created me to be in the most faithful way I can, for there are little ones watching and I know Who it is that I want them to see: God. Thank you for reminding me of that, Noah, and thank you, Olivia, for trusting me with what you know. I'll try not to get that messed up.

Have a blessed day everyone!

The Compliment of Matt

Last night I was told by a friend of ours that Matt, our oldest son, is an incredible young man and a gift to the church. My first thought was, "Thank God our kids have Nancy's common sense!", and my second was, "I am so proud of him!" Of course, having been raised in a fairly humble German household, the first thought, "Thank God our kids have Nancy's common sense!", was an acceptable response to share with our friend, laughingly acknowledging the agreement I had about Matt in my heart, carefully deflecting any credit for who he is becoming . . . while the second thought was not something a father would ever admit to in public, even to a friend, lest you be considered haughty. Yet, all this day, I have been pondering on that very thing.

How does God react when someone says to God, 'You know, your Son is an incredible young man and a gift to the church'? Does God just try to shrug it off and humbly shift the conversation, all the while glowing inside that the Son is making a noticeable difference? Does God relish the moment, trusting that no-one will think God haughty in the glow of the compliment? Or does God just say 'Thank you, I think so, too!'? Parenting is tricky enough without falling prey to personal pride when one of our children is recognized for the work they are doing or the accomplishments they achieve. Lord, save us from pride in our living and parenting, yet . . .

Are such answers to be found in the resurrection? Faithful to who He was birthed and gifted to be, even unto death, Jesus' resurrection points us to a Parent's loving response to a world that sees Him, but does not know Him. The stone rolled away from the tomb is God's affirmation of who Jesus is, whether or not anyone else recognizes it. How much more is God filled with joy when we do recognize it? In resurrection we see God's joy made manifest in who the Son is and is becoming. In facing His doubters in the days after resurrection, we hear again God's words coursing the ages since His baptism, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." and, therein, may be my answer.

Affirming faithfulness to self and God, whether in one of our children or someone else, is not prideful. It is truthful. Stating the truth of the moment in an encounter which occurred at a meeting was what our friend did for me last night . . . our friend told the truth about his observation of Matt and who he is choosing to become.

I humbly and heartily concur - and, Matt, in you I am well pleased. As only a parent comes to understand, and as you will come to understand with your own daughters, not everyone sees what the Parent sees or believes as the Parent believes, but when someone does and names it in truth, it is like baptismal waters washing all else away. Only pure love remains. Such love rolls stones away from the tombs of this world's disbelief. Thank you for filling this parent's heart with such joy in these days.

Celebrate Life

There was a time when I couldn't wait to grow up. Then there were the days when I couldn't wait to drive. There were the days when I couldn't wait to farm full time. Then there were the days I couldn't wait to get married. Then I couldn't wait to have children. Then I couldn't wait to get through school. Then I couldn't wait to receive my first call to a church. Then I couldn't wait for our kids to grow up. Then I couldn't wait to make the move after receiving a call to our second church. Then I couldn't wait for the kids to get really involved in sports. Then I couldn't wait for Nancy to get a job back in Illinois. Then I couldn't wait for the kids to graduate from High School to go to college . . . .

And after all that 'couldn't wait' stuff, now it seems life is rolling down the hill pretty quickly. There are mornings when I feel like I'm riding in my old 'Little Red Wagon' down a long hill, dragging my feet on each side to slow down. The remarkable thing I realized this morning, though, is that I am laughing while taking the ride. Life is fun.

I wouldn't trade a day, an experience, a moment for whatever lies ahead, because slowly I am learning not to be so impatient for whatever I think might be better. Though I may not have another day on this earth, let it not be said that I didn't enjoy the ride on this day and giggle uproariously along the way. Let it not be said that I didn't savor the gifts of God, for in the savoring I am finding what truly it means to be alive today.

It's Time to Get Up!

"It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up in the mor-ning!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up today!

Oh, you don't want to get up?

Well, you just have to get up!

Oh, you don't want to get up?

Well, get up any-way!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up in the mor-ning!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up today!"

(sung quickly and to the tune of Reveille)

With songs like this and many others like it, I woke up our three boys each day for school. Swinging open the door to their rooms, often intentionally singing off key and as loudly as I could, these moments came to be as much dreaded as they were anticipated by the boys. When I didn't wake them up 'abruptly', it wasn't unusual for one of them to find me and ask if I was alright. Seldom did any morning go by that the boys wouldn't seek me out at the dining room table where I had already gone to eat breakfast and read the paper, give me a big 'good morning hug' and an 'I love you" before heading on to get their breakfast ready and their day started . . . . and, this morning, Nancy reminded me that I wouldn't have to sing to the boys anymore. They have all left home.

I had mentally noted the end of this particular, peculiar tradition on Wednesday, June 23, the day Ched left for the Air Force Academy, yet this morning as Nancy headed off to teach, the reality hit home and the silence of the 7:00 a.m. hour resonated loudly. The doors to their rooms were already open, their beds were neatly made, and the incredible stench of athletic shoes has long ago dissipated from their closets. Much like the teacher who retires in May, yet doesn't really experience retirement until the school year reconvenes, I had seen this coming, but couldn't anticipate how it would feel. Today I know and my heart aches for their laughter, chastisement, hugs and voices. They are each on their journey.

Though I would never wish any of them back to the rooms of their childhood for a moment, I do miss having 'our boys' at home, bringing to mind the words of Genesis 2 echoing across the generations to my heart today (as Adam first sees Eve, created as she was from one of Adam's ribs): "This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." (2.23a NRSV) There is something deeply connective beyond the brick and mortar of residence and geography which binds our souls together and causes us to care and long for each other, regardless the time or place. What began as just Nancy and me became three times deeper in the birth of each of our sons. How much more is that so for the God who births us all?

Last evening, as I held our newest granddaughter, Norah Caroline, in my arms and felt her tiny fingers squeezing mine it was as if she were assuring her Papa that the connection continues, the flesh and bone of family is deepened, the heart of life itself pulses even more vibrantly. Though tears may flow in the morning for songs no longer sung, laughter and hope fills the evening in the breath of a baby cooing assurance, the gift of the One who knows our days.

My prayer for you, as for each of our sons and their children after them, is that you know both, the fullness of a home resounding with, " . . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." and the bittersweet awareness of silence echoing in the hallways as that which is 'of you' seeks their own future in the presence and goodness of God. Traditions may change, habits are meant to be broken, patterns of living will be transformed, but that which is of us will remain in us as a gift of the Father who knows all the children as, ". . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . .". Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Superman

++Author's note: As many are headed to colleges and vocational training in these days, it seems appropriate to re-print this article from 'Pastor Don's Corner' of the St. Paul UCC "Caller", September 2004. I pray those parents who read this find it helpful in pondering the deeper feelings of your child maturing - and that those children reading this,trying to understand their parents in these days, will find some measure of patience and peace with those who love them so.
In Christ's service,
Pastor Don


Pastor Don’s Corner . . .

Superman has left the house.
We took Raymond to the University of Kansas last Sunday and helped him move into his new room. Six round trips of about a quarter mile each way to bring all of his earthly possessions to the dorm, then up five flights of stairs with each load, joining with about a thousand other students and their parents (just in his dorm building) to set up a new way of life uniquely designed to last only nine months. Somehow, there just must be a correlation between the nine months of pregnancy and the nine months of the school year, but right now I’m just too tired to think about it.
We were ready to make this trip, after all it is the school of Raymond’s choosing. It is his dream, his ambition to play basketball for the KU Jayhawks and to get a quality Division I College education . . . so, Nancy and he sorted for weeks through a lifetime of accumulation and storage to cull it all down to what would fit in our Explorer for the trip to Lawrence, Kansas. Necessities were determined, addresses were changed and people were notified, a computer was purchased, a telephone plan was laid out, and a transition was made ready. We left on Saturday afternoon for the five and a half hour journey so that we would be fresh for the move-in on Sunday morning.
Tearful good-byes and good-lucks were exchanged between Raymond and a multitude of relatives, friends and well-wishers, and promises were made on every front to ‘keep in touch’ or, as in the case of his big brother, requests were made for tickets to KU basketball games (There’s nothing like a Rock Chalk Jayhawk Basketball game!). But, just the same, I knew I was ready to ‘drop him off’ and ‘clear another one out of the house’ and had told an unknown number of people exactly that . . . and was ready to do so as though it wouldn’t make any major difference in my life until that moment in the Explorer when he asked me for the fobs off of his key chain.
You see, Raymond has been driving the Explorer pretty regularly and one of the Explorer key chains was his to use. Raymond had placed two Superman key chain fobs on his key chain and everyone in the house knew that was ‘his’ set of keys. Knowing that we were not leaving the Explorer in Kansas for him to use, Ray turned to me while we were driving down a Lawrence, Kansas street and said, “Since you are taking the Explorer home, why don’t you give me my Superman fobs for my key ring here at Kansas.”
And, don’t ask me why but, with those few words it suddenly hit me, Superman has left the house and Metropolis will never be the same.
This young man who grew up in three different towns in eighteen years, whose super-powers include impersonations, telling jokes that can make the dourest person laugh, caring more and deeper than a person his age should know how to, a passion for basketball that is matched only by his passion for the Christ of his faith, and a solid belief in family and love . . . this young man who may not be faster than a speeding bullet, nor mightier than a powerful locomotive, nor ever leap tall buildings in a single bound . . . this young man, like his older brother before him and his younger brother after him, has my heart. And, like every parent who loves their children, I believe he will make the world a better place to live, will be able to address the evils of our generation, and give men, women and children of every background a reason to hope and smile. This man of steel is human and may make his share of mistakes, but I know his heart is in the right place and his passion for Christ and others will see him through every crisis. He is our son and, though I hadn’t known it until that moment, to me he will always be Superman.
And Superman has left the house.
As Nancy and I drove the five and a half hour trip back to Lebanon, and as I struggled with this huge lump of parental joy and sadness in my throat, and as tears streamed from sunglass covered eyes, my thoughts turned to God . . . and to just how God does it with each one of us. I mean, think of it, God is the ultimate parent: God births every one of us into life, gives us roots to grow, space to spread out, a place to know we are safe, is always putting food on the table, is constantly encouraging us to follow our passion in faith, and assures us that, when we are ready, our wings will carry us swiftly and strongly onward. God knows the path will not be easy, that dreams are often shattered by the cruel fist of a reality that is mediated by others, and that the choices we make would not always be the choices God would make. Yet, God sets us up for success anyway and sends us forth in love and joy.
I wondered: as God drives away from the ‘dorm’ of our new journey, is it as hard on God as it was on us, to watch ‘Superman’ walk away across the heat soaked asphalt parking lot, a mere mortal preparing to engage in cosmic combat? Do the words that God hoped to say just before leaving get stuck in God’s throat the way mine did? Is God grateful for the opportunities that God’s children have, all the while secretly hoping that they will not wander out in those opportunities and forget they have a home to return to? Is it possible that God sets us up for success, freedom and self-reliance, all the while praying that we will know that we will never fully outgrow our need for God and God’s love and care? . . . . . . Just how hard was it to drop Jesus off in Bethlehem and watch him grow up to walk all the way to Jerusalem? And, if God has it this hard, what makes us think it should be any easier for us here today?
Maybe we should take our cues from the One who defines parenthood for every generation: Superman has left the house, but he will never leave the home of our hearts. Whether his journey takes him to the heavens above or the earth below, our love goes with him, above him, below him, around him and through him. Metropolis may never be the same again, but it will always be profoundly better for his having been with us for a while.
Fly high, be strong, strive for justice, truth and mercy, and know that we wait with the world in breathless anticipation of what God is yet to do in you, through you, and with you, Superman.

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane . . .” it’s a child of God soaring to new heights. Be careful on your journeys, Superman, and know that, in the home of our hearts, you have a place and are loved always.
Love you,
Dad

Norah Caroline

"Happy is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in the Lord's ways.

You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands;

you shall be happy, and it shall go well with you.

Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house;

your children will be like olive shoots around your table.

Thus shall the man be blessed who fears the Lord.

The Lord bless you from Zion.

May you see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life.

May you see your children's children.

Peace be upon Israel!"

Psalm 128 NRSV

At 7:30 pm last evening I received 'that call' for which we had been waiting: "Dad, the contractions are about 6 to 7 minutes apart and the Doctor told us to go to the hospital. We'll see you there."

'That call' was Ray letting Nancy and I (Nana and Papa) know about Kara and the imminent arrival of Baby Wagner. 'That call' was a blessing of God about to make her grand entrance into this world. 'That call' was an invitation to be immersed in the happiness of the Lord, to " . . . . eat the fruit of the labor of your hands . . . ", to witness the wonder of a ". . . . fruitful vine . . . ", to see ". . . . children like olive shoots around your table . . . .", and to ". . . . see your children's children." 'That call' was to share the journey with our children as now they formally welcome their first child into the home of their hearts. 'That call' was Norah Caroline, child of God, disciple of Christ, member of the Body of Christ, whispering God's love into my ears and, like Grandfathers in every age, I turned to my wife and said, "She's coming!"

Ray and Kara had attended worship with us that morning in celebration of my birthday, after which we had sat at our dining room table and feasted on 'Wagner beef', T-bones from the farm, twice baked potatoes and salad, complimented by a Double Chocolate Chocolate Cake and lots of wonderful conversation. Though Kara appeared to have 'dropped' quite a bit, she said she still felt very comfortable and enjoyed the feast. They left around 2:00 in the afternoon . . . and that drive started the journey: about half-way home the labor pains began.

Though Baby Wagner was projected by the Doctor to arrive on August 11, I had long been telling folks I thought she would arrive on August 8 and share my birthday with me. Now, it seemed, God and Baby Wagner agreed with me . . . . yet, as always, God has a wry sense of humor. Without going into all the details, Norah Caroline arrived at 12:02 a.m. on August 9 or, for those of you into such coincidences, 08-09-10, and has her own day, her own celebration, her own integrity in God's laughter at my chagrin . . . and I could not be happier.

Kara is an amazing woman and our son, Ray, is blessed to be married to her. The two of them will be wonderful, faithful parents who will raise their daughter in the joy and wonder of God - and that shown through both of them as they tenderly cared for each other throughout the labor and delivery process. For a Grandparent, I cannot imagine a more humbling, tear-evoking, heart-filling moment than when your son walks out of the delivery room smiling and says, "She's here and she's perfect!", then gives you 'that hug' which is the final benediction to 'that call' received earlier in the evening.

Nancy summed it up best as we got into the car sometime around 2:15 in the morning after having held our newest granddaughter while shedding the baptismal tears reserved for such holy occasions: "We are so blessed and Norah is such a gift of God." We offered a prayer of thanksgiving, then pulled onto the highway, each swimming in the baptismal waters of our gratitude and love for what we were privileged to see and adore.

Norah Caroline joins her cousins, Mary Cailin and Ava Isabel, in declaring the power and imagination of God - and promises, I'm sure, to give us all a run for our money, but I could ask for nothing more. "Happy is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in his ways . . . . your wife will be like a fruitful vine . . . your children will be like olive shoots around your table . . . . May you see your children's children." And if someone as simple and human as I can be so much in awe of new life, how much more is God delighted in what now is birthed for the world to see?

God bless you Norah Caroline! You are far more than your parent's daughter or your grandparents granddaughter: You are an ongoing announcement of God's Covenant, God's vision for all that can be in faith, hope and love. May your days be filled with all the joy I feel in this moment and, yet, so much more, that in your time you may sing the ancient song of the Psalmist and savor the meaning of the words, pondering them in your heart as well.

In the praise of God: Abba, Son and Holy Spirit!

Papa

Our Boy in Blue

Saw a picture of Ched in his 'blues' yesterday, his lid squarely set upon his head, the brim of which jutted neatly over his eyes as confidently he led his flight in their march from this place to that. It was an amazing sight and one that nearly took my breath away, especially given that just a week ago we were glued to pictures of he and his battle buddies sloughing through the mud of Jacks Valley with rifles held high. I marvel at their emerging character and in the strength of heart and soul that is visibly defined in the way they carry themselves in the midst of their superior officers. What once was only dimly imagined as they stepped onto the buses of In-Processing now begins to find definition in the portrait of those, such as our boy in blue, marching out into the future God has for them . . . . and my heart swells with pride, even as tears insist on their place at the edges of my eyes.

It is a fine balance, I am finding, between joy in their accomplishments and the ongoing depth of prayer for the challenges still facing them. How closely do we mirror God in God's relationship with all of us in such things? In one moment we step out from behind the walls of our making and, suddenly, God sees us moving forward, smartly echoing the summons of those who have gone before, answering the call on every foot-fall, executing with care the marks of discipleship and finding an ease in rising to God's hope for us in God's plan. Is it in that moment that God audibly gasps with joy? Is it in such moments as these that God's own eyes shed their tears and rejoice in that which is finding color, meaning and hue in the living of each day? Is it here that God whispers God's most meaningful prayer for strength in the days ahead? Is it here that God stands with every parent on the precipice between incredible accomplishment and unforeseeable 'next things'?

I think so. I believe so or, as the scriptures tell us, we wouldn't be created in the image of God. And, to know that God stands with me in watching my boy in blue as he marches into his future in God's hands, that is confidence enough for me to smile broadly in this moment and celebrate with him, trusting his tomorrows to the One who will never let either of us go. Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

In Love All Over Again

With our youngest out of the house,

Nancy and I are learning to live together again - with just each other.

It has been thirty years since Nancy and I haven't had a child in our home to occupy our time and attentions. When I am counseling folks who are preparing for the Covenant of Marriage, I always ask them what their plans are for children in their relationship precisely for that reason. Children are such a permanent fixture in the lives of their parents, whether they are home or away, for a child never is out of your heart and to have a child is more than a moment of birthing: it is a commitment to a lifetime of parenting. For those blessed to have children in their lives, you are never 'just a couple' again. You are always a family, however perfect or dysfunctional that definition may be.

Now Nancy and I find ourselves inexplicably becoming part of a new reality series whimsically known as 'Married, with Children, but None of Them In the Home'. It is a 24/7 program with absolutely no commercial breaks, sort of like The Truman Show, but without the hype and direction. Periodically we have a flurry of visits from children and grandchildren, but with no regular boarders, and even our refrigerator is suddenly, inexplicably staying stocked with all sorts of goodies for those evenings when I come home from the office with the munchies. Lights are magically being turned out in rooms where we are not presently doing something. Laundry is miraculously finding its way to the basement instead of laying strewn in the bedrooms. The dishwasher doesn't run for days on end because of a low volume of dirty dishes. Chip bags are actually closed with a 'Chip Clip' on them, keeping the contents fresh rather than letting the air make everything stale. There is hot water in the shower and little or no water on the bathroom floor. We can turn on the TV whenever we want and watch whatever we want . . . sometimes the channel never changes between the times we watch it (I had forgotten that happens!). Items placed on the counter for use later . . . remain on the counter until we are ready to use them. Imagine?!

Yet, even as I write of the irony of these changes, regarding the mundane as ridiculous, there isn't a moment I wouldn't gladly take back all of the differences and return to the hectic schedule of school, sports, friends, Scouts, band, and family, just to have our kids back home . . . which isn't going to happen, so I had better get over it and move on. Right? Well, the walls of our home maybe be quieter now without children there making the sounds that only children can appreciate, but Nancy and I are finding that our hearts continue to grow with love of those who still make us a family, wherever they may be. Our children are always our children, whether in our home or not, and their lives, their schedules, their interests still are our own, though now from miles away.

We begin a new journey, Nancy and I, a new experience in our relationship that we hadn't thought of until now, a part of the vows spoken 34 years ago that must have been lost in the fine print, as all over again we recover what it means to be just 'she and me'. I have always loved my curly-haired girl, my 'Sweetie', my best friend, yet I am finding in the latest turn of the chapter a new type of love, a sonnet of sorts, that only deepens what we have shared before. I cannot imagine life without children, for our kids have been, and continue to be, such blessings to us, but I am grateful to God for the moments into which Nancy and I are entering together. The days which some have termed the 'late-Summer' or 'early-Fall' of life I am coming to appreciate as the 'Savor of the Fine Wine' or the 'Wonder of the Evening'. We are learning to love all over again and I know now, as I have always known, there is no one with whom I would rather be, just she and me, setting course on a whole new sea.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

As Ched Leaves for the AFA

"God doesn't come and go. God lasts. God is Creator of all you can see or imagine. God doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch God's breath. And God knows everything, inside and out. God energizes those who get tired, gives fresh strength to dropouts. For even young people tire and drop out, your folk in their prime stumble and fall. But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings ans soar like eagles. They run and don't get tired, they walk and don't lag behind." (Isaiah 40:28b-31 The Message Bible)

Ched leaves on Wednesday. He has earned an appointment to the United States Air Force Academy and flies out from St. Louis to Colorado Springs, Colorado to begin Basic Cadet Training (BCT or 'Beast', as it is affectionately known) on Thursday. The Air Force Academy is a Division I University, boasting one of the highest levels of education available in the nation and training some of the brightest and best in our country to become Air Force Officers, a leadership core for the national defense. Ched will have access to some of the keenest minds on earth, to some of the best equipment in the world, and will participate in the kinds of training about which most of us could only dream. So, why is this lump building in my throat? Why do my eyes seem to incessantly tear-up at the slightest provocation? Why is it hard even to type these words when my heart and soul feels only such pride and wonder in whom it is that he is becoming?

I have jokingly suggested that, as a result of Ched departing our home, my greatest fear and newest avocation will be figuring out to whom it is that I have been married and living with these last 34 years, since most of that time her most common persona has been 'Mom' to our three sons. Is it the dreaded 'Empty Nest Syndrome' which is troubling me? Or, could it be deeper? Could it be that, once Ched is out and on his own and Nancy and I are at home alone together, I will no longer have anyone else upon which to blame my 'not hearing her voice' or 'not heeding her helpful directions'? Could it be that my deeper self is trembling at the notion of having to get to know myself, while blessed with having all of Nancy's loving attention focused on how I can now become the person she has always hoped I would be?

In the milieu of ponderings, Ched's oldest brother, Matthew, observes that it is a shame Nancy and I only had three sons, since each one has gotten progressively more intelligent and heaven only knows how wise our sixth or seventh children might have been. Ched's next older brother, Raymond, touches on the fact that Ched has been the blessed recipient of 'inherited wisdom' from both Matt and Ray, since Ched is very adept at seeing the problems others have had and learning from them. Truth is, both Matt and Ray are right: Ched, being eight years younger than Ray and twelve years younger than Matt, has learned volumes from them both, and the bottom line of what they have taught him is this: to be true to the gifts God has placed in him, to value family and community over all the other things which can be bought and sold, to surround yourself with people who are friends and who share common values, and to never stop pursuing your dreams.

Ched has learned well from his older brothers and, therein, is the emotion with which I am wrestling: The last of 'our boys' will be out of our home and on his own. The very thing we have striven as parents to prepare him for is that which causes the deepest distress in a father's heart: Flight. As ironic as it may seem, all three of our boys earned the rank of Eagle Scout because they avidly and tenaciously pursued it, and now the last eagle is leaving the nest for the United States Air Force and, though I know he will soar powerfully and well, I know, too, his flight will take him away from the reach of my arms and I can only stand with this mother on the side of the nest watching him soar, praying him safety and care. So, the ponderings and tears of this parent fall upon the Table of the Lord in prayer, praying both for that which my head understands and for that which my heart trembles to consider.

I pray that Ched continues to learn from his brothers, both of whom are carrying the lessons they have have shared with him over the years into the homes which they are establishing with their wives and children in God's care. Beyond the knowledge and skills Ched will attain in the next four years, I pray him wisdom to fly on the currents which lift him the closest to the One whose breath is the Wind itself. I pray him strength to be faithful to God and gentleness in serving Christ and his fellow human-beings. I pray him courage to trust God's Holy Spirit in trial and a generosity of spirit in offering leadership to others whose journey becomes part of his own. I pray him a greater capacity to love than I could ever express and a deeper conviction for justice and mercy in the stands he must take. I pray he never forgets where home is, while maintaining a sense of adventure in seeking God's direction for his life wherever that may take him. I pray that, in every circumstance, Ched will take his cue from Jesus Himself who always seemed to know when to take time away just to be alone with God - away from all the other voices of this world - and trusted the outcome of His immersion in this world to the Power of the One who births all there is.

Finally, I pray that this parent's pride, ponderings, joy and tears for his son, shed upon Christ's Table of sacrifice and victory, reflect the devotion and faithfulness of the Holy Parent whose tears of pride and joy caused angels to sing over Bethlehem and women to shout out in wonder before an empty tomb in Jerusalem. For it is, I believe, those 'in-between times', those times between a stable and the rush of a mighty Wind, those times between uncontrollable laughter and the lump of pride and love in the throat, those times between absolute wonder and outrageous awe, that most challenged the heart of our Parent God. Yet, was it not precisely for such times that God instructed Isaiah to speak these words to people like you and me, parents whose children are about to take flight as God's Israelite children took flight?

"But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles. They run and don't get tired, they walk and don't lag behind."

Wait upon God, Ched, wait upon God. Don't let a movement of your wings be taken without the Spirit of God to carry you. Soar beyond this parent's wonder into the joy for which God has intended you from the beginning and know that our love goes with you, as a family's love and touch always does, from age to age, beyond the bounds of geography to the places you are meant to be. Soar like an eagle in the care which only God can provide and know that our hearts fly with you.

Think Clearly. Act Decisively.

Live Faithfully.

'God Lasts.'

In the love of the Holy Parent,

Dad

Hugs

Our youngest son, Ched, played his last high school soccer game yesterday evening. It wasn't expected to be their last, but they lost in the Sectionals to an area team. A great game, but a lousy outcome for our team. As he walked off of the field, he headed towards his mother and me. Hugs are very much a part of our family: we share them when we meet and we share them as we part . . . and any time in between, just for good measure.

Ched hugged his mother, then he walked over and hugged me. No words, just a hug.

Our youngest son. His last soccer game. A hug as he walked off of the field for the very last time. Those images stayed with me over night then, this morning as he came out to the kitchen to make his breakfast, he gave me a 'good morning hug'. Again, no words, just a hug.

It was at that moment it occurred to me:

"You can never count hugs, only treasure them."

In the course of life we never know when hugs will diminish or cease all together, making the hugs we receive all the precious. Whether walking off of the soccer field, in the kitchen for breakfast, meeting after a prolonged absence, as seeing each other on a daily basis, the hugs we share are our gift to each other to bind us up in strength and love till next we hug again.

It would have been nice to win the game, but I would never trade the hugs of our children for a game that would soon be forgotten. Thanks for the hug, Ched.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don