Writer's block

It's a New Year tomorrow. Church in the AM. Let's be honest. People will be tired from staying up last night. And, I can't mention it tomorrow, but um, many of the guys (and gals???) will want church done on time--football game is on t.v. So, preacher, be thought provoking, inspirational, Spirit-filled, and....brief.

Resolutions...

A good-sized part of my job is writing.

I don't bear any illusions about quality of my writing, other than I know its serviceable. At least there are times when I finish a sermon or an article, I'm pleased and excited to share it with others.

I would like this to be a place where I can write--sometimes seriously, sometimes nonsense, sometimes fun, just to keep in the practice of writing. So, my resolution for this New Year is to keep writing, and be disciplined about it.
That's all I have for write now, but its a start.

Fall Program 2008

Here's a video I mashed together of some pics and video of Lindsey and Emily's Fall Program.


2008 Fall Program from Todd Z. on Vimeo.

I still see them...

Here is an article that I wrote for the newsletter of the Romanian Evangelistic Medical Mission (REMM). I traveled there with a medical team from Pella (including my parents) this past June.



It has been said that the eyes are windows that let you gaze into a person’s soul. That’s why of all the pictures I took during my trip to Romania, I always return to this one.

The picture first draws us in to see the eyes that match the smiles of two friends eager to have their pictures taken. I snapped this photo while participating with a medical team based out of Pella, Iowa.

During our two weeks in Romania, we traveled to outlying villages to set up clinics, providing those who came with a one on one consultation with a physician. If possible, they were also able to receive prescription medication, multi-vitamins, and other basics to address a variety of health issues.

Look at the picture closer. Do you see the eyes of the young girl in the background? Her face, her eyes, especially, are imprinted in my memory. She was at the clinic we had in the Gypsy/Roma settlement on the outskirts of the village of Tinca.

She waited all day. I never saw her smile. I didn’t see her playing with the other children. I didn’t see a mother or a father watching out for her. It was just her, tangled and matted hair, with sticker tattoos on her neck that were darkened by grime and sweat. “Love,” printed on her t-shirt. Eyes that were distant, revealing a weariness beyond her years. Waiting.

What haunts me the most is that I don’t know if she ever saw the doctor. By the end of the day, we were all tired. The medications we had brought along were running low. We had seen many, many people, and we were ready to go home and rest. We hurried to finish and clean up, and I lost track of her in the busy-ness. So, I don’t know if she received the help she needed or the attention I am sure she wanted. I don’t have a picture of sparkling eyes or of her smile. I don’t have a happy ending to this story.

Medical missions are an important work of REMM. Please keep this ministry in your prayers. The medical needs, especially of those who live in more rural areas, are still great. Perhaps, some of you will consider traveling to Romania and participating with a medical team. My hope is that one of you will recognize this girl in Tinca and see her smile.

Just checking in...

For the three of you that check this page, sorry for taking so long to post again. It's not as though I forgot. Just letting you know I'm still around and kicking and hope to post more soon. I can't believe that it's almost been two months.

What's gone on? Colorado vacation. Trip to Grand Rapids for a meeting. Birthdays. School starting again. And so on... Life goes on and we'll be in touch...

REMM Journal--#4

Since it seems to take me at least a week between posts, this REMM Journal summary will continue for a while at least. I think I am going to combine a couple days here.

Monday & Tuesday, June 9-10.



Monday was a quiet day. We started our work at the clinic, but saw relatively few patients--13, I I think. I did some basic triage--blood pressure, pulse, and some basic health questions that outlined what the visitors wanted the doctor to address. The most interesting thing that happened was listening to the irregular heartbeat of a woman who came to the clinic. "Lub dub, lub dub.........dub, lub dub, lub............dub, lub dub, etc."

We continued to sort some medicines, and organized everything for our trip to Stei on Tuesday. In the afternoon, I went to the orphanage, Casa Josef, that is run by REMM. There I helped dismantle some of the play equipment that had become unsafe for the children to play on. The wood, over four year's time had rotted and become infested with termites. After that, we played with the girls in the orphanage for a bit and then walked home.

Taking down the playset.

Playtime at Casa Josef

All of the girls who stay at Casa Josef are of pre-school/kindergarten age and are of Gypsy/Roma heritage. I asked Anca, Peter and Ana Lucaciu's daughter, who is staying in Romania this summer with her son, Lucas, if these children would be taught or retain some of their heritage/language. In the U.S., we often hear that discussion in regard to bi-racial adoptions in the U.S. She replied that there really wasn't anything being done to make links with girls' Gypsy heritage. It wasn't considered to be important.

Pamela (Pami)

I struggle with that a bit. I understand that the Gypsy/Roma people have a reputation as being beggars, dishonest, and living on the good graces or misfortunes of others. Casa Josef exists because of the high number of abandoned children that come from the Roma people. On the other hand, as a Christian, I wonder how faith in Christ could transform hearts to him and redeem the good parts of their culture that I observed--colorful dress, beautiful language and music, among other things. I guess the most important thing is that these girls are safe, well-adjusted, and loved. I only wonder how many of them will seek their "roots" when they grow older, and how difficult it might be for them to find that they are looking for.

After supper, the evening was spent watching Romania play France in the Euro Cup Soccer/Football tournament. The match ended in a tie. I loved how the whole town seemed quiet and still, but when the home team scored a goal, voices and cheers echoed above fences and walls.

As for Tuesday, we traveled about 40 minutes to a small town called Stei. If I were to guess, Stei was about the size of Beius. We saw 60+ people. I worked triage once again. One of our translators for the day was Mihai (Mike) Inasel. He is 16, and is fluent in English, speaking with little to no discernible accent.

Pastor George and our help at Stei.

Mike at the headquarters for the Mountain Rescue Team

Mike is a climbing/caving enthusiast. Romania is renowned for its miles and miles of caves. Seeing my backpack and some of the gear I had along, he saw that I liked being outdoors as well. He peppered me with all types of questions about hiking and climbing. I don't have a lot of expertise, but we had a good time talking. He noticed my Nalgene bottle in my pack. He commented that he really wanted one, but that they were impossible to buy in Romania. I offered, but he wouldn't take mine. I will make arrangements for him to have one.

Dinner in Stei. Wow!

We had a fantastic meal of paprika/BBQ chicken, salad, mashed potatoes, and a treat that I loved, "placinta cu branza." It was a croissant type pastry with a mildly salty cheese woven into the pastry. Wow. I think I ate four.

During a break, Mike walked me through the town and showed me the headquarters of the Mountain Rescue Team that Mike belonged to. He is assisting this team, belongs to a climbing/caving club, and is training to be certified. I enjoyed getting to know Mike a little.

It was a good, busy day. Sleep will come easy tonight.

Getting old, and so is everyone else...

Sometimes you like to convince yourself that your age is static and unchanging. You look in the mirror everyday and you really don't see any changes, so you deceive yourself into thinking that you look pretty much the same as you always have.

That is, until you go to your 20th high school class reunion. Nuts. I'm getting old. It's not that everyone looked decrepit or anything. The people that were there looked good, nary a wheel chair or walker to be seen. One qualifier, all of us there, with the exception of those who married spouses younger than us, were clinging to the relative youth of our 30's and in a short year or two, will be dragged kicking and screaming into middle age.

Seriously, we had a good time. High school seems both like it happened only yesterday, but that yesterday was a long time ago. I'd like to think we've grown up with growing older. I won't lie, some of the old grudges and tensions that occurred at PCHS 20 years ago were still there, just under the surface. Out of a class of 70 and change, there are bound to be some personality conflicts. Yet, for a few hours, we were mature enough to let the past be the past and be glad we could be together again.

Walking in the room, I saw faces that reminded me of words that I said and things that I did that I wish I could take back or erase, as easy as the delete key on my keyboard. I also remember the words and actions of others that hurt me, as well. Fortunately, graduation day comes and you can leave a lot of your false starts and regrets behind. You establish an identity that barely resembles who you tried or thought you wanted to be.

Cheers to the PCHS Class of '88. Be well, all. I hope to see many of you again down the road some day, at another reunion. We can share pictures of children, and good grief, some of us will have pictures of grandchildren. Holy crap. I'm old.

REMM Journal--#3

Romania Trip, June 2008

(It's been a few days, but the journal continues...)

Sunday, June 8

Traveled to the town of Stei this morning for church. The drive was beautiful and the first time we were able to see the countryside in the light. Fields and pastures. Villages in the distance decorated with the silver, onion bulb spires of Orthodox churches. Mountain on the horizon.

I had my first opportunity to preach. I used the text of Joshua 24, where Joshua challenges the people to serve the Lord. In what had to be a first, Peter Lucaciu, told me that next time I could preach LONGER. On one hand I felt bad that the sermon length was left wanting, but it made me chuckle that for once, I was encouraged to preach a longer sermon. I sang "Christ Alone." Pastor George was our translator during the service and a great host. Here's a video of short clips from our visits to Stei. (We returned later in the week for a clinic.)




We traveled back to Beius for Sunday dinner and rest. I later went with Gaylen, Nicole, and Jackson for dessert at "The Bridge." Trying to be disciplined, I stuck with sparkling water (Water with gas, as they say...), they had desserts. If I ate as much as I could her, I would come back home heavier than when I left, if I'm not already. To be honest, I think I will be back at "The Bridge" often, and I will be eating. These desserts are too good to pass up.


I would like to exercise and run, but my unfamiliarity with the territory and the busy, narrow streets make me hesitant to go out alone. Andrea, Peter Lucaciu's daughter, made me laugh when I shared my concerns about running. She commented, "Yeah, and if a Romanian would see you running, he would say, 'What is that guy running away from?' No one in Romania runs."

We went to another village, Tinca, for the PM. There is a settlement of Gypsies (the Roma) on the edge of town. Words can't simply describe our experience there. The people are darker complected, almost Middle-Eastern in appearance. The women are dressed in colorful clothing, always wearing skirts and scarves. Living conditions appear to be much poorer than the average Romanian.


We worshipped at their church. I was very moved. I preached again--longer this time--and the pastor of the church, another Pastor George, had an altar-call. Apparently he was very moved and touched that I called them brothers and sisters in Christ. The Roma people experience discrimination and exclusion from Romanian society, so to have me as a representative of a team from the States to call them family was important. They were pleased that we would come and operate a clinic for them as well.


During the altar call, many came forward and almost everyone in the church were bowed on their knees as he prayed. Many were weeping. The service itself was powerful, even though I understood only what Peter translated for me. The singing was amazing. They sang some songs with familiar tunes, but their own native music--for lack of a better term--has some of the turns and phrasing of Arabic music. Beautiful.


We will be returning soon for a clinic. Can't wait.

We came back home to Beius for Saramale--a Romanian specialty of seasoned beef or lamb wrapped in a vinegar soaked and boiled cabbage leaf. It reminded me of some of the food that I've eaten in Lebanese and Greek restaurants. Very good.

I finished today spiritually refreshed, affirmed in faith, and glad to be where I am at this moment. I am truly thankful for the fellowship of believers.

REMM Journal--#2

(A recap of my recent trip to Romania.)

Day 2

After spending over 24 hours traveling, I didn't need much encouragement to go to bed--even with the eight hour time difference. I woke up on Saturday feeling much better and ready to get started with the work we came to do.

Nicole and me, unpacking and organizing.

Linda checking the inventory in the clinic's pharmacy.

I, along with the team, took my time in the morning getting ready for the day. After a late breakfast, we gathered up our suitcases that were loaded with medications and headed to the clinic to take inventory. We unpacked medicines, clothes, and other supplies--sorting them into piles. Pills were organized by their function--multi-vitamins in one pile, blood pressure medications in another, and etc. I particularly enjoyed the tubes of diaper ointment appropriately labeled, "Butt Paste." All would eventually be placed back into suitcases so that we could transport them from town to town when we started the clinics.

After that, it was lunch time. The food is hearty and good. Truly meat and potatoes country. I don't think that there was a meal that didn't have some form of potato included with it. Lunch usually consists of two courses. First, we were served a brothy soup of one kind of another--sometimes chicken stock based, other times tomato based. After the soup, we received the main dish of some kind of meat and potatoes. Meat was usually beef, with some pork and chicken. I really like the salad that they occasionally serve. Usually salad is a shredded, slaw-style cabbage, with carrots, a sweet vinegar dressing, and seasoned with a little bit of dill. Refreshing. Also, I can't forget the ever present tub of "Delma" margarine, peach jam, and bread.


Today was the first opportunity for me to walk to "The Bridge," a coffee shop run by REMM in Beius. Built to provide a non-alcoholic, non-smoking, Christian environment to the people in Beius, The Bridge serves restaurant quality desserts along with frozen ice cream treats, espresso/coffee, and soft drinks. I was amazed that a dessert and espresso that would have cost me at least $6 or $7 in the States only cost me on average 4 lei (Romanian currency) or roughly, $2 (U.S.). Needless to say, I will head back there many times.

I met a recent high school graduate from Tulsa, OK, name Jackson Siebert. Jackson is working for REMM and the Lucaciu's this summer, doing some landscaping work and whatever else needs to be done on the properties. I've enjoyed talking with him so far.

So much for today. Pretty laid-back. Tomorrow promises to be much busier. We have two church services and I have sermons to finish.

REMM Journal--#1

(Over the next few days I am going to include excerpts and reflections

from the journal I kept in Romania)

Friday, June 6, 2008

Well, I am safe in Beius, RO. We arrived about 11 PM Romanian time, or about 3 PM, Iowa time. The trip, including my drive from Hull to Des Moines, took about 29 hours.

Everything went pretty smoothly with the exception of the a delay of our flight from Detroit to Amsterdam. There was a broken lavatory in the front of the plane, of all things. This caused us to miss our connecting flight from Amsterdam to Budapest, but they had us re-scheduled by the time we landed at the Schiphol airport. I guess that's one advantage of a 7.5 hour flight. (With our Dutch last names, and apparent Dutch features, it was strange to walk through Schiphol airport as an American. I didn't even try the limited Dutch phrases I do know. I think the natives would have been offended on how I would abuse the mother tongue.)

Ferihegy Airport, Budapest

The airport museum of old planes that I was going
to tell Leah was our mode of transportation into Hungary.

We arrived without incident at Budapest. Our driver was waiting for us, and we packed up and left the city. It was a five hour drive from Budapest to Beius, including our border crossing from Hungary to Romania. I've been told that in recent years, the border crossing has been much less stressful. In the early days of the REMM trips, my mother speaks of the border crossing as being a tense time with the guards looking for bribes and abusing their authority. She said she remembers it being, "little boys with big guns, trying to be tough." I'm glad those days appear to be over, but we were glad to be across the border with passports in hand, nonetheless.

The countryside is beautiful. Hungary is flat, at least the part I drove through, with many large fields of corn and sunflowers. Romania has rolling hills with small fields and large pastures. Mountains sit on the edge of the horizon. On that first day, since we arrived so late, I didn't have the chance to see Beius by light. I am looking forward to the new day to investigate.

Hungary by highway.

On the road in Romania.

Along the way, I met some interesting people. On the flight from Des Moines to Detroit, I met Arnold Gordon. He is the president of a scale manufacturing company out east. He is an observant Jew, who ironically makes equipment that will be used weighing hogs. During the flight, we talked about the importance of putting our faith in action in the world around us. I had a chance to throw in some good Kuyperian/Calvinist perspective. Other than our perspective on the Messiah, we had a lot in common. He was kind enough to give me his card and offer an invitation to his home on Long Island, if I found myself in the area.

On the long flight overseas, I met Nasrin (sp?), a Turkish woman who was returning home to Istanbul to visit her parents. She had been living in the States as a student, did some social work, but basically was making money to support her travel habit. She had aspirations to be a full-time world traveler.

Anyhow, we made it safe and sound to Beius. I will be anxious to stretch my legs tomorrow. Tomorrow will essentially be a rest and organizational day. Everyone else on the trip seems to be holding up well--my folks, as well as Dr. Vande Zande and his daughter, Nicole. I am looking forward to the next two weeks.

I am going to put a few notes together for some preaching I have to do out here, and then turn in.

(Next post: June 7, Rest, Recuperation, & Reconnoitering)

Grateful...

Well, I'm back from spending two weeks in Romania. I was serving with the Romanian Evangelistic Medical Mission (REMM) based in Beius, RO. I was part of a medical mission consisting of my parents (my Mom is a nurse), Dr. Galyn Vande Zande, a physician from Pella, and his daughter, Nicole. We were also aided by a young woman, Carina Dudas, a Romanian by birth, but has been living in the States for the past 13 years. She has hopes to attend medical school. She came along to assist us with translation.

Over the next few days, I hope to review the journal I kept in Romania and share it with you. Along the way, hopefully, you can learn a little about REMM, as well as get a sense of privilege I felt being allowed to come along on this trip. Thanks to my wife and kids for letting me leave them for two weeks. I thank my parents and the Vande Zande's, who were gracious enough to let me tag along. I am also thankful for the friends I made along the way, the Lucaciu's (Peter, Ana, Anca, Andrea, and A.J.), and the members of the other teams (W00t, Jackson S.). I am thankful for the wonderful hospitality and kindness of the Romanians I met along the way. Most of all I am thankful to God for making this possible, and keeping me safe. God is at work in this world. Most definitely. I am thankful that He gave me a peek into that work on the other side of the world. Grateful isn't the prettiest of words off the tongue, especially in light of the emotion it is supposed to represent. Yet, that is what I am. Very grateful.

From Romania, with Love

Hello all. Greetings from Beius, Romania. All is well here as we have completed our ninth day in Romania. It's hard to believe that the time has passed so quickly.

In time, I have plans to flood you with pictures, but for now, just words. To be honest, I don't think a camera can completely capture all that I've experienced so far.

If you haven't heard, I've been part of a ministry called Romanian Evangelistic Medical Mission for the past week and a half. What am I doing on a medical mission, you might ask? Well, let me tell you, I am quite the expert at taking a person's blood pressure right now. Anytime you need to know how the systolic and diastolic are doing in your life, you get me a BP cuff and I will give you all the info. you need to know. I have heard irregular heartbeats, been given strange medical complaints like, "lazy gallbladder," and I have handed more lollipops to kids than I can count.

I have traveled to small town churches and gypsy villages. I have been preaching and singing when needed as well. I've also had the opportunity to see some of the sights around and about.

A Romanian open air market is a sight to behold. I have been invited for espresso in a gypsy (Roma) home. I have made friends with a young man who aspires to be a mountain climber.

God has been good. He has given us safety, a clear task, and many opportunities to observe and bear witness to his goodness.

All that said, I miss my family, too. I am looking forward to that first hug from my wife and daughters. The regular routine of home sounds appealing as well.

So, if you're reading this as a family member or friend, greetings to you from Romania, a country a world away and not often on the radar of American minds. Yet, this is a vibrant place, where graduates from the local schools travel two by two, arm in arm, to serenade their teachers at the end of the year. This is a place where fireworks rat a tat tat at midnight, signaling the end of a politcal rally for a local mayoral race. This is a place where the town goes silent during a match of the national soccer team but where cheers of a scored goal echo over backyard fences.

Noapte buna (Good night.)

May....Whew!

It's been about a month since I posted. I'm just letting you all know we're still alive in this wind tunnel that we call Northwest Iowa. So, if you've been checking in to see if I've posted again--I have. It's not much, but it comes with promise that I'll write more soon. Not that I expect that you hang on my every word, but for the very fact that you do check, gives me some sense of obligation that I should post something once in a while.

I hope all is well with you, wherever you find yourself.

I'll be in touch.

Todd

It Should Be Illegal to Have This Much Fun...

I guess it is, unless your with people who are permitted to do what I did last week Sunday night.

Jeff, a classmate and friend of mine from my earliest days in school, gave me a phone call a week ago saying that he was going to be in Spirit Lake doing some work. He is an employee of the Iowa Department of Natural Resources (DNR) with the Fisheries Department. Every year he comes to the Iowa Great Lakes to assist the Spirit Lake Fishery with its annual egg harvesting of walleye and muskellunge. (Having lived in Michigan, I use the word "Great" rather loosely.)

Apparently, there are enough anglers that fish on the lakes, that if the fish were left to their natural reproductive process, the water there would be "fished out" rather quickly. When the fisheries department comes in and takes and hatches the eggs, raise the fry, and then release them back into the lake, the fish population can be sustained, and fishing can continue in the lake.

Anyhow, on Sunday night, after the PM service at Hope, I packed my things and headed out of town. I arrived at the hatchery around 9 PM and was soon in a pick-up with Jeff and his co-worker Jason, pulling a boat-trailer and heading out to West Okoboji Lake. (Later, when I was talking to a member from my church, he said that W. Okoboji was considered to be a "fish graveyard," because he never had luck there. My pictures are proof that there are fish to be caught, and big ones at that.)

Once we arrived at our ramp, we backed the boat into the lake, and we were off. Thankfully, I had a warm rain proof coat, and Jeff loaned me a pair of rain pants, which kept me dry. (I did have to roll the waist over a couple times, since the legs that support m y 5'11" and 3/4" in frame are a bit shorter than the legs that support Jeff's 6'6")

We took off into the choppy water and went into the lake. Using a spotlight, we identified a reflective buoy about 300 yards out into the lake. Attached to it was a long gill net, the other end anchored to shore. A gill-net, if you're not familiar (I wasn't before last week.) is made from a material similar to monofilament fish line woven into a net with holes about 3-4" square. The net was approximately 6-8 feet high and 300 yards long.

The process was pretty simple, slowly take the net in, taking whatever fish came up and bringing them into the boat. Muskie and walleye went into a stainless steel cattle watering tank, aerated to keep the fish oxygenated. All other fish--largemouth and smallmouth bass, drum, northern pike, carp, and whatever else went back into the water. Everything that was caught was charted.

We checked three nets, the first of which was practically empty. The thought crossed my mind that I was the source of the problem, but I was not volunteering to be thrown in water Jonah-style. Nor was I going to suggest that they cast their nets on the other side of the boat. I figured clergy-humor was not going to fly for men who were separated from their families for a week and having to spend cold nights on a lake until they had their quota filled.

The second and third nets proved to have a little more success, bringing in some muskie--but no walleye. As they said during the night, "Muskie are fine, but walleye get us home." We reset the nets and then headed back to shore.

Waiting for us was another truck from the hatchery--essentially a truck with large compartments of water. The fish we brought in were transferred from the boat to the truck by a pole net, and then we headed back to the fishery to wait until it was time to check the nets again.

Around 12:30 AM, we took the 15 minute drive once again from the hatchery to our ramp. This time, the fishing was better. We still didn't catch many walleye, but we caught a few, which was good. I know that I would be tickled to have one of those on the end of my fish line someday. The highlight for me was the two muskie we brought in. Both were trophy size, around 46" a piece, and weighing close to thirty pounds. Even though we were using nets, watching those fish brought up to the surface contained the same excitement for me if I had caught them with a rod and reel. It made sense to me when Jeff observed that when you bring these huge fish up, it kind of discourages you to try to fish for these monsters the conventional way, knowing how difficult it is to catch them. These fish, many over a decade old, don't get this big being stupid.

The second time out, we brought the nets in, to be set once again the next evening. We returned to the hatchery to see the evening's catch. It's a fascinating process. Fish are weighed and tagged. The next morning, they are stripped of eggs and sperm. Soon after this, the fish are returned to the lake and area where they were caught. The harvested eggs are then fertilized and placed in canisters to mature and hatch. In the hatchery there are row after row of these canisters. Once the eggs hatch, the fry are transferred to large tanks. When the fish achieve the necessary size, they are they released back into the lake. Voila! Fish for fishing.

It was a good night. Thanks, Jeff, your invitation and hospitality were much appreciated. Give me a call next year!

Huizengas go to the farm....

A couple weeks ago, my sister and her family came out for a visit. During their time out here, I thought it would be fun to take their oldest son, Matthew, out to the farm. Here are some pics of Luke at our house and when went out to the farm.

Luke on the Loose

My sister and her family are visiting from Indiana. Here's a video of their youngest, Luke, on the move.


Luke on the Loose from Todd Zuidema on Vimeo.

Healthy Hull, Healthy Hope

The town where I live is sponsoring a fitness campaign, entitled, "Healthy Hull." To support the intiative, Hope church is temporarily changing its name. Dress comfortably--calisthenics during the offertory.

April Fool

I thought I'd share some of the joy of living in NW Iowa. It's April 1-Spring--and after receiving about 5 inches of wet, heavy snow the past two days, I wonder who is the bigger fool--me, or the robin who couldn't wait to get back up to Iowa, just to put his naked feet in the snow. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

Somehow, this didn't make it onto the job description...

As the snow fell on Wednesday night--yes, snow on March 26--we all gathered at church for the annual Christian Education fund raiser/auction. Grilled meat, fresh potato salad, and soft serve ice cream were on the menu. Tables were lined with all the items--handcrafted and homemade, coupons for meals at restaurants or at families' homes, toys and treasures, all side by side. And, my favorite part, the auctioneer's call. A limber tongue, strong voice, and a quick wit makes a good auctioneer, and Krommendyk and Co., supplied us well.

All was moving along smoothly. There was laughter in the room and the steady buzz of people having a good time. The food was good and I was enjoying chatting with friends while I kept track of the toys my daughters had spotted that I HAD to bid on--that's another story (Todd as lousy auction bidder/strategist). Anyhow, all this was going on when the auctioneer stops and one of the members from church takes the mic and begins to explain how much I like lemon meringue pie. (Which I do like...) All this moves very quickly to a money making proposition. "Who would pay to see Leah feed Pastor Todd a piece of lemon meringue pie?" Great. People raise their cards and the amount is soon to $200 or so (I threw in $25 as well.) (Edit: They tell me that this stunt raised more than $600 for the auction. If I knew that it had this much potential to make money, I would have volunteered Leah, too.)

So, I come up front and there is another development. We have to do this blindfolded. Hmmm... This is a poorly veiled setup. We know what's coming don't we?

This is me smiling, but thinking, "This is not going to end well."

It all started innocently, with Leah snagging a bite or two for herself.





Things took an unfortunate turn right here...



And the inevitable...

Thanks, Lavonne.

Notice, how clean Leah remains....





Thankfully, everyone there was shocked, simply shocked; dismayed at the indignity I had to suffer. Several women in tears, I'm sad to report.



Other than some meringue and lemon filling up the nose, nothing broken.



I think this whole event somehow falls underneath the whole "servant leadership" model they told us about in seminary. Perhaps being willing to take a pie in the face in good humor could be loosely connected with feet washing.

St. Paddy

Hope you had a good St. Patrick's Day. Mine was fine, as much as someone with Frisian Dutch heritage celebrates the holiday. Kinda like this YouTube video I stumbled upon:

Santa Barbara

It's been a few days since I've written. And, well, I don't have a lot to say, other than I am in the middle of the Lenten push to Easter. Funny, how Lent is supposed to be about reflection... I can't help being tempted for selfish reasons to look toward the Monday after Easter. Perhaps it would be wise to reflect upon my reflecting. Blogging invites that type of navel-gazing doesn't it?

Anyhow, Leah and I had a wonderful trip to Santa Barbara the last week of February. So nice. The locals complained about the cooler weather and the rain, but considering they were speaking to an Iowan who left sub-freezing temperatures, I thought the weather was great, and they were just whiny. Much thanks to family and friends who made this trip possible for us. We are so very grateful.

Leah had to present at a conference at University of California-Santa Barbara at a writing conference. While she worked, I loafed. With our rented car, I drove into the mountains, went to an old Roman Catholic mission, hung out at a coffee shop, spent some time at the beach, ate some of the local produce at a farmer's market. The fresh mandarins and chile-salted almonds were first-rate. Also the grape juice from wine grapes (syrah & cabernet sauvignon) was amazing.

I did find some time with Leah, too, thankfully. We ate amazing food. Thai one night. Italian another. Fresh crepes at a French cafe for brunch. Seafood that was fresh and out of this world. It's good we didn't stay longer. At the price of a few of these meals, we would have been eating rice and beans at home. Somehow the culinary diversity of Pizza Ranch doesn't quite satisfy all the time. The broasted chicken and the "Sweet Swine" may be close to food for the gods, but sometimes you need to branch out.

We spent some time on State St. in Santa Barbara, touring the stores of the Paseo Nuevo. Later on in the day we went to wine country, through the mountains and inland to Los Olivos. I would recommend only two wine tasting stops. Seriously. If we would have gone to a third, we would have been sleeping in the car that night. If you haven't tried it yet, I highly recommend a bottle of port and some dark chocolate. That's a sensory experience to be had.

Also, we brought home some games we have played and look forward to playing with some of you. "Rat-A-Tat-Cat"--Remember playing the card game "Golf"? Similar, but the girls love it. Also, we brought home "Carcasonne," a game with some Settlers similarities, but an entirely different game. A lot of fun.

We bought them because of the most amazing game salesman we've met. His name was Rory, or "Roory," as he said it. Rory was Irish and was amazing. As soon as we figured out his thick brogue, we gave him the details on what we were looking for and he essentially told us what we were going to buy. Not only that, but he brought out his own copy of Carcasonne and played a game with us on a display case in the store. Meanwhile, he gave us a lightning fast history lesson on the relationship between the Scots and the Irish and how they came to settle the British Isles. Oh, and if you ever go to Santa Barbara and meet Rory, don't ever call him British. Or, as he said, "Do-ant eh-vehr f*****g call me British."

Anyhow, a great weekend. More stories to tell, but Lent is calling. A little over two weeks to Easter! (And the Monday after.) Here are some pics from the trip, too. There are a bunch and I didn't sort out the wheat from the chaff, so watch at your own risk.

I Hope Someone Does This for Me Someday...

If you can get past the fact that the music in the background was performed by the "Evangenitals," you will see a simple, winsome act of compassion, shown by a fellow who can do amazing things with balloons.

We've all been in nursing homes before. There's not a lot of joy there very often. Most of the folks there seem to be just living, existing day by day. Some, if asked, would say that they are anxious to not be living any more. I am thankful for people who are able to bring smiles to those who don't seem to have a lot to smile about any more.

The "Balloon Man" was able to practice his skills, but he also found that kindness pays dividends. By being a blessing, we are blessed.

Winter in Iowa

Took a few pictures the other day. I really don't mind winter. I say this as I look forward to leaving for Southern California next week. Hope all is well with you.

I Don't Know Why....

I'm embarrassed, but I don't think I should be. I was brought to tears in church on Sunday, and to be honest, I don't know exactly why yet.

I've been preaching through selections from Job recently and this past week I focused on Chapter 10. In this passage, Job laments about his situation and wishes to God that he had never been born. Job wonders aloud if God is pleased by the suffering he is experiencing. Maybe God is too near-sighted to see what Job is going through. Even worse, Job wonders if God has a limit to his days, just like humans do. If that's the case, maybe God is trying to get his licks in on Job while there is still time.

I used this passage to talk about lament and its place in faith and in worship. Lament is the process of asking hard questions of God--hard questions that arise out of faith, not out of doubt.

Anyhow, during the sermon, I read a selection from Nick Wolterstorff's, "Lament for a Son." I made some connections between Job and Jacob, when he wrestled with the angel of the Lord (Gen 32). I was struck by the desperate plea of Jacob when he and the angel were locked up in a fight that had lasted through the night, "I will not let you go until you bless me!"

I was almost to the end. Here is the last paragraph of my manuscript:

"Remember this—God doesn’t hold himself aloof from our suffering. The cross behind me is a symbol of it. So is the bread and the cup. Even the water of baptism. He is a Father who mourned the premature death of a Son as well. This was part of his plan, too, we remember. Yet, with dying, there was rising. With every Good Friday eclipse of the sun, there is an Easter morning sunrise. Today, if you lament with Job; may you cling to the hope and joy of the disciples. “Peace be with you!” “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”^[1] Even in our suffering, may we see the risen Christ."

I got to the end of the sentence, "...there was rising" and I couldn't speak. All I could do was look out at the people gathered there and then look down back at the sheet of my manuscript again. I was surprised by muteness. I felt the tears well up, and they were the worst kind of tears. They were the tears that you don't want to let loose, the tears you try to swallow down and keep inside. They weren't the cathartic tears that come when you can let go and sob.

I desperately wanted to say what was left on my page. They were the words of grace that I wanted people to leave with, words of hope that I wanted to give.

After a few deep breaths, I tried to get them out. If people were wondering what was going on before, they knew now. The pastor was crying.

I finished the sermon, my voice thick, and to my ears, not sounding like my own. After the, "Amen," I offered a brief prayer. (What I prayed, I have no idea.) We closed in praise, like a lament usually does, singing, "We Will Glorify." The words were comforting, but no easier to sing, than my "words of grace and hope" were to say. I raised my hands for the parting blessing, my voice a little stronger, finding some comfort in the routine of the service coming to its conclusion. We sang, "By the Sea of Crystal," the second and third verses, which speak of our joyful deliverance on the last day.

I walked down the aisle to go to where I greet after the service. As I made eye contact with a few people, some faces showed concern and compassion, some had red eyes and runny noses, like mine, and some, some looked perplexed at what had happened.

As I received the exiting worshipers, some expressed their thanks to me. A few gave me an embrace. Many shook hands, pinched out a smile, and kept walking as if nothing had happened a few moments ago. One person asked for a copy of the message so she could pass it along to others in her family. Later on in the day, before the evening service (which went off without tears, by the way) another stepped into my office to ask if everything was all right, "since you had that little breakdown this morning." My voice mail and e-mail contained messages expressing thanks for the message on Sunday. I was thanked for being "real," "transparent," and being "compassionate." One person stopped by briefly this morning and gave me two books to read, one entitled, "When God Is Silent" and the other, "Wrestling with God."

I am truly thankful for those expressions of kindness. They're gifts to me. Yet, that said, I still don't know why I cried, and I'm still a little embarrassed. I am a little hesitant to stand up in front of everybody next Sunday morning, because I think I don't want people to worry whether or not the pastor is going to lose it again. To be honest, it was such a surprise to me, I don't know that it won't happen again next week.

I don't think I was crying for myself. Was I emotional for those in my congregation whom I know I have experienced or continue to experience tragedy and loss in their lives? It's a possibility, but a bell doesn't ring in my head when I think of that option.

I told someone later on Sunday afternoon that when a pastor preaches, every sermon is a profession of faith in a very real way. You either believe it or not. I suppose you could say the words and not believe them, but I don't think you could play that game for long.

Perhaps that's the reason. My faith, or my desperate need for what I have faith in is what brought me to tears. If that's it, my hope is that everyone cries for their faith once in a while. It shakes us from an apathy that slowly numbs us from thinking or caring about what we believe. I can affirm that my faith certainly is on the forefront of my thoughts right now.

I may be embarrassed about what happened, but I'm certainly not ashamed of it. It's not the first time I've cried while standing behind the pulpit, but it's been a long while.

Even though I was preaching about the lament of Job, I will try to receive this event as a blessing. I haven't parsed out what the blessing exactly is yet. With Job, God wasn't very forthcoming in his answers. In short, God's "answer" to Job was, "I'm God. You aren't." Yet blessing followed for Job.

That in mind, I will try to be patient for what's ahead, prepared now with a couple of tissues in my suit coat pocket.

---

^[1]The Holy Bible : New International Version. 1996, c1984 (electronic ed.) (Jn 20:26). Grand Rapids: Zondervan.

Saving My Life

Long time, no talk.

I have been on a back-up binge.

Every couple months, I remember that I haven't backed up my computer for awhile. I blanch a little when I think about all that I could lose if I don't haul out the disks and fire up the DVD burner.

The problem is that it is a pain in the neck. However, whenever I hear the computer at home grind and moan when we do ask it to do something besides play the screensaver, I know that it is something I better do, or else I will regret it someday.

This is what I hate about backing up.

1. Multiple disk back ups. I love storing pictures. I love I-Tunes. However, for me that's over 17 GB of data on each of our computers. That's small potatoes for some people, I understand, but that's four or five DVD's. It's just a hassle.
2. Storage. Where do you put those disks anyway? In case of a catastrophe like a fire or a burglary, chances are that your storage disks are going to disappear with your computer, so what's the point. I had looked at picking up an additional disk drive for storage purposes, since the prices have gone way down, but the whole catastrophe thing is still an issue.
   
3. Old disks--when is it time to throw out previous back ups? How do you dispose of them in a way that you don't share your data with some guy at the garbage dump who flips your discarded DVD into his disk drive.
4. Paranoia that when I might need the disks that they won't work.

Then, an epiphany. Online storage! Maybe you all have heard of this before, but there are a number of companies that are now peddling online storage. All you do is download a small program and then upload all your data to a remote storage site. It's encrypted and secure. Here's the great part--once your data is all uploaded it checks your computer regularly and updates changes or additions to your files. Wunderbar! No more DVD's. No more back up hassles. It is well worth the five bucks a month ($50 per year) for the subscription.

Maybe this interests you, or maybe not. But these services satisfy my back up needs as well as provide nourishment to my "tech geek" craving. (Don't get me started about the Mac Book Air.)

I am trying two services right now. At home I am trying Carbonite. They offer a 30 day free trial (no credit card needed for the trial). For the computer I use for work, I am trying Mozy. Both get pretty good reviews, but after I started with Carbonite, I read some good things about Mozy (primarily the fact you can set your own encryption key). Try them out if your interested.

Some words of advice--First, you need a broadband connection. These services need speed and time. Second, be patient. For 15-17 G of data, figure on a week or so for it all to be uploaded. Carbonite doesn't seem to slow your internet browsing too much, and Mozy has a feature where you can throttle your speeds up or down depending on your usage needs. Handy.

Back-up bliss.