Rollin’ On A River

One of the oldest adoption accounts in the Bible is filled with intrigue. It involved the story of a cranky despot who was being overrun, not by low-wage immigrants, but by no-wage immigrants. Let’s pick up the story: The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah,“When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.” The midwives, however, feared God and did not do what the king of Egypt had told them to do; they let the boys live. Then the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and asked them, “Why have you done this? Why have you let the boys live?” The midwives answered Pharaoh, “Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive.” So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families of their own. Then Pharaoh gave this order to all his people: “Every Hebrew boy that is born you must throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.” ~Exodus 1:15-22

This was the rough Egyptian equivalent of China’s present day one-child policy but with a malevolent twist – all the Hebrew lads were to be murdered upon arrival. A few of the midwives who listened to their God-nudged sentiments saved the day. The profession of midwifery was about bringing life to the world, not death. They lied their way out of it. Yes, that is a theological conundrum, but the Scriptures are astonishingly honest about such details.

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After awhile the boy babies began to pile up. With Pharaoh’s soldiers roaming about with a bloodlust in their eyes the Hebrew moms had to be creative: Now a man of the tribe of Levi married a Levite woman,  and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son. When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basketfor him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile. His sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him. ~Exodus 2: 1-4

Imagine for a moment you’re the mom in that scenario. You’ve just come up with a short-range plan. It’s not even that great of a short-range plan. How long can you keep your precious newborn afloat in a basket? Besides the sun and insects and the fear of the baby tipping over and drowning, the river is a very public place. Babies cry. Babies in fact, scream. Someone will hear it. Someone will notice the child. Babies need attention. And, babies need a home. And for this baby, whose name was Moses, adoption would be the key to both his survival and his destiny. His mom was hoping against hope that someone would see her child and show kindness.

It’s just like that for you and me. We are afloat in a monstrously big universe. And, we are drifting about in a prodigiously big world, and state, and county and city. We need help. We need someone to see us in our predicament and have mercy upon us. We need to be scooped up from danger, to be loved and to be given a home. And that is exactly what we’ll see happen to Moses. He would go from an impoverished, at risk slave and become a child of the king. It’s a great story. I can’t wait to tell it.

Chosen

I was chatting recently with my ten year old grandson, Jude. For some reason he was waxing nostalgic about the first time we met. It was both interesting and endearing to hear what he remembered from four years ago. I’ve shared a bit of his story before, but let me hit the refresh button for those of you who may not have heard it.

A few years ago my son, Riley, and daughter-in-law, Kristy were childless. They were awaiting a call from an adoption agency to go and meet their new son in Uganda. The process was a bit sketchy. We’d been told stories of couples arriving to pick up their son or daughter and getting held up by a labyrinth of bureaucratic obstructions and by people who took a macabre pleasure in slow-walking the process. We knew that the call could come at any moment but decided that a quick family vacation was a decent place to wait it out. Just as were wrapping up the trip, the call came.

Several weeks later we were all gathered at our local airport to meet our beautiful Ugandan grandson. As he came out of the arrival gate he was clinging to his new dad with all his might. When I kneeled down to meet him for the first time we were eye-to-eye. His first five years of malnourishment had presented us with a very small lad. He was overwhelmed and a little frightened by all the smiling well-wishers gathered in his honor and speaking a language he didn’t understand.

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We drove the new family home. We had spent some time getting Jude’s new room ready for him. It was filled with toys and a brand new soccer ball. Jude told me that he remembered us going out to the backyard to kick the ball around even though it was quite late. He also remembered playing with the family dog. As he recounted it for me the details he shared were vivid.

There were some rough patches during the first few months. He voiced more than once the fear that if he did something wrong he’d be sent back to Uganda. He was awed by his new life. He would open cupboards at our house and just stare at the food. The refrigerator was a magic portal of plenty. When we went out for dinner he would polish off everyone’s leftovers. The thought of going back to a life of poverty and hunger haunted his little mind. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. But nonetheless, he needed to hear it over and over again. He was home. He would always be loved.

Adoption it is neither convenient nor is it cheap. The parents are all in with their commitment long before they have a chance to meet the child. The bond is powerful because the child has been chosen and at great sacrifice. Thus, when we speak of our identity as children of God, the Scriptures remind us that we too have been adopted: God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. ~Ephesians 1:5 Everything I said about Jude is true of us as well. We are home. We will always be loved. The cupboards are full. And, the bond is strong because we’ve been chosen.

(Note: Jude no longer looks malnourished! He wrapped up the 3^rdgrade this past year and is now 5’2” and wears a size 10 ½ shoe! He is full of joy and brings joy everywhere he goes. That is the power of being chosen).

Travel

Not much today by way of profundity. It’s been a travel day with the wife, daughter and two of my grands – ages 3 and 6. Going through TSA, moving from plane to plane, eating overpriced airport food and digesting the stuff does not make for happy, meditative moments. Were I to write about God today it be rather Old Testament in tone and I might undo years of graceful notions with grumpy notions.

As I’ve mentioned a time or two, I am not a traveler. I am an arriver. The getting there is tedious and blood thickening. I’ve become accustomed to being eyed with suspicion at airports. I try to beat the system by having everything packed just so and in the right amount as I ready myself for the few minutes of show-time that is the TSA hazing. I even read ahead to see if something might have changed since my last outing. But it’s easy to get a good brain muddle going when you’re under pressure and there happens to be traveling pros sneering at you from behind. You know the types: wiry and tanned and with their entire travel gear shrink-wrapped to fit into a fanny pack. I can feel the heat of their travel arrogance. My mind begins to cogitate: “Let’s see, I need to take off my shoes, belt, empty my pockets, put my computer in a separate container, recite a passage from Homer (in Greek), not make any jokes, and keep moving, moving, moving!”  That’s when I hear the TSA guy say, “Sir, you may keep your pants on.”  Ah yes. Fifty some years of muscle memory have served me ill. Losing the belt is always followed by losing the pants. I look back. The joint and successful collaboration of Bayer pharmaceutical house, GSK and SP have been able to launch this efficiently designed viagra online buy pattern in the drug market. In my EBook and articles, I focus on this buy generic cialis idea. To make it viagra price online even better, prescription is not required to purchase the herbal extract. DOSE :It is recommended to take only one dose of sildenafil citrate in any 24-hour period. cheap women viagra The sneers have become sneerier. They’re taking pictures.

Today was different. Our launch point was a quiet cornfield in Northwest Arkansas that goes by the airport code: XNA. I led the charge. I think it the height of chivalry when traveling with ladies and children to offer my body as a living sacrifice for the government mandated grope. “Perhaps” I think to myself, “they’ll leave everyone else alone if they’ve had a go at me.”  But at this airport and with these laid back southerners, they barely looked up. We all stood there awaiting the copious, humiliating instructions – but none came. The people screeners were engaged in a serious chat. I could have a driven a car through and they wouldn’t have noticed. The bag screener looked like he was nodding off. I’m not really certain his machine was turned on. I had even done the dunderheaded thing of showing up with an expired driver’s license – a big no go. The sleepy lad checking ID’s informed me of my lapsed license. He shrugged and told me to move along.  I did.  And now I’m almost home. And tomorrow, once the travel cooties have subsided, I will try once again to be graceful with my notions.

Eeyore Nation

We live in interesting times. Perhaps that has always been so. I use the term “interesting” in a clinical way. It was gifted to me by a counseling professor many years ago. In the face of some outrageous statement or behavior by a client, I was taught to say, “That’s interesting.” If I wanted to change things up I would thoughtfully scratch my chin while delivering the line. It was truthful, non-judgmental and non-committal and I found it very useful in helping to fill conversational voids with something other than, “Uh-huh.” For those familiar with counseling pedagogies, I leaned hard into the Rogerian approach. I thought Carl Rogers the most honest, sensible and accessible therapist for the money. From a philosophical standpoint he reminded me of Socrates and Plato. From a theological standpoint, he reminded me of Jesus. Roger’s approach was not unduly fixated on the past. He wanted his clients to move forward and believed that they themselves held many of the answers on how to do so. If a client wished to remain a victim and not move forward Rogers declined to work further with them.

And that’s why I say we live in interesting times. Just this past week another voice from the massive herd of Presidential hopefuls defended the notion of living in the past – of perpetuating perpetual victimhood. That an individual would choose to live out their days as a professional victim is sad enough – but to fashion that into a political movement is downright scary. To be a victim necessitates an oppressor. It creates an either-or society. Thoughtful people will refuse to engage in such hyperbolic reductionism. Rogers would have been appalled. I’m appalled.
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Yet, having said all of that, it is understandable. When identity is no longer rooted in the axiomatic, in the eternal, in the moral laws of the universe, in God – it will inevitably become a free-for all. We need to hitch our wagons to something and the slowest moving beast to catch for the purpose of hitching is Eeyore (the sad, victim donkey of Winnie the Pooh lore). One Eeyore is kind of cute. A church, school, office, or nation full of Eeyores is not. They will eventually organize and get around to lynching the Pooh-Bear.

Such identity scrums are not necessary. When we listen to the ancient words of Scripture we are given a way of thinking about ourselves that has deep roots in eternity. And that way of thinking is uplifting. And moreover, the uplift is of the pass-through sort. As we begin to trust the love that has been awaiting us for all eternity, it doesn’t end with us. We find that there is more than enough to share. It seems that the Father desires a very large family of children who’ve moved from victim to victor.

Tsk, Tsk

Every cell in our body carries the 23 pairs of chromosomes that make up our DNA. It is the 23rd pairing that determines our sex. For a man the 23rd chromosome will read XY and for a woman, XX. The nucleotides that make up just one cell of our human genome numbers 3 billion. It is no small feat to reproduce another cell, an exact replica, of this large number. Only a politician would say that 3 billion is a negligible amount. All together, the average human will carry 37.2 trillion of these cells. Again, shockingly, politicians seem to be inured of any concern for that large of a number even though, according to Wired, a stack of one trillion one dollar bills would get us a fourth of the way to the moon – a distance of nearly 60,000 miles. The earth is a measly 24,901 in circumference. Just 1 trillion dollars would get us around the world a couple of times with change to spare. Hah! How’s that for a brain squeaker? Anyway, that’s the scientific demarcation and definition of who we are at the biological level. We are a busy, self-replicating factory and most of the time the machine runs smoothly.

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The Apostle Paul once said something quite brilliant: For through him God created everything in the heavenly realms and on earth. He made the things we can see and the things we can’t see. ~ Colossians 1:16 Besides being a first-rate theological statement, it’s also a prescient scientific insight. Throughout the Scriptures the writers urge us to simply stop and acknowledge the beauty, the grandeur and the complexity of what we can take in with our senses. It even urges us to consider the wonder of the unseen. For those who say that faith is impossible because they cannot see God have not followed that line of thinking to its logical conclusion. For every minute you’ve spent reading these thoughts, 100 million new blood cells have formed replicating the aforementioned number of 3 billion nucleotides per cell. Did you feel it? Did you see it? Did you hear it? Nope. But because it happened you’re still reading! If that doesn’t cause a slight shiver of awe and a healthy dose of humility then I’ve nothing more to say than, “Tsk, tsk.”

What Is Your Lina?

Without a lassie named Lina we might never have known about E=mc². Yes, Lina was the constant traveling companion of Albert Einstein throughout his life. She was an encourager, a comforter, a counselor, and a source of great joy to a great mind. When Einstein was stuck conceptualizing and working through the speculative realm of quantum physics, he would turn to Lina. She surreptitiously helped to join together left and right brain that gave Einstein the ability to see things that no one but God had seen before. She was indispensable to Einstein. Lina was a violin.

I’ve been reading back over some of these devos from the past week or so and have noticed something of a theme emerging – notwithstanding the gratuitous travel offerings. Sometimes I have a sense of where I’m going when I sit down to write, but even with that, I’m quite often surprised at what falls out. I have my own Linas. I am a pacer, a guitar and piano player, an amateur chef and a serial cleaner. I’ve probably the tidiest writing space in the universe and my own contribution to quantum physics might read: clEan=cj². If I’m stuck, I will cook, chord or clean. These never fail to produce a breakthrough.

The theme I’ve noticed is a fair amount of parenting wisdom that’s been coming out. I turned 59 this past week and I suppose it’s now safe to say a thing or two in that regard. (I plan to write about marriage in my eighties and about politics when I’m in hospice care). But this theme is not all that surprising. I’ve been thinking for years about the Fatherhood of God. Conflating the idea of how parents bring their children along with how Father God gets me down the road helps bring the whole process of the spiritual journey down to earth. It becomes a source of great comfort and accessibility. It puts the physical into the metaphysical.

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As we talked about yesterday, a healthy childhood is one that is exposed to a variety of challenges and opportunities. God desires to sprinkle our life with a number of these throughout the years we occupy this earth. We are not meant to be one-dimensional. It is the old notion of the liberal arts as it applies to learning. You just never know when you might find your life’s vocation or avocation. And the latter is just as important as the first. It’s from these extracurricular things that we do, just for the love of them, that we discover spiritual uplift and creativity for the first. Einstein worked into his very busy schedule a weekly meeting of musicians that would gather at his home to play Mozart. He was insistent that his schedule accommodate this seemingly frivolous pastime. But it wasn’t frivolous. It was absolutely necessary. It was a Sabbath.

So, I leave you with this question: What is your Lina?

For more on Einstein’s love of music follow this link: Lina

Big Dreams

Good parents nurture in their child the permission to dream big dreams.  Really good parents understand that there is more to life than dreaming. Great parents will sacrifice time and treasure to expose their child to challenges that range from sports, to art, to dance, to cooking, to music, to literature, to spiritual formation, to nature, to science, to hard work, to money management, to calculated risks, to good manners, etc. And for the really great parents, they will refuse to off-load that responsibility to others but will join in with their child by volunteering to coach, mentor, read, pray, serve on committees, fund-raise, drive, pay-up, etc. And in so doing, one of the most important lessons – regardless of the activity – is to teach the child that failures will, at the onset, outnumber the successes. To allow a child to give up too early because of a failure or two undermines the necessary establishment of a stubborn, dogged determination to keep at a thing in spite of the headwinds of failure. I cannot tell you the number of the adults I’ve spoken with who’ve said they wished their parents had made them stick with music lessons, or had forced them to study more, or had spent more time talking to them about faith. We all know that a whiny, resistant child who wants to quit is a powerful force of nature. Adults should be more powerful. They are the adults.

One of the advantages that adults have is an appreciation of history. They know that if they had been pushed a little harder and had been exposed to a variety of challenges, life would be more full, satisfying and purposeful. A decision to quit too early on with a thing closes a door that swells to nearly impregnable with the passing years. But there is another advantage that parents have – they can also see the possibility of what might bein spite of the momentary failure right in front of them. They can see themselves enjoying a bike ride with their son even as he crashes his training wheeled craft into the shrubs. They can imagine their daughter mastering Mozart on the violin even as she bombs Mary Had A Little Lamb. The online technical support services are the cheapest viagra online best option to get rid of impotence. Users have also mouthsofthesouth.com generic levitra online reported that it results in better sleep. Back 2009 scientists from the School of Toyota Hare based tadalafil overnight delivery in South Africa, carried out a examine and printed the results of there examine in which they’d given man rodents water centered extracts of Bulbine Natelensis around the period of a week. In Ayurveda this condition has purchase levitra http://mouthsofthesouth.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/MOTS11.23.19-LEE.pdf been exactly described as follows “Naabheradhasthaatsanjaatha Sanchaari Yadi VaachalahaAshteelaavad Ghano Granthiroodhwar Maayata Unnataha” Which means below navel their is a litte gland which sometimes changes its position and sometimes stays at the same position A lot of men focus on the same thing daily and make sex boring for women. They can conceive that the random scratches of art that adorn the fridge might one day produce a Picasso. You see, before a child can dream big a parent has to dream big.

And its like that with our relationship to our Father in heaven. Jesus once said that we’re to be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect. That’s pretty dreamy stuff. He doesn’t once let up on that dream. He sees what it is we can be. He speaks a future identity to us trembling, pouting failures. He knows that failures will, at the onset, outnumber the successes. But he never gives up on the dream and he will never allow us to talk him out of it. As C.S. Lewis once said: “But the great thing to remember is that, though our feelings come and go, His love for us does not. It is not wearied by our sins, or our indifference; and, therefore, it is quite relentless in its determination that we shall be cured of those sins, at whatever cost to us, at whatever cost to Him.”

When In Rome

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do…” Even back in the days of Pax Romana political correctness was rearing it’s ivy-weaved head. Thus, if you were some bloke from a lowly Visigoth country on a business trip to Rome, you had to go all in with their food, public baths and studied debauchery in order to make the art of the deal happen. It was expected. And what happened in Rome rarely stayed in Rome. Rome actually encouragedcultural appropriation – at least until 410 when the Visigoths rose up and sacked the place. Then everything Northwest Barbarian became de rigueur. The Visigoths were the forefathers of their Germanic progeny who carried out their own ransacking proclivities throughout Europe during the 20^thcentury.

Let’s see. Where were we? Oh yes, Rome. We will soon be passing close to Rome – Rome, Iowa that is.  It is a town of 116 souls that was conceived in 1846 that annexed some land around the Skunk River to take advantage of the future prosperity of the Burlington Railroad. Unfortunately, the prosperity whizzed right on by. At its zenith, in 1880, it reached a population of 276. Today it’s chief industry appears to be a large junk yard and one restaurant called “The T.” And that brings us right to where I wish to land: “When in Rome, Iowa do as the Romans do.” And that means…THIS:

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That my friends is a normal size bun struggling to enclose a slab of breaded, fried pork. If a lad eats enough of these one can assume that he too will soon sport some tender loins. Every self-respecting restaurant in Iowa serves these babies. If I were to rip the bread and the breading off of the onions and the loin I would have the perfect Keto meal of which we spoke yesterday. But I am not going to do that. It is a week of culinary backsliding and when in Rome…

You Say It’s Your Birthday!

On a Monday in 1959 a child was born on this day in the city of Keokuk, Iowa. There is no record from the Keokuk Daily Gate City archives of angelic choirs singing to shepherds watching their flocks by night. Keokuk was more inclined towards hogs than sheep. It was a river city named after the famous Sauk tribal leader, Chief Keokuk. He was a controversial figure in his day as he played the government against rival Native Tribes and vice versa. By the time of my arrival those long ago intrigues were mostly forgotten and the Native population in Keokuk had dwindled to less than 1%. None of that of course was my fault. I was just a baby and my folks happened to be from Missouri.

The city benefitted by being near the confluence of the Mississippi and Des Moines rivers. During the Civil War a number of hospitals had been built to tend to injured Union soldiers. There were no hospitals in the farm country of Northeast Missouri. Thus, when it was time for me to discover America, my parents peeled out of the barnyard and crossed the rivers in a fast-moving, 1958 Ford Fairlane 500 Skyliner Interceptor. Besides the exceptionally cool name, that particular model had the same engine as the police cars of that day. I’m told that dad covered the 32 miles in very good time and once arrived, fell ill with stomach cramps as my mom labored to bring this 9 pound zeppelin safely to earth.

Today is a travel day as we trace the Des Moines River to arrive at the city of Des Moines. There I will meet up with cousins I’ve not seen since the last century. I’m a little worried about overdoing it with the Midwest cuisine. We’re heading straight into the land of casseroles and Jell-O salads – where margarine is considered healthful. For the past year I’ve been a rather unreliable member of the Keto Diet congregation. As with many Churches, the ladies are often more faithful adherents than the men. Men are always on the look-out for exception clauses, provisos, indulgences and such. Thus, I’m always asking if this or that is “Keto.”  To wit:

Me: Is ice-cream on the Keto Diet? Jan: No.

Me: How about gelato? Jan: No.

Me: Frozen Yogurt? Jan: No.

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Me: How about potatoes? Jan: No.

Me: French Fries?  Jan: No. Those are potatoes.

Me: Hash browns? Jan: Potatoes.

Me: Baked, mashed?  Jan: (Eye roll. No response).

And then I launch into breads and pastries. Evidently these are verboten as well, but it takes a lot longer to get through the list. Curiously – bacon, eggs and butter are just peachy. But peaches are not.

Anyway, blessings from the road. I will try my best to keep up but I’m offering no promises in respect to spiritual depth. We’ll see what falls out. ~CJ

He Is Not A Tame Lion

We referenced a few writings ago this passage: The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: and the knowledge of the holy is understanding. ~Proverbs 9:10 As I’ve sorted through some of the responses to that passage there are those who’ve expressed some dissatisfaction with the word fear. That is understandable. In keeping with the developmental stages of childhood as a metaphor for growth, let’s have a look at that.

It does seem rather odd to begin the journey toward a healthy philosophy (the love of wisdom) with the word, fear. The word in the Hebrew is: יִרְאָה (yir·ä’) and it most definitely carries the sense of fear, even trembling fear. However, to properly grasp its meaning we must look at the supplied synonyms. This word is also translated as: awe, respect or reverence. All of those pack a punch as well. When we think about it, rightful fear always involves a level of respect. The reason I don’t rush over to pet a snarling dog is certainly fear, but it is a fear that carries a respect for what those shiny ivories can accomplish when applied to my Irish, ivory legs.

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And that brings us back to moms and dads and kids. Fear is the dullest and most blunt tool in the parenting bag but it is a necessary one. If the child doesn’t fear the parent there will be no respect. Respect is what a parent desires as an outcome but sometimes, for the child’s own safety, the voice has to be raised and consequences have to come hard and fast.  A child who is not used to behaving around the house is unlikely to behave in city traffic. Like Moses descending Mt. Sinai, we must lay down the law. The word must be respected. If that involves provoking a bit of fear and trembling in the wee one, then so be it. Parenting is not a popularity contest.

But having said all that, parents who do not nurture the kind of fear that leads to respect – who rely only on shouting and intimidating fear – will inevitably create resentment and loathing. The funny thing about kids is that they grow up – sometimes getting much larger than the provocative parent. At that point fear will no longer win the day. The bluff will have been called.

We fear the Lord because he has the power to create the universe and therefore the ability to smash the universe. Respect doesn’t lose sight of that reality but shapes a life in humble deference to that reality. As King Tirian mentioned in the Chronicles of Narnia when referring to the Great Lion, Aslan (an archetype of Christ), “He is not a tame lion.”  That is respect.