Mudshot Eyes

2 years.

Loving.

Growing.

Believing.

Trusting.

Forgiving.

Praying.

Being

One.

An acquaintance of mine recently made a decision to shift his whole way of looking at Christmas. He decided that it was foolish to spend $500 on trinkets, socks, and CDs as gifts for friends and family who needed no such things. Instead, he is taking the money he would have spent on these gifts and giving to Blood:Water Mission.

For each person on his Christmas list, he is giving a donation to B:WM in their name. He is informing each person–probably with a message in a Christmas card–that their name is on a gift that has been sent to another continent. This gift will help “to build clean wells in Africa, to support medical facilities caring for the sick, to make a lasting impact in the fight against poverty, injustice and oppression in Africa through the linking of needs, talents and continents, of people and resources” (from B:WM’s web site).

Great idea, huh? Apparently not. Some members of his family have, in Grinch-like spirit, expressed their displeasure over his decision. They are upset about being “forced to support an organization they know nothing about.”

This kind of thinking drives me nuts. First, my friend never required anyone else to do the same for him , nor did he say that everyone else is morally required to do this just because he is.

Second, he didn’t choose a controversial political organization to support in this endeavor. B:WM is an organization that is providing clean drinking water for people that are dying because they drink bacteria-laden water EVERY DAY. If we saw the water they were drinking, we wouldn’t even suffer a sip. They also minister to the lepers of our day: AIDS patients.

What could he possibly give that would be more meaningful? He’s not making a statement about who to vote for, how to think, or what to buy. He is helping people who are desperate in their need, and putting his family member’s names on the donation.

In other words, he is toppling the Christmas apple cart and giving fruit to the poor.

For many of us, it’s too late for this year, but I wonder what Christmas would look like if we cut our gift-giving budget in half and gave the other half to an organization that is making a difference in the world in the name of Christ.

If you try it, you may upset some people who enjoy the status quo. Won’t that be fun?

christmas

We stayed local for our first Christmas together. Krista’s brother Brad joined us for lunch, and we had a great day together. We started the day with a reading of Mary’s song from Luke 1, and then dove into gifts and food.

Click on the collage to view my Flickr photo page…

I’ve realized that there is a moving on and a staying behind when losing someone we love. We move on from the intense pain of that first moment when we hear the tragic news. We move on from our dependence on that person for friendship and support. We then are given opportunity to move on to Christ as we rediscover his incomparable companionship.

But we also stay behind. We stay in the memories that have been sketched in the corridors of our mind. We laugh as we recall the stories that made times with him so special. We stay in those stories because they are the gift that we are left with. A gift of time and moments that are unique and permanent.

Today would have been my cousin Mark’s 35th birthday. A year and a half after losing him to a motorcycle accident, I still think of him on a daily basis, even if just for a moment when some little thing reminds me. I have decided that remembering is OK, even after so much time has passed. In fact, I can’t keep all the stories inside. I often turn to Krista and give prelude to a story that I suddenly recall: “I remember one time when Mark and I were…”

Today I remember how neither one of us ever remembered the other’s birthday. That’s why it was such a surprise to both of us when I called him on the birthday before he died. It’s odd that I can’t forget now that he’s not around to call.

Here’s to my precious wife on her 28th birthday…
You are an amazing woman. Thank you for exuding patience, kindness, love, and grace on a daily basis. I’m honored to spend my days with you.

“This is the true measure of love: When we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will ever love in the same way after us”

- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Tonight, my dinner conversation with Krista centered around the transformation that God is so patiently performing in each of our lives. I have been reminded a lot lately of the vacuum in my heart in the places where mercy, trust, and humility should be.

I shared an incident from the day before when someone turned in front of me after looking directly at me from their spot at the stop sign. I was angry enough to tell PT Cruiser how I felt as I passed. I won’t go into detail regarding the “one point” sermon I gave him, but suffice it to say that he got the message.

Krista shared her own stories, and they were enough to remind me that I am part of a larger human struggle to resemble more closely the One in whose image we were made. That struggle is always connected to our pride or unbelief, as Krista is learning in a Bible study she’s involved with.

Pride gives me the power to place myself as judge over PT Cruiser and his pals. I can also play jury and executioner if I so desire. Unfortunately, as I climb onto the judicial bench to proclaim guilt, I have forgotten that when my name appears on God’s daily docket, I am treated with great mercy. The foolishness of my harshness toward the mistakes of others is now painfully obvious.

Krista and I have wine with dinner a couple of times a week, and we always toast to something. Sometimes it’s to a memory, a friend, or a special place. Tonight we toasted to the need for more mercy.

As the wine hit my palette, our dinner table became a communion table. I was being cleansed, again.

Krista took me on a weekend trip to Fall Creek Falls for my birthday. For me, that is like going to Disney World. Here are a few pictures, which I will soon have posted on my pictures page (Mouse over each picture for a brief description).

Some thoughts while sitting out on the balcony on Friday night:

There are a million bugs of various sort hovering, flying, crawling, and creeping all around us. It is dusk, and the night crawlers and flyers are doing their thing. This is their domain, along with the birds, snakes, deer, and squirrels (who seem to survive anywhere).

They don’t stop buzzing, crawling, and biting just because it is an annoyance to me.

I’m watching a spider weave his web on the railing outside on the deck of our room. He’s one of at least twenty spiders lined up along the railing, each having their own section to build a web. Krista has noticed three of them. I don’t think she realizes how many are right in front of us, preparing for a night of capturing unsuspecting insects.

Radar-equipped bats are flying over the lake now that the sun has mostly set. They are feeding on the millions of insects that buzz over the lake.

Observing these things reminds me of my smallness. I am part of God’s world, not the other way around.

Krista and I have been married for a month now, and one might think I would be quick to post some reflections about the wedding, the honeymoon, and our first days of marriage together.

Reflections on the wedding weekend would easily include how good it was to bring our families together for the rehearsal dinner and how humbled I am to have been treated with such kindness and love by her entire family.

It would be impossible not to write of how stunningly beautiful Krista was on our wedding day, and how her smile and her eyes captured me as we offered our vow of love.

I would also be compelled to tell how the bridal party did everything right and was so helpful through the entire weekend, how the reception was a perfect celebration setting, and how Krista’s dad and cousin overwhelmed everyone present with the song that her dad wrote for us.

An account of the honeymoon in Napa Valley, California would say that it was the perfect place for a honeymoon, with wine tastings, beautiful scenery, and a splendid stay at the Vintage Inn in Yountville.

And if I were to write about the first days of our marriage beyond the honeymoon, I would be sure to mention that each day has been sweeter and more satisfying than the day before with Krista.

However, I won’t go into such an account, as words are simply not enough.

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I have posted a selection of pictures from the wedding weekend, which can be found on my pictures page. Pictures from our time in Napa are coming next. (05/12/06 UPDATE: Honeymoon pictures are now posted. Enjoy!)

Also, the song that Krista’s dad wrote and performed at the reception with Greg has been recorded and is now in it’s final form. Those of you who were there are aware of how meaningful it was for us. It includes Greg Locke on the saxophone and Scott (Krista’s dad) singing and playing piano. We want you to have a chance to hear it, even if you weren’t at the reception… Click here to download.

Krista and I were married on Saturday! Right now we are in Napa Valley on our honeymoon, enjoying the fruit of the vine and the beautiful scenery. My bride was radiant, and I will make my best effort to describe that beautiful day when we return next week. It was perfect in every way, and God was glorified. We were overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from every family member and friend. We were especially blessed by our parents and their support and love.

During the reception following our wedding on Saturday, we showed a video of old family pictures and I couldn’t help but think about how I wished my cousin Mark would have been there. We lost him a year ago today to a motorcycle accident. If you knew Mark, you have a story with him. Everywhere he went there were stories taking shape. That’s what made him so enjoyable to be around.

There is one particular story that has lived on since Mark and I were kids. It has been retold countless times at family gatherings over the years. Krista suggested that this story would be a great way to remember him today, on the anniversary of his passing from life to death to Life.

We didn’t set out on that summer day to find a machete. It just happened. We were probably only ten or eleven years old at the time, which is plenty old enough to know how to use a tool of that magitude, yet not old enough to know how much trouble we could get into with it.

The machete was buried just under the surface of the dirt right beside a creek that ran behind my house. We were always drawn to that area for play because of the plentiful supply of mud in that area. For a 10 year old, mud is like duct tape. You can do anything with it. However, on one particular day, we had no interest in mud once we stumbled upon the rusty, dull machete. Our thoughts went from, “Should we bury our sisters’ Barbie dolls in the mud?” to “Should we level the entire neighborhood?”

We decided that we might get in trouble for cutting down anything taller than 10 feet, so any plant shorter than that was fair game. The first thing we came to was a grove of plants that I’ve always referred to as “banana trees”. They were perfect for our mission. The leaves were thin and crisp, allowing the machete to slice through them like pudding. I can tell you with confidence that God put those plants there for this very moment. The problem was that he put those plants in my neighbor’s yard. We refused to allow that to dissuade us. In fact, I don’t think it ever came to mind. For all we knew, we were battling aliens on planet Zortox.

It only took us about three or four minutes to eliminate the entire crop, and about 12 seconds after that to snap back into reality and plan our escape from the wrath of our neighbor. Our plan for escape was simple: drop the machete where we stood and run back into my house and sit on the couch as if we were waiting for Christmas to arrive.

The spanking that ensued will live on in my memory forever, but Mark and I always said that it was worth every swat.

In fact, every swat we took because of our mischeif was worth it, for it was another story that we have to remind us that Mark lives on and so will we.

I can still remember the aroma in that church in Bradenton, Florida. The smell of aged wood from the floors and the pews served as a reminder that we were part of a bigger, ongoing story. The air was thick with the stories of people like my grandmother and others who had struggled through the Great Depression and other personal crises, only to end up back with God’s imperfect people every week in worship.

Every time I set foot in one of those old church buildings I think of my grandmother, whose birthday would have been today. I am thankful that she was faithful to take my mom and uncles to church each Sunday. Not to exalt her to an impossible pedestal, but her legacy has been a deciding factor in my spiritual life. What she invested into the lives of her kids was also invested into me through my mom.

My journey hasn’t been the only one indirectly impacted by grandma’s faithfulness. My sister and my cousins have tasted salvation in part because of her faithfulness. My late cousin Mark was unexpectedly taken from us almost a year ago. Though we were hurt by the loss, we know that his refuge in life and death was Christ because his parents carried on a legacy of faith that Mark connected with.

I suspect that God brought Grandma’s birthday to my attention this year to remind me that no matter how long our days may be, we are not islands of personal isolation. Our decisions create a ripple effect on those around us and on the generations that follow.