The kids, Mark and Christina at least, finish school tomorrow. This has been finals week and they are anxiously looking forward to the last day. I remember well that feeling of walking home on the last day of school. I usually rode the bus each day, but to savor the experience (and because I couldn’t wait for the bus) I headed out on my own at a half gallop, half sprint to reach the freedom of home--free from teachers, free from books, and free from dirty looks, no make that assignments. And I was one that loved school. I can only imagine how much tomorrow will mean to the high-schoolers who claim they “hate” school.

But in addition to being Freedom Day for the kids, it’s FD for me too. With a mixture of delayed projects and an improved ability to say “no,” I’ve actually freed up the holiday weekend. Most past Memorial Day weekends have been spent playing catch up, stretching work into the front side or back side of the long weekend. But not this year.

So that feeling of freedom is back tonight. A real vacation lies ahead. It’s been awhile and it feels weird. With Christmas and New Year’s Day falling on a Saturday this past winter, I got gypped. And if my memory serves me right, my last real vacation occurred back around Independence Day. I’m overdue.

Now all I have to do is work on dealing with the guilt of not being productive.

The music playing in the background is helping. It is a soothing CD entitled, “Is it Rolling Bob?: A Reggae Tribute to Bob Dylan.” My computer is pumping out the tunes through the cheap computer speakers (sorry Bob) as I type away thinking about freedom. Remembering. Looking back. Thinking that a link exists between our upcoming holiday and the freedom I will hopefully taste and enjoy these next few days.

I’m coming to realize that my duty in these upcoming days, through contemplation with a spirit of gratitude, will be to embrace the fact that I’ve “Gotta Serve Somebody.” Every day in all the ways I can, I need to strive for the freedom that comes in service to the Almighty and others. I pray that this conclusion might not get blowin’ away in the winds of thinking only of me.

In listening to the last song on the album, “I and I,” the realization came for the first time that Dylan is probably making reference in some way to the Almighty, the One who said to Moses: I am who I am. If I could better understand the mumblings of the Bobster, I might figure out how he craft fully alludes to a closer relationship between us and God, an intimacy that would be lessened by a use of the word “you.” But what do I know?

I do know that “A Hard Rain’s Been A-Falling” all day long and is supposed to continue all weekend long, and that’s how we truly know that it is Memorial Day Weekend in Minnesota. So let’s all pitch out tents and sleep out in the rain. It’s a rich long tradition in this state.

Another perfect head (or to quote the "radical": I would rather use my hormones on something more fun than growing hair.) 

Couldn’t Resist Displaying Another “Perfect” Head

My loving wife surprised (make that almost surprised) me with an intriguing book for our anniversary. I don’t know if she was browsing through a bookstore, caught a glimpse of the photo on the jacket cover and fell in love with it, or if she was merely searching for a book to teach me how to “speak my mind.” Maybe she thinks I should tell her and others what I really think? Nahhhh.

Confession: I do know why she bought me the book. A month or so ago, we were at some friends’ house and I was (with lust in my eyes) goggling over a few of the husband’s books. I noticed that he had a copy of a Campolo book which I had not seen before. Upon inspection I noticed that its copyright was 2004, definitely one I had not seen before. Suzi must have been watching and responded by buying it soon afterwards. However, she did not hide it very well and I found it before our anniversary. But being the “good” husband that I am, I did not start reading it until after our special date, and actually quite a while after May 7th. Being in good Campolo form it was easy to read, and I finished it yesterday. I don’t remember anything about the book, but I did finish it.

Another Confession: I do remember what he wrote, and I actually concur with most of what he says. I’ve heard him speak numerous times over the past few decades and he always inspires. While inspiring though, I guess he also ruffles lots of feathers. He writes often about getting uninvited from many events and podiums. So I guess he’s controversial. And I suppose that’s why the publisher tacked on the sub-title of the book, “The Radical Evangelical Prophet Tackles the Tough Issues Christians Are Afraid to Face.” Campolo makes clear that he wanted no credit for that clarifier (or disclaimer.)

But knowing of Campolo’s stands and having read many of his books, I was not too surprised by what I found. If I was ambitious, I would summarize each chapter and offer comments, but that might put even my wife to sleep. (And I need to keep her awake so she can clean and cook for me and vacuum and make the bed.) (I guess that covers the chapter on “Is Evangelicalism Sexist?”)

Each chapter was well presented, but I was struck primarily by his chapter on science where he delved into Einstein’s theories and how they might correspond to some of the long-time debates within Christian theology. I was interested especially because I’ve been listening to a lecture series the past few months by a Physics professor Richard Wolfson from Middlebury College. The Teaching Company presents this course on “Modern Physics for Non-Scientists.” It’s fun stuff to think about and helps me realize how little I know.

The other chapter that sticks out in my mind asks the question: Is evangelicalism headed for a split? In it he tackles the issue of dispensationalism and how he believes it is dangerous for the church and the world. Since my college days I’ve ceased believing in this ever popular paradigm within evangelical circles. During high school I could draw diagrams and charts of all things “past and future” using those faulty glasses. Even though most of the professors in the Bible department of my college fell into the dispensationalist camp, I was fortunate enough to hear from one O.T. prof who amazed me by letting us know there are actually opposing views to this popular paradigm. Could it really be true that Hal Lindsey did not have it all figured out?

So from college on I merely viewed dispensationalism as wrong, but didn’t see it as dangerous. Campolo argues that it is. I think he builds a strong case. I know that those who attack dispensationalism often get labeled as anti-Semites among evangelicals and messianic Jews, but I think that the “big D” view does denigrate a view of the church and makes it a mere parenthesis of God’s big plan. I think it devalues books of the O.T. like Jonah and Job and Esther too, for God was at work not only through Israel in the years prior to Christ.

Campolo argues also that D. discounts the Sermon on the Mount. He claims that dispensationalists see this passage as one meant for another dispensation, not the one we currently live in. If this is true (that they view it such), I too see this as its greatest danger. For Jesus’ great sermon seems to be at the heart of his entire message. And to simply pass it off for “another time” is not only wrong, but close to heretical.

Well, enough said. He pushes lots of other hot buttons. But I guess at his stage in life he doesn’t need to worry too much about not being invited to speak at lots of events. He can sit at home, write, and look gorgeous.

Time to Get my Hair Cut

I wore a suit and tie on Saturday.
Orders from the Warden.
It’s been months, maybe even years, since I last donned this outfit.
Not many funerals or weddings in my life (fortunately).
But consequences come with the monkey suit. I get more stares.
I was sitting at our table of friends while a guy at the table next to ours kept looking my way. I was looking his way too, since I thought he looked familiar. Then our good friend Lis went over to talk to him. They were friends from college. He told her that I looked familiar and she came over to introduce us. Instead of going through a list of possible past places or events, I decided to cut to the chase and introduce myself.
“Hi, my name is Dick Cheney.”
He chuckled and then admitted that maybe that was it. We tried the lists of possible places and events and people that might have brought us together at some past time, but to no avail. Maybe that was it.

I was at least my third Dick Cheney sighting in a week. A few days earlier, while ordering materials for work a guy asked if people ever confused me with the V.P. It was a good-humored discussion.

But a week or so earlier, I was visiting a number of renovated homes in Minneapolis proper, part of an annual home tour to promote city neighborhoods and fixing up properties. The home owner who greeted me was quite serious when he asked, “You’re not Dick Cheney, are you?” When I replied in the negative, he said, “Good, because if you were, I wouldn’t have let you in.” OK, I thought, better not discuss politics with this character.

So, I need to be careful. For I’ve found out that on my way to looking like Dilbert’s boss (with the three inch spiked hair on the sides of his head), my reverse Mohawk brings me to a point where I look like the man who really runs this country (just kidding).

It’s time to get out the scissors! But not the razor, lest I start to resemble the former guv, the Body.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I didn’t have a chance to post this last night, since I arrived home at about 9 p.m., sat down, and immediately fell asleep only to awaken at 7 a.m. To have something appear on Wednesday’s date, I am back dating this entry. I hope it was worth it.

Home Late Again

This time it was not work that brought me home late. Smile. It was Suzi. Double smile. Just kidding, the Tundra brought us home, but I drove. And Suzi was an admirable co-pilot.

We spent the evening in Plymouth at our monthly book club, organized through our former church located in that suburb. The book of the month was Ron Sider’s Scandal of the Evangelical Conscience. We were a little apprehensive before the meeting, having heard numerous negative comments from various members of the group. Those we heard from felt as though Sider was unfair and “beating up” Christians unjustly or at least in too harsh a spirit.

The evening, however, was wonderful. We didn’t shrink from the “attacks” or “accusations” from Sider, but evaluated them and took his overarching message to heart. We committed ourselves to personal reflection on how each of us could begin the change to a more Christ like life. We vowed to not retreat from the fallen ness both outside and inside the church, but strive toward a life of personal integrity and openness to God’s Spirit wherever He should lead.

What could have easily been a “downer” of a night was quite refreshing and uplifting. And I can honestly say we all left with a great spirit of hope and encouragement, one that brought me directly to the computer and my blog. Lest I forget.

Everybody Will Miss Raymond

Good bye Raymond. Good bye Deborah. Good bye Frank. Good bye Marie. Good bye Robert. Good bye Amy. Good bye kids. And good bye "Geraldine." Did smoking do that to your voice?

My Sabbath

I got to rest today, so now I suppose it’s time to WORK on my blog. This morning was nice. The sun was having a little more success in its month-long battle with the clouds. I actually saw the yellow thing for 15 to 20 minute segments at a time.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, I skipped church this morning. I headed off to a St. Paul suburb to work on a lake home. I was by myself. The huge house was quiet. And I was at peace. For the first time in weeks, I did not feel rushed. I would work only as long as I felt like working. And I would work at only that place. And I would listen only to what I wanted to hear on the radio. And it was fun. I recaptured the joy of holding a trowel in my hand. It was a temporary respite from the pressures of deadlines. And I wasn’t even pushing myself.

I was also a successful DJ this morning as I switched my iPod to some Bob Dylan tunes, followed by a little bit of the Beatles, and then to a lecture on Quantum physics (for non-science people). Sensing that my brain was overheating, I had the inkling that the rebroadcast of Prairie Home Companion might be on soon. So I turned off the iPod and switched to FM. Before PHC, they were airing “Speaking of Faith” on MPR, a show I like to catch occasionally. The discussion was on contemplative prayer as they interviewed an Emery University professor who has written on the Dessert Fathers (and Mothers). It tied in well with my tranquil setting on the small suburban lake. I was truly thankful to be where I was and to be doing what I was doing.

And then to round out the morning, I had my energy level raised as I laughed along with PHC and got to imagine that other lake, maybe not so long be gone. I was about to call it quits when I received a surprise phone call from an out-of-state area code. Who could it be? I didn’t recognize the number. It was Brian.

Brian and I go way back to our days at Trinity. We worked together with the youth at the church. He was first a fellow volunteer and then was hired on as youth pastor. A few churches later (and now living in Florida), he is still hard at it working with teen-agers, even now as his own kids are approaching that age. He made a surprise visit to the church we attend and didn’t find me there. He called to hassle me about not being in church, but I was able to receive his absolution.

But I then had to leave the lake and go back to the real world, rushing off to open houses for graduates and small group meetings. The disclaimer I end with is in no way an encouragement to skip church on Sunday mornings, but God did find me this morning where I was at. And He was good.

Feeling Sorry for Myself

Yes, I was actually feeling sorry for myself today. Today, a spring Saturday, I had to work an extra long day. And then I hurried home to run off to Saturday night church, so that I could put in another long day tomorrow working on other folks’ homes. Playing with mud of course can be lots of fun, but some times too much of a good thing can become a drag. It can wear on a person, not only physically, but also mentally. Thus, the F.S.F.M.

I could have attributed my condition to the conditions outside, namely rain, rain, and more rain. The gray clouds have not only been a common sight, but quite literally the only sight I can remember as I look heavenward. And with the fine polished finish upon my head, I’m very much in tune to the presence of precipitation. God might be able to easily count the hairs upon my head, but I can easily count the raindrops per second upon my scull. The rain, the cold, the brisk winds—all occurring in a May which was followed by one of the warmest Aprils on record. And I was away from home, buried deep in white mud that needed to be strategically placed on many walls and ceilings.

I was working. It was raining. In Minnesota, today is the fishing opener. And I was feeling sorry for myself. But then the revelation came!

I did not have to fish! Thank God, literally, that I was not held captive in some wet aluminum boat, surrounded by inebriated “pals” holding onto a cold pole, while staring out into the gray waters below.

I did not have to fish today. And I don’t have to fish tomorrow. And I didn’t have to park on some crowded freeway trying to arrive at a favorite fishing lake somewhere in the hinterlands of this fair state. And I won’t have to fight traffic Sunday evening with a bunch of smelly guys.

So now I am glad. My condition has improved. Having “done church” this evening, I can head off to work in the morning (without a fishing pole) and be glad, and grateful for the day the Lord will make.

Mother's Day was also my dad's 70th Birthday. 

Mark flipped over this year's Mother's Day celebration 

22 and Counting

The time has come. I must write. I’ve sort of, kind of, made a promise with my comment on Suzi’s blog that I would say something about our anniversary. Or at least I would say something about being married 22 years. Well, I’ve told her many times that I love her, so that is nothing novel, or special enough to include in an anniversary blog, even though it’s true. And I’ve told her numerous times how I’m grateful for her devotion and care and good-naturedness and positive attitude and her commitment to our Lord.

So on this special day, I will simply say: thanks for spending the day with me. As a result of our hectic lives we can easily race past each other and exchange only a handful of words and glances. But today was different. We actually spent the entire day together. We walked the dog together. We showered together—no scratch that, I was playing with my camera downloading pictures to the computer while she was cleaning up after our long walk. (That reminds me I never did make it to the showers today. I apologize right now to my loving wife and comment to any readers that you should be grateful you are only reading this and no smell-o-rama has been incorporated to my blog.) Now where were we? We walked together, then we prepared ourselves for one of Tim’s favorite annual events, the Minneapolis-St. Paul Home Tour. Now in its 18th year, Tim (I’m again sorry, this time for referring to my self in the 3rd person, I hate when people do that) has managed to take in at least a few houses almost every year. I enjoy this so much more than the annual metro wide Parade of Homes, which features only new homes. The MSP Homes Tour features homes restored and actually lived in. And the variety and charm and character are endless. I could go on but this is supposed to be about our anniversary.

And then we came home and spent time talking with our son Mark and eating French Silk pie, wondering where we should go for supper. Being the slacker that I am, I did not make reservations anywhere. This meant we were somewhat limited, being a Saturday night and the day before Mother’s Day. So off to Red Lobster we went. We gazed into each others eyes (at least during commercials—they stuck us in the old sports bar section with all the TVs on the walls and the Twins on the tube), until Suzi glanced out the window and saw my brother Greg and his wife. They were visiting this place for the first time since they were dating 17 years ago. Kari hates seafood, but her sister was joining them for the meal and she loves seafood and her sister is older and wiser and more persuasive.

But it’s been a whole day together. And now as I sit here at the keyboard, this is the first time we’ve been separated today. And it’s been a good day. Suzi you’ve been great company, a worthy companion, and lots of fun.

I guess I’m glad that my one true love is also my best friend. Thanks honey.

Now if you’d like to do some more stuff together, I suppose you could start by editing my blog. Or it just turned 10:00, we’re not sure where the kids are, we could just go to bed.

Thanks for a wonderful day.

Raven is taking the day in stride. 

It's amazing what 22 years will do to a person (people) 

How long will it take the Warden to realize that I have moved Christina’s picture from the top of my blog?

Coming out of hibernation, I realize that the world has changed. I know I’ve missed lots of insignificant events, but maybe I’ve missed some of lasting importance. I’ve watched the sun set many evenings as I sit working at my desk and I’ve also seen the sun rising as I drive off to various construction sites. I’ve come across babies newly born and I’ve heard of the passing of others.

The world lost a great spiritual leader during my time “away.” He was a guide to many and an inspiration to even more. He had a zest for life that was contagious and always looked on the positive side of things. And as I was reminded just this past Sunday night, he sported a large tattoo on his upper arm. It spelled out the name of his lifelong love, the woman to whom he was married, I believe, well over 50 years, “Helen.”

I met Pastor Doug shortly after he arrived at our church, because I was in his Confirmation class. If my memory serves me right, I actually had the privilege to sit under his instruction for my 7th and 8th grade years. My memory is much better recalling the challenges (read that, trials or torture) our class put him through those two years. He left the sunny beaches of San Diego to serve our church in the frigid upper Midwest, but he didn’t seem to mind. He always wore a smile and always had time to talk, especially to the kids of the church. He turned me on to some of the most important things in my life as I sought his counsel. I think I’ll list them bullet style to make it easier to read.

1. Christian Book Distributors—He loved to read and showed me his catalog from the brand new company (1970 or so) in Boston that has survived and thrived to this day. I still order too many books from them each year.
2. Strong’s Concordance—I wanted to know how to look up things in Scripture, so he pointed me to his Strong’s which was in the KJV, but did a great job in pointing me to many helpful passages as well as interesting items like the verse somewhere in 2 Samuel that has 17 “the” s in it.
3. The Wittenburg Door—Pastor Lewis had a great sense of humor and a real desire to speak to youth in a language they could understand. I wonder what some of the church leadership would have thought if they knew he was reading and promoting such a magazine. But I loved it and was challenged by it and grew through it and subscribed to it for most of my adult life. It’s often accused of being irreverent, and lacking in class, but I’ve found it to supply food for my soul when other written works would lull me to sleep with things I didn’t care about or fatten me up with things I already knew. The Door, even today under new ownership and leadership, manages to keep a watchful, yet loving eye on the church, in an effort to keep it true to its calling.
4. Evangelism—Pastor Doug would often call kids from his confirmation class during the summer if it was a sunny day and invite us to the beach. Being from the west coast he never lost his love of the water. But we always went with a mission. He would give us each little booklets, like “Steps to Peace with God.” And he gave us quick lessons in how to use them. But more importantly, he never tried to force anything on those with whom we struck up conversations. It was always natural. And for him “successful witnessing” didn’t require that we take out the booklet. It could be a time of merely listening to someone who needed to talk. He was extremely gifted in having uplifting and encouraging conversations with friends or strangers. And bringing God into a conversation was as natural as talking about the Vikings.
5. Cults—Another important lesson I received from him was in how to evaluate various messages I heard in high school. I sought his advice on some materials I was reading and some shows I was watching. He gave me very helpful advice in how to sort out “false gospels” that sound a lot like the truth. He taught me that groups which preach a different Jesus from the one of the historical Christian faith need to be suspect and should be held up to the light of Scripture.
6. Marriage—When I remember back to times I was in the company of Pastor Doug and his wife Helen, I’m convicted by how well he kept his wife informed on his every thought. He was great at bringing her up to speed on things. Me? I usually grunt and practice my monosyllabic mumbles. Sorry, Suzi.
7. Nursing homes—The final thing Pastor Lewis left me with was a list of about a dozen nursing home residents that were members of our church. As a high school student I was required for some class to do some community volunteer work. I asked Pastor Doug for some ideas and he suggested that I visit this group of people who could not attend church anymore. The first time through, he went with me to each home and each room and provided a great model for visitation. It was a little scary and awkward at first, but I came to enjoy it. I kept it up throughout my college years and finished when the last person on that list received her final reward.

It is quite amazing how important a godly man can be in a young person’s life. I’m humbled by the fact that I’ve been blessed with more than my fair share, but Pastor Doug is surely in my faith hall of fame.

Greetings for her father 

Christina's New Look 

The Only Ones Missing were Sven and Ole

Credit Uncle Danny for this shot

Breakfast at Oodles 

I had breakfast yesterday with a different set of guys, but when push comes to shove they might not be that terribly different from the guys I met with last month at the Bean Scene. At Oodles Restaurant toward the back of Merwin Drug Store I gathered with my oldest son, my youngest brother, my dad, his only brother, and their cousin. The most obvious link between this crowd was familial, but if you looked at our attire you’d also see the common thread of white—painter’s paints. We’ve all succumbed at some time in our life to an addiction to mud. We’ve played in it, and made our living by it.

I often tell people that there is no known treatment program for this addiction. So if they want to help me spread drywall compound on a wall, they had better be prepared, and are duly warned. Of our Friday morning gathering, only my dad’s brother was able to escape this dusty life. With his keen aptitude for numbers, he began an accounting practice in north Minneapolis back in the 60s. His Nelson & Associates accounting firm gave opportunities for my mother and other brother to spend much of their day sitting at desks crunching numbers.

But the thing that struck me yesterday morning was a shared sense of humor. In thinking about the generations represented and the ones talked about, I noticed a common thread. My son thinks his life has been difficult, I sometimes think life is challenging, I know my dad’s generation (and his family in particular) faced many more trials, and we spoke of how it was even tougher for their seniors. But in looking back, they remembered the laughter. They remembered the jokes. Those old Scandinavians led fairly simple lives around the turn of that previous century. They were new to this land. They brought some useful trades, but more importantly they brought their love of laughter.

This item first came up in our discussion when I mentioned an article I had read in the previous day’s newspaper. For many years the Swedes of Minneapolis have boasted a Swedish Institute housed in a four-story mansion on Park Avenue, which at one time was the address to boast about. But now the Norwegians of the city want to have a monument to their achievements in this region. And they are considering the purchase of another old mansion on the near south side of downtown Minneapolis. The property they are considering was once renovated by the eccentric owner of Horst beauty schools and salons.

Although all those seated at the table have some Norwegian blood, we laughed about whether the Norwegians could pull it off. My dad was forced to recall his father’s favorite question: What’s dumber than a dumb Swede? The answer of course is, “A smart Norwegian.” It was all downhill from there and we should have started to look for Sven and Ole.

But I was amazed at the memory that stuck with the generation once my senior. Their parents and aunts and uncles loved to laugh, hahahaha. And it was probably loud and long and clear. May this condition continue to get worse for me as I try to balance work and work and family and work and work and faith. May a regular dose of guffaws help me to put things more in perspective. It is probably one of God’s greatest gifts, and I should picture it with a bright yellow Kodak-like label reading “open me first.”