Our new(er) van is now scrap metal. It didn't even last a year for us. I continue to learn about vehicle maintenance the hard way.
My ignorance is expensive sometimes. I did not know that a Kia's timing belt should be replaced every 40,000 miles. Or that it was made of rubber. Or that an overheating engine could loosen it up enough to cause it to slip and lock up the engine. I didn't know that a used engine would cost $600 and take $1,000 in labor to install.
And I was unaware that when I plopped down $70 at Walmart a few weeks ago to get a new battery, hoping that was the only thing keeping the van from moving, I didn't know that if I actually attached the cables to it, it was now a used battery and no longer returnable.
And I couldn't have known, without the aid of a crystal ball, that when we plopped down $600 for new tires for it during a Black Friday sale, we'd get less than a month's use out of them.
But I learned something today: the salvage yard is willing to buy it, new tires and all for $400.
Yeah.
The van broke down on December 23 with a coolant leak. It sat over the holidays while mechanics were not available and/or we were out of town. After the first of the year, the leak was fixed and I drove the van home.
Half way home. It died en route and I had to push it into a parking space at a local business. After the Walmart battery attempt, the van was towed back to the mechanic, who took a couple of weeks to trace the problem back through the starter, alternator, and fuel pump to the engine itself.
So we have been without a second vehicle of our own since Christmas, but some good friends from small group loaned us their truck while we waited for the mechanic's verdict. We returned the truck last night and we've decided there's no real point in putting time and money into finding a replacement vehicle.
Melissa is only 1.5 miles from her work, so I can drop her off in the morning and pick her up in the afternoon. It will be inconvenient ... not to mention so very un-American ... but we know we can get by with only one vehicle.
We have decided that perhaps this is God's way of slowly weaning us off our dependency on vehicles. Once we get to Haiti, we won't have a vehicle to call our own. There will be mission vehicles available for our use, but that will require keeping tabs on mileage and such.
Besides, there really won't be anywhere to go. And having to drive through the streets of Cap Haitien is - no joke - one of my greatest fears in moving to Haiti. (It's right up there with coaxing my 43 year old brain into learning a new language.)
Melissa's been attending a Bible study on the book of James and there we are reminded to "2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,[a] whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."
Then again, I have to keep in mind that 95% of the world would laugh at considering having "only one" vehicle to be a great trial...
Therefore Having Gone
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sell - Frog in a Tuxedo
It's like old times. I sold a possession the other day - without even trying. It was at school and I didn't have a camera handy, so all I could do was take a photo with my cell phone. I would post that picture here, but there's a problem: I'm an old guy who can't figure out how to get the picture from the phone onto the computer (at least not without having to pay for some service I can't afford).
So here's a pic of the pic on my phone:
Jesus used a harsher, but similar, simile in Matthew 23:
27“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside they are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness. 28 So you, too, outwardly appear righteous to men, but inwardly you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness. "
I know I've been guilty of such. Why can't we just admit to being frogs? Isn't our need for a Savior at the very heart of our faith?
So here's a pic of the pic on my phone:
It's a ceramic piece I painted as a teenager: a frog wearing a top hat and tuxedo. I looked on the bottom where my name and the year were scratched into the clay: 1982. It's 30 years old! The idea that my childhood was 3 decades ago still freaks me out.
One of my students offered me $5.00 for it. He had been talking about it for months and then showed up with the cash out of the blue.
I don't remember what attracted me to this piece thirty years ago (maybe it reminded me of how as kids we used to dress up toads ... in tiny top hats and capes), but over time it came to represent something I observed about the human condition and something we believers especially need to be on guard against:
We are frogs who have a tendency to dress ourselves up in tuxedos. And when we slip on the tuxedo, we look ridiculous.
Jesus used a harsher, but similar, simile in Matthew 23:
27“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside they are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness. 28 So you, too, outwardly appear righteous to men, but inwardly you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness. "
I know I've been guilty of such. Why can't we just admit to being frogs? Isn't our need for a Savior at the very heart of our faith?
Monday, January 23, 2012
Air Quality and 100% Safety
I have gotten out of the habit of blogging on a regular basis, and need to get back into it. I actually have 4 or 5 unfinished entries just waiting for a bit of extra time and/or inspiration. I'll get to them eventually.
There's so much good stuff going on right now and I want to report it ALL and give God some glory for what He's doing in our lives. But I rarely feel like I have time to do it justice. Like our day yesterday at West Morris St. Free Methodist Church in Indy. What a great day ... I'll have to tell you about it later. And another great meeting tonight with a couple from our small group. Later...
And sprinkled in the midst of all the good stuff is some frustrating stuff. We have been without our Kia Sedona for an entire month now. Literally. When I talked to the mechanic today, he reported that he now believes the timing chain slipped and the engine is locked up for good. The vehicle is not worth a $2,000 repair, so not sure what to do next. Thankfully, a couple from small group had loaned us a truck a week and a half ago, but we need to return it - we didn't plan on holding onto it for so long.
For tonight, I'll take the easy route and copy and paste the article I wrote for the local paper and which appeared today. It's about Indiana's new Indoor Air Quality policy for public school buildings. It's a bit more sarcastic than anything else I've written for a while. Here it is:
I'm breaking the law.
Well, not a law exactly, but a state policy. And it's not intentional; I'm jut a bit slow to comply.
You see, I have a couch in my classroom. And a puppet.
I know, I know: it's reckless and completely irresponsible, but rest assured that I will remove them before my students' learning is further impeded or, God forbid, someone dies.
In my defense, I had never really given much thought to the fact that my cloth-covered furniture and stuffed animals could introduce "dust mites, harmful bacteria, fungus and mold" into my classroom. Thank goodness the EPA is on the ball; they have helped shape the new Indiana Air Quality Policy for public schools.
Before anyone takes offense, I should explain that I am not ignorant of asthma, how easily it can be triggered and how serious and even life-threatening the effects can be. I even have some firsthand knowledge of it. And I understand that sometimes buildings do, in fact, harbor chemicals, mold and other toxins which can affect the health of occupants. The target of my sarcasm here is not the (rare) victim of poor air quality, but the all-knowing, ever-reaching government watchdogs and bureaucrats and their fixes. Alongside any actual solutions, when the politicians start cranking out regulations, we are bound to get the following:
1. Extra work. For example, the new policy dictates that each school system must create its own rules governing how long vehicles are allowed to idle in a school parking lot. Some employee will then be responsible for enforcing those rules forevermore. What does that look like? Someone who spends a half hour every morning and afternoon roaming the parking lots with a stopwatch?
This new state policy also technically allows cloth-covered furniture and stuffed animals to remain in the classroom, as long as the school has a rule dictating the method and frequency of their cleaning. My system's decision makers opted to simply ban such items rather than create the extra work. I can't blame them.
2. Over reaching. When the state inspector comes knocking, he will obviously be checking for evidence of mold and for proper levels of CO2. That's all well and proper. But what other parts of the policy might he enforce? How about making sure that "interior toilet rooms are no colder than 60 degrees Fahrenheit? It's in the policy. They will also be checking to see that no "furred, feathered, or reptilian animals" are present for anything but "educational purposes." And my favorite: "Fish in aquariums ... must be of a reasonable size and quantity." Are we to anticipate a forthcoming addendum precisely defining the "reasonable size" of a goldfish?
3. A (false) sense that with the right regulations in place we can make our world 100% safe and comfortable for all. Where should the line be drawn for classroom air quality? We can do away with the couch, the air fresheners (also contraband) and stuffed animals, but what about chalk dust? What about teenage girls swimming in perfume and smelly lotions? What about the occasional junior high boy who has not yet discovered the necessity of daily showers and deodorant?
I believe we have local media to thank, in part, for spurring this new state policy. A government panel tasked with studying the air quality of school buildings sat idle for several years. Then, about a year ago, speaking of CO2, WTHR breathlessly reported it had "discovered an invisible problem in classrooms all across Indiana. You can't see it or smell it. You can't taste it or touch it. But it's there -- sometimes far more than it should be - and it can impact students' healthy and education." The panel finally got to work.
We tend to forget that the urgent tone of such reports may be indirectly proportional to the actual size of the problem but directly proportional to the necessity of selling commercial time for the broadcast.
Despite my grumblings here, I will comply with the new policy, of course. What choice do I have? I think I will keep my puppet in place, though, sealed inside a clear plastic bag as a silent protest against bureaucracy. The couch is going; it was a leftover prop from our fall drama, a prop which I have been slow in returning to its proper owner.
And I had only just recently discovered how comfortable it was for lunchtime naps. What a shame.
Post Script:
I didn't have the space or time to delve deeper into this cultural habit of obsessing over safety - and the spiritual implications of this obsession - in the newspaper, but it sure does get under my skin. Is it just me?
A few years ago, a mentally ill man got ahold of a gun and shot up some innocent bystanders and some police officers in Indianapolis. I remember a sheriff soon afterwards addressing the media and promising the public that law enforcement would be "working hard to make sure something like this will never happen again".
What? How exactly do you hope to ensure that in the future any person suffering from mental illness will be unable to access a loaded gun?
But that's the reassurance Americans seem to want after some tragedy: someone will make sure it never happens again!
Life simply isn't safe. If you think about it, we are incredibly fragile beings. Where exactly are we 100% safe? At home? The storms that rolled through here last night could have produced a tornado capable of wiping this house off the planet. A week and a half ago, my friend was murdered in her own home, a few blocks from where I grew up. In our car? A split second decision by some other driver to answer a text message could start a chain reaction that ends with my death. (I didn't say that other driver was a teenager - that is stereotyping.) On the sidewalk? A heart attack could drop me to the ground without warning.
Some friends and family have expressed fear that by moving to Haiti, Melissa and I are endangering our lives and the lives of our children. It's possible. I have considered that and I know that there are no guarantees that just because you follow where God calls you, everything will be safe and sanitary and comfortable. I have come to terms with that truth. But I also know that in a VERY REAL sense, I will be endangering our lives tomorrow morning as we drive 30 minutes to school in the dark. (Especially if I don't get to sleep soon!)
The only ultimate safety is to be in the center of God's will. Like you, I don't know when my heart will contract for that final beat. It may be tomorrow or 40 years from now. I'm old enough to know now that whatever time I have left, I want to serve Jesus. And anytime I choose to say to Him, "I will go this far in following You and no further" THEN I am on unsafe ground.
There's so much good stuff going on right now and I want to report it ALL and give God some glory for what He's doing in our lives. But I rarely feel like I have time to do it justice. Like our day yesterday at West Morris St. Free Methodist Church in Indy. What a great day ... I'll have to tell you about it later. And another great meeting tonight with a couple from our small group. Later...
And sprinkled in the midst of all the good stuff is some frustrating stuff. We have been without our Kia Sedona for an entire month now. Literally. When I talked to the mechanic today, he reported that he now believes the timing chain slipped and the engine is locked up for good. The vehicle is not worth a $2,000 repair, so not sure what to do next. Thankfully, a couple from small group had loaned us a truck a week and a half ago, but we need to return it - we didn't plan on holding onto it for so long.
For tonight, I'll take the easy route and copy and paste the article I wrote for the local paper and which appeared today. It's about Indiana's new Indoor Air Quality policy for public school buildings. It's a bit more sarcastic than anything else I've written for a while. Here it is:
I'm breaking the law.
Well, not a law exactly, but a state policy. And it's not intentional; I'm jut a bit slow to comply.
You see, I have a couch in my classroom. And a puppet.
I know, I know: it's reckless and completely irresponsible, but rest assured that I will remove them before my students' learning is further impeded or, God forbid, someone dies.
In my defense, I had never really given much thought to the fact that my cloth-covered furniture and stuffed animals could introduce "dust mites, harmful bacteria, fungus and mold" into my classroom. Thank goodness the EPA is on the ball; they have helped shape the new Indiana Air Quality Policy for public schools.
Before anyone takes offense, I should explain that I am not ignorant of asthma, how easily it can be triggered and how serious and even life-threatening the effects can be. I even have some firsthand knowledge of it. And I understand that sometimes buildings do, in fact, harbor chemicals, mold and other toxins which can affect the health of occupants. The target of my sarcasm here is not the (rare) victim of poor air quality, but the all-knowing, ever-reaching government watchdogs and bureaucrats and their fixes. Alongside any actual solutions, when the politicians start cranking out regulations, we are bound to get the following:
1. Extra work. For example, the new policy dictates that each school system must create its own rules governing how long vehicles are allowed to idle in a school parking lot. Some employee will then be responsible for enforcing those rules forevermore. What does that look like? Someone who spends a half hour every morning and afternoon roaming the parking lots with a stopwatch?
This new state policy also technically allows cloth-covered furniture and stuffed animals to remain in the classroom, as long as the school has a rule dictating the method and frequency of their cleaning. My system's decision makers opted to simply ban such items rather than create the extra work. I can't blame them.
2. Over reaching. When the state inspector comes knocking, he will obviously be checking for evidence of mold and for proper levels of CO2. That's all well and proper. But what other parts of the policy might he enforce? How about making sure that "interior toilet rooms are no colder than 60 degrees Fahrenheit? It's in the policy. They will also be checking to see that no "furred, feathered, or reptilian animals" are present for anything but "educational purposes." And my favorite: "Fish in aquariums ... must be of a reasonable size and quantity." Are we to anticipate a forthcoming addendum precisely defining the "reasonable size" of a goldfish?
3. A (false) sense that with the right regulations in place we can make our world 100% safe and comfortable for all. Where should the line be drawn for classroom air quality? We can do away with the couch, the air fresheners (also contraband) and stuffed animals, but what about chalk dust? What about teenage girls swimming in perfume and smelly lotions? What about the occasional junior high boy who has not yet discovered the necessity of daily showers and deodorant?
I believe we have local media to thank, in part, for spurring this new state policy. A government panel tasked with studying the air quality of school buildings sat idle for several years. Then, about a year ago, speaking of CO2, WTHR breathlessly reported it had "discovered an invisible problem in classrooms all across Indiana. You can't see it or smell it. You can't taste it or touch it. But it's there -- sometimes far more than it should be - and it can impact students' healthy and education." The panel finally got to work.
We tend to forget that the urgent tone of such reports may be indirectly proportional to the actual size of the problem but directly proportional to the necessity of selling commercial time for the broadcast.
Despite my grumblings here, I will comply with the new policy, of course. What choice do I have? I think I will keep my puppet in place, though, sealed inside a clear plastic bag as a silent protest against bureaucracy. The couch is going; it was a leftover prop from our fall drama, a prop which I have been slow in returning to its proper owner.
And I had only just recently discovered how comfortable it was for lunchtime naps. What a shame.
Post Script:
I didn't have the space or time to delve deeper into this cultural habit of obsessing over safety - and the spiritual implications of this obsession - in the newspaper, but it sure does get under my skin. Is it just me?
A few years ago, a mentally ill man got ahold of a gun and shot up some innocent bystanders and some police officers in Indianapolis. I remember a sheriff soon afterwards addressing the media and promising the public that law enforcement would be "working hard to make sure something like this will never happen again".
What? How exactly do you hope to ensure that in the future any person suffering from mental illness will be unable to access a loaded gun?
But that's the reassurance Americans seem to want after some tragedy: someone will make sure it never happens again!
Life simply isn't safe. If you think about it, we are incredibly fragile beings. Where exactly are we 100% safe? At home? The storms that rolled through here last night could have produced a tornado capable of wiping this house off the planet. A week and a half ago, my friend was murdered in her own home, a few blocks from where I grew up. In our car? A split second decision by some other driver to answer a text message could start a chain reaction that ends with my death. (I didn't say that other driver was a teenager - that is stereotyping.) On the sidewalk? A heart attack could drop me to the ground without warning.
Some friends and family have expressed fear that by moving to Haiti, Melissa and I are endangering our lives and the lives of our children. It's possible. I have considered that and I know that there are no guarantees that just because you follow where God calls you, everything will be safe and sanitary and comfortable. I have come to terms with that truth. But I also know that in a VERY REAL sense, I will be endangering our lives tomorrow morning as we drive 30 minutes to school in the dark. (Especially if I don't get to sleep soon!)
The only ultimate safety is to be in the center of God's will. Like you, I don't know when my heart will contract for that final beat. It may be tomorrow or 40 years from now. I'm old enough to know now that whatever time I have left, I want to serve Jesus. And anytime I choose to say to Him, "I will go this far in following You and no further" THEN I am on unsafe ground.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Fragrance of a Violet
Yesterday Melissa and I attended a funeral in Shelbyville. You might have read about the deceased in the newspaper. Genevieve Kelly was a 74 year old widow who was murdered in her own home, stabbed to death by a man who rented property from her.
For as long as I can remember, Genevieve and her husband, John, were fixtures around the United Methodist Church where I grew up. John passed away just a couple of years ago. Everyone called him "The General" because he had been a Lieutenant General in the Air Force.
Genevieve and The General were active with the youth ministry when I was youth pastor there during my years at Asbury Seminary. Their granddaughter, Genevie, was in high school at the time. The two of them even came along on a couple of our mission trips as chaperones. They were hardworking and energetic. And faithful.
I hadn't really seen Genevieve for several years, but the news of her death hit hard. We tend to think of murder as something that happens only in big cities or foreign lands - or even only in fictional TV shows and movies. I hate to think of Genevieve's last few moments on earth being filled with terror and intense physical pain.
Her funeral was surreal in that I was back in my home church with quite a few of the same folks from my childhood memories but we're all 30 years older. The pastor and family did a superb job of acknowledging the evil which led to Genevieve's death without dwelling on it, leaving room for the proper focus of a celebration of her earthly life and the promise of eternal life in heaven.
The most striking thing about the whole experience was the bookmark the family created for each person to take upon leaving the sanctuary. Genevieve's daughter said they had printed the bookmark with a quote which the family had found on a slip of paper in the house after the murder. Genevieve had been in the habit of collecting quotes and Bible verses which struck her. To attach this particular quote to her funeral was one of the greatest demonstrations of grace and forgiveness I have ever personally witnessed:
"Forgiveness is the fragrance that a violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it." - Mark Twain
For as long as I can remember, Genevieve and her husband, John, were fixtures around the United Methodist Church where I grew up. John passed away just a couple of years ago. Everyone called him "The General" because he had been a Lieutenant General in the Air Force.
Genevieve and The General were active with the youth ministry when I was youth pastor there during my years at Asbury Seminary. Their granddaughter, Genevie, was in high school at the time. The two of them even came along on a couple of our mission trips as chaperones. They were hardworking and energetic. And faithful.
I hadn't really seen Genevieve for several years, but the news of her death hit hard. We tend to think of murder as something that happens only in big cities or foreign lands - or even only in fictional TV shows and movies. I hate to think of Genevieve's last few moments on earth being filled with terror and intense physical pain.
Her funeral was surreal in that I was back in my home church with quite a few of the same folks from my childhood memories but we're all 30 years older. The pastor and family did a superb job of acknowledging the evil which led to Genevieve's death without dwelling on it, leaving room for the proper focus of a celebration of her earthly life and the promise of eternal life in heaven.
The most striking thing about the whole experience was the bookmark the family created for each person to take upon leaving the sanctuary. Genevieve's daughter said they had printed the bookmark with a quote which the family had found on a slip of paper in the house after the murder. Genevieve had been in the habit of collecting quotes and Bible verses which struck her. To attach this particular quote to her funeral was one of the greatest demonstrations of grace and forgiveness I have ever personally witnessed:
"Forgiveness is the fragrance that a violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it." - Mark Twain
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Christmas 2011
I have mentioned before how spiritually sensitive our oldest is. Well, late in the day on December 25, 2011, after all the ham was eaten, the stockings emptied and the presents unwrapped, Melissa and I put the kids down for the night and hoped to get a few moments of quiet.
That's when Dats (age 10) came out of the bedroom with a sad look on his face and said he wanted to talk to me about something - in private. We went down to the basement and sat side by side on the couch. I never know what to expect when Dats wants to have a serious, private talk.
After a long pause, he finally managed to choke out a confession: "I don't think I really celebrated the true meaning of Christmas today." I wasn't expecting THAT at all.
How many ten year old consciences are bothered by such things? (For that matter, how many adult consciences?)
I explained to him that even the strongest of us tend to get caught up in the gifts and food and festivities and can neglect the deeper spiritual reality of Christmas. I told him I was happy if, in the midst of the month-long build up to the 25th, I got one moment of genuine reflection on God's gift of Jesus, born in the manger.
AND I told him that moment came for me this year just after the ham dinner and before we opened presents with Melissa's side of the family. That was when Dats came to me and whispered, "Do you think it would be OK for me to read the Bible story of Jesus' birth before we open presents?" And that's what he did - he read from the 2nd chapter of Luke.
And it was beautiful.
And it was Christmas.
I'm glad Dats came to me that night after bedtime because it gave me a chance to thank him for that moment.
**********************************
Some random pictures from this Christmas:
That's when Dats (age 10) came out of the bedroom with a sad look on his face and said he wanted to talk to me about something - in private. We went down to the basement and sat side by side on the couch. I never know what to expect when Dats wants to have a serious, private talk.
After a long pause, he finally managed to choke out a confession: "I don't think I really celebrated the true meaning of Christmas today." I wasn't expecting THAT at all.
How many ten year old consciences are bothered by such things? (For that matter, how many adult consciences?)
I explained to him that even the strongest of us tend to get caught up in the gifts and food and festivities and can neglect the deeper spiritual reality of Christmas. I told him I was happy if, in the midst of the month-long build up to the 25th, I got one moment of genuine reflection on God's gift of Jesus, born in the manger.
AND I told him that moment came for me this year just after the ham dinner and before we opened presents with Melissa's side of the family. That was when Dats came to me and whispered, "Do you think it would be OK for me to read the Bible story of Jesus' birth before we open presents?" And that's what he did - he read from the 2nd chapter of Luke.
And it was beautiful.
And it was Christmas.
I'm glad Dats came to me that night after bedtime because it gave me a chance to thank him for that moment.
**********************************
Some random pictures from this Christmas:
 |
| Melissa got a Hercules doll in our small group's white elephant exchange. Hercules rode home in Steve and Keri's van after the party - their fault for not locking their doors. |
 |
| The Princess (age 4 on the right) and her friends at her pre-school's Christmas program. |
 |
| Dinner line for Gross family gathering. |
 |
| Grandma Gross opens presents made by our kids. |
 |
| We opened presents with the immediate family on Christmas Eve. |
 |
| Belle (formerly known as "The Drama Queen") got presents for her brothers: whoopee cushions! How thoughtful. |
 |
| Belle (age 9) couldn't wait to get outside to play with one of her gifts. |
 |
| Packed house for the gathering for Melissa's side of the family on Christmas Day. |
 |
| Melissa always goes all out on the stockings... |
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