Light Up

When I was a kid, I had this tradition on the first day our tree went up. When my parents were wrestling my younger brothers into bed and I finally had the living room to myself, I crawled underneath the tree and lay on my back with my head as close to the trunk as possible. That way it was twinkle lights and greenery as far up as I could see. I felt then as if I was among the stars.

And I think of Abraham now. Without the glow of modern pollution, how many stars did he actually see that night in Genesis 15 when God told him to look up and try to count them? Or in Genesis 22 when God made the promise that his offspring would be as numerous as those stars? Not only that, but his offspring would possess the gate of his enemies and all the nations of the earth would be blessed because of him. Did Isaac also look up and anticipate? Wonder? Doubt? Confer with Yahweh? I close my eyes so that when I open them, the lights will twinkle all the more while my pupils seek to adjust to their sudden presence, from dark to light. 

And I think of Isaiah now. He got to see Abraham’s descendants multiply, but there was often little hope as they suffered under the weight of sin. Yet he makes this claim: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” Four verses later he speaks of the child being born, and the connection between that human baby the light seems obvious to me in this day. With my face mere centimeters from the lowest lights, I thought of what it would be like to touch light. 

And I think of the shepherds in Luke 2 now. What would it have been like to go from black darkness of night to having an angel appear and bringing the full glory of Yahweh with him as he spoke of “good news.” Talk about an eye adjustment. As if that weren’t enough, he was then joined by a “multitude of the heavenly host,” perhaps as many as the stars of Abraham, and they belted out praise, the sound waves of which must have absolutely flattened the shepherds. To their credit, they didn’t hesitate in going to see if the gospel was true: had Abraham’s promised offspring really come?

And I think of John 1 now, who said the following of Jesus: “In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, and countless others did get to see actual light, maybe even touch it. Inevitably, whenever I crawl out from underneath that tree, I can't help but bump into the lights, and I wish I could grasp light, to wrap it up in my fist and call it “mine,” even if just for a moment. But that is precisely the good news. I can hold the light. Actually, I can be the light. For in joining my life to that of Jesus, the offspring through whom all the nations of the earth would be blessed, I become one of those stars of promise that Abraham saw and which the darkness will not be able to put out. That’s what I think of even now as I look up at the sky in anticipation, in advent.

Not quite "under" the tree, but I do love our Middle School Student Center decorations this year.

Second half of November

 You guys, I've been having way too much fun these weeks with guests and Christmas banquets and International Chapel, that I didn't get a blog written. Enjoy these pictures.

Always Yes to Theater

My friend Heather is so funny. She can’t even finish her question of whether or not I want to help with the Middle School play before I’m reaching for her script. One of these days she'll stop asking and start assuming.

It's mid-November, so another Middle School theater production has come and gone, complete with a stellar cast and much laughter between hours and hours of work. I told the kids how they were probably the first cast I’ve ever worked with who didn’t fall like vultures upon the food table every night, usually a given when we have props that contain food. Especially cupcakes! They were such professionals.

The story was an unfamiliar one. The Ransom of Miss Elverna Dower is about two students who don’t want to give a speech in English class, so they kidnap their teacher. However, it turns out she’s a persnickety person whom the principal would rather not have back, so he doesn’t pay the ransom or even tell anyone about her situation. Meanwhile the two kids keep getting more and more work from her so that in the end they simply release her. But neither the kids nor the principal get in trouble because Miss Dower never rats them out. The humor was right at Middle school level, complete with jabs at the expense of school principals and teachers. Our kids were thrilled to perform this in front of a school audience.

As every year, at some point, Heather and I tried to direct the conversation toward the deeper things. If a story is “good,” it must contain gospel truth somewhere, so I asked them to think about it for this play. What came out in the end made us all chuckle because we decided that Elverna Dower - the teacher that no one wanted to interact with - was most like Jesus. She was the one who absorbed the sins of both kids and the principal, their failures and poor decisions throughout the play, and she allowed others to think it was her own carelessness that had locked her in the book room all day. She forgave and moved forward with teaching the kids English and the principal leadership.

I’ll never grow tired of being in the wings of a stage, of getting to fist-bump students when they come off after a hard monologue, of making sure that one 6th grade actress remembers to grab all her props. But it’s those conversations where we get to see Jesus that drive me to say “yes” every year when Heather starts the question, “Do you want to help me with …” “Always yes!”

with one of the leads after opening night

Chrysalis

One of the programs that most attracted me to the MS Chaplain position is Chrysalis. With its weird scientific name bordering on the presumption that this program will somehow turn awkward Middle Schoolers into full-fledged butterflies, Chrysalis actually has roots in my family. My brother, Andi, was a student at BFA in the early 2000’s and helped dream up the idea that High Schoolers could be pouring into younger students through some kind of official small group program. The result is that today we have 6 adults in the community who train and mentor 20 Senior students who then lead and engage with 45 Middle Schoolers. 

To prepare well, we took the first two Thursdays of the year just to train the 12th graders on how Middle schoolers think and feel, why we structure the evening as we do, and what it means to be in constant contact with God themselves before leading Middle Schoolers to him. My absolute favorite moments, however, came when we broke up into 4 teams and came up with “skits.” I laughed so hard at Beach Ball Ballet and How Animals Eat and Synchronized Swimming. When the time comes, the Middle Schooler are going to LOVE it.

These Seniors have impressed me. When we played dodgeball the first time, I informed them that it was their job to always make sure the MSers were involved and felt like they were making good contributions. Half an hour later, I watched a girl dive in front of a flying purple dodgeball and gave her a thumbs up as she flopped onto the ground and waited for someone to “free” her. As soon as someone did, she gave them a high five and then ran over to free three more young students. By far, the best part is seeing them not just lead the Middle schoolers, but love them. Watching one of the 6th grade boys wave at his leader across the cafeteria only to see the 12th grader’s face light up as he waves back with a, “Hi Henry!” warms my heart. With only two Chrysalis nights in the bag so far, I can’t wait to see how things continue to unfold.

Beach Ball Ballet

Surrender

 Every year BFA picks a theme that will guide much of the spiritual conversations, especially in Chapel and the Middle School youth group and each school's Spiritual Emphasis Week. This year, I got to sit in on the selection process in the spring and watched the team come to the word "Surrender" pretty early and unanimously. As Middle School Chaplain, it's been my task to help unpack this word in Scripture for the Middle School kids.

I was drawn pretty early to the rich young Ruler in Matthew 19, so I highlighted his story in my first chapel. The students helped me make a list of all the things he would have had to surrender if he had decided to follow Jesus. Their list was more extensive than I imagined: possession, influence, reputation, freedom, and authority were all near the top. The next week, I jumped over the story of Peter's first encounter with Jesus in Luke 5. We came up with a really similar list, but the part that stuck with me the most was a small detail I don't know if I'd noticed before.

When Luke first mentions Peter and the other fisherman in verse 2, we seem them performing an action: washing their nets. From a college class, I remembered that washing the nets also meant repairing and cleaning and ensuring that they were ready to be used again the next night. It was actually an arduous process and really integral. Because if you think of a fisherman's tools in 1st century Galilee, boats were nice, but nets were essential. This was Peter's true source of income. So when Jesus asks him in verse 4 to try fishing again, we see Peter's initial response was "We already tried all night long and didn't catch anything," but I wondered if the underlying thoughts were screaming things like "Are you serious? I just finished washing and fixing the nets. I'll have to do that again. We went at it all night, and I'm tired. If I have to stay to wash the nets again, it'll be at least 3 more hours until I get some sleep!"

For Peter to hardly pause and to continue on with "But at your word, I will let down the nets" speaks to me of a surrender I feel I have yet to learn. No hesitation. No negotiation. Willing to count a cost. That's what I want for myself and my students. Not to just anything or anybody, but toward our Savior.

First day of being MS Chaplain

Of Dumb Decisions and Lightening Storms on a River

 

I saw the wind gust in the sheets of rain before they hit, and still I was almost knocked off my feet. Grappling around me for something to hold other than the thorns, I cupped my hands around my eyes and yelled again “Ellen?!?” She came into view, hair dripping, tube lifted above her head, wobbling as she tried to make her way up through the blackberry bushes tugging at her swimsuit. That’s when the hail started, one little ice nodule going straight into my right ear hole and lodging itself there. My vision blurred while branches began whipping my entire body. And boy was I praying.

It's been a week of making silly, little, dumb mistakes. I blame the heat. It’s been hot. Really hot. So when we started making plans to float the Rhine, Thursday was the first possible day and the most ideal as it promised to be our highest high yet. Three of us rushed Ellen out of work around 6 and headed west to the France-Germany river border. When we dropped off the one car at the “end” spot, I did make everyone look up at the clouds once and asked, “What do we think? Is it going to rain?” We all shrugged that we’d get wet anyway and went for it.

45 minutes into our 90-minute float, the two former lifeguards were pushing us with all their might toward the riverbank, lightning hot on our heels. Of course it was the deepest part of the river and there were thorny blackberry bushes on the steep bank, making it impossible to grab on. “Let’s used that down log to pull ourselves to shore,” I shouted. That may have been the biggest mistake of the week, for with the water levels where the were and the wind being what it was, instead of helping us, the log flipped Ellen. With her tube caught between the log and her body and the current threatening to wash her underneath, it took all three of us to pull her into one of our own tubes and then get around the log as best we could. 

While Ellen and I took longer to find a manageable berth, Alissa and Stephanie managed to scramble up in a milder spot, using the long grass as grips. So they were - we thought - safe up on the path when that initial wind gust and hail hit. Because of the wind, Ellen and I didn’t hear them scream when a tree branch broke off and smashed into the path a mere 5 feet from them. By the time we were all on the path, huddled under our tubes for “protection,” we had the understanding that this was no small storm that would just blow over. I estimated that we were pretty much halfway between cars, so we elected to go to the one parked at the end, which turned out to be the wisest choice all day.

We trekked for nearly an hour, probably 3-4 kilometers in our swimsuits, dragging the tubes, sometimes using them as shields when the rain intensified. There were fallen branches and even a couple of trees on the path. The sun began setting, and I could tell dusk was settling in. When Alissa’s car came into view, we all nearly melted for relief that we weren’t just alive, but had a way home. 

However, the adventure wasn’t quite done. We drove back to the start to retrieve my car, only to find the way blocked by a downed tree and powerline. Alissa bravely forged a trail far away from the wires through the top branches of the tree so that we could see if my car was okay and get our cell phones. Sure enough, it was okay, but we had to leave it for the night since there was no other way out. Using our phones as flashlights, we worked our way back to Alissa’s car and began answering the 29 messages we had, mostly from Alissa’s husband, wondering about our welfare. A friend drove me back the next day, and I was able to drive my car home, the adventure finally feeling like it had truly ended well.

Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.

What it's supposed to look like (an earlier trip)

St. Cuthbert's Way

We had already been trudging for 27 kilometers (and I mean trudging) when the final downpour of the day started. “That’s it,” I thought. “I’m never walking again.” If you know me, you’re probably mocking me after that last statement. At least, that’s what my friends did. As soon as we were snuggled into our cozy BnB and I had dry, warm socks on my feet and food in my belly, I was already planning the next hike. 

Walking St. Cuthbert’s Trail from Scotland into England was a 3-year-plan come true. We started at Melrose Abbey and ended 100 kilometers later at Holy Island, also called Lindisfarne. I’ve taught about the Viking raid that happened here in AD793 for the last several years in history class, so it was fantastic to set foot in the island -- after walking the final 5 kilometers across the boggy sands of the causeway while the tide was out. That was an adventure in and of itself! Other than the first day, we saw no rain, which was a blessing, and everything else I love about pilgrimages was present: the companionship, the simplicity, the conversations, the wildlife, the views, and even the sore feet, proof of the effort.

Enjoy some pictures:

Super-Aunt

One of my favorite Bible characters, ever since I was a little girl, was Princess Jehosheba. She was the daughter of King Jehoram and half-sister of King Ahaziah in Judah, likely married to the High Priest, so we’re talking about someone who potentially had some influence. At the very least she was well connected. But everything I could say about her is circumspect because we really only know of one action she took. 

When King Ahaziah died in battle, his mother Athaliah made a mad grab for the throne by killing off the entire royal family (2 Kings 11). Enter Jehosheba, who grabbed her brother’s infant son, her nephew Joash, and successfully hid him in a room until the rampage was over. She and the High Priest managed to sneak him into the house of the Lord where he lived under his aunt’s secret care for six years while his evil grandmother reigned over Judah. Eventually they brought him out of hiding and launched a campaign for his rightful claim to the throne, which he won, and Joash becomes Judah’s youngest king. Lovingly, he is known as the ruler who repairs the Temple, which had been his earliest home after all. 

However, there’s no further mention of Scripture’s favorite super-aunt, the kind of auntie I long to be when I think of my 5 nieces and lone nephew. In what ways can I go to task for them and advocate for their growth and security and walk with the Lord? I had a blast last week with my 4 nieces who were here, taking them to an amusement park and the pool and on ice cream dates. And yet, it was the evening conversations that I will cherish the most, the questions of where we saw beauty and kindness that day, the comparisons to other stories we were reminded of, the snuggles on the couch (until I got too hot and had to tickle them off). The nieces were indeed the bright spot of my summer, not because I got to be an auntie -- though I loved that -- but because it reminded me that every moment of care expended on a kid can be a way to honor the Lord. A good summer message as we gear up for another school year.

Super-nieces

Art Surprise!

It was already something I was looking forward to - getting to see the Sistine Chapel - and I was even willing to endure the 90+ degree heat to do it, but when I was handed the entrance ticket, my heart jumped into my throat. The image decorating the backside of the ticket wasn’t the Michelangelo scene of Creation, as I would’ve most suspected. Rather, it was two figures whom I instantly recognized as Plato and Aristotle from the School of Athens painting by Rafael. I’ve used this painting every year in teaching History 8 to introduce Renaissance style, and I knew it was in the Vatican, but I was sure it required a special ticket, and we had barely secured these at the last minute.

I pointed it out to my brother and family, but we had no certainty whether this was a clue that we’d see the Rafael on our tour. So, with a smidge of hope, we joined the long line of ants shuffling from room to room, following the signs toward the Sistine Chapel. It took close to an hour, but finally my hope seemed to be approaching reality when we entered the first of three “rooms of Rafael.” Fiona smiled and I clapped my hands with glee while my nieces all asked “What’s so special?!”

Even while I pointed out arches and blue sky and facial features and characters and the self-portrait, I marveled myself at the vibrancy of the colors and the knowledge of muscles and the foresight Rafael must have had before the first brush stroke. He's staring out at is, daring us to criticize, and I have to wonder if he knew this would be the room and this the wall that would most draw the eye. Megan was quick to name the Greek god statues, and Olivia knew extra facts about them. The younger girls distracting themselves, creating stories about the lone woman (Hypatia). I’m no artist and have only stuck my baby toe into art appreciation, but I was exceedingly aware of what an unexpected gift this moment was.

just a tad giddy

Jarring Normal Obedience

Kristen and I rounded the corner, where the vineyards abruptly stopped and we found ourselves back in the quaint town of Holzen, the transition a bit jarring but also completely normal in our Black Forest valley.

“So, after 14 years here, do you ever get comfortable with all these good-byes?” she asked earnestly.

I couldn’t help but sad-smile. It’s been a question ringing through these hills for nearly 70 years because, as much as every school experiences loss when students graduate and teachers retire and people move, nothing can quite compare to the upheaval at a TCK school every summer. What keeps me going is definitely not comfort. It’s also not the truth that new people will be coming to replace the ones who left. While I always find a new friend or two, I rarely look forward to the arrival of new staff with the anticipation and hopeful excitement that I probably ought to. 

A phrase rings in the back of my mind, something my mom once said. “What keeps us on the field day after hard day, year after struggling year, is obedience.” Until God calls me to the next location - and someday he will as I have evidence of every year in other people’s stories - I am here, walking loops through these Black Forest valleys. That calling will mean glorious hellos in August and heart-wrenching good-byes in June. 

Honestly, there are no guarantees I can give to Kristen as she faces her first trip through this routine upheaval, other than normalcy. That doesn’t mean the obedience is less jarring, especially this summer as I face some significant losses, some who’ve been here over half of BFA’s lifetime and some who know me deeply. 14 years in, and some summers are just hard. But there’s a faithfulness in the regularity that I cling to. That God would be so good to allow the cynical me, who wasn’t ready for new people last August, to experience depth of relationship with others who have the same calling.

some of the hard good-byes of 2023

2022-23 is Wrapped

 Here are some highlights:

First day of School

Studying Ecclesiastes with my Monday Life Group

So many Hikes :-)

Middle School Fall Party

Tuesday Small Group

Visiting Christmas Markets

Family visits over Christmas

Middle School Play

High School Play

History 8 Castle Hike

Jim and Lori visit for Spring Break

The 8th grade Amsterdam Trip (4 years in the planning) finally happened!

Jimmy and Kristin visit

Henry joined the world

The 8th graders are promoted (the boys, too, but I can't show them all)

More Family comes and more hikes!

Name that Chaos

We tell a common non-joke around here, the gist of which is that Transition is a bad word, only to be whispered in hushed hues. Once a year, however, at least in the Middle School, we pull it out and put it on the table in the middle of the room for all students to poke and play with. Our annual Transition Workshop has become one of my favorite evenings; it never goes the same way twice. Even though we talk about the transition to high school coming up and the international moves they have all experienced, different students will bring different experiences and emotions to the workshop.

And we focus a lot on emotions by assigning names to those vague thoughts on the edge of our brains (“I don’t know what to expect in America next year” = fear; “Everyone else is ready for high school but me” = jealousy; “I can’t wait to try out for volleyball” = hope). One of the best gifts we feel we can give our students is the recognition that they are not alone in their transition.

To that end, this year, I started out by laying pieces of paper on the ground to symbolize the transition bridge. As I walked from “Involved” → “Leaving” → “Chaos” → “Entering” → “Re-Involved,” I asked some brave people to share times they had walked this bridge. One left Jordan to move to Germany, one gained a new baby sister, one switched schools in the middle of the year, one lost a beloved pet. I was so proud of them for sharing. 

Next, I asked them to share any Bible characters who they knew had walked some kind of transition. They blew me away with their knowledge of many stories. Joseph was sold by his brothers into the chaos of slavery but then became “re-involved” when he was promoted to Pharaoh's right-hand man and was reunited with his family. Daniel’s journey was similar in his own exile. Gideon moved from coward to warrior, from fully reliant on God to mostly reliant on himself. Paul, David, Ruth, Abraham, Adam & Eve, both Marys, the list was long. Then one girl nearly popped up out of her chair and shouted “Jesus!” It was the typical Sunday school answer, but her classmates’ eyes got wide as they put the pieces together that Jesus was fully involved in heaven, then left for the chaos of our world, so that we could all now enter into the re-involvement phase. 

The depth of their understanding in that moment was beautiful. Because the truth of the matter is that the entire gospel story is a story of Transition. In the Garden of Eden, we weren’t just involved, we were in perfect communion with our Creator, fully known and fully belonging. But we left. It was our choice, and the chaos that followed is where we continue to live unless we finish crossing the bridge. Jesus’ death on the cross invites us to re-enter the goodness that was once ours. Only on the other side, our joy is even more complete because to be re-involved (not just involved) carries a richness and an experience that our kids could write stories about. Every time we walk a transition, it’s an opportunity to proclaim the gospel again.

As our workshop continued, the kids tie-dyed T-shirts to remind themselves that out of the emotional turmoil there can be beauty, that God wastes nothing, and that they never walk alone. On Saturday, they’ll walk across the stage and say good-bye to their Middle School Years (often called the “chaos years” of education), and I couldn’t be more proud of them.

Tie-dye after the Workshop

Gospel at McDonald's

 It had been a long day, and I hadn't eaten since breakfast, nor had several of the athletes around me. So as my McDonald's table filled with Middle School girls, I kept my prayer short, and we tore into our burgers, happily rehashing the main exciting moments of the all-day volleyball tournament. That's when he showed up.

Surrounded by his wife and three daughters, the man came up the stairs shouting obscenities and swearing in German. I glanced around the seating area, wondering how all the students from my Christian school would react. A couple were staring at him and some at me with big eyes, but for the most people kept eating. I shrugged my shoulders and took another bite, glancing at the man out of the corner of my eye. That's when I saw him make a sweeping gesture toward a large group of our students. "I mean you all! All of you. You're a bunch of little ...."

I jumped up from my booth, trying to swallow my bite quickly while inserting myself between the yelling man and the 7th grader closest to him. "Can I help you?" I asked with a sarcastic overtone. His response was terse and indignant. "Your students here need to learn some manners! I've never been treated with such insolence. Not an ounce of decent human behavior." His wife joined in, and I was able to discover that the short of it was that one of our students had bumped him and hadn't apologized.

I fought a retort forming in my mind about "decent human behavior toward kids" and instead tried to explain that we had just come from a tournament, but I wasn't ever allowed to finish a sentence. "I want an apology!" the man demanded. "Let me apologize on their behalf --" I started. "I don't want your apology!!" he took a step closer, his eyes roaming the room for the offender. I struggled to push down my own anger for the sake of rationality. "Is the person here? Maybe I can talk to him or her --" I began. He almost spit, "she ran down the stairs like a coward. If I see her again ..." and at that point he raised his hand to show he would hit her. That was the straw. "And if you do that, I won't hesitate to call the police," I snarled. Even his wife turned to him at that moment and told him to sit and calm down. He sat, and I had to walk away because I was shaking so badly. 

That's when I saw that one of the High School students coaches, an 11th grader and former student of mine, had taken a stand behind me. Towering over my head, I'm sure, he had seen me getting yelled at and had come as back-up. I could've hugged him in that moment, the tangible reminder that as I had to step in the gap and defend those entrusted to me, that someone had my back and would defend me, too. Like Jesus, I thought. My heart cracked and softened a bit as the gospel broke in. 

Back at the table, of course, seven 8th grade girls wanted to know "what was that about?!?" When we looked back over at the man and his family, my eyes were drawn to his pre-teen daughter, sitting in the corner with her hands over her face, utterly ashamed of her dad's behavior. One of my middle schoolers sitting next to me saw her at the same time. "I feel so bad for her," she whispered to me, and I nodded. How blessed am I that I never had parents who did that to me, but rather who modeled a Christ-like defender and generous forgiver. 

I couldn't eat at that moment anyway, so I took a walk downstairs to the McCafe and purchased three cookies. For his kids. I couldn't shake the feeling that the bump was probably not the cause of the man's explosion all over us, and if he was willing to put on a scene in public, what might his home life look like. It took a while before I could give them to him, but on our way out the door, I was able to offer another apology for my student's behavior, and he accepted the cookies with a grunt and another mini sermon about human decency. 

The middle school girls at my table were aghast. "You gave him cookies!?!" I tried to explain, "It's the gospel. We received a grace we didn't deserve and we are called to pass it on." God knows I fail more days than not, but I'm thankful for this teachable moment, both for my own heart and for those in my students.

Middle School Boys team with coaches

Regarding Others

I’ve been listening to a fascinating Audiobook* that aims to encapsulate the entire Middle Ages into one volume. I’m loving how much it connects to what I’ve just finished teaching in History 8 and yet also how much new I’m learning. For instance, the name Pope Innocent III already meant something to me as the pope of two crusades and a major church council, but I had never before heard of his “sun and moon allegory.”

What I learned was this: Pope Innocent III asserted that God had put two great lights into the sky, one to govern the day and give heat, energy, and light to the world, and the other to govern the night with coolness and lesser light. Both are valuable, but of course the moon’s light is purely a reflection of the sun, not generating any light from within itself. He interpreted these two lights to be like the two mighty powers of the day - popes and kings. He as pope was the sun, of course. His authority was over people’s souls, which was of eternal value and thus vastly more significant. The king oversaw people’s bodies and thus held lesser authority, much like the moon.

I should be shocked at the hubris of a supposed man of God, but as a student of history, I’ve long learned to roll my eyes at some of these guys. Whenever my students ask why a person made a particularly poor choice or how a leader could be so cold-hearted, I tend to reply with the cop-out shrug of the shoulders and saying “Human nature.” But really, if I claim to be a Christian - a true “little Christ” - can I use that as an excuse?

My housemate has been memorizing 2 Corinthians 5. Every time she quotes it, even before she gets to the famous v. 17 about being a new creation, I’m already struck by the mirror being held up to my life, showing me how I all too often live for myself rather than for the one to whom I owe everything. My human nature has been fundamentally changed; I'm brand new. I get to be the moon now in a universe where Christ is, always has been, and always will be the sun.

Furthermore, beyond even our own choices in living, the author of 2 Corinthians calls us to view others through a heavenly lens rather than to regard them from a worldly point of view. It forces me to ask about how I teach history. While I do find it despicable that Pope Innocent III tried to put down fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, what if, despite multiple crusades and the publication of this sun-moon allegory, he really trusted Jesus as his Lord and Savior? What if I meet him in heaven? I’m not God, so while I do believe I’ve seen my fair share of human nature and while I do still believe some historical figures were capable of genuine evil, I cannot see their hearts nor do I always know the full story. I need to be careful with my regard.

“So from now on, we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come” (2 Corinthians 5:16-17a).

finding WW2 markers in Freiburg with two 8th graders

*Powers & Thrones by Dan Jones

Jim & Lori Visit

Jim and Lori were such good sports when I forced them to choose a dwarf and imitate it for my pictures, but in the end, it added to our laughter as we wound our way through the gnome garden of Salzburg. It was only the next day that we found out we had actually stumbled upon a historic piece of history and that the search is still on for the missing gnomes out of an original set of 28. Not only that, but “the Professor” gnome had been featured in the Sound of Music. We giggled at our own ignorance and sang along with Julie Andrews as we traversed the hills on our way into the Lake District, thrilled to be back in “my” country.

As long-time supporters - more than that: as a second family - they have been invested in my work at BFA and beyond for over a decade. In the support-raising days, they let me live with them for the mere cost of mowing the lawn in the summer. I relish the memories of dinner conversations and book recommendations. Likely I owe more of my knowledge and opinions to them than I know, so it was a real pleasure to get to show them around Austria for 12 days over Spring Break, starting with Salzburg.

The dreary weather on the trip to Vienna felt fitting as we visited the country’s most renowned concentration camp, Mauthausen. The air was heavy in the car as we drove away, my country failing to shine quite as brightly as the previous day. I’d been particularly moved in the area with all the national monuments, most notably the Tree of Life, donated by Israel. When Jim had asked me to read it aloud, I struggled to keep a steady voice, yet we were able to debrief in the car, and I was grateful for their presence to once again discuss, reflect, and even pray.

Vienna saw us bouncing between gleeful joy and thought-provoking discussions as we bounced from museum to palace to concert to the Schnitzelwirt and back to another museum. The days were packed and the hours in the car a bit long at times, but it was such a treat to get to show them the best and worst of the country that has my heart. The highlight was celebrating Easter in Kärnten: the reminder that even the worst that history has to offer, the death of the perfect Son of God, can culminate in the beauty of a resurrected life and the saving of souls. To join with believers and worship God in German was a balm to my heart, and I think meant a lot to Jim and Lori, too. 

Free to Do Good?

 

Shawn White

Middle School Spiritual Emphasis Week was already 2 months ago, and I still have one of the talks rolling around in my head. It started with Robbie Sweet, our speaker, saying “Watch this Gold Medal run from 2010.” The video opened on the view of halfpipe snowboarding, and with a brother who idolized snowboarder Shawn White, I wasn’t surprised in the least to see who it was. With looks of awe, we watched the video in which White executed his flips and jumps with near perfection, even inventing a new move, and earning a record-breaking 48.4 points (out of 50). I wanted to clap; it was such a thing of beauty - and that’s coming from a skier!

It’s become a popular axiom in recent years to say “Stop ‘shoulding’ all over yourself” when Christians go on and on about how they should be more patient and should forgive their siblings and should be more like Christ. All true things, but we know that merely telling ourselves we “should” rarely works. I’ve been trying something new with the girls in my small group. Whenever we get to the application part of what we’ve learned or discussed together, I try to avoid saying “Based on this truth what should we do this week?” to instead asking “How can we live out this reality in the coming week?” I know the shift is subtle, but it’s already been instrumental in my own heart to think of my sanctification process as more of a life-matching-what’s-already-true rather than a be-better-at-being-more-like-Jesus effort. I’m exposing holes where my heart doesn’t actually believe the reality of something Scripture teaches as true, and I’m much more secure in my position as God’s child because the reality of who I am is a small step removed from what I do. And it’s been motivating. I want what I do to match who I am.

Throughout the whole week he was here, one of Robbie’s recurring themes was the idea that because we’ve been given freedom, we are free to choose good things. Choosing bad things is actually an expression of captivity. “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery” (Gal 5:1). 

What he didn’t share with us until the very end about Shawn White’s record-breaking halfpipe run was that White had already won the gold medal. His previous run had earned 46.8 points, which was already the highest score. He had won. He could have laid flat on his back for his second run and slid the whole way down, but because the gold medal was already certain, he had the freedom to risk all the good moves stored up inside of him.

Jesus has already won the gold medal for me and for my girls. We could lay flat on our backs and sin all the way to end, and our salvation would still be assured. But he has placed all his power for good and beauty inside of us when he came to dwell in us. We have all the freedom to live out this truth, not because we should, but because we are.

ice skating with my Small Group girls (cheaper than snowboarding)