All posts by tje

A simple rose

Life is a bit more sedate, now that the family is off vacationing. I find myself deliberately making lots of noise just so the house doesn’t feel so empty. I even sat down on the floor in the garage and had a short (and rather one-sided) conversation with Matthias, our guinea pig.

I’ve been working from home most days, since I have so much work to do, as the end of the quarter approaches. Although I really like having quarterly goals to spur me on, it gets a little stressful when I try to pack three months’ work into two weeks’ time. Still, it has been good to be free to work as many hours as I can.

A rose in our garden

I did take a moment today to snap a few shots of our roses outside, because Kathy sounded very tired when I last talked to her, and I was afraid that we wouldn’t have a picture for the day. It would be a real shame to come to the negative attention of the Project 365 Police, and so I offer this simple picture to express the peace and serenity and, as a consequence, the loneliness of the day.

Project 365 — Day 166

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Daniel’s Cool Threads

Yesterday was a pretty good “Special Day” with Daniel. In my perennial struggle to spend quality and quantity time with my children, I’ve re-instituted Special Days (yet again). Joshua and I are thick as thieves inventing our Path of Ziba Bible game (this will probably not be the final name of the game, but it gives us a chuckle) — it will, hopefully, appear on a future blog post. Rachel and I recently spent time working on her fledgling website, which may absorb our collective energies for a while. But I didn’t have a good idea as to what to do with Daniel for his Special Day.

Then it came to me. A few weeks back, as we began to plan our attendance at Kathy’s brother’s wedding, Daniel expressed a desire to wear some ‘cool clothes’. In this age of alternative attire, I groaned as my mind immediately conjured up a picture:

baggy, moth-eaten pants slung low across the hips
a T-shirt with some sort of obscene or shocking statement emblazoned across it
a baseball cap worn backwards

A little questioning, however, revealed a different definition of ‘cool’: Daniel wanted to wear a suit.

Dan's usual attire
Daniel usually dresses for action, not to make a statement.

We’ve come a long way, when the best way to shake your fist at authority and swim against the stream of culturally-appropriate attire is to wear a suit and tie. Here in the Seattle area, it is rare to see anyone is ‘business formal’ (or even dressed toward the nicer end of ‘business casual’) unless they are visiting sales or marketing types, trying to foist some multi-million-dollar software or hardware product upon the unsuspecting latte-drinkers.

Daniel’s motivations are, no doubt, much less sinister – I think he just wanted to ‘look nice’ at the wedding for Kathy’s family, or maybe when attending church locally. It is interesting to see my children become more self-aware and begin to concern themselves with how they are perceived by those outside the immediate family.

So I got online and checked into the price of a new sport jacket for a boy Daniel’s size. He’d seen a suit (or at least a blazer) at Target for about $50 a month or two ago – it seemed evident that this was on the lower end of what was available, at least compared to other offerings.

As I thought of Daniel’s string-bean figure and rapid growth, I despaired of the idea of spending $100-$200 on a suit, only to see him outgrow it in a matter of weeks. Then a happy idea occurred to me – the local Thrift Store!

Daniel is hard on shoes
These shoes just didn’t seem quite right for his new look.

We jumped in our Honda and rushed over to Value Village, finding there (after some diligent search) a dark charcoal suit that seemed perfectly tailored for Daniel’s body (thank You, God!). After much deliberation, we chose a couple of shirts, but decided to also swing by Target to see what they had to offer, especially in the short-sleeve variety. Finding a versatile shirt there, we finished at the local GoodWill Thrift Store, where we discovered some brand-new black shoes in Daniel’s size that seemed sturdy enough for his 10-year-old lifestyle.

As we acquired each part of the outfit, Daniel became more and more excited. Rushing home to change before Kathy and the kids returned from Costco, Daniel and I paced nervously in the driveway, waiting to show off his new duds.

Daniel the stockbroker
I would definitely buy a multi-million-dollar software product from this boy.

We spent a total of $29 for a suit jacket, matching pants, three shirts and a pair of shoes (we’re still in the market for a belt and a kid’s clip-on tie). Considering the fun he has already enjoyed from the clothes, it was a bargain. He borrowed one of my ties to complete the ensemble.

Now if I can just get him to wear the outfit a couple of times before he grows two inches and the pants become high-waters.

Hail to the chief
Daniel salutes his beloved father …

Tim
Project 365 — Day 157

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Playing Favorites

In our ongoing and insatiable desire to increase the number of people who read our blog, we’ve created a new page, entitled Favorites. We’ve picked out a few of the entries that we think are representative of the ‘best of the blog’ over the three-plus years that we have been writing.

It would be interesting to us to hear from our readers with regard to the blog entries which you most enjoyed. Perhaps if you encounter one that you think is worth remembering, you could nominate it for ‘Favorites’ in a comment.

Rachel ponders her favorite blogs
Rachel is no doubt working on another Guest Blogger post.

To inspire (encourage, bribe) our readers to comment, we’re offering a new copy of Third Day’s cd, Wherever You Are. Pick a favorite blog, submit a comment and you will be automatically included in a drawing for this Grammy Award winning cd. The drawing will close on Sunday at midnight (Pacific Time Zone). One entry per person (although feel free to nominate as many blogs as strike your fancy). Sarah (age 4) will select the winning entry.

Thanks!

Tim and Kathy

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Mother’s Day

I suppose it comes as no surprise that I have a mother. Most people have one, with only a few notable exceptions. Even Joshua, son of Nun, probably had a mother.

As Mother’s Day approaches, I begin to panic. You may wonder at this strong reaction to an otherwise benign, albeit Hallmark-engendered, holiday.

The reason is this: beginning in March, Kathy and I began following a rather Spartan budget, trying to staunch the hemorrhaging of our cash flow, which we recently discovered. Knowing that we would want to celebrate such events, we wisely set aside some money for birthdays and even allocated $40 for Mother’s Day.

Unfortunately, I spent all of the budgeted funds on a gift for Kathy, leaving nothing for either her Mom or my own. In retrospect, I should have split it up a little more equitably — at least we could have bought them a valuable prize from the dollar store. Now, as the day itself looms, I cast about wildly for an idea.

I asked one of my cow-orkers:

Me: “So, got any ideas for me to use for my Mom, for Mother’s Day?”

Cow-orker: “What does she like?”

Me: “Gardening and writing, mostly.”

Cow-orker: “How ’bout a plant, or flowers, or something?”

Me: “Ummm, it’s gotta be pretty cheap.”

Cow-orker: (laughing cruelly) “Maybe a macaroni picture frame?”

I promised to revenge myself on my colleague, but the mists of time closed in, and I found myself reliving a memory …

When I was very young, I attended a pre-school. At the time, I thought it was because of my precocious brilliance and savoir faire. As it turned out, it was because the program ran Monday-Friday and offered three hours each morning that my Mom could have free. My brother was in school and my sister wasn’t yet born — who knows what Mom did in those precious hours? I’m guessing she was consulting for a ring of international fern thieves*, but it is just a guess. Those mists of time are pretty, er, misty.

*There is a story behind this particular suspicion, but not one I am at liberty to talk about so publicly.

As I recall, we preschool students were encouraged to express ourselves artistically in the weeks before Mother’s Day, so that we could present our mothers with a memorable gift. I worked my little fingers to the bone on a rather unique butterfly brooch … some would say that I succeeded a little too well in terms of making it memorable. I remember proudly bestowing it upon my Mom, secure in the knowledge that I was soon to be recognized as a major force in the jewelry design world.

Strangely, the brooch was never seen again. Ever. Coyly, I hinted that it might set off her outfit that Sunday for church, but no brooch. She went out on a date with Dad, but again, no brooch. Finally, I asked her if she was ever going to wear it, and I learned the tragic news: it had been … lost.

I was outraged. I could understand that such a valuable brooch could be stolen. Immediately I began concocting plans to catch the thieves and recapture the brooch … but how could it have been lost? She’d never worn it, not even around the house. Had my incorruptible brother been so overcome with jealousy, that he was driven to commit this heinous crime?

The mists of time lift from my eyes, and I see the world in a new light, although my cow-orker is still sneering evilly. I turn scornfully away, shoulders set with purpose. This wrong that was done so many years ago is crying out to be righted … I must make my Mom another butterfly brooch.

Cow-orker: Hey, Tim, why are walking with your shoulders hunched like that? Are you auditioning for a part in The Hunchback of Notre Dame?

Sometimes I am disappointed by the low grade of intelligence among my cow-orkers.

Later, I sat down to discuss this with my wife, and the tale took a nasty turn. She reminded me of the occasion, some two or three years ago, in which my Mom passed down the brooch to Kathy, as a retiring queen might pass down her tiara to her daughter.

“What luck,” I cried, “the brooch wasn’t lost after all! Mom probably really misses that brooch — could I possibly have it so I could give it back to her?” I implored my wife humbly.

She grimaced, blushing deeply. “Er, I don’t seem to have it anymore … it seems to have been … lost.”

My mind raced, calculating the time since my brother left the country last summer, and whether his movements could be traced the last time he was in my house. Could Mark have stolen the brooch, not once, but twice? Surely my wife must have lost the brooch recently, or she would have reported it to our insurance company already. My brother obviously needs serious therapy … let it go, Mark, let it go!

“When did you last see the brooch? Are there any pictures of you wearing it? What luck that we have taken so many pictures these last few years … it is sure to have been photographed!” I chortled gleefully, until I noticed the uneasy look in my wife’s eyes.

“Um, I don’t remember seeing it after your Mom gave it to me,” she confessed.

No wonder I had no recollection of her wearing it proudly; she isn’t usually very snooty, and it is the kind of thing I would have noticed. Maybe she didn’t put in a claim to our insurance company out of embarrassment that she had failed to secure such a valuable family heirloom in a safe place.

This afternoon, beads of sweat formed on my brow as I worked to replace the lost brooch. My stubby fingers screamed their lack of fine motor skills as the mists of time closed in again …

This seemed a lot easier when I was 4.
This seemed a lot easier when I was 4.

My little four-year-old heart was so excited about how beautiful and elegant the brooch would be, at least in my mind’s eye. I remember my preschool teacher pursing her lips in judicious assessment of my artistic ability, and commending me for my effort. Now, as I brushed away the mists from my eyes, I was determined to create a replacement brooch that would dazzle my Mom’s eye, one that she would be proud to wear on every occasion.

Brooch in my mind's eye
I figured it would look something like this, once I was done.

While I was constructing the Butterfly Brooch, Mark II, Rachel sauntered up to see what I was doing.

“What are you doing, Dad?” she asked.

“I’m building a miniature nuclear reactor,” I told her. Sometimes I’m a little short-tempered when working with my hands.

After I explained the history of the project, she asked how old I was when I made the first one.

“Shouldn’t you be able to make a better one, now that you’re 41?”

The mists of time are apparently rather persistent, because they closed in again. I remember that one of my preschool classmates, a young girl not known for excessive tact or discretion, had wandered over to the table as I added the finishing touches to my masterpiece.

“Your butterfly is all wrong — it hasn’t got any antlers,” she jeered, loudly enough so that every head turned to look at me. Red-faced, I mumbled that perhaps not all butterflies had antlers. A sing-song chorus began, “Timmy’s butterfly has no antlers, nyah, nyah, nyah.”

Sometimes the mists of time aren’t all they are cracked up to be.

As I look at my finished product, I am painfully aware that it has not lived up to the image in my mind’s eye. I’m struck by a possible parallel between the brooch and my life, and how my life has probably not lived up to the hopes and dreams that my Mom had for me. And yet, in many ways, I am living out my life as a reflection of who my Mom trained me to be. My sense of humor, my passion for justice, my stubborn tenacity in solving a problem — these are all part of my Mom’s legacy to me.

My new butterfly brooch
I never did get the hang of those butterfly antlers.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you! Come by anytime, and I’ll give you your brooch — I know you can’t wait to wear it to General Council. :)

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Prayer Conference

In January, Kathy and I were invited to attend the Great Commission Conference at Jefferson Baptist Church in Oregon, with about 25 other folks from our church. It was a two-day seminar, starting noon-ish on Monday and ending about the same time on Wednesday. We stayed overnight at a local hotel, and attended all the sessions, including the evening mealtimes hosted by some of the members of the Jefferson church.

I must admit, I had second (and third and fourth) thoughts about going to the seminar, which I had heard advertised as ‘the Prayer Conference’ … I’ve never been much of a prayer warrior, and I was afraid I would spend the whole time feeling beat-up and inadequate. I didn’t really know what to expect, and I thought several times of canceling, but my parents had already agreed to watch the kids, so we didn’t really have a good excuse not to go.

(Then a wicked scheme crossed my mind: I could still let my parents watch the children, but Kathy and I could secretly stay home! “What are the odds,” I mused, “that my folks will talk to our pastor, who, after the conference, will conveniently be away on sabbatical for three months? Perhaps I could avoid direct questions about the conference or wave my hands and speak generally about prayer, from my vast personal store of knowledge?” It was really that last consideration that brought my whole web of deceit crashing down — frankly, I didn’t know enough about prayer to talk convincingly about it for very long. I could just imagine my Mom, fixing me with a steely gaze, asking, “So, what did you actually learn at this seminar?”)

kids waiting
I’m not sure you could get anything past these kids, either.

So we squared our shoulders and drove down to Oregon that wintry Monday morning. Almost the first thing that the speaker addressed was the value of ‘volume prayer’ as opposed to ‘token prayer’. Pastor Duke argued that the main missing element in most people’s prayer life is volume … most people don’t know how much they pray and (as a result) they don’t pray very much. He mentioned how many times we are asked to pray in the New Testament, and suggested that we ought to be frequently ‘struggling’ or ‘persevering’ in prayer:

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. — I Thessalonians 5:16-18

I found the idea that ‘volume matters’ with prayer vaguely distasteful. I’m reminded of what Jesus said about the prayers of those who wanted to be heard on the street corners and the prayers of those who ‘babble meaninglessly’, and I am skeptical that ‘more is better’. It seems insulting to God, that He would be impressed, duped or fooled by quantity where there is minimal quality (or at least no guarantee of any particular quality).

But then I think about the other things Jesus said about secrecy in prayer and about the woman who persevered with the unjust judge, and I’m not so sure. How can you read “Pray continually” or “Pray without ceasing” and not come to a conclusion that somehow quantity matters? Maybe my hostility to the idea stems from my long-term practice of extremely low-volume prayer.

tim's shopping
Even at prayer conferences, you need to slip out for a diet Coke run. Sadly (for Kathy), there wasn’t a Starbucks anywhere around.

One thing that people often say, according to Pastor Duke, is that “it is not the length of time that I pray that matters, but rather the sincerity of the heart.” He chuckled rather cynically over that quote, which was a bad sign of what was coming. But then he gave a very helpful analogy, which really connected with me.

“Prayer is not a matter of a simple yes or no answer,” he claims. “People think that prayer is like sitting down for dinner, and asking God to pass the potatoes. He will either pass them or he won’t — that’s a common misconception about prayer. Instead, imagine a teeter-totter or a see-saw with one of your largest congregants sitting on one end.”

Duke pointed to one of his assistant pastors, amidst general laughter.

“Like Jim, here. Now, suppose there was a large cardboard box strapped to the other end of the see-saw. Prayer is like picking up a rock and putting it in the cardboard box. At first, Jim won’t budge. But if enough of you picked up rocks and put them in the cardboard box, eventually someone would put a rock in the box and Jim would rise off the ground.”

It was helpful for me to reflect on that analogy, especially as I considered that the last rock that was placed in the box was not necessarily the biggest rock, but rather it was the combination of all the rocks that lofted Jim into the air.

see saw

Epaphras, who is one of you and a servant of Christ Jesus, sends greetings. He is always wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured. – Colossians 4:12

Duke suggested that some prayers are fairly easily granted, but that others are more difficult and involve a struggle in the spiritual realm. He reminded us of the passage in Daniel 10, when Daniel fasted and prayed for three weeks about a prophetic vision he had received:

Then he [Gabriel] continued, “Do not be afraid, Daniel. Since the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your words were heard, and I have come in response to them. But the prince of the Persian kingdom resisted me twenty-one days. Then Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, because I was detained there with the king of Persia. Now I have come to explain to you what will happen to your people in the future, for the vision concerns a time yet to come.”

Apparently Duke has had many people argue with him that volume of prayer doesn’t matter. He challenged us, “Is 60 seconds of prayer a day enough?” He seemed to assume that the answer would be “No” (and, in fact, most of the pastors and leaders in the auditorium were shaking their heads). He concluded that people do, in fact, agree that the length of time in prayer matters, but that they merely disagree about how much time is needed.

A formula (used by the JBC church as a motto) repeated throughout the conference is this:

No prayer, no blessing
Little prayer, little blessing
Much prayer, much blessing

My prior experience doesn’t bear this out. I am a thoroughly blessed person, and (before the conference) I prayed (on average) less than 5 minutes a day. Some days I prayed less than 60 seconds, but on Wednesdays and Sundays I tended to pray more. I’m not sure I really buy into the idea that God only blesses in accordance with our volume of prayer. Of course, maybe I am only blessed a little, but I lack the insight to see how much more blessing is available.

Duke unabashedly admits, “I’m greedy. I pray because I want lots of blessing. I want my marriage, my work, my kids to be blessed. I even want my dog to be blessed. I just plain want more blessing.”

pastor Duke
Pastor Dee Duke, Jefferson Baptist Church, Oregon.

Pastor Duke claims that he prays three hours each day, and prays for nearly everyone he comes in contact with … the scale of the operation boggles my mind, a little. Am I greedy enough to pray like that?

When we think about blessings, we generally think in terms of our specific needs (and wants) as expressed in our prayers, being answered. I ask God for a better car, He answers, voila, I am blessed. But Duke spoke as though getting specific answers to our prayers were only scratching the surface of prayer. He mentioned several other types of blessings:

  • Prayer brings unity
  • I must admit, as a teacher and a wanna-be prophet, I don’t value unity much. I am more concerned with doctrinal purity than unity, any day of the week. While I acknowledge scriptural calls to preserve unity in the church, I tend to be more passionate about doctrinal purity and I see the call for unity as being often abused by those who seek to water down the scriptures.

  • Prayer brings love
  • There is no question that this is a need in my life. I love very anemically, especially in the church, community and world. I think that this principle is very evident – the more I have prayed about someone or something, the more I have been given a tender heart toward the people involved.

  • Prayer brings a deeper knowledge of God
  • I pride myself on knowing God’s word, but do I know His heart? One of the things I have long understood about prayer is that it is very helpful in aligning my heart with God’s … the more I pray, the more I am sensitive to God’s will, which changes the way that I pray and the things I pray for.

  • Prayer brings a willingness to serve
  • I am not too geeked about this one. Many times I feel overwhelmed in the service that I am already committed to … I’m not sure I really want to be more willing to serve. :)

Hmmm. I see an interesting trend developing. Among the blessings mentioned, the ones that are personal to me, that involve my health, my marriage, my peace, my family, my job, my prosperity – those are the blessings that I value and am willing to ‘pay’ for, even to the extent of praying (if necessary). But the blessings that impact God’s kingdom – improving my pastor’s preaching, caring for the needs of others outside my immediate circle, saving the souls of the lost, advancing the ministry of the church – these things don’t seem to matter to me enough to pray about. I can’t help thinking that this is a reflection of my spiritual immaturity – that I care little about the things of God because I love God in a rather shallow and superficial way.

Do I want to accomplish anything of spiritual value in my life? Am I content to join the masses of time-serving Christians who make their way through life as spiritual spectators? Or do I want to be great in the eyes of God? I am sensing that the matter of prayer may be the distinguishing factor in terms of the spiritual quality of my life.

Back in the Fall of 2005, I was invited to take part in our Pastor’s leadership class, which met twice a month on Thursday mornings. About 15 of us were taught and gently encouraged not to settle for mediocrity in our spiritual lives, but to press on for the prize that was put before us. I developed a real fondness for a number of the men who attended the class, and would point them out to Kathy as ‘one of my boys’ when I would see them in church. We pretended to have a secret hand-shake and carried on as if we were sharing all kinds of deep and intimate truths, if only to annoy and mystify our wives. As it happened, though, three of the men from that class went on to become the core of my accountability group; we spend about 90 minutes together each week to pray for and encourage each other in godliness.

Me and one of my 'boys'
Randy and me at the Prayer Conference

I would have to say that it was the men’s leadership class that laid the groundwork for my attendance of this prayer conference, and made me start to think about pressing on in my walk with my Savior. I think it is easy to reach a plateau and to settle for ‘getting by’ as one begins to mature in age — and so years go by and the heart grows cold toward the Lord.

I found it very funny (and typical of this seminar) that Pastor Duke didn’t ask anyone to commit to praying three hours a day. If only he had! Then I could happily reject this whole convicting seminar and go home smug that I’m pretty darn good, even if I’m not a ‘super Christian’ who prays three hours a day. Instead, he spoke about making a commitment to pray 15 minutes a day, just one day a week, and then increasing it in frequency and duration by modest steps over time (even if it takes ten years) until you are praying one hour a day. It is a clever approach, because there is no one who can tell you with a straight face that they are too busy to pray 15 minutes in a week.

I think I’m sold on the need for me to pray. What am I willing to commit? Can I walk 15 minutes a day, maybe right before lunch, and pray for the people in my spiritual domain? Can I build a prayer journal and start studying the scriptures for the kind of things I need to pray about? Can I commit to praying with my wife every day I work from home?

Editor’s Note: On the way home from the prayer conference, I made the commitment to pray 15 minutes each day. Over the past 3 months, I’ve been able, by the grace of God, to keep that commitment about 85% of the time, which is a huge step forward for me. Interestingly enough, God has seen fit to answer many of my prayers, often within days. Kathy and I have started keeping a spreadsheet which tracks prayer requests and answers, a practice which has considerably strengthened our faith and has encouraged me to persevere in my commitment.

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