Christmas reflections

by John D Ramsey

Wii finally did it. After 27 years of marriage and four children ages 24, 23, 11, and 6, we bought our first video gaming console. Why, because the Wii is active and social in nature – not to mention just a bit silly, which suits our family, too.

We celebrated Christmas on the 20th this year because that is when the big kids could come to Kansas City. Now they are home in Texas and Minnesota, and today (Christmas) is a project day in our house. We had grand plans for a turkey dinner today, but truthfully, we have indulged in Lisa’s fantastic cooking for too many days in a row. Not only that: we went to Pizza Bella Monday night for a sampling of their wood-fired pizzas (five pizzas for the seven of us was just about right). My critique: awesome! If you live near Kansas City or ever visit Kansas City, Pizza Bella is on the short list of restaurants you must try.

Dad came down for our Christmas celebration, too. He brought everyone gifts from Mom’s trinkets and gadgets. Dad did a wonderful job choosing what of Mom’s things to give to each of us. Memories of Mom and the thoughtfulness of Dad combined to make each gift treasured. The little girls cupped in their hands the glass figurines that Dad gave to them. Claire held hers up and said, “Look what Pa gave me.” I am not sure he saw her reaction, but I did.

The Wii was the about the only thing we bought for the little girls. Lisa bought Cara a KitchenAide food processor as well as several other smaller gifts. I bought Daniel a MXL v76t tube microphone. My operating theory is that men would rather have one gift that enhanced their arsenal than many smaller gifts. Lisa thinks that women would rather have many gifts than one of anything. The tube microphone seemed a bit exotic. I thought it might captivate Daniel’s imagination just a bit. He says it sounds different from his other microphones. I would like to assume it sounds better, but learning how to use a microphone is a bit like adapting to a new musical instrument – optimization requires experimentation. Daniel will send me audio samples in a couple days, when he does I will append them to this post.

Daniel bought his mom several bottles of Charles Shaw (Two Buck Chuck). We opened a Cabernet Sauvignon with our lasagna Sunday evening. It was drinkable and probably as good better than a house red at most restaurants. With all the rich food on the menu recently, I have taken to heart Paul’s instruction to Timothy, “No longer drink water exclusively, but use a little wine for the sake of your stomach.” 1 Timothy 5:23 (NASB)

Daniel helped me get the Wii configured on the BenQ projector. Everyone in the room can enjoy watching the Wii on the eight-foot screen. I came downstairs to investigate Internet on the Wii and discovered that Claire had created a Mii that looked just like me.

A screen grab of my Wii-Mii. Daniel is entering frame on the left.

I tried bowling, but found that my Mii was a bit too over-celebratory. The shooting game was fun. While I am still curious about Internet browsing on the Wii, I am too cheap to spend $5 on a web browser. I was disappointed that the Wii could not play DVD’s. I am much to cheap to spend money on a full AV system, so for now we will have to swap cords when we switch from Wii to DVD.

This morning Lisa put new socks and underwear in gift bags, and the girls opened them at breakfast. It makes me wonder whether the girls will remember this Christmas as the year they received a Wii or whether they will remember it as the “underwear Christmas.” I will remember it for many reasons few of which have anything to do with gifts given or received.

• It is the first Christmas since Mom’s passing.
• It is the first Christmas our immediate family was not together on Christmas day.
• It is the first Christmas that we shared our family celebration with someone yet outside the family – Daniel brought his girlfriend, Rhonda.
• This year’s Christmas party was the largest we have ever hosted – over 30 people came for our Christmas open house.
• Our hosting the white elephant gift exchange with Lisa’s extended family is becoming a tradition. Gabby and I teamed up and ended up with a giant remote control.

Last night we went to church and sang Christmas carols with friends. Holding candles in the darkened sanctuary, we stood and sang “Silent Night” a cappella. To a cynic it might seem cliché, but the simple beauty of the moment makes a compelling memory. It seems to me that Christmas is about memory. Celebrating the birth of Christ is certainly core to the collective memory, yet Christmas memories are compound.

Some people try to justify Christmas traditions by drawing straight yet implausible lines to Scriptural symbols. For instance, some people claim that their Christmas tree reminds them of the cross of Calvary. I suppose that is fine, but the Christmas tree in our home is a place to hang our best memories. Our sins were nailed to the cross of Jesus Christ to be forever forgiven and forgotten. Yet in our home, we hang ornaments on the Christmas tree to remember what and whom they represent. Mom always objected to idolizing the cross, anyway. Mom felt that people sometimes focused on the cross rather than focusing on the Savior. I suppose I let traditions be traditions without manufacturing a cause.

A Christmas tree in our home is not a sacred symbol. Rather it is a tradition of memory. I told the little girls that the Christmas tree serves as a reminder of everything for which we should be thankful. Many of our ornaments commemorate a personality or an event. Each is a monument to a memory and together they celebrate the story of our lives. Each year deepens the sentimentality toward the old ornaments and welcomes the new ones into this stream of consciousness we celebrate at Christmastime.

Last year Lisa gave me a squirrel because of my continuing battle to save our shake roof from destruction. This year my squirrel ornament hangs next to the reminder of Cara’s leopard print phase (was it a phase?).

When the big kids were little, I made Daniel this carousel tiger on a soldered copper wire armature using newspaper, masking tape, and papier-mâché. I made Cara a carousel giraffe, but it proved much more fragile than the tiger. Each Christmas, I expect to find the lost giraffe among the ornaments, but I think it has been lost along the way.

The older kids each were given a two-dollar bill for Christmas one year. Both bills stayed on the tree for several years, but now one is missing. Hmm.

My first baby’s first Christmas. I took the photo with an Olympus OM-2 with an 85mm f/2 lens and three Broncolor Impact strobe lights. I used a red gel over the hair light. For soft focus effect, I think I sprayed hairspray on a UV-filter. Lisa was not far off frame just in case Cara decided to lean out of the chair.

Lisa gave this ornament to me this year because it reminded her of jewelry I bought for her many years ago at Union Station in St. Louis.

This sampling of ornaments conjures for me deep feelings of love for my family and extreme humility and gratitude for God’s grace and mercy on behalf of my family and me. Celebrating Christmas is in every respect celebrating the grace of God. Where does God’s grace begin or where does it end? God’s grace toward me begins with the breath of life he granted me. His grace has continued through my life and expresses itself in my marriage, children, friends, the home he has provided for us, a fun job which pays the bills and more.

Yet most of all God’s grace appears in the person of Jesus Christ, who two thousand years ago left the glory of heaven to become a man. Emanuel, another name for Jesus, means “God with us.” The Apostle John puts it this way,

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.

And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not . . .

That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not.

But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

John 1:1-5, 9-14 (KJV)

When Jesus became a mortal man, he became subject to death. Hebrews 9:27 says, “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.” Yet Jesus had no sin. His sacrificial death paid the price for my sin. “So Christ was offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.” Hebrews 9:28 (KJV)

As Christmas “wraps up” around the house and I prepare to go back to the office tomorrow, I thank God for his grace. I thank him for life and love, but most of all I thank him for sacrificing his human life to grant me salvation unto eternal life.

Y-Ike-s

by John D Ramsey

Lisa talked to Cara this evening. Cara evacuated Houston with the treatment center where she works. Cara had moved from Galveston closer to Houston just days before Gustav fizzled. This weekend, some of her friends on the island lost their homes to Ike. Cara waited all day to hear from one friend whose home the storm destroyed. Cara finally received a text-message informing her that her friend was okay.

Cara also told Lisa that she saw her new apartment complex on television, and it does not appear damaged. Lisa and I have been tracking water levels around Clear Lake as best we can, and we, too, are optimistic that Cara’s apartment may have survived intact. Her roommates will be returning as soon as authorities permit them, and Cara will get an updated report when they do.

Cara will be staying at the camp for an indeterminate period. Her responsibilities will keep her there for as long as they need her. We expect that the storm surge inundated her car, which she left parked near Clear Creek when she evacuated with the clinic. It was a good old car.

There will be time for assessing damage and making financial decisions, but right now Cara is serving people who need her help. I could not be more proud of her.

Meanwhile in Kansas City:

The weather has been wet and our moods dreary (birthday parties notwithstanding). It has been difficult to focus on Gabby's sixth birthday knowing that Ike disrupts Cara’s life. Still, Gabby’s birthday parties went well. Lisa’s mom and dad came over Friday night, and Gabby’s friends came over Saturday morning. Lisa planned to have the kids’ party at the park, but the weekend forecast required a change of plans. With fourteen kids here, along with several moms, I did not even feel like the house was crowded (though I retreated for a while). Lisa did have a bit of an adventure keeping some of the kids contained, but no one was injured and everyone had fun. Gabby will be writing thank-you notes this week as part of her language arts assignments.



After the Saturday party, Lisa took a well-deserved nap. The little girls and I went outside in the drizzle and salvaged gala apples from the tree. We did not pick them last weekend because they were in worse shape than the red delicious apples that we boxed. Yet, every apple removed from a tree is an apple that will not sustain a squirrel through the winter.

On the gala tree, there were very few beautiful apples, but today we filled two thirty-gallon coolers with otherwise usable apples. When Lisa awoke from her nap, she came outside to join us. She especially did not enjoy working in the rain. Nevertheless, she realized that we needed to deal with the gala tree. She could not bring herself to complain about the weather considering what people in Texas (including Cara) endure this week.

I am glad for the opportunity to work with the little girls in the rain. Modern lifestyles place too much emphasis on personal comfort. Years from now, Claire and Gabby may remember the day in September 2008 when they picked apples in the rain, but many normal, comfortable days will prove altogether unmemorable. If nothing else, working outside in the rain should make working outside in nice weather much easier for Claire and Gabby.

Nothing is wrong with enjoying comfort, but when our pursuit of comfort prevents us from accomplishing something, how pathetic we are! Cara will always remember Hurricane Ike. She will remember that she left her own interests behind to care for those in need. Whether she gains professionally from this experience what she does these next few weeks will certainly become part of her character.

Our best opportunities lie beyond the boundaries of our personal comforts:

Today, I read in 1 Samuel chapter fourteen. Saul was king of Israel; he and his army arrayed themselves against the Philistines in a standoff. Saul had led an army of 330,000 men against the Ammonites in a previous time, yet since then the Philistines had succeeded in disarming Israel perhaps by killing or otherwise disabling the blacksmiths. Saul had an army of about 600 men with him, but only he, and his son Jonathon, had swords.

Trepidation paralyzed Saul, but his son Jonathon told his armor-bearer, “Nothing can hinder the LORD from saving, whether by many or by few.” 1 Samuel 14:6 (NIV) Jonathon and his servant boldly approached the Philistine outpost. When the Philistines chided them to come up, Jonathon and his armor-bearer climbed up the rocks and attacked. Jonathon led the way with his armor-bearer following. Together, they killed twenty Philistines, and the rest of the Philistine army panicked. The Hebrews who had aligned themselves with the Philistines changed sides once again, and Saul’s army-in-hiding came down from the hills to finish the rout. The Lord delivered Israel on that day.

Within our lives – within our walk of faith – many things impose upon our comforts or unsettle our hearts. Nevertheless, we need not have confidence in ourselves to have confidence in God. We need not squander our time in self-indulgent indecision. We need not look too far ahead while there is something to do today. Trusting God, we should move forward, energetically accomplishing our present task whether it is small or grand.

Sometimes the discomforts we face bring with them the sweetest rewards. Tonight, Lisa’s crock-pot simmers with the aroma of apples. In the morning, its contents should be apple butter.



Tonight, Cara works in an unfamiliar place looking out for children with unsettled minds and hearts. Tonight, I pray that God will cause Cara to be his little river of joy refreshing souls who are despairing, and may the morning bring them healing.

Regardless of our fears and inadequacies, “Nothing can hinder the LORD from saving.”

Surprise!

by John D Ramsey

I remember Christmas shopping for Cara and Daniel when they were four and three respectively. Lisa put items in the shopping cart while I kept the kids distracted. At their ages, it was easy to keep them distracted even through the checkout process. We managed to purchase nearly all of their gifts right under their noses without either child noticing. When Christmas came, Cara and Daniel were surprised to see the gifts that they had liked so much in the stores. Their surprise was always a bit of a mystery to Lisa and to me.

Tonight we went to Target to buy Gabby a bicycle for her sixth birthday. Buying at Wal-Mart was out of the question because their bikes in the colors that Gabby likes are all branded with Disney Princesses, Hanna Montana, or the like. All things are lawful, but in our family, Disney and similar brands are just not expedient. I do not want my girls’ identities to be coupled to someone else’s fantasies.

Target had a very nice Schwinn bicycle that Gabby had noticed before. We wandered around Target until Gabby caught sight of the bicycles and asked me if she could look at them again. She and I left Claire and Lisa and studied the bikes. Lisa and Claire joined us later and we all debated the advantages of the different bikes. Ultimately, we bought a less-expensive model because Gabby did not value the Schwinn more highly than another model.

Gabby does not know that we purchased the bicycle. While Lisa was asking a clerk to take the bike to Guest Services, I was discussing the sizes of basketballs with Gabby a couple aisles over. We left the sports and toy department for girls' clothing. Lisa found some corduroy pants for Gabby to try on. While Gabby headed to the dressing room, Claire and I purchased the bicycle and concealed it in the back of the Explorer.

As Gabby was entering the dressing room, she told Lisa, “You know, they could just buy me a present.”

Lisa asked, “Do you think they will?”

Gabby answered, “No, because they just didn’t think about it.”

When Lisa checked out, she bought a riding helmet that Gabby had wanted. Gabby noticed. When Gabby got into the car she looked into the back almost expecting to see her new bicycle, but Claire and I had done a masterful job of camouflage. Gabby asked Lisa about the helmet, and we explained that she had outgrown her old one; when that happens it is time to buy a new one. The helmet that fit her at Target was on clearance, which was even more reason to grab it up.

Tomorrow, Gabby will be excited to receive her new bicycle. Until then, Claire is basking in the glory of keeping a secret. When we reveal the secret tomorrow, both girls will celebrate even though it is Gabby’s birthday.

As believers in Jesus Christ, God has entrusted with a great mystery, yet we need not keep it secret. In fact, we are responsible to share the secret with those who do not know, and we celebrate with all who come to know the truth.

The mystery we possess is that the God who created everything also lovingly created man in His image. Nevertheless, we, his creation, rebelled against our Creator, and consequently fell under the curse of death. At the appropriate time, the Son, the visible expression of God, became a man. He lived among men experiencing all that we experience, yet without rebellion against the Father. In his life, he expressed both his deity and his humanity. In his physical suffering and death, he endured both the wrath of man against his God, and the judgment of God against man’s sin. On the cross, Jesus Christ, the Son of God and Son of Man, offered himself as an atoning sacrifice for the sins of the whole world. Satisfied by the sacrifice of the Son, the Father raised him to life again.

Because of the Son’s incarnation, his death, and his resurrection, we who were in rebellion against our Creator are now reconciled to him.

We receive this reconciliation by his grace. Some Bible translations refer to grace as a “free gift”, and grace is free in the sense that we could never merit it. Yet accepting God’s grace costs us something. When we receive grace, we die with Jesus Christ to the world and to our former selves. We instead become alive in God and alive to God through the power of the Holy Spirit living in us. Dying with Christ means that someday we, too, will experience the glory of his resurrection.

Jesus, in John chapter three, and Peter, in 1 Peter chapter one, refer to this reconciliation to God as being "born again" — a new kind of birthday. This is the mystery of the ages, the greatest gift in history, and it is yours to keep — forever.

Now that you know, how will you celebrate?

Super lucky elephant

by John D Ramsey

The little girls are at their grandparents’ home this week. While public school has started, Lisa has decided that Claire and Gabby will begin their home-school schedule earnestly after Labor Day. In past years, she has tried to start earlier, but personal schedules do not really slow down until September. Claire has already begun studying math at www.aleks.com. The goals-oriented approach and its graphical reporting motivate Claire. She prefers ALEKS to “mean math” with Dad. Maybe I should have drawn her a progress chart. Gabby is always learning something. Lately she has been concentrating on her reading skills. While Lisa has postponed their formal school schedule, both girls are already putting in hours toward their education.

With the girls away, Lisa picked me up from work yesterday and we went to T.G.I. Friday's for dinner (I had a buy-one-get-one coupon). BOGO notwithstanding, I was impressed with the prime rib stroganoff. Lisa’s petite sirloin was tender and grilled to perfection. I am not a big Friday's fan, but I was pleasantly surprised.

After dinner, Lisa and I drove to Mardel and picked up a birthday present for a little girl (hint, hint) and a handful of Gospel of John booklets. Lisa and I surveyed home-school resources, too, but we deferred purchases. From Mardel, we drove to Costco where we debated the advantages of “Super Lucky Elephant” rice over a plain long grain. We bought neither. Lisa could not decide, and I did not really care. For me the joy is in the analysis and deliberation. We stopped at Target on the way home and picked up a few more things necessary to keep the household operating.

While we were in Target, I noticed that I had missed Daniel’s call. I called him back and visited with him until we reached our driveway at home. I told him about the tobacco growers association we have at work. We have just seven plants in various office windows – one of them is over four feet tall (1.3 m). I also talked to him about mini-cows and other potential hobbies. He chuckled. I am not certain whether he was embarrassed to know me, or whether he finds me genuinely amusing. Nevertheless, my heart was gladdened hearing him laugh.

Lisa had talked to Cara earlier in the day. A stranger who observed Cara acting generously had scolded her. Some people are so cruel that they cannot fathom why someone else would be kind – such attitudes help no one and make no one happy. Keep doing what is right, Cara. Earlier in the day, an auto mechanic commended Lisa on Claire and Gabby’s behavior. Lisa’s eyes began to water as she conveyed to me how blessed she feels when she thinks about our kids.

I stayed up too late last night, and this morning I arrived at work a little later than I would normally. My morning began with some laughter with friends before I settled into troubleshooting a problem. My workday ended with progress toward a resolution and more laughter with friends. There is a lot of laughter in our office. Come to think of it, there is a lot of laughter in our home.

Tonight, the little girls are still at their grandparents’ home. Lisa and I are both working. As I reflect upon my week, I remember what a wonderful wife and children I have. Yesterday, I got yet another email from a recruiter promising to rescue me from the daily grind. It forced me once again to admit that I like my job; I like the company for which I work, and I like the people with whom I spend Monday through Friday.

I do not think that I am lucky. Rather, I know that I am tremendously blessed. I thank God for his many blessings upon me and upon my family.

Edouard and eschotology

by John D Ramsey

Cara was at bat this week, staring down Tropical Storm Edouard. If NOAA’s predictions had been correct, she should have been driving to work as the storm wreaked havoc around her. This worried her dad, and he coached her. As it turns out, the storm curved right for a ball off the outside corner. That assessment assumes a left-handed batter, which approximates Cara’s location to the plate . . . I mean . . . predicted landfall. From her perspective, though, it was not even close. Her heightened anticipation resulted in an early swing; strike one! She was not happy with me because she spent an extra sixteen hours at work in an already excruciating week. In my defense, I can only say that I asked her to check into a hotel near her place of employment. I did not ask her to pick up extra shifts. The girl works too hard already.

When the big kids were little, I asked them, “Where is the safest place to be during a California earthquake.” The answer was, of course, “Kansas.” One of the safest places to be during a hurricane is apparently right where NOAA first says it will come ashore.

Why do you suppose God made weather to be so predictably unpredictable? There are still patterns we observe; we just cannot apply them with precision. NOAA was not wrong; Edouard hit Texas. It just did not make landfall anywhere near Cara. Such is the science of meteorology.

Weather patterns are reliable only to a point, and that is probably why Jesus used them in this analogy. He told the Pharisees and Sadducees,

When evening comes, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red,’ and in the morning, ‘Today it will be stormy, for the sky is red and overcast.’ You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. A wicked and adulterous generation looks for a miraculous sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah.

Matthew 16:2-4 (NIV)

Weather is inherently unpredictable, yet Jesus compares weather prediction with understanding the signs of the times. He implied that the Pharisees and Sadducees that they were ignoring the signs he had already given them. Jesus would give them only one more sign: the sign of Jonah.

The sign of Jonah of which Jesus was speaking was that “the Son of Man [would] be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.” Matthew 12:40 (NIV) Interestingly, the Pharisees and Sadducees did not believe Jesus before the resurrection, and many Evangelicals still do not believe him in afterwards. Most Bible-believing churches that I have attended teach that Jesus spent approximately a day and a half in the heart of the earth (approximately 36 to 40 hours), but nowhere near three days and three nights that he said that he would. We excuse ourselves by saying that “three days and three nights” is a Hebraism meaning more than a day, less than a week, but the Hebrews in Matthew 27:62-66 did not understand it to be a Hebraism. Of course, they did not study Hebrew in an Evangelical seminary – nor did I.

To superimpose our traditions upon the historical record, we must discount or dismiss the actual words of Jesus. How wise does this make us? Considering this, how qualified can we possibly be to interpret the signs of our times? Perhaps we are not very qualified at all. Perhaps we are no more enlightened to the signs of our time than were the Pharisees and Sadducees to their age. Remember that we cannot accurately predict the weather. Do we really comprehend the spiritual signs of our time? Maybe only to a point.

In June of 1967, I spent a lot of time out in the backyard of our house in Ruskin Heights, looking skyward. Israel was at war with its neighbors and some well-meaning adult had told me that this meant that Jesus was coming back – immediately. I probably brushed my teeth and combed my hair more that week than in any other time during my childhood. Jesus did not come back in 1967. There have been other predictions since then, but I have learned to pay little attention to them.

In Matthew 24, Jesus gave us signs regarding his coming again. Do we consider ourselves able to discern them fully? Paul warned the Thessalonians not to be alarmed or deceived by reports concerning the coming of the Lord. Paul said that the man of lawlessness would first reveal himself, “[he] sets himself up in God’s temple, proclaiming himself to be God.” 2 Thessalonians 2:4 (NIV). I suggest that this correlates with Jesus’ words, “When you see standing in the holy place the abomination that causes desolation, spoken of through the prophet Daniel – let the reader understand – then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains.” Matthew 24:15 (NIV) Some take this to mean that the day has already occurred in 70 AD. This is not likely considering Jesus’ other prophecies in Matthew 24 and John’s prophecies in Revelation that were recorded after the destruction of the temple. Other people insist that Israel must reinstitute temple worship before the Lord will return. This is possible, yet it is tightly coupled to the assumed meaning of the words “temple” and “holy place”. Might they not refer to something else? How can we be sure of our own assumptions? Moreover, how can we be sure of someone else's assumptions?

I can assert that Matthew 24:15 and 2 Thessalonians 2:4 record the same event, but I cannot tell you when it will happen or what it will look like. Jesus says that following this event “will be great distress, unequaled from the beginning of the world until now – and never to be equaled again.” Matthew 24:21 (NIV) Jesus furthermore says that,

Immediately after the distress of those days,

1. the sun will be darkened,
2. and the moon will not give its light;
3. the stars will fall from the sky,
4. and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.
5. At that time the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the sky,
6. and all the nations of the earth will mourn.
7. They will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky with power and great glory.
8. And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call,
9. and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other.

Matthew 24:29-31 (NIV)

Points eight and nine above correlate with 1 Thessalonians 4:16, 17, but I cannot explain everything in the list. I believe Jesus when he says it will happen after the distress and not before it. Even though I take Jesus’ words at face value rather than dismissing or discounting them, I have no idea when this will occur. Jesus said of this time, “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” Matthew 24:36 (NIV) Jesus says, “Keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.” Matthew 24:42 (NIV) Paul tells the Thessalonians,

Now, brothers, about times and dates we do not need to write to you, for you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, “Peace and safety,” destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

1 Thessalonians 5:1-3 (NIV)

I wrestle with this. Jesus apparently sets predicates to his return; then he says, no one can know about that day except the Father. Then he says, “Keep watch” as if his return is eminent, and Paul seems to reiterate Jesus words. Nevertheless, Paul also says, “That day will not come until the rebellion occurs and the man of lawlessness is revealed.” 2 Thessalonians 2:3 (NIV) Yet Peter warns, “Understand that in the last days scoffers will come, scoffing and following their own evil desires. They will say, ‘Where is this coming that is promised?’” 2 Peter 3:3, 4 (NIV)

I know that Jesus Christ will return, but I do not know when Jesus Christ will return. I do not think that anyone on earth has better insight into this than I do. I am not being arrogant; I am admitting that only the Father in heaven knows what he has ordained. Whatever I predict would be an uninformed guess and worth about as much as anyone else’s uninformed guess. I choose to take Jesus, Paul, Peter, and John at their word and I try to avoid adding complexity to my interpretation. Jesus will return. Before he does some events will transpire; however, we may not read the impending signs correctly.

Regardless of when Jesus is coming back, I know how we should live in the early twenty-first century. We should live as if we are in the last days. We should expect the world to become more evil and malevolent toward faithfulness. We should expect to see others fall away even as we hold fast. We should be obedient. We should become homesick for the unshakable kingdom rather than becoming contented with or entrenched within this temporary abode. We should be ready for his return.

No believer from the first century, who waited eagerly for Christ’s return, is disappointed. He is with Jesus now. Likewise, whether we are living in the last days, or living until our last day, we will all soon see Jesus. Consequently, we should be watchful. We cannot know when our Lord will come for us.

When we look at world events, they may be warning us that the end is near. Nevertheless, we should not fear. Our best predictions, our eschatology, are likely far off target. Regardless of when Jesus is coming back, our remaining time on earth is short. Even if times of distress are ahead of us, we should not fear. The safest place for us during the time of great distress is to be exactly where God wants us to be.

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD,
He is my refuge and my fortress:
my God; in him will I trust.
Surely he shall deliver thee
from the snare of the fowler,
and from the noisome pestilence.
He shall cover thee with his feathers,
and under his wings shalt thou trust:
his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night;
nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness;
nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
A thousand shall fall at thy side,
and ten thousand at thy right hand;
but it shall not come nigh thee.
Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold
and see the reward of the wicked.
Because thou hast made the LORD,
which is my refuge,
even the most High, thy habitation.

Psalm 91:1-9 (KJV)

The safest place to be during a California earthquake is Kansas. The safest place to be during a hurricane may be where NOAA first predicts it will land. The safest place to be during times of distress, both great and small, is deep within the secret place – the refuge of our faith in Jesus Christ. If we are living our lives beneath the shadow of his wings, we will be ready when he comes again.

On a brighter note

by John D Ramsey

Cara text-messaged me the other day saying, “Pray for me today. I had a long restraint last night and [was] kicked in the face.” Cara works with children and young adults who need special help. As it turned out, Cara intervened in a volatile situation, and paid the price for loving the unlovely. Now Cara and Gabby have my-swollen-eye-in-July stories to share: Cara’s from a person and Gabby’s from a bumblebee. I suppose the lesson here is that in this world you can get hurt even if you are not trying to help someone. We might as well jump in and show people how much God loves them.

Cara’s black eye is healing; it was somewhat a right of passage among her peers. They told her she was no longer, “Rookie.” Cara is no stranger to pain, but violence is new to her. In her profession, enduring violence without resorting to anger establishes credibility. This reminds me of the Apostle Paul. He closed his written argument with the Galatians, saying, “Finally, let no one cause me trouble, for I bear on my body the marks of Jesus.” Galatians 6:17 (NASB) In his lifetime, Paul was imprisoned, beaten, shipwrecked, and stoned and left for dead. All this probably had not happened before he wrote Galatians, but Paul had credentials. He expected even people who disagreed with him to respect him accordingly. Compared to Paul, most of us are rookies. Consequently, we should pay attention to what he says and stop pretending to know better than he does.

I suppose this is part of what I find perturbing in Christianity, that is, the ease with which we dismiss the words of Jesus saying they were spoken to a different Dispensation, and the arrogance with which we ignore Paul because his commands were only culturally applicable. You can dismiss my rants, too, by the way, because I am a rookie compared to Paul and Jesus. In fact, if you are inclined to dismiss the words of Jesus for any reason, please write me off, too, because “a servant is not greater than his master.”

The other day we were exiting the highway, and we saw a man standing near the bottom of the ramp. He was holding a cardboard sign. From the back seat, Claire sounded the alarm, “Mom!”

Immediately, Lisa dived into her purse, collected a handful of quarters, and gave them to me. She was out of bills. As we approached, Lisa recognized the man and said, “I’ve helped him before.”

From the back seat Gabby sighed, “I have missed helping poor people.”

It had been a few weeks since we had seen anyone along the highway. Claire and Gabby are alert to opportunities to give.

It is true. If you give Gabby money, she is likely to put it in the Rice for Bangladesh five-gallon water bottle at church or else into a Ziploc baggy along with a we-love-you note to be given to someone desperate enough to stand along the highway asking for help. Normally, Lisa has kits stashed in the car's console containing a Gospel of John, a protein snack, some hard candy, and a crisp ten-dollar bill.

Why does my family do this? I will not take credit. We do this because Jesus said, “Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you.” Matthew 5:42 (NASB) Why ten bucks? It is enough to buy a meal. If I am giving something in Jesus’ name, I am reluctant to give less. If you want to criticize me, tell me that I am not giving enough, and be sure to include your street credentials. Honestly, I anguish over whether I do enough. Nevertheless, in my experience, a panhandler has never asked me for more than a dollar. If I give him ten, perhaps he knows that I am not giving grudgingly. If I give something, then I am obeying the simple command of Jesus.

I know that any money I give might be spent on Mad Dog, Wild I, or something worse. All my life, I have heard arguments demanding that we make value judgments before giving to the poor (What will he do with this?). Yet, I have not heard anything as simple and liberating as Jesus’ words, “Give to him who asks.” Jesus point was, do not make value judgments; just give to him who asks. Jesus wants simple obedience from us. I doubt that he appreciates the mental gymnastics that we employ to disregard his teaching.

If someone abuses my gift, so be it; he will not answer to me. We will all someday answer to Jesus Christ. When I do, I know that I will have no credentials of my own regardless of what I have done. When I fall before Jesus’ throne, I will plead only the promise of his grace and forgiveness. I have confidence in his capacity to forgive me because I know his credentials:

And can it be that I should gain
an interest in the Savior's blood!
Died he for me? who caused his pain!
For me? who him to death pursued?

Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
— Charles Wesley

Jesus' amazing love is the persistent bright light that brings me back from my perturbations. Earlier this week I anguished over feeling incongruous in a place in which my Christian friends feel at home; nevertheless, Jesus knew alienation beyond my culture shock. Jesus, the Word, was God; he created everything. When he became a man, his prime creation did not recognize him. The Jews, his chosen people, did not accept him. “Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” John 1:12 (NIV)

Jesus paid the price for loving the unlovely, among whom I am. I love him for that. By his grace, I am saved, and on this bright note, my spirit calms and waits for the clarity of Jesus' voice to call me again to obedience.

Wire-less weekend

by John D Ramsey

We have just returned from a camping vacation. We had been planning this event for months. Before we knew what we would do, we knew that this was the weekend when all six of us could rendezvous. The time and budget constraints did not allow for anything grand, so we knew it would be a simple affair. At some point, I suggested that we go camping at Roaring River State Park in southern Missouri. The park is nested in the forested hills and a cool water spring feeds the river. There is a trout hatchery at Roaring River. I have never been successful trout fishing, but that would not stop me from trying again. We have not camped at Roaring River for a long time, it would have been nice to refresh memories of the place. I reasoned that Roaring River would be a comfortable outdoor camping vacation, even during July.

Nevertheless, Cara's time was short and Roaring River was too far for her to drive. The plan was revised to camp at Tyler State Park in northeastern Texas. You read correctly, we camped in Texas . . . in July. Tyler State Park is in the piney region of Texas. The heat was tolerable. The shade from the trees and the breeze across the water was sufficient to keep us from overheating. There were very few mosquitoes, and we saw no tics. Gabby stepped on a ant mound, but only incurred a couple stings. I did not think they were fire ants, but after comparing a photo I snapped with online sources I cannot be sure. After her encounter with a bumble bee a couple weeks ago, the ants were merely a distraction.

It has been a few years since we have been camping. Before we left, Lisa inventoried and prepared all our gear including an old green Coleman camp stove. I think we bought the stove used somewhere when Cara and Daniel were little. A long time ago we replaced the kerosene tank with an adapter for bottled propane. When Lisa pulled the stove out; however, the paint was peeling. Although functional, it looked ragged. Lisa painted it pink and renamed it the “Bar-B” (pun intended). When we arrived at Tyler State Park, Lisa upgraded our reservation to a sheltered site. She did this mainly for the convenience of water and electricity, but our tent and screen house never came out of their duffel bags. The shelter was sufficient. The shelter was clean by camping standards, the concrete slab floor acted as a heat sink to cool the interior. Cara and Daniel picked up a oscillating fan at a nearby Wal-Mart, and we all stayed comfortably cool at night.

I took my work laptop with me, but it stayed in my backpack the entire trip. I did check text messages a few times to make certain that there were no urgent personal messages. In case of an emergency, I could have found a wireless network within a few miles, but no one called. Our last night at the park, after Cara had returned home, I did check email using my phone, but otherwise I was wire-less and wireless-less.

Tyler State Park has a small lake with surprisingly clear water. We were excited to go fishing. Gabby was proud of her new Barbie fishing pole, and Claire bought an Ugly Stick ultralight rod combo for the trip. She grinned when I told her that an ultralight made even small fish exciting to catch. Although we came ready, we caught only weeds. We did not see anyone else catching anything other than weeds, either. I suppose the fish have better things to do in mid-July than accommodate amateur outstate fishermen.

One afternoon, Claire joined Daniel and me in a canoe for an hour while Lisa, Cara, and Gabby floated about in a pedal boat. We swam. We played card games. Daniel asked me if I would play “Phase 10.” When I said, “Sure,” he pointed skyward and said, “Look, a pig!” I suppose my anti-game bias has been obvious, even to my children. At night, Gabby, Claire, and I spotted celestial objects through the branches of the pine trees, but the moon was bright, tree branches were thick, and visibility was not much better than at home. We sat around a fire, roasting hot dogs, and preparing s'mores. If we had transported bicycles, Claire and I could have ridden on the trails. For many reasons we decided to leave the bicycles at home. Walking everywhere was enough exercise for me.

Our activities were unexceptional. Still, we were together for a couple days in July without our typical distractions. We worked together, played together, and talked together. Early one evening, after fishing unsuccessfully, Gabby was walking back to the camp site holding my hand. She sighed, “I just love it that we're here!” That was the point. It did not matter where we were, or what we did. We were all together in one place, and all the other things that normally take center stage in our lives were in far away cities or at least tucked away securely in backpacks.

Something tasty is cooking on the Bar-B

Daniel and Gabby fishing on the pier

Cara tries Gabby's new Barbie fishing pole
(Is this a new summer fashion accessory?)

Gabby (photographer) catches Claire posing in the forest

Sunset

Moonrise

Something for nothing

by John D Ramsey

Cara's laptop died last week. Actually the hardware was fine, the operating system failed and rendered a perfectly good piece of hardware worthless. Yes, we all know the name of the operating system, so I do not have to mention it. It is very sophisticated and includes a feature that should allow it to be restored in case of failure, but none of the restore points worked. When she realized her next business day support from a major computer manufacturer was about as functional as her operating system, Cara became frustrated and sent her computer to me. She thinks of me as the ultimate geek, and it is a lovely thing when daughters think highly of their fathers (even if their opinions are exaggerated).

Cara's laptop has two hard drive bays, and from the recovery mode I was able to copy important files from her old drive onto a new one. After doing this I restored the factory image which serves a dual purpose: making the computer operational again and destroying all evidence of what made it crash in the first place.

After restoring Cara's operating system, I copied her files back to their original location. This was probably all that Cara expected me to do, but I would rather find solutions than fix problems. I found a solution: Ubuntu.

I have never been a fan of Linux. I first tried Linux in 1998. I bought a retail copy of Red Hat 5.2 at Nebraska Furniture Mart in Omaha. I thought it would be appropriate to breathe life into a bank of old library computers on the network I managed. The computers were used only for web browsing, and Linux was a reasonable solution. I did not win that argument, and the computers ended up piled in a storage room, c'est le vie. They were not much of anything, but they could have remained useful.

I have used Linux since, but I was never too serious about it. I work with other technologies. A coworker gave me a copy of Ubuntu four or five years ago, and I've kept the CD as a reminder that I wanted to take a closer look someday. Someday came last week. The CD was far outdated, so I downloaded the latest Ubuntu version (8.04.1).

Very long story made short, I installed Ubuntu on Cara's laptop. She can still boot to her legacy operating system. Whether she will make Ubuntu her primary OS is entirely up to her. Ubuntu is still geeky in places, but it is a commendable operating system. I think Cara will like it. I put Ubuntu through paces on Cara's laptop and it performed very well. I ripped a CD, burned a DVD, imported photographs from a camera, copied files to and from an SD card, and took my photograph with a webcam (Yes, Cara, you can delete it). I connected to my wireless network and moved files to and from Cara's legacy drive. I listened to music, and I watched videos. I even installed a costly legacy productivity suite that Cara uses. It runs through emulation software on Ubuntu, so whether Cara decides to activate it is entirely up to her. She has about 20 more chances to try it before it locks up.

I like Ubuntu very much. I still need to use other technologies on a daily basis, but Ubuntu has a bright future at my house. I have old hardware in my basement that could suddenly become useful again. Tonight I pulled my old Red Hat Administrator's Handbook off the bookshelf and read all about smb.conf. I could have read online, but I still like the feel of books. Ink on paper is for me an added value.

I wonder how much value Cara has received from her legacy operating system and software. I know she spent a lot of money on next day support which was supposed to include software support. I encouraged her to buy the support package because I was not going to be close by to fix her computer when it failed. I think she spent a lot of money for nothing. Ubuntu did not cost me anything. Sure, it cost money for the second hard drive, but Ubuntu cost me no money for licensing. Ubuntu cost me time to learn, but that was time invested in my daughter's life when she lives far away. Such moments are, as they say, "Priceless."

I do not think that there is anything that Cara needs to do that she cannot do from within Ubuntu. Even if she reverts to using her legacy OS, Ubuntu will still be waiting on her new hard drive ready to boot when the legacy operating system fails again. That, at least, is something.

Thank you for family

by John D Ramsey

Tonight I was sitting on the front step watching a group of stars set in the western sky. They followed the twilight. Even as the sky darkened they dipped further into the summer haze near the horizon. Their glory was incomplete and fleeting, but I watched to see whether they would make an appearance before vanishing into the mist. It was almost like cheering for the underdog. They did not belong to the summer sky, but for a short hour or two they tried.

Cara had returned my call, and we were visiting while Lisa and the little ones were at a 4-H meeting. I confided to Cara that for the first time in about two months I had no idea what I should write. “So you’re finally out of things to say?” she asked. I told her that I was out of things to write about except for things that make me angry. Other than unimportant things that irritate me, I am concentrating at work on learning new technologies. My mental wanderings have left me very little subject matter worth sharing. Cara paused for a minute and said, “If I were writing a blog post tonight, I would write about being thankful . . . I am thankful that I had a family that knew how to love me.”

Cara is completing on-the-job training in a program that works directly with abused children. When she accepted the job, I told her that it would break her heart, and it already has. What I did not realize is that without my knowing any particulars, Cara’s new job will break my heart as well. I can hear the pain in her voice and I am helpless to remedy. I will weep because she is weeping.

When Cara was nine years old, a house fire displaced our family for about three months. No one was injured, but the disruption caused by such destruction is difficult to imagine unless you have experienced it. A week after the fire, while the shock of it all was still settling, Cara was bitten in the face by a dog. Her injury required surgery to repair a tear duct on her left eye. On Labor Day, we took Cara to the hospital for emergency surgery. Except for the surgical team, no one else was working because of the holiday. The nurse prepping Cara for surgery had great difficulty finding a vein for the IV, and Cara cried out, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” but I was helpless to rescue. Although the surgery progressed well, my inability to shield my daughter from pain shook me deeply. Cara recovered from eye surgery. Nevertheless, I remember the intensity of Cara’s crying and my helplessness to do more than to hold her hand.

Now Cara is crying again. She is not crying for her own pain, but rather for the pain of others. She is beyond even my touch of reassurance. Yet in the midst of her tears, what echoes most profoundly is thankfulness for a family that loved her, and I am humbled. Because she has felt pain, she has compassion. Because she has known love, she has hope. Because she has hope, she can minister grace to the unlovely. The damaged souls among whom Cara will work have a proclivity for bitterness, violence, deceit, and manipulation. Cara loves them still. She loves them because she has a glimpse of God’s grace in her own life, and she has faith that His grace can heal. I have confidence that God has purposed Cara’s life for such a time as this.

I listen to Cara’s enthusiasm and I am thankful. I am thankful that the grace of God has captured her heart. I can do nothing to help Cara except to cry with her and to pray for her, and thus I am pledged.

I am thankful that we have a Savior, a high priest, who is touched by the feelings of our weaknesses. He knows our weaknesses because he walked among us as a man, and because he endured violence from our hands. I am thankful that having his forgiveness, we can boldly approach the Father's throne to find mercy and grace when we are weak. I am thankful that I can commit Cara to his loving care. I know that he is able to lift her up in his arms and carry her through approaching trials.

Of crowns and crayons

This post excerpted from For Your Names' Sake,
Chapter 7 - Today:
by John D Ramsey

In Philippians 4 Paul describes being content in any situation. If he is hungry, he is content. If he is in need, he is content. Then he says, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”[1] Paul is not talking about personal ambition. He is talking about enduring hardship. He can be weak, because God makes him strong. In Revelation 3 Jesus talks to the church that is in Philadelphia, he says, “I know your deeds. See I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.” To this church, there is no warning or criticism. Jesus knows they are weak. He will be strong for them. He knows they are persecuted, so he promises to keep them “from the hour of trial that is going to come upon the whole world.” He tells them, “Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown.”[2]

Lisa used to play a recording of Twila Paris singing, Let No Man Take Your Crown. Cara’s young ears took what she heard in Twila’s twang and applied what was familiar from her own hand, the result was, “Let no one take your crayon.” This was not surprising from the lips of the little girl who once recited, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of the mall?” Jesus’ admonition to the churches was simple, and perhaps Cara understood this much: he demands faithfulness.

Faithfulness is not march-step obedience to a religious creed or institutional rules. Religious hierarchies are a form of legalism; consequently, they do not convey the truth of the resurrection. Paul called his fellow Apostles, Peter, James, and John, those in Jerusalem who seemed to be something. He then said that it made “no difference” because “God shows no partiality.”[3] Faithfulness to Jesus Christ does include obedience to divine order. We obey the government, for instance. Paul called civil authority a “minister of God to you for good.”[4] God works through governments for our benefit; nevertheless, no one and no thing intervenes in our relationship with Jesus Christ. We will not answer to a church institution on the Day of Judgment. Rather, we will answer to him who paid the price for our salvation.

To the church of Smyrna, Jesus says, “I know your afflictions and your poverty—yet you are rich!” To Philadelphia he said, “I know that you have little strength, yet you have not denied my name.”[5] Jesus does not rebuke these two churches. They are hardly shining castles on a hill. They are oppressed and pressured. In Smyrna, some will be murdered for their faith. Jesus commends these churches. Those in weakness will by faith witness his power!

Of the other churches in Asia he says, “You have forsaken your first love . . . You have people there who hold the teaching of Balaam . . . You also have those who hold the teaching of the Nicolaitans . . . You tolerate that woman Jezebel . . . You have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead . . . You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” These are serious rebukes; what would he say to the modern church today? Who is our first love? Whom do we worship? Whom will we tolerate? Whom do we serve? What do we think we need?

Too often, we are concerned about buildings, programs, and finances as if these things mattered. Jude says, “Contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all handed down to the saints.”[6] Yet nowhere does the faith require buildings, programs, or finances. Almost nothing material is essential. That is why Jesus promised that God would provide us food and clothing in Matthew 6 (Even in our poorest weeks, we have always had food and clothing). When the church becomes self-obsessed then it has left its first love. We need to focus on Jesus Christ rather than on some facility, program, or organization. Churches fall in love with doing church, people fall in love with pastors or leaders and a type of idolatry emerges.

Churches attempting to influence society through political activism are in error. In the Parable of the Weeds in Matthew 13 Jesus tells us to let the weeds grow together with the wheat until the time of harvest. In the parable, the field is the world. The harvesters, who are angels and not men, will separate the wheat from the weeds on the day of harvest. We cannot pull weeds without damaging wheat. The Christian has longer-lasting influence as a messenger of the Gospel than he will ever have as a politician, lobbyist, or protester.

[1] Philippians 4:13 (NIV)
[2] Revelations 3:8, 10, 11 (NIV)
[3] Galatians 2:6 (NASB)
[4] Romans 13:4 (NASB)
[5] Revelation 2:9 (NIV)
[6] Jude 3 (NASB)

Nostoc

by John D Ramsey

When I send my love to Cara, I send her mother.

When Cara went away to college in Chestertown, Maryland, all six of us took her. Since then, she has come home over summer vacations, Christmas holidays, and some spring breaks, but Lisa has made most of the trips away from home to see Cara. Together they conquered Annapolis, Baltimore, and New York. One year Lisa even flew to San Francisco to meet Cara at a conference where Cara was presenting. They have great stories of their time together, which I cannot retell. Suffice to say, when Cara needed comfort or support from home, I sent Lisa.

I had my opportunities to be with Cara. I flew out one year, helped Cara store her things at a friend’s house, and drove her home. We watched a thunderstorm pass by from a mountaintop in West Virginia. I drove her out the following August and flew home. Once we arrived in Chestertown, Cara was busy with her friends. I watched the tide roll in along the Chester River. The conflicting currents actually formed a wall of water until the tide won out.

When Cara finished a summer internship in Galveston, Claire and I flew to Dallas where Cara met us. Claire and I toured the Dallas World Aquarium while we waited for Cara to arrive. I then drove Cara’s Saturn back to Kansas City. Both girls slept most of the way home.

On balance, I would say that I made the utilitarian trips while Lisa made the fun and poignant trips. Lisa can reverse Cara’s stress within minutes of landing. No one pretends that I reduce Cara's stress.

Cara is now living in Galveston and working as a researcher in Houston, Texas. A couple weeks ago Lisa, the little girls, and Lisa’s parents went to see Cara for an extended weekend. I stayed at home partly because of work and partly because of seating capacity in the Toyota versus the cost premium driving the Explorer. The original idea was for Lisa to fly to Texas. On the same budget, Lisa, her parents, and the little girls could drive. Cara and Lisa both needed that trip. It was mine to give, but not mine to have. While they were there, they toured the aquarium at Moody Gardens. Cara made sure that Gabby got a close up look at her beloved penguins. They built memories that they can share all their lives.

Cara and Lisa have shared memories of Annapolis, Baltimore, New York, San Francisco, and now Galveston that I do not have. I have memories with Cara that I hold precious. On Cara’s nineteenth birthday, I took her to see Madame Butterfly at the State Theater in Minneapolis. It had been years since I had been to an opera. It was Cara’s first opera. We both cried.

Then there were simple pleasures. Cara attended Metro State in St. Paul for a semester before transferring to Washington College in Maryland. We carpooled. She spent her mornings and afternoons in the library, and I spent my evenings at the office working late until she finished classes. We had many little conversations along the way. I suggested that she would learn her biology vocabulary better if she studied the etymology of each word. She told me that my suggestion helped. I would like to think that she enjoyed our time in the car; I know I did.

During Cara’s first semester in Washington College, she called me with a crisis. "How do you make nostoc float?" Dr. Ford had assigned an experiment promising an A to the first student who solved the problem. Nostoc (cyanobacteria), commonly called blue-green algae, apparently floats in the wild, but sinks in Dr. Ford’s lab. Dr. Ford wanted to know how to make it float. I googled “nostoc”. I learned that researchers had observed the cyanobacteria floating in ice ponds during Antarctic summers. I told Cara to freeze the nostoc in water until the ice felt dry. When the water thaws, I told her, the nostoc will float. I figured that as the water froze, the air dissolved in it would turn into tiny bubbles. The fibrous slime of the nostoc would trap the air bubbles when the water thawed; the trapped air would float the nostoc. Cara froze it. She thawed it. It floated. Dr. Ford gave her the A. I felt so smart.

Thereafter Cara’s coursework became too difficult for me to be of help to her until she was finishing her senior capstone thesis project. After hundreds of hours of observation and data collection, she had more data points than she could import into Excel. She tried to work with the raw data row by row, but that was daunting. After she called me with her problem, I spent a couple hours writing a little c-sharp application that imported her data into a SQLExpress database. It aggregated the results based upon her analytical requirements, and exported them into Excel where Cara could work with them further.

Cara titled her thesis, Effects of Juvenile Cognitive Training on Adult Behavioral Patterns in Repeated Variable Prenatal Stress Rat Model of Schizophrenia (at least that is the working title of the draft I have). Her work won the Senior Capstone Experience Award from the psychology department, and the following autumn she presented it at Society for Neuroscience (SfN) in San Diego. She wrote in her acknowledgments, “I would like to thank . . . John Ramsey & Amy Linthicum for their help with statistical analysis.” I am sure that Amy did more to help than I did, but Cara was gracious to let her dad feel smart once again.

Some dads may send their daughters cards and flowers. I send Cara articles related to neuroscience just to let her know that I think about her and that I support her interests. Recently I sent Cara a link to an article in the Wall Street Journal titled, “The Neuroscience of Retailing, Research Shows Shopping Can Make People Euphoric.” Two days later Cara went shopping. Lisa tells me that she bought two outfits and a pair of shoes. I was glad that Cara took my subtle advice to relax a bit from her stresses. She is frugal, too.

Since Cara moved away, what she has needed from me I have been able to provide largely via email, text-message, or voice. When she has needed a hug or just a friend with whom to discover a new city, I have sent Lisa. Nevertheless, there was one moment a year ago in Chestertown that Lisa did not see, but that I will remember forever.

After Cara’s graduation, we all helped empty her room. Cara said extended goodbyes to her friends, and then we drove to the Chester River. Lisa, Daniel, the little girls, and Lisa’s parents left to buy gas across the bridge, but Cara and I remained on the bank for a few minutes. Cara stood with her chin up and her eyes absorbing the view. She smelled the air. There were tears in her eyes. She panned the scenery from the bridge, to the houses on the far bank, to the boats and crab nets on the water. She had battled four years to leave this place on her terms, and she had won. It was time to go. Now, though she knew she would return, she also knew that it would never be the same. She stood still, taking a moment to memorize Chestertown. Everyone else had gone ahead; just the two of us remained.

I could hear cellos. Their long slow strings sang:

The water is wide I can’t cross over.
Nor do I have wings to fly.
Build me a boat that can carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

The soundtrack faded. Cara again took a deep breath, turned to me, and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

Cara has been an adult for a number of years, probably since she was fourteen or fifteen. For a father, it is sometimes difficult to know what his first baby girl needs. Gabby needs a hug and kiss before I leave for work in the morning. She runs to see me when she hears the garage door open or the Explorer start. Claire needs a kind conversation when I get home. She sometimes waits for me in the hallway to be the first one to see me. Both little girls need my time. They need my praise. They need me to be part of their daily lives.

Cara needs to know that I am just close enough, but not too close. She needs to know that she can call me, text me, or email me. I cannot be a wellspring of knowledge for her anymore. She surpasses me there, nostoc notwithstanding. Though my knowledge depreciates, I hope that I cans still provide her with the treasure of wisdom and the comfort of love.

Cara does not talk to me as often as I wish. Nor does she text message me, or email me as frequently as I like. Nonetheless, Cara knows that she holds her father’s very heart each time she has her mother's ear. Age and distance will not change that.

They saw us waving

by John D Ramsey

Last summer the International Space Station (ISS) flew over our house with Space Shuttle Atlantis following close behind. Atlantis had undocked and was preparing for return to earth within a day or two. It was evening after sunset, but the western sky was not dark. The ISS appeared north-northwest from Raymore as if it were coming from Kansas City, Missouri. It was on time and it appeared exactly where NASA said that it would. I had herded the girls into the front yard. Cara was living at home for a few weeks after graduating from college. She did not know what to expect except that the neighbors would think we were crazy. Nevertheless, Lisa and Cara indulged me out of kindness, but the little girls seemed to be genuinely interested in seeing spaceships.

The reflected light from the ISS moved directly toward us for several seconds before the light from Atlantis also became visible. The two spacecraft moved silently through the sky growing gradually larger, brighter, and faster as they approached. The girls watched intently as the ISS and shuttle drew near. Gabby and Claire began to wave energetically at the light in the sky, but Cara began to chuckle at Gabby and Claire. As the ISS flew directly overhead, it caught a ray of sunshine and flashed brilliance against the darkening sky. Gabby exclaimed, “They saw us waving, and they turned their lights on!” The two craft flew around the ash tree by the driveway and over the garage roof. The little girls dashed into the backyard to watch the ISS and the Atlantis disappear into the night.

I am impressed with rocket scientists and especially their project managers. It is amazing that they can build, launch, and retrieve spacecraft and preserve the life onboard. I was enthralled with the spectacular view of the ISS from my front yard. I am glad that the dazzling lights captivated Gabby’s imagination. Nevertheless, neither the ISS nor the Space Shuttle is the most spectacular object in the summer-night sky. In fact, the ISS is amazing to me primarily because it is manmade.

The moon orbits the earth every 29½ days. It rotates as it revolves keeping its dark side hidden from Earth’s view. It reflects the sunlight in a cycle that signals to some the arrival of seasons. As it orbits the earth, it pulls the ocean tides in concert with the sun. The gravitational attractions of earth, moon, and sun comprise a machine that helps keep the ocean currents flowing. Along with the sun’s heat, the ocean currents also influence the earth’s winds bringing both rain and clear skies in season.

While we are enthralled on summer nights by manmade satellites sailing silently in space, they are less amazing than the moon which is visible nearly every day. The ISS will help men learn about the earth it floats above, but life on earth is not directly dependent upon its orbiting on a schedule. Nevertheless, the sky follows an intricate if unfathomable schedule that directly contributes to life on earth.

When Daniel was a little guy, we camped near a pond along with my brother-in-law, Steve. Mars hung out over the water low on the horizon. It appeared to be so close that you could almost see its spherical shape with the naked eye. The next time Mars and Earth were in perihelic opposition was the week that we took Cara to college. Lisa and I walked the beach on Assateague Island and saw Mars hanging in the Atlantic mist. It appeared to be not too far out nor too high up, but rather just beyond breaking waves and over the open water. When I saw Mars at its brightest from the beach at Assateague, I remembered that sixteen years had passed since I had seen it with Daniel as it hovered over Uncle Paul’s pond. Gabby will be a teenager before we see Mars nearly so close again. Earth has never observed a closer approach to Mars as in 2003. It was sublime and it was fleeting, none of us will see it quite the same way in our lifetimes.

While the earth repeats a daily pattern of night and day, and the moon repeats its cycle from new to full, the planets and other celestial objects follow their choreography in such a way that no night sky is exactly like another. We might confuse the heavens’ complexity with randomness, yet each object follows its course with precision. In each day’s concert, together they play subtle variations of their repertoire.

The sky is an orchestration of infinite design and complexity in which man, by virtue of rocket science, now plays a cowbell. When we glimpse spacecraft sailing above the margin of night and day we exult, “Look, there is the Space Shuttle!” or “Wow, see the ISS?” In comparison with the beauty of space, it is like saying, “More cowbell!” We want more cowbell because men like us play cowbells. We cannot understand, let alone control, all the physics of the sun, moon, planets, and stars; however, some brilliant among us can play cowbell: “More cowbell!” That is all right; it takes a lot of human skill and effort to play cowbell in the symphony of the sky.

Man’s conquest of space declares his glory, but Psalm 19 begins by saying,

The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
Psalm 19:1-4a (NIV)

Man pushes into space in pursuit of scientific knowledge, preferably useful information; yet Psalm 19 says that the purpose of the heavens is to reveal the magnificence of God. Observing the heavens without acknowledging God is like attending a symphony and ignoring the music but rather concentrating merely on the shape of the instruments. Likewise, when we observe man’s creations we should exult not only in man, but also in the God who made us all in his image. When we view the heavens, we should hear the symphony that proclaims to us the glory of God, and we should respond. Psalm 19 concludes,

May the words of my mouth

and the meditation of my heart

be pleasing in your sight,

O LORD,

my Rock and my Redeemer.

Psalm 19:14 (NIV)

The God who created the heavens and choreographed the celestial courses is also aware of the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts. Either they please him, or they do not.

When Gabby saw the ISS move from partial shadow into the full illumination of the sun, she said, “They saw us waving, and they turned their lights on!” I did not tell Gabby that she imagined fiction. Nevertheless, all the lights of the heavens shine for our benefit. They were not turned on in response to our waving, but rather so that we could see the magnificent glory of the Creator. Man is not waiting on God to reveal himself; the heavens declare his glory and “the skies proclaim the work of his hands . . . There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.” Will we thus acknowledge him?

More important than merely acknowledging God, is our relationship to him. David addresses him, “O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.” When we acknowledge God, we should ask him, “Are you my LORD? Are you my Rock? Are you my Redeemer?” Then we should say, “Be my LORD. Be my Rock. Be my Redeemer.” God illuminated the host of heaven to draw our attention to him. God is now watching from heaven awaiting our response. He turned his lights on; will he now see us waving?

Bicycle baby

by John D Ramsey

Claire is the best thing ever to come out of Iowa. That is what I tell her and that is what I believe. Claire does not remember Iowa because we moved to Minnesota when she was 18 months old. I remember moving day. I had been living in an empty house in Hastings. On the day before moving day, I went to the florist a couple blocks way and bought flowers for Lisa and Cara and I bought a stuffed animal for Claire. I had picked up a CD for Daniel. As it turns out, the CD played the wrong Morrison. When the family arrived at the house, Claire entered the kitchen through the mudroom and hugged the stuffed puppy. She was the first of us to feel at home in Minnesota.

A few months into the new job, I splurged on a bicycle, a Giant Farrago DS. It was black and heavy, but its complex suspension system was easy on my tailbone. Before long, I cobbled it up with a bicycle seat for Claire. Claire and I rode everywhere in Hastings. We rode to Vermillion Falls. We rode to the Mississippi. We rode downtown by trails and backstreets. I remember watching kayaks from the footbridge high above the Vermillion River. They would fight their way upstream on the short rapids beneath the falls and then float down into a clear wide basin on the other side of the bridge. It was a workout for them, but it was joy for Claire and me. In Minnesota, it is seldom warm, especially in the mornings and evenings when we would ride. Claire learned that she could warm her hands by wedging them between my bicycle’s gel seat and my rump. When I objected she would remove her hands . . . for a minute.

That arrangement lasted two summers. When Claire was three, we bought a used trailer bike. It was black and matched my Giant. Claire took to it naturally and she pedaled as we rode. We sailed down the bicycle trail on the bluff above Silver Lake and across the levy to Lock and Dam No. 2. We watched barges pass through the lock. We even rode with the trailer bike together downhill from Cannon Falls to Welch Springs. Claire was my bicycle baby.

When Claire was six, I had a whim. Lisa acted upon my whim, and Claire began horseback-riding lessons. She began first on Pony Boy. Her instructor, Margy, noticed that Claire guided Pony Boy by gently leaning where she wanted him to go. Claire was a natural, Margy said. Perhaps she learned this from the sensation of movement while riding the trailer bike. This was fascinating to me until it was time for Claire to learn to ride a bicycle by herself. She tried to lean the bicycle as if it was a pony. She could not quite get the hang of it. Still one of my most pleasant memories of Minnesota was watching Claire on her mount loping along the horizon back toward the arena. Claire was riding a real horse by then; it was spectacular.

Nevertheless, Claire was too big for the trailer bike, so I had to ride the trails of Hastings by myself. All the sites were the same, but the experience was less.

When Gabby was born, I realized that I had gained enough weight that I could barely manage to pull myself up hills. Gabby was not my bicycle baby. Gabby loved to swing in the shade of a box elder tree, but that is another story.

Cara was never my bicycle baby, either. She was my football baby because when she was born I could carry her on my forearm with her head cradled in my palm as if I was a running back and she was the ball. Daniel was 10 ½ pounds when he was born and was too big to be a football baby. Gabby is my football baby now because last fall she watched the Chiefs with me (until they started losing every game and then no one watched them).

When we moved home to Kansas City two years ago, Claire’s horseback-riding instruction stopped. It was not our intent for it to stop. We just never found a new instructor, and the budget just did not allow for riding lessons. The good news is that over the winter, Claire taught herself to ride a bicycle. I am now teaching her the rules of the road. We look forward to a summer of riding. Claire is no longer my bicycle baby. I think she is becoming my bicycle buddy, and I am blessed. Maybe when I am an old man, Claire will ride a tandem with me. Perhaps she will pedal hard enough for the both of us. I will not make her ride up the Mississippi bluffs, but perhaps we will sail down them just once for memories.

Air roasted

by John D Ramsey

I thought that I would miss Minnesota more than I have. Two years ago, we moved back to the Kansas City area. We have only returned to the northland once since completing our move. Our return trip was a story. I took off work on Friday. Lisa, Claire, Gabby and I left early in the morning. Claire and Gabby were eight and three respectively. Our adult son, Daniel, had stayed behind when we moved. While he had come down often to visit us, I had wanted to make an effort to see him. I did not initially realize what an effort it would be.

As we approached Cameron, Missouri, I noticed a temporary lighted highway sign. MO/DOT was kind enough to inform travelers that Iowa was closed. At this moment, my air card from Sprint seemed, for once, like a great idea. We checked the weather and discovered that blizzard conditions had made Iowa impassible. We drove from Cameron to my parent’s home a half-hour away, and we waited. Lisa used my laptop to check email along the way. She was intrigued with EV-DO until we approached the farm. The signal faded as we left the highway, and we disappeared from the Internet. The air card immediately reverted to the waste of money that it had always been.

Mom and Dad have DSL and a wireless network, so soon after arriving at their place we were browsing again. About 2 o’clock in the afternoon, the highway status in Iowa changed from “closed” to “travel not advised.” I asked myself, when is travel through Iowa actually advisable? I concluded that conditions must be close to normal. We set out again and made good time until Des Moines. From Des Moines to the Minnesota border was a wasteland of wrecked cars and snowdrifts. The roads were in poor condition, and we joined the column of brave souls crawling north toward freedom. When we finally arrived in Minnesota, MN/DOT’s fleet of snowplows was working to clear the shoulders of the highway. The highway driving lanes were in great condition.

The conditions we had faced in Iowa had been exacerbated by bureaucratic intransigence. Nevertheless, in their defense, I see this as a marketplace reality. Iowa knows that it is a drive-thru state. In contrast, Illinois, Missouri, and Minnesota are destination states. You could argue that Nebraska is also a destination state, but that would be hard to prove. Regardless, Iowa’s concept of highway safety is to post a message saying, “Travel not advised.” That is cheaper than actually mitigating the effects of bad weather. Who knows, tomorrow it might all melt. To punctuate their hospitality, Iowa also prevents tow trucks from operating during inclement weather. If you dare to journey through Iowa during a storm, and you end up in a ditch, your AAA membership will not save you.

Anyway, when we arrived at the Holiday Inn near Daniel’s place, it was after midnight. We had driven over eleven hours for a seven-hour trip and twice as much Iowa as usual. The layover at my parents’ added to the length of the day, but probably spared us from the worst of the storm. We spent a nice weekend with Daniel.

Every day when he is in Minnesota and I am in Missouri, I miss him. His every visit seems too short and they are ever too seldom. We have come to the conclusion that it is easier, and cheaper, for Daniel to drive to Kansas City, than for the rest of the family to journey to Minnesota, and so that is the way it works. He comes down when he can. While I miss Daniel while we are apart, I also miss Cara while she is in Texas. I miss my kids regardless of where they are, but I find that I do not miss Minnesota as much as I thought I would.

When we left Kansas City, we knew we would be leaving behind great BBQ (Gates, Hayward’s, and Jack Stack are among the most notable), we knew that we would leave behind City Market, the Country Club Plaza, and thousands of familiar landmarks that made us feel at home.

After seven years in Minnesota, I had wondered what I would miss upon leaving. I do not intend to offend Minnesotans. I liked living in Minnesota. I just have not missed it as I thought that I would. Lisa and I have discussed this, and we came up with a short list of things we miss from Minnesota including Tavern on Grand. If you travel to the Twin Cities, you should buy a walleye basket at Tavern on Grand. Initially, we thought that we missed Leinenkugel, too, but Lisa found it at the local Wal-Mart. We do not drink enough beer to claim realistically that we miss it, but we could understand if someone did. Besides, Leinies are brewed and bottled in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

It is a Minnesota truism that the best things in Minnesota come from Wisconsin. It is true about the beer, it is true about the cheese, and it is true about professional football. Nevertheless, if you do travel to Minnesota, do try the Canadian walleye at Tavern on Grand.

When we first moved back to Kansas City, we did miss Dunn Bros Coffee. While living in Minnesota, Dunn Bros was an important part of our week. Every Wednesday night, we would drop Gabby and Claire at AWANA, and retreat to Dunn Bros. I would order a depth charge, Lisa would order a mocha, latte, or sometimes tea, and we would decide what variety of coffee beans to brew at home until next week.

Lisa and I have been married for almost twenty-seven years, but there are not very many bullet points regarding the secrets of our success. While we may have several habits, we do not have many rules. One rule that we do have is simply this: Do not talk about money at home. Our weekly trip to Dunn Bros became our regular “money meeting.”

We were thrilled to learn that Dunn Bros was opening a couple stores in the Kansas City area; however, the Kansas City mutations were disappointing, and we stopped making the effort. This was a bit of a crisis for Lisa; while we could talk about money anywhere, she struggled to find coffee that I liked.

Lisa is industrious, and it did not take her long to find the best coffee in Kansas City. It comes from The Roasterie, just off the Boulevard in Kansas City. Their coffee is distinctive because it is air roasted. Last summer, Daniel was down for a weekend. Cara was living at home for a few weeks after graduating from college. Lisa arranged for the family to take a tour of The Roasterie on a Saturday morning.

Cupper and master roaster, Norman, talked the small group through the history of western civilization, correlating the growth of liberty with increased coffee consumption. It would have been impolite to tell Norman that correlation does not prove causation, besides his arguments sounded as plausible as most economic theory. In reflection, coffee does exemplify the glory of economic liberty. Lisa now buys The Roasterie’s City of Fountains blend from Costco. Norman and the crew at The Roasterie could trace the route of green coffee beans from the growers on remote mountainsides overland and across oceans and overland again into one of their roasters and on to packaging and distribution. While coffee travels from the harvesters’ fingertips to the cup in my hand, my money traverses a reciprocal route. Such is the beauty of free enterprise. I think that Norman enjoys participating in global commerce almost as much as he enjoys the aroma and flavor of a great cup of coffee.

When I drink coffee, I do not think about global commerce. I think about Lisa. I can, and I sometimes do make my own coffee, but most mornings Lisa makes it for me. She makes an effort each week to make sure that we have good coffee on hand. She relies on Norman, et al, to fill the supply chain, but if Norman did not she would find good coffee somewhere. She watches our bean inventory as closely as she watched the inventory when she managed a coffee bar.

The other day, Lisa entertained several moms in our home. She noticed too late that the grinder had enough beans for only one pot of coffee. Lisa was a day away from her scheduled trip to Costco. Being resourceful, Lisa pulled a bag of The Roasterie’s decaf coffee from the freezer. She let it warm to room temperature before swapping it for the coffee in the grinder.

The women apparently raved about the coffee. One called it the perfect cup. Fortunately, no one asked Lisa how to make the “perfect” cup of coffee because the answer would have been something like this. “Buy a pound of The Roasterie’s decaf, open the package, make one or two pots for a special occasion. Reseal the packaging and store in your freezer for a year. Let the coffee beans warm to room temperature and place in grinder that most recently contained fresh beans (City of Fountains blend preferably). Leave grinder settings adjusted for a small pot, but make a full pot instead.” When Lisa told me this story, I realized that she exerted both effort and some risk for my benefit. She preserved the last pot of real coffee for me. She did not have to; she wanted to.

On some days, I drink other coffee at the office. I do drink other coffee Tuesday morning at a men’s Bible study. Occasionally, Lisa and I go to Dean & Deluca for espresso. A couple weeks ago, we went to Starbucks. Drinking other coffee is a nice reminder to me of Lisa’s efforts to give me the best. Drinking lesser coffee reminds me that I am blessed.

Perhaps the reason that I do not miss Minnesota is simply this: All the best I had in Minnesota is with me still.

Love ya, Honey.