Gettin' Out

It's been more than a calendar year since we "got out" (Alaskan for getting out of Alaska.) It's true we got out last summer, for our children's weddings, which were totally fun, but not necessarily vacation in a vacation sort of way. Last year we stayed close to home and enjoyed Alaska's version of summer weather. An oxymoron. We had no summer in 2012.

But this year we did get out, and embarked on our big trip of the year. We first went to Newport Beach, CA for two conferences held back to back at the same hotel, involving a lot of the same people. We enjoyed summer weather, reconnected with old friends, learned a lot, stayed up late, and Deb enjoyed some good old fashioned Southern California mall shopping. I watched my wife decompress before my eyes. And we got to see a full-on Bollywood wedding at the hotel. (It's just what you think it is, by the way.) Oh, and I got food poisoning, but that doesn't bear comment (even though I just commented.)

After five days we left the "OC" for Reno, NV (by way of Phoenix, which last I checked is not on the way) to connect with our daughter and son-in-law in Lake Tahoe. We had not seen them in six months. Reno was burning up, but Tahoe was perfect as Tahoe most always is. We went to the beaches, learned about boat motors (where oil and water still do not mix), did a little stand up paddle boarding, ate like kings and queens, played surrogate parents to one rambunctious retriever puppy and thoroughly enjoyed our children's company. I was blessed to share a deep, gospel-centered conversation with a friend of thirty years. Our time there was glorious.

Four days later we made our way to Bellingham (by way of Seattle, which is on the way) and subsequently to Lynden where we moved in with our son and daughter-in-law and their two young men in training. I hadn't seen them since their wedding day almost a year ago. Together we enjoyed lazy evenings in the backyard, played a little badminton and went out to dinner where we were blessed with a quick drop-in visit from a dear friend representing her dear family. Our time with those Rydman's was equally glorious.

We were and are reminded that Alaska is a long way from our children. Fact is, Alaska is a long way from just about everything. Even as empty-nesters now somewhat experienced, we are increasingly aware of the realities of distance parenting. I still write letters to both young couples each Monday; we still talk on the phone with the daughter (frequently) and the son (less so) and make due with what it is. We are so proud of our children, all four of them now. We live a long way away. We're even separated by a foreign country.

But our children are called, respectively to be where they are, and we are called to be where we are. Sometimes we just wish we were all called to the same place.

They would like Alaska.

In the Eye of a Tornado, or was it a Hurricane?

I've never been in a tornado. Being a lifelong resident of the West Coast I've seen some weather, even Alaska's bipolar variety, but I've never even seen a twister. I was in Indianapolis once, and when the siren sounded I had to ask what that alarm was all about. I have friends whose lives have been affected by tornados, and others who are now quite experienced giving aid to tornado victims, but I've never experienced either.

Back when I was a kid in church I remember hearing a visiting missionary telling us what it was like to endure a tornado. Maybe it was a hurricane. I don't remember the details, but I do remember this one bit; there was a strange calm in the "middle" or the "eye" of the storm. Somehow, at halftime there was a brief respite, a momentary calm before the second round of lashings commenced. Now that I think about it, it probably was a hurricane.

Perhaps, if my metaphor has any merit, I am in one of those calm halftimes. The school year ended, so did my substitute teaching assignments. I have more discretionary time on my hands. Deb will soon go "off contract" for a month, and in the meantime with no students on campus her work world has regained some civility. We are again enjoying regular "Sabbath rest," irrespective of the day of the week. The frequency of our evening walks in the marina has increased.

But around us swirls the tornado (or hurricane.) Friends in vocational ministry are exhausted by people issues in their churches; here in Juneau we are seeing many of our friends enter a season of transition. (It's been said people here either love Juneau, or are planning to leave.) Several churches in our own city are in leadership transitions, or even denominational transitions; even our own initial gospel community is preparing to see some of our own depart for worlds south of here.

Yet in this I am enjoying a season of calm. My times in God's Word have been sweet and profound. The glorious recent weather has forced me outdoors to improve my cardio health. I have enjoyed deep time with old and new friends. My soul is at rest (Jeremiah 6:16.) It feels like I am being re-filled, topped off, knowing the days of giving if not draining are not far off.

Storms will come back to Southeast Alaska. They always do. Starting and leading a church comes with seasonal storms. It's how it goes. How blessed I am to be given calm between storms.

Servanthood and Public Education

This is finals week, the final week of the public school year. The kids and their instructors are well aware of the days, hours and perhaps minutes remaining. Risking the wrath of the District Superintendent, staff members are at their assigned posts. I am a substitute teacher, and my services are no longer needed. I've been rendered surplus to requirements.

It's been a fun year. I've enjoyed the role...and the freedom to say "no" from time to time. I had no idea I would be kept as busy as I've been. It helped over the course of the year to limit my availability to only one school. I got to know kids and staff by name, and they me. I learned to encourage (okay, bribe) better behavior on Fridays through the ingenious (in my estimation) addition of Jolly Ranchers. I know which kids require a fist-bump when passing in the hallways. I enjoyed being the self-appointed front door greeter to sleepy-faced students trudging to their lockers and on to their first class each morning.

Never having been a substitute teacher before this year, I learned or confirmed some things about myself. I'm a decent communicator. I am funny (at least I think I am.) I am flexible and roll somewhat well with the punches. I am better than good at making up answers to questions, especially when I may not even understand the question. I learned that students and adults both respond positively to a smile and some encouragement.

And I learned to use the word "serve" in complete sentences. "How can I serve you?" became a frequent element in my responses. Admittedly this freaked some people out, knowing the words (and concepts) of "servant" and "service" are not necessarily indigenous to, let alone valued by our culture. But I had selfish motivations for using these words in sentences. I did it for me.

I am not by nature a willing servant. Mine has been a life-long and still ongoing training in this endeavor. I am, by nature self-serving, self-indulgent and self-absorbed. But by using the word "serve" in a sentence it then requires me to do the verb and be the noun forms of the word, taking my own felt needs and selfish motivations out of the equation. And this is all necessary to the development of my gospel identity.

So somehow, and by God's grace TMHS has been my classroom. I've been instructed in the practicum of servanthood. I am grateful. I am looking forward to the next school year. In the meantime I'm really looking forward to summer break.

Church Planting in the Fog

There are those times when it seems life is being lived in a fog bank; stretches of time when duties are performed and obligations met, but with no real sense of the big picture.

Our past two weeks have felt fog bound. (Our bipolar SE Alaska weather only serves as a constant metaphor.) We've been busy. Perhaps too busy. Emotionally we've hit some exhilarating highs, but these felt sandwiched with soul-flattening lows. Sabbath rest has been hard to come by.

We went zip-lining 120 feet in the trees over an old gold mine a week ago. It was a rush, and a good break away from life at the usual altitude. We also endured the heartbreak of putting down our old but beloved family dog. In the days following we missed her, and even the inconveniences of dog ownership. (Dog owners get this. Non dog-owners don't.) With children grown and gone, Deb is feeling the loss of someone to nurture. (Not that I've gone anywhere, mind you.)

I've been subbing a lot; more than I expected and sometimes more than I wanted. But in the midst of the fog God has graced me with conversations shared with students and staff I never could have initiated on my own. I also worked as a timer for a regional championship track meet this past weekend. Bright sun on Friday. Driving rain on Saturday. It was good to serve, and I came home tired. I also had my first go at being a volunteer at the Visitor's Center Kiosk down by the cruise ship terminal on Wednesday. Talked with a good number of Australians. They're always fun. They called me "mate."

Admittedly though, I cannot say I've made a lot of "progress" in working "on" Radiant Church Juneau during this stretch. I didn't allow myself time, and had little to show. But in the midst of the fog I was given a gift. I was given a re-realization of what my calling is, and is not.

As church-planters, as Jesus-followers we are not called to make churches. I may be a church-planter, but I do not build the church. That role and responsibility is reserved for Jesus alone. What we are called to do is make disciples. Being and making disciples is what Jesus called His Church to be and do (Matthew 28:19).

With this as a new evaluative criterion I reviewed the past two weeks again. God is making disciples. He's making a disciple out of me. He's even gracing me with conversations and events and experiences where I can be a disciple-maker. Even in the fog.

Upon further review, it's been a good two weeks.

Relocation

Moving makes me weird. For the third time in 14 months we again picked up our stuff and relocated to a condo 7.5 miles west of our previous abode. We like it.

Deb reminded me that over a year ago I had said I would someday like for us to live near the University, and have a waterfront view. (In my own mind I also admitted this to be a pipe dream.) But in God's grace (and the generosity of dear friends) He has given us just that. We're within walking distance of the University. We have a picturesque view of the marina. We watch sea lions eating, and eagles fighting over whatever the sea lions leave behind. We really like it.

But I've also been observing myself during these transition seasons. How is it I can be myopic, bi-polar and ADHD all at the same time? For two weeks all I thought about was moving. When something dumb happened...like the TV audio not working, I was ready to commit an emotional crime. Whenever I started a singular moving-related project I also started four others. I have really confused myself about myself in recent days.

And it wasn't like we were moving between states. We didn't change time zones, zip codes or even our mailing address. It was just a cross-town move. No big deal, right?

I realized, sadly again that I am an idolator. As I get older I crave comfort, and control over my circumstances, and power over my surroundings, even the self-affirmation that I got things done. Yet (in reading Stephen's sermon in Acts 7) I was reminded that God moves people. Abraham got relocated. So did Moses. The apostles moved out and on. Churches get planted because someone is willing to move. And relocation seems to throw a temporary brick at the idols of comfort, control, power and even affirmation.

Moving is like preparing to live. Living is living. It may be I am not too effective at doing both at the same time. I'm just glad Jesus doesn't move even when I'm busy moving.

Nomadic Life

In the nearly 32 years of married life my bride and I have lived in six different cities, four states and five area codes, including thirteen different domiciles. We know we're not necessarily unique in this, for it seems to be the way of the modern wanderer. In the past year we've become accustomed again to the nomadic life.

And today it begins; we're relocating again. Same town, same area code, same zip code, just six or seven miles west (but feels north.) Today begins a two-week relocation process. Today I begin the unenviable task of packing up books (far fewer than I've maintained in years past) and my CD collection (entirely too many still.) Our home will slowly cease to be a home, and will instead take on the look of a staging area. It's what nomads do.

Our dear friends Joe and Karen are relocating, leaving the beauty and wonder of Southeast Alaska for the wonder and beauty of South Florida. Their move requires a great deal more than does our own. We don't want to see them go, and they're not sure they want to either. But God is sovereign, even over what awaits our friends in their new life on the other side of the continent. Some church does not yet know just how blessed they will be to have these two join them in life and on mission.

God's sovereignty prevails, often in unexpected ways. Joe and Karen approached us about living in their place. They made us an offer we couldn't refuse. Our prayer for a bigger living room (present church gathering place) has been answered. Their condo is within walking distance of Deb's job at UAS, and within biking distance of just about anywhere I need to go on the west (north) end. In a strange sort of irony we are losing our dear friends, and gaining their place. We are exchanging mountain vistas for a marine panorama. The reality of having a washer and dryer in the unit will seem to us a luxury.

So I'm checking out from high school sub duty for some days, packing things up and preparing to relocate. Compared to some other moves we've made this will be cake. But it has to start, it has to gain some inertia and momentum, and today's that day.

Nomads are only nomads, and sojourners are only sojourners when they get their nomadic sojourning in motion.

First Time for Everything

Radiant Church Juneau celebrated her first Easter Service this past weekend. In some ways it was not unlike Easter weekends in years past.

I got up out of bed on Sunday at 5am to be out the door by 6am. I bet every pastor I know did the same thing. (Easter is hardly a day of rest for church leaders; a good day for sure, but not necessarily restful.) I also had my sermon ready, and was devoted to prayer through the previous week (again, not unique to me.)

But there were also departures from previous years. I was out of bed and out the door early to secure a covered picnic site at Auke Recreation. I jumped right in behind a church finishing up their sunrise service, and inherited their remaining firewood. Knowing our own event didn't start until 2pm, I ended up having my own extended sunrise service. As it was, God decided to decorate His day in spectacular fashion. We live in a rain forest, and rain was predicted, but the day was glorious. I watched little Pacific porpoises feeding near the shoreline at low tide. I had conversations with several kids I know from the high school as they passed by on beach walks with their families. I tended the fire. I thought about the resurrection, and thanked God for that event and my resultant justification in His eyes.

Our folks showed up at 2:00 or before. Everyone brought food, a bounty I don't think I've ever seen for an Easter feast. Our Radiant Church people showed up to serve the others, and the others came to think about something other than State politics.

We had several from-out-of-town legislators and their staff people join us. We're learning how to serve them, how to be their church family when they are away from their own church families. We are learning how important it is to protect them, to resist the temptation to drop their names or tag them in Facebook photos. They're all regular people. They just have a lot on their minds. We're learning to love them, include them, and invite Jesus into every conversation.

Together we feasted, we sang all of those triumphant Easter anthems (we could remember) and I preached. And we had a great time. It felt like an extended family gathering. I cannot remember an Easter Sunday I have ever enjoyed more than this.

It was our church's first Easter as a church. Someday we will fondly look back at how relaxed, how organic and unstructured it was. And we did take photos...which we'll archive for ourselves to protect the elected.