The Scandal of Forgiveness

I am humbled by a moment that I did not expect to ever be a part of in my life.  Today a woman that I have been working with in South Africa told a story about an interaction that she had with a school principal.  I had given a talk about forgiveness the day before and this diligent and amazing woman went to the schools to follow up on the impact that our collaboration with SCORE (the organization that we are working with) was having.  She said that the principal of the school in this township (a fancy word for the areas that many Black South African’s live in) immediately asked “who is this man with no legs that the kids are telling me about?”

Then what she said would have shown me to be crying if my face was not already moist from the sweat of teaching basketball in 100 degree heat.  She said that the principal was curious as to how a man could possibly forgive a woman that was responsible for his leg being amputated.  What she said next involves some interpretation but essentially a comment was made that Christians are required to forgive.  The kids told the prinicipal that!  Additionally, after I talked about forgiveness yesterday, a man that I had never met before wanted to come and talk to me about the message that I had given in broken pieces through an interpreter.  

I was humbled for a couple of reasons, the first is the fact that God would prompt those children to take the message of forgiveness back to thier school and tell their teachers about it.  I am most humbled by the fact that God used me and the team that I am working with to bring a message of forgiveness to a group of people that are 25 years out of an era of Aparthied.  This policy that is one of the darks spots in the history of human rights, a policy that still has repercussions that are playing out today.  God allowed me to bring a message to a group of people that have had more atrocious things happened to them as a group and probably individually than I could ever imagine.  I pray that the simple message of forgiveness that I shared about the small thing that happened to me could have just a small impact in a township in South Africa that is still experiencing immense difficulties.  

Additionally, I have to make sure that I mention the amazing people that I am working with, both with my American team through Proclaim!, but also the team of South Africans (SCORE) that I am working with.  God has truly blessed this township with a group of amazing people that will be doing incredible work well beyond my time here to change the lives of people through sport, community resourcing, and the gospel.

New Places, Same Faces

It is very comforting to step off a plane in a continent that you have never been to before after a 30 hour sojourn to see two faces that you recognize.  Carey and Holly were right outside the gate waiting for me when I arrived in Cape Town South Africa.  As my first foray into the Southern Hemisphere I have to say that I feel less upside down than I thought I would.  Every globe of the world that I look at shows this part of the world pointing toward the floor, this might possibly be an incongruity that I will have to explain to my 4 year old daughter.  

There is something that exists in mission work that I truly enjoy, well two things really.  The first is the emphasis on flexibility.  For anyone that has gone into cultures unfamiliar to your own, you can appreciate the fact that you have to go into uncomfortable environments with an open hand ready to deal with whatever curve balls are thrown your way.  When working with people from different countries and cultures for a common purpose we have to realize very quickly that while we might agree on the goal, the strategies and measurements of success might look different.  

I worshiped at a church in Vietnam a few years ago that might have been one of the greatest worship service that I have ever been kicked out of.  Well it’s the only one that I have been kicked out of, but that is another story.  The great thing about this church is that the only two things that the people in that room shared in common was a love for Jesus and the English language.  That brings me to the second reason I love mission work, it has to be stripped down to its essentials in order to transcend culture.  None of the cultural trappings that tie up so many that try to live out their faith in a homogenous culture.  The picture that comes to my mind is one of a missionary that is trying to pack the lightest bag that he can in order to be able to travel as far as he can as effectively as he can.  He is not going to pack more than I absolutely necessary, and I don’t think that any of us should.  Oh, to live a faith that is stripped of the baggage that I try to shove into the bag only to break the zipper.

Fear and the Mud Puddle

As many of you know I my family and I are now the proud farmers of 6 ducks.   We used to have 7 but I managed to kill one (well it died, but in order to protect the hearts of my children I will not divulge the rest of that story).  This has been an interesting addition to our lives as my kids learn about farming, about the difference between fertilized and unfertilized eggs (great way to start a birds and bees discussion), as well as dealing with death.  I told my children before we went and bought the ducks that we would not be taking extraordinary measures to heal the ducks.  I found out that my youngest talks very matter-of-factly about Hazel’s (yes she had a name) death while one of my sons takes the death deeply to heart.

Lately though I have found that free-ranging our ducks has taught me a great deal about human behavior.  This is a lesson that I think that all of us know but I need to be reminded of lately.  We got ducks for several reasons:

First, because everyone else had chickens and I wanted to be unique.  Second, because they are better egg producers than chickens and are supposed to be more hearty.  Third, and the reason that we looked at it in the first place is because our yard has a big pond.  The pond is a seasonal pond, but in the winter it is the size of a basketball court (or a hockey rink) and is very deep.  We thought that the ducks would love to have this huge, well protected pond to themselves and the few wild ducks that use it.

Here is the problem; they won’t go in it.  They have had multiple opportunities as they wander around our yard they have come within feet of the shoreline but they are more comfortable on the ground than in the water.  One day I tried to set two of them in the pond and they shot out of there so fast that you would have thought the water was boiling (it wasn’t).

So one might think that they don’t like water, as though ducks could ever not like water.  They LOVE water, they splash in their pools everyday, they make a mess out of their water trough, and they will go sit in any puddle they find.  In fact, they will walk around our house and sit in the puddles in the middle of our road before they would walk 20 feet to get into our huge pond.  For the ducks the answer to why this is would have to come down to two things.  The first would be how they were raised.  They are almost a year old and we did not take them out into the pond when they were ducklings.  This is partly due to the fact that the pond itself was only a mud puddle up until about 2 months ago.  This also is partly due to fear, a mud puddle is small, controllable, and friendly.  The pond is huge, deep, and full of unknowns.

How often have I avoided the amazing things that I was built for because it was unknown or because I felt scared.  There is no doubt that those ducks would love that pond, and I hope that I can get them to turn the corner.  Ducks were made for ponds not puddles.

Blizzards and Tunnels

As I stood in the cavern that had been created just that day, I did not realize just how dumb it was to be standing there or how awesome it truly was.

I have been watching the snow come down all day here is Poulsbo and I have to say that it is depressing.  Its depressing because as much as come down that stupid white stuff won’t accumulate.  I remember living in Brookings, SD when I was in college when Calvin and Hobbes was so popular in the mid 1990’s.  My friends and I built a snowman outside of our dorm that had a hole the size of a cannonball through its abdomen, and a cannonball sized snowball behind it (I would like to think that Calvin would be proud).  That snow man was made in November and it was still standing in March when it finally started to thaw.

That, by the way, was also the winter that I experienced the coldest day of my life at -40 with a -70 windchill.  Walking around the campus was otherworldly because you could not stay out for more than a minute totally covered up.   The ground sounded like walking on Styrofoam because the snow was so cold and dry.  The new snow that had fallen was so light and fluffy that it was like walking through down feathers.  I can’t remember why exactly I had transferred from Brookings to Spearfish the next year, but this might have had something to do with it.

Living here in the Pacific Northwest you come to miss the four distinct seasons and large amounts of snow.  Growing up in Wyoming it was not the cold that stood out but the wind.  The snow always seemed to come down sideways and there was always bare ground because the wind would drift everything up.  Then the next day you would get a Chinook wind and a sunny day and it would all blow or burn off.  That brings me back to my opening sentence and the hill in my neighbors yard.

We were hit with a huge blizzard sometime in the mid 1980’s that brought in enough snow to shut down the school for a couple days.  In Wyoming it would take over a foot of snow, maybe more, to shut down school.  In the Pacific Northwest it takes about 2 inches, and in some cases not even that.  I don’t begrudge PNW for that, you don’t budget significantly for something that may or may not happen every year.  This blizzard brought more like 2 feet of snow and it came down sideways in a matter of hours not days.  So when we woke up the next morning to a blindingly sunny day and no school we headed over to the Butler’s place, which was our sledding hill when I was a kid.  J.J. and I did not get along that well, but we had to stay friends so that I could use his hill.

The snow was so deep on his hill that we abandoned sledding altogether because we just sunk into the snow.  We made a few attempts and creating some chutes down the hill to run our sleds down, but the day was really about tunnels.  I remember at least 5 of us out there; my brother Brett, J.J., Jeff, Jesse, and myself.  Most of us occupied out time by picking a place in the massive drift that had stacked itself on the south side of the hill, but not Jeff.  Jeff had bigger plans.

I remember a couple of years ago as an adult trying to make tunnels in the snow and thinking that I was either terribly out of shape or snow had gotten harder than it used to be.  We started in the morning, each of us picking a place of origin and building a series of interconnected tunnels on the top of the hill.  Jeff had went to the bottom of the hill, where the snow was deepest, and started to build a snow cavern.  After I went home for lunch, I came back and decided to see what Jeff had been up to all morning, and I was in awe.  This cavern had to be at least 6 feet tall by about 8 feet across.  Today I would brush the ceiling with my head, but back then I could hardly touch it by sticking my hand in the air.

Once everyone had seen this wonder in the snow we all decided that it was time to get our tunnels connected to this snow chamber.  I cannot show you pictures because they don’t exist, but I can tell you that by the end of the day we had turned the snow on that hill into a human sized anthill.  We were there all day, I probably burned more calories than I ever had in my life, and I didn’t ask myself once whether any of it was a good idea, nor did I wonder what my target heart rate was.  So as I stood in that cavern it also did not occur to me that if this thing collapsed I might have a problem on my hands.

So here’s to the boys that I celebrated the blizzard with, because it was a celebration.  Snow was not seen by us as something that got in our way, it was seen as a challenge and a new world to discover.  I hope my kids get to experience something like that, I can’t imagine how I would react seeing them disappear into a 10 foot tall drift to see them come out on the other side 30 feet away.

My Square of Shame

As I alluded to yesterday I had a rough fall, which as you will find out is funny on two levels.

I have always wanted to be a handy person and I still aspire to be such a person, however the case against my desires keep building.  Back in September of last year my wife and I decided to take a large couch unit off of our friends hands.  To say that the sectional is large might be a bit of an understatement as it took both our Suburban and our Caravan to get it from Portland to Poulsbo.  The only problem with sectionals is that they are kind of like parents, they tell you what to do not the other way around.  What I mean by that is when you acquire such a large chunk of furniture you really only have one place in your house that it will fit, and only in a particular way.

So I did what most people would do in a situation like that, I went out and bought a television.  Why?  you might ask.  Well the only place we could put the sectional was facing the fireplace which means that the very bulky and awkward television that we had needed to go because it did not fit on top of the mantle.  This makes a whole lot more sense when you have already told yourself that you wanted a new TV anyway, then the only thing you need to do is help others see the logical progression that you have built up in your head so that they are okay with it.

So I fretted and researched and ultimately bought a cheap, but large TV from Costco, which I have been very happy with.

Did I mention that I am cheap.

The reason that I made that last statement is so that the rest of this will make more sense.  The Seahawks first preseason game was coming on, and my neighbors were supposed to be coming over to watch it at my house.  So now I have the “new to me” sectional, the new TV on the mantle, but no channels.  I refuse to pay for cable because that would give me an excuse to watch more TV than I already do (which is still more than I ought) which means that I had to run my antenna wire from the front of the house to the center of the house.  That involved moving the wire, drilling a hole, and discreetly hiding the wire so that it did not stick out.  That means I have to go up into the ceiling.

In order to get into the attic I have to take everything out of my pantry.

I could leave that last on its own without explanation, but I think that context is important here so I will tell you why.  The pantry has an attic access and the braces for the shelves are actually ladder rungs that have been mounted on the side of this awkward pantry/closet in my kitchen.

Once I was up in the ceiling all was going well, I drilled the requisite hole in the wall, I ran the wire through the hole, I walked the wire across the ceiling bracings and …. #$%#@@!!

I went through the ceiling, and the reason that I left the last paragraph with an implied swear word is because I don’t want to tell you what I said repeatedly while I was holding myself up so that I would not go all the way to the floor.  My son felt as though this was an appropriate time to point humorously that I should not have punched a hole in the ceiling.  He was pretty proud of his humorous observations until my wife told him quietly, yet abruptly that he needed to be quiet.  He did happen to point out before his mom-imposed silence that I probably should not use the S-word, let alone repeatedly.

Now here is the great part.  My neighbors were scheduled to come by and watch the game in less than an hour and I had a hole in my living room.  So I took off to the hardware store (I will mention which one if they will sponsor my site, but it rhythms with dome repo) to get a piece of sheet rock to cover the hole, which is the piece in the picture attached to this blog.  As I was heading to the Suburban I called my landlord, a man that is most graceful with my mistakes, to let him know what I had done.  As I was going to the store he came up to the house to see what happened, walked in, and started to laugh.  He told my wife that we should just put a picture of Jesus or an American flag over the hole.  And my wife told him that is why we don’t have him decorate our house.

My son calls it my “Square of Shame” and now many of my friends as well.  I hope to fix it soon but I have no confidence in my drywall and popcorn ceiling repair skills so I continue to drag my feet.  Thankfully a month later I attempted to destroyed the deck and it distracted people from my attempt to ventilate the living room.

 

My Kids Have Some Legitimate Questions

My lack of attention to details is going to cause some major problems in my life someday.  Actually that statement is not true, My lack of attention to details has caused some major problems in my life.  Case in point: The destruction of my barbecue.

As my son stood at the patio door the week before thanksgiving his face glowed.  This glow was not the glow of a child that was proud or happy like in the phrase “he glowed with pride”.  His face glowed because of the reflection of the huge flames that has consumed my barbecue and were presently burning up our deck.  My wife said she heard an loud boom and wondered what it was, then came around the corner of the kitchen to see my son staring out the patio door.  She yelled “Ash what’s wrong?” And all my son could do was slowly turn and look at his mom, and then look back at the fire.  Like many people he was caught in a moment that his brain was having a hard time processing.

Since winter was coming I decided it was time to burn all the junk on the inside of my grill off so that I could clean it and cover it up for the winter.  I went out to turn the grill on, a grill that last year I had done extensive research on because I take my grilling seriously.  I found that the propane tank was empty so I went to get my back up.  I did what I usually do when I attach a new tank, I listen and smell.  If I don’t hear a leak and don’t smell a leak then I proceed.  There are fire marshals and and barbecuers everywhere cringing at my last sentence to which I would respond “DON’T JUDGE ME!” if there wasn’t so much evidence to indict.

So I started the grill, turned it on high, and went about my business for about 10 minutes or so.  I came back, saw that the burn off was successful and turned off the grill.  I then waited around for about 10 minutes to make sure that the grill cooled off without any fires cropping up and then went out to my shop.  My job was done and I had other things to do.

About the time that my son was walking toward the deck I heard a noise that sounded like high pressure gas being expelled.  We live next to a highway so I am used to hearing noises coming from the roadway.  But I do remember thinking that there was no way that could be my propane tank because I had watched it cool and I had not heard an explosion.  It was about that time that I heard my wife scream “Honey!”  and my stray thought suddenly crystallized and I knew exactly what had happened.  My wife was standing on the road with the phone in her hand talking to the 911 dispatcher and I went sprinting by her, grabbed the hose and started spraying the huge flames that were burning up my deck, well my landlords deck as we live in a rental.

The flames were managed pretty quickly but the flame thrower that was my propane tank was not finished.  As I continued to spray water on the deck until the tank had exhausted itself, my wife was calling off the fire department.  Once the smoke cleared (and that is not metaphoric) I took a look at the damage and swore a few times.  So here is what my forensic investigation concluded:

With the help of my forensic investigation team (Myself, my landlord, and his son) we concluded that there was a gas leak somewhere along the line that filled the lid of my grill and then something ignited it and the lid blew off.  The reason we believe that is because the lid was torn, the cast aluminum lid tore in half (he said with a reserved pride).

Over the last month before this accident I had started a (contained) grease fire and stepped through the ceiling of my house.  I was not having a banner fall season.  Throughout all of this my kids observed a father that made big mistakes.  I would like to think that I handled it well, but the reality is that I lost my cool (that’s funny because I started a grease fire and blew up my deck.  I find that pointing out my humor is important sometimes because many people don’t understand it) more than once and said some things that I wished I had considered more.  As the title suggested, I think my kids are starting to realize that they might need to help keep dad alive.  I hope that I am learning from my mistakes, but I make so many that I have a hard time processing quickly enough before the next one happens.

As a side note, even though I tried to burn my deck down my landlord brought over lumber to fix the deck.  I tried to pay for it but he had it to me the next day, what an awesome Guy.  I fixed the deck and will paint it in the spring.