Viking Leif Erikson scans the Seattle waterfront in search of an approaching storm
Whether the weather is cold or it’s warm, whether there’s sunshine or threats of a storm, whether dark clouds or blue skies are the norm, weather cannot be our god.
Whether you’re living with hope or with fear, whether your vision is blurry or clear, whether your kids prompt a smile or a tear, you cannot do life on your own.
Whether your passion is work or it’s play, whether the future seems sunny or gray, whether the world is all wrong or okay, you cannot but choose how you’ll live.
*This poem is based on a poem my Norwegian cousin Bjarne Birkeland shared with me in Norway in 2001.
“Whether the weather is cold or whether the weather is hot we’ll weather the weather whatever the weather whether we like it or not.”
I’m thinking of my Norwegian family today. After all, today is May 17th (Syttende Mai) Norwegian Constitution Day.
These are some of the Barbie dolls Greg A’s granddaughters play with
When the Barbie movie was released, I suggested to my wife that we go. And to those who know me, it should come as no surprise that I suggested we go wearing pink. Yes, I have a couple pink shirts in my closet. Sadly, the film had left the theaters before our schedules would allow us to see Ryan Gosling and Margot Robbie on the big screen. Wendy and I donned our pink attire as we watched the blockbuster hit On-Demand on our tv in the family room.
Come to think of it, watching from our family room was the perfect venue to view a fun film that triggered many memories. From the time I was a young dad I played Barbies with my three daughters in our family room. Unlike many of my fellow fathers, I had no problem sitting cross-legged on the floor giving voices to the miniature Mattel misses. I was secure enough in my masculinity to let my hair down while brushing Barbie’s with my girls. In fact, it was in that unique context that I learned a few lessons that have served me well as a pastor. Consider the following:
Trust is more easily earned while meeting another on their level. My daughters LOVED the fact that I was willing to play Barbies with them. It became OUR THING. Stooping to where they were won their hearts. When I was a rookie minister, I observed an older colleague greeting his flock at the door of the church following the service. Rather than patting a child on the head, this pastor took a knee and greeted the little lamb while looking them in the eye. What I saw deeply impressed me. I made it a habit to do the same. But I also discovered the concept of finding common ground holds true with adults as well. When we seek to find common ground with another person, we are more likely to engage them without pretense.
Using one’s imagination cultivates a sense of wonder. Pretending with my girls and creating conversations between the dolls stretched my ability to think outside the box. It gave me a platform for sharing life lessons with my offspring using foot-long plastic figures as a vehicle. It’s amazing how much you can communicate when you are indirectly speaking.
As I look at the New Testament, I see that Jesus did the same. By sharing parables, he invited his listeners to use their imaginations. Through the use of fiction, Jesus fleshed-out truth. And I have found much freedom illustrating bottom-line convictions by sharing hypothetical anecdotes off-the-top of my head.
We are never too old to play. When I first started to dress Ken and Barbie dolls, I was in my early thirties. Now that I am seventy-one, I still find myself on the floor in the family room with my two granddaughters. Just the other day while browsing at the local thrift store, I found a toy sports car with a couple dolls strapped in the front seat. Of course, I bought it for Immy and Ivy. I can imagine hours of play with my pintsize playmates. After all, I have experience making believe.
But the family room floor isn’t the only place we have fun together. There’s the backyard where we play hide-and-seek. There’s the street in front of our house where we roll tennis balls down a hill. And there’s the park next to the thrift store where we use our imaginations and energy. And when it comes to the latter, they have three-times as much as I do.
But even so, play rejuvenates us. It provides a needed distraction from daily routines that serves to reboot our “personal” computers. Play is God’s way to remind us that when all is said and done, we are His children no matter how many candles will adorn our birthday cake this year.
We played with Barbies on the floor. We watched the Cubs while keeping score. A million memories, maybe more, I’ve made with my three girls.
Seems like last week that they were five. Their big wheels made them feel alive. And then I taught them how to drive. That’s when my hair turned white.
But looking back I must confess. Although, at times, they’ve caused me stress, they bring me joy. I have been blessed by those who call me Dad.
Daughters pull your heart strings tight. They are a source of pure delight. And when I close my eyes at night, I thank the Lord for them.
An iconic sign in my hometown calls to mind more than childhood memories
Our family moved to Wenatchee, Washington on a hot July day in the summer of 1964. It was the very day that country music legend Jim Reeves was killed in a plane crash.
An iconic sign with moveable eyes welcomed us as we entered town. The Skookum Indian greeted us with a knowing gaze. As a twelve-year-old I was impressed by the searching eyes and the eventual wink of that motorized apple label image.
Although I moved away from the valley when I graduated from college, regular visits home to see my parents and my brother weren’t complete with exchanging glances with Skookum. After I married, family vacations inevitably included trips to Wenatchee for my three daughters to be spoiled by their grandparents.
As we drove into town, I would alert my girls to the fact that Skookum was looking for them. With excitement Kristin, Allison and Lauren would crane their necks to look for the searching eyes of that friendly face. When one of the those moving eyes winked, they laughed with glee. They were convinced that the young Indian brave had spotted them.
Although that familiar image no longer graces the skyline of our town, I picture Skookum each time I drive the Avenue. For me, that face was a tangible reminder that my Father in Heaven is continually aware of what is going on in my life. And that’s a comforting thought.
At Christmastime we refer to the omniscience of Santa while singing “He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness’ sake…” The lyrics of that holiday classic are meant to motivate little ones to be on their best behavior throughout the year.
Looking back, however, my sense is that the never-sleeping eyes of Santa are viewed through the lens of guilt or threat. “You’d better watch out! I’m telling you why…”
The supernatural traits ascribed to that fictional Yuletide figure actually derive from One who truly is all-knowing and ever-present. The God we worship, as the old African American spiritual declares, “never sleeps. He never slumbers. He watches over you both night and day…”
Whereas some view that cosmic all-seeing eye with a sense of dread, I find a sense of comfort in knowing that nothing escapes the purview of Providence. There is a passage in the Old Testament that references the searching eyes of God. It’s found in 2 Chronicles 16:9. “The eyes of the LORD search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” Rather than thinking of God’s awareness of our attitudes, actions and reactions from a negative point of view, the aforementioned Scripture suggests that God’s focus on our lives is a good thing. It is intended to have beneficial results. In other words, God’s awareness of my desire to please Him has a promised payoff.
The all-knowing nature of God is nothing to be feared. It is a truth to take hold of with gratitude. When we feel like nobody knows the trouble we’ve seen, we can be assured of the fact that God knows and cares.
Several years ago our family was traveling in Greece visiting the village from which my paternal grandfather immigrated to America. My girls, now grown, were introduced to an icon of an eye sold by a street vendor. This blue and white glass ornament symbolized the eye of God. This beautiful keepsake conveyed a simple but profound truth.
Unlike the winking eye of a Wenatchee icon that had defined their childhood, this “God’s eye” didn’t wink. It is a constant reminder, to my children and to me, of God’s continual awareness and His constant care. I, for one, am glad He never sleeps.
From the time I was three I wanted to be like my dad
When I sit at my keyboard, the sick are consoled. Those troubled in spirit are suddenly whole.
The grieving, encouraged. The worried, relieved. When I type “in the Spirit,” God’s will is achieved.
If I asked how I learned how to uplift the sad, I know what to answer. I credit my dad.
You modeled the comfort the Scripture affords when you translate God’s truth into everyday words.
I miss you, Pop!
** I wrote this wee verse (based on the accompanying photo) for my pastor-dad as my Fathers’ Day greeting in 1999. The photo pictures me as a three-year-old sitting at my dad’s manual Royal typewriter in his church office in 1955. My dad passed away on November 4, 2008 at the age of eighty-two.
My Rhymes and Reasons 