Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Macchu Piccu with Wayna Piccu in Background ~August 2009

Sometimes, it's the coming back down the hill that's the hardest. You see something, you learn something, you experience something new and exciting, and then eventually you have to turn around and come back down to where you started.

When I climbed Wayna Picchu, the hill next to Machu Picchu, I had to write my name and country of origin on a ledger at the shack near the trail head. A rather ominous beginning. Walking up those tiny ancient steps, I couldn’t understand why the people going down didn't give way. I figured it out soon enough. 

The view at the top overlooking Machu Picchu and the Urubamba River valley was breathtaking. After walking around the ruins on top and siting for a while to enjoy the view, we began our trip back down the hill and this is when I discovered that going back down was much harder than going up.  Maybe because going up I was hiking into the unknown. Maybe because looking up, I didn’t think about how these tiny little steps were perched precariously into the mountain face. Maybe, because now that I was going where I had already been, the thrill was gone and in its place returned my fear of heights and falling from them.

Maybe that’s what happened after Jesus' fed the 5,000 on the side of a hill. When it was over, his followers had to go back down and take what they'd experienced and learned and go back to their work-a-day lives. I mean when was the last time you were in a place for an extended period of time over with 5,000 people? And even more astounding, when were all of those people fed to satisfaction with the equivalents of two peoples sack lunches?

Central Park Summer Stage seats 5,000 as does the McMenamin’s Edgefield Lawn.   The Gershwin Theater, the largest of Broadway’s theaters, seats 1,900 and the Keller Auditorium, Portland’s largest theater, seats 2,992. So, feeding 5,000 men (number doesn’t include the women and children in attendance) with only five loaves of bread and two fishes is rather epic.  Not to mention the life-changing experience of watching Jesus physically heal a few thousand people. Those 5,000+ in attendance were changed by that experience. The 12 men closest to Jesus, witnessing the miracle right in front of their eyes were changed as well.  And then Jesus sent them back down the hillside and out on a boat without him for a few hours.

Ride:Well Team Celebrating Success~ Portland ~June 2012

My church just hosted a team of Ride:Well folks. They rode their bicycles around 450 miles in five days to raise awareness and support for Blood:Water Mission. They are not the same people they were a week ago. But they are returning to lives and places that are relatively unchanged.

So what do we do with this? Well, eventually Jesus met his disciples at the bottom of the hill and when he did, one of them, Peter, walked on water. I pray y'all walk on water, too.

"Come," he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ~Matthew 14:29

Life is What Happens to You While You’re Busy Making Other Plans

June 2012 ~ Me, Dragon, Eva

I fell in love with George Gershwin when I fell in love with Mr. Holland.

In high school I adored the movie “Mr. Holland’s Opus”. I watched it incessantly and cried enormously each time. I loved Mr. Holland’s world. It was land filled with the arts taught in public schools. A land where high schools had annual musicals featuring the music of George and Ira Gershwin.  A land with roundabouts and old auditoriums. It was magical and unlike any world I’d ever known.

I never imagined I could possibly visit, let alone live in, that make-believe world of Mr. Holland. I’m sure my parents made mention of it being set in Portland, Oregon,  they lived here for a bit in the 1970s, but from where I stood on the movie theater steps in the coatless warmth of January 1996 in Louisiana, Oregon was a fantasy land on the other side of the Rockies with four distinct seasons-not hot and less hot. The likelihood of me inhabiting that place seemed inconceivable.

It’s funny how life works out. 

In June 2004, while wearing a coat, I stood in a parking garage on SW 10th Avenue avoiding the ever present Portland rain and saw a marching band play “Louie Louie” in my first Grand Floral Parade.  This rather infamous song was recorded by Portland based band The Kingsmen in the 1963 and is played by the high school band Mr. Holland directs as they march ahead of a Portland fire truck in a parade during a pivotal scene in the movie.

June 2012 ~ Grand Floral Parade ~ Portland, Oregon

 “Huh…so I ended up in the Land of Mr. Holland after all,” I thought.  I hadn’t really realized until that moment that I had indeed been an inhabitant of that once magical make-believe place for 9 months and I was certain I would be one for another year, but most likely not any more.

This June, I once again stood in a coat on SW 10th Avenue and I realized that, just as Mr. Holland signed and sang,  John Lennon was right, life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.

They Say the Neon Lights are Bright on Broadway

Look, Ma, a Tony!

Summer may be officially three days away, but in my world it starts when I view the Tony Awards show. It was live on Sunday night and I missed all but the last 10 minutes, but, thanks to CBS.com, I don’t have to live lost in a time vortex.

The Tony’s are my most favorite awards show. And I like me some award shows. I suppose, I like qualifying things; putting things in categories and ranking them.

Even within an award show.

Here are my favorites of the night:

Most Adorable Couple:
Hugh Jackman and his wife, Deborra-Lee Furness, when he received a special Tony Award for his extraordinary contributions to the Broadway community. Watch it, it's precious.

Most Inspiring Moment:
 “When I was around 5-years-old running around telling everyone I wanted to write Broadway shows, it didn’t really occur to me that it would take 56 years to actually accomplish that, but it was worth the wait. Look, Ma, a Tony!”
—     Jack Feldman, Lyricist of Newsies, in his Tony acceptance speech for Best Original Score

Most Articulate Explanation of Theater:
 “There are those rare people who can look at the world and see things that the rest of us don’t see until they show us: these are the writers. There are those special few who can take that vision and turn it back into a world: these are the directors, designers. There are fearless beings who live in that world and show us who we are: these are our actors. There are dedicated people who know why that world matters so very much: crew, theater staff, producers, investors, managers, marketers. And then there are the people who step forward and say, “Show me this world. Open me. Change me.”: these are our audiences. And when all of these people come together and say, “Yes,” there is theater.”
—     Jordan Roth, Producer of Clybourne Park, in his Tony acceptance speech for Best Play
 
Best Explanation of My Life:
The Opening Number featuring Neil Patrick Harris
“What if life were more like theater?
What if everywhere you went you heard a band?

And then apropos of nothing there were crazy dance routines.”

Let me stop you right here, NPH. I can answer this, because this is the world I inhabit and it’s…wait for it…legendary. On Sunday a friend said to me, “You are the only person I know who comes out of the bathroom singing and dancing.” That's probably true considering that for most of my childhood I got ridiculed for this involuntary trait. But, friends, as an adult, it is a fairly fabulous way to live. When you think about it, what’s the alternative? Take it away, Neil.

“No, life is bleak and brutal and we carry from the cradle
 the awareness that it is futile and invariably fatal.
We muddle without respite through the sadness and confusion,
or we huddle in the cesspit of our madness and delusion.”

“What if life were more like theater?
Life wouldn’t suck so much.”

Show I’m Most Excited About Seeing When it Comes to Portland in Two Years:
“Once”and not just because it won Best Musical. I will see it because I had been living in Portland for around four years when the original movie came out and felt this town claim it as its anthem, as if it were really about us. Because, I went to the sold-out concert that Glen and Marketa held at the Keller, the largest audience for whom they had ever played. And, yes, in part because Glen said, “Hi, lovely day isn’t it?” in and ADORABLE accent to me and my three friends at the corner of SW 3rd and Clay on his walk to the backstage door with Marketa. Because in that moment, I knew that Portland was becoming something close to home. Oh, yeah, also because the music is wonderful.

Most Interesting Coincidence with My Life:
The multiple musicals featuring the music of brothers George and Ira Gershwin. Recently, I’ve been revisiting my love of this musical duo. (There will be more on this in a later post. Stay tuned.) Turns out, the Broadway Community has too. The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess won for Best Revival of a Musical and the new musical Nice Work If You Can Get It was also a winner.

Time Is Wastin', Time Is Walking

Rome, Italy ~ 2010

Until a year ago, when I heard the word manna, my first thought was of the the people of Israel complaining about it in the song "So You Wanna Go Back to Egypt" by Keith Green; “Manna again?!” They were tired of, and frustrated with, the same old stuff.

They had forgotten that manna was a miracle.

“The manna test was the test of normal. Every miracle, if you’re blessed and lucky enough so that it lasts in your life and you get to keep it, becomes normal. And then it doesn’t seem like such a miracle,” writes Rabbi Naomi Levy  in in her book, "Hope Will Find You." page 70

In the eighth chapter of Deuteronomy, Moses presents the idea that God had his people wander for years to test them and humble them so that they could live well in the days ahead of them; to teach them and truly refine them. God was bringing them into a really wonderful place, a place He prepared, a place they did nothing to earn or deserve.  In this place, they will need to remember who provides for them so they wouldn’t think too highly of themselves, but, instead give thanks and praise to God. 

Time is my manna. I’ve looked at time as an enemy for too long. Time is a gift from God and a miracle. It is not something I need to overcome or beat.

In "Call Nothing Small" Mary Langford, a Licensed Professional Counselor, shares her disappointment in the length of time it would take her husband to recover from an eye surgery.

“We always want things to happen quickly, don’t we? Even when we pray for patience, we want it right now! ...  A phrase I often use in the counseling office is: “Time is your friend.” In time, difficult teenagers grow into responsible young people, marriage partners forgive each other of wounds to their relationship, grieving families learn how to carry the memory of their loved one as they move on with life, those who’ve gone through divorce pick up the pieces and make a new beginning. But all these things happen by a process, often one that is slow and painful, and one in which it is sometimes hard to keep trusting that God is at work for good in our lives.”

She ends with a quote by Andrew Murray, “Say, (God) brought me here. It is by His will I am in this strait place, and in that fact I will rest. He will keep me here in His love and give me grace to behave as His child. Then He will make the trial a blessing, teaching me the lessons He intends for me to learn. In His good time, He can bring me out again – how and when He knows.” pg. 93-94

“God gave you manna to eat in the wilderness, something your ancestors had never known, to humble and test you so that in the end it might go well with you.” Deuteronomy 8:16 NIV

Time Is On Your Side

A little boy is wailing in the courtyard of my apartment building. I live above a daycare and at least twice a day the children are brought to the courtyard to play. This child had been hysterically crying for well over 20 minutes. Consolation will not come. Many have tried, I’ve heard them, but it’s of no use.

I imagine this is what five of my friends have felt off and on over the last few weeks. They all have lost their mothers to illness; four of them after months of watching cancer ravage a beautiful body and one rather unexpectedly. The pain is fresh and deep for all.

All have also found hope in knowing their mothers are in a glorious place where they can yell with joy and see beauty again. I imagine these two wonderful women meeting each other in heaven, sharing stories of their families with joy and love. I hear their children talk with such hope about where their mothers are; the light in their eyes inspiring. I know that the ache in their souls is deep and will only be dulled over time.

I am really the worst at mourning. I want it to be over and done with at a pace that is inhuman. I encourage my friends to not be like me, to not rush through it but to embrace all that God wants to give them during this time; all the comfort, all the peace, all the love.


May 2012

Time, after all, is a gift.

My friends all hold strong to the belief that this life is a staging area for the next. We are given time here to prepare ourselves and others for the next and longer, “here."

In Anne of the Island by L. M. Montgomery, Anne sits up one evening with Ruby Gillis, a woman in her early twenties who will die the next day. Ruby says that she doesn’t want to die; she wants to go on living here.

“I’ve fought so hard to live- it isn’t any use-I have to die-and leave everything I care for.”

Anne sat in a pain that was almost intolerable. She could not tell comforting falsehoods; and all that Ruby said was so horribly true. She was leaving everything she cared for. She had laid up her treasures on earth only; she had lived solely for the little things of life– the things that pass–forgetting the great things that go onward into eternity, bridging the gulf between the two lives and making of death a mere passing from one dwelling to the other–from twilight to unclouded day. God would take care of her there–Anne believed–she would learn–but now it was no wonder her soul clung in blind helplessness to the only things she knew and loved. Chapter 14 ~ The Summons

After talking a bit more Anne leaves and on her walk home sums the evening up with this:

The little things of life, sweet and excellent in their place, must not be the things lived for; the highest must be sought and followed; the life of heaven must be begun here on earth.

Sue Erickson lived her life in that place. She left explicit instructions on how no unneeded expenses should be spent on her burial so that all of the money could go to help the people in India for whom she cared immensely.

In the summer of 2004 sue and a few of my friends went to Hong Kong for a conference and service opportunity and met a man who was a spiritual leader in a community off the south east coast of India. They developed a grand relationship and when disaster struck in December of that year, our church community began to work to help that community. The first donations brought aid in the form of rice and fishing nets. The continued work over the last seven years has brought new life to hundreds of people in that area through teaching sewing skills, hygiene and the lifesaving word of God.

Sue worked an extra day a week giving that day’s wages to the impoverished widows, women, children and outcasts she loved and served in India. A memorial fund has been set up to continue that work.

The week she was supposed to leave for her second trip to India Sue learned she had cancer. She never saw India or the people she loved there again. I believe she will see those friends one day. Those friends and many more who found life because of her sacrifice.

A Time to Dance, A Time to Mourn

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ~ October 2011

On a couch in a cozy corner of a home in North Portland I sat with Bob and Maxine, both aged over 80 and together for well over half a century. I watched as they held hands and occasionally cried softly through the sermon on suffering Cork shared this past Sunday.

Cork is married to their daughter Sue and this year they celebrate 40 years of marriage. Later this year, Cork will have to bury his love. Sue is near the end of her heroic battle with cancer. Since the notification a few weeks ago, hundreds of people who love Sue and her family are making personal pilgrimages to their home. I am one of them.

After most of the other visitors left, I sat alone with Sue.  She told me how much more real Jesus’s love has felt to her recently. As she unconsciously fiddled with the collar of her night gown, her clear deep blue eyes gleamed as her feeble voice spoke with power words of truth and love. We talked about how she saw and felt Jesus’s love through the kindness of her husband. With the heart of school girl she told me how Cork insisted they celebrate their anniversary this week even though the actual date is in October. He made potato and steak soup. She ate the broth and he ate the potato and steak.

On Saturday, I attended the wedding of two of my friends. These two friends are at the beginning of their journey together in love. Along with those who love them, I danced and laughed and hugged. Hope and love were tangible. On Sunday, during a worship service in a living room with 30 of their friends and family members, I watched Cork stand up from his chair and rub Sue’s now bald head and hold her hand as we sang praise to God. Together with those who love them, I cried and sang and hugged. Faith and love were tangible.

At the beginning and at the end, there is love.  This is the Good News.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
 ~ 1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
 ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1 & 4 NIV

Little Things

I am back on campus as a community advisor for a Christian group at Portland State. Some days, probably like you in your work and daily lives, I have no idea if what I’m doing makes any sense.  But I’m here, trying to figure it out. The “it” being how to care for this neighborhood and love like Jesus does. Love without condition, with patience, with hope. I wrote a memoir that is yet to be published and in one chapter I talk about bringing a team of people down to my hometown after Hurricane Ike to love it like Jesus does.

Cameron, Louisiana ~ March 2009

It’s March 2009 and if culture is defined by details, Cameron’s is abandoned. Folks are back sooner after Ike than Rita so buildings are already cleaned, gutted and being rebuilt, but spring weeds covering derelict ruins leave the impression of abandonment. Prior to our arrival I’d asked Mom to find a place where we could beautify the town. Hurricane Café, a local eatery operating out of a trailer, was located on the concrete slab where the Post Office once stood. There was a 12 foot bed there that hadn’t seen flowers in over three years. Across the driveway there was a matching bed in front of the Bookmobile that was serving as the temporary Library. Our goal is to clean out the beds and put in flowers in four days.

After two major storms these beds hold a number of surprises – pounds of broken glass, four square foot sections of broken brick walls, busted wood and more. Our team of five adults and two preteens keep at it. For a brake, we attack the weeds up and down the empty spaces on Main Street. The string brakes on our weed eater so I walk down to Marine Supply to get more.

“Are you with that group cleaning up down the street?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where y’all from?”

“Oh, I’m originally from here. I’m Paul and Cyndi Sellers’s daughter.”

“I thought you looked familiar. You look just like your mama.”

“I get that a lot. I live in Portland, Oregon now and I brought some friends down with me to help clean up.”

“Well, it looks real nice, what y’all are doing. Thank you for coming. It really means a lot. Y’all coming down here and all.”

“We’re glad to help.”

We aren’t building a building or doing some other grand act. But we are here, doing the many small somethings they haven’t the energy to do and that means a lot to people. Care is sometimes most evident in the details.

So, it’s March 2012 and I've planted myself here, in Portland, Oregon, doing the small somethings, trying to show that I care.