Rocky Mountain High

I think John Denver and Rob Bell would have been great friends. I came to this conclusion during my reading this morning. I was out on my balcony in Vail, reading while watching a rushing stream about 50 yards from my unit. The trees were close enough to hug, if I were so inclined. The sound of the stream was muted somewhat by the sounds of the traffic on I-70 less than 100 yards away. So I thought of John Denver--the things he loved so close to the things he hated.

My reading for the day turned out to be one of those "coincidences" in that it was along an environmental theme. Bell was talking about creation, how God would create something, call it "good" and then give it the power to recreate itself. For example, when he saw that fish were good, he didn't create more fish, he gave fish the means to reproduce themselves. Then he created man, and gave man dominion over the earth, which in Bell's interpretation included the charge to take this "good" thing and make it better. Then he penned the line that stopped me and became the subject of this post : "That's why litter and pollution are spiritual issues."

It was awhile before I read on. I looked out at the stream and realized I hadn't seen an empty beer can or a sandwich wrapper floating along. My thoughts went back to age 6, when we were visiting family in Illinois. On the drive, litter was commonly a foot deep along the side of the road. We got to Illinois and I was excited about going swimming in Lake Michigan. Except that we couldn't even get into the water because there were literally millions of dead fish floating at the shoreline and as far out as we could see. One of the things that amazed me on our family trip to Chicago in 1989 was the beach was as pristine as one would hope it to be. This is not about who was responsible for the cleanup, but that it has taken place. And Denver and Bell would say we are coming closer to doing the job that God gave us to do in Eden.

Why is litter a spiritual issue? In its purist interpretation, I suppose you could say that anything that makes the planet less beautiful is subverting the intent that God had in creation. It's a man saying that his comfort is more important than taking care of God's creation, that the job we have been given to make the planet better isn't worth his time. Even more so, it is showing a disregard for others that God has commanded us to love and make better. The fish that eats the metal thrown into the water and dies. The man that is paid to clean up after us. I have heard people callously say that they are helping people employed by making them clean up after them. Then I was reminded of yesterday when we checked out of our villa in Park City and we had about 4 bags of trash and the dumpsters were 4 floors away. I said to Jan, "Housekeeping's going to be here anyway." Shame on me. (One of the things that was amazing about attending a baseball game in Montreal was that the fans threw away their own trash, not leaving it under their seat for the custodians after!) I suppose if we truly took our responsibilities to heart, hotel housekeeping staffs would never have to do anything but laundry. But in casually tossing away our trash, we are in effect being selfish, expecting others to do what we should do for ourselves, and we know how God feels about selfishness.

Pollution to me is all of the above taken from the individual to the corporate level. It's the pursuit of profit above all, regardless of the means necessary to get there. So we had burning eyes from smog in '60s Los Angeles, companies dumping their waste in the middle of large bodies of water, etc. Largely because they have been forced by legislation, companies now are more accountable for correcting those behaviors.

Now, I don't belong to the Sierra Club, I'm not a vegan, and you will never see me chaining myself to an oak tree marked for cutting. But I will also never toss my can out my car window even if I'm in the middle of the desert with no other cars for miles. I honestly believe we are closer than we were 50 years ago, to becoming the kind of people God intended for us to be.

So I don't long for the good old days. To me they mean a highway with litter piled on the sides. The better new days mean I can enjoy a litter-free mountain stream during my morning read. The good old days meant dead fish in the lake. the better new days mean a pollution-free beach. If I may expand, the good old days meant breathing other people's smoke in public places or workplaces. Finally in the good old days, an African American woman couldn't ride in the front of the bus. In the better new days, an African American woman is the First Lady.

And I promise to work on the whole throwing away my own trash at the ballgame thing.

Think I'll go with John Denver for the closing. In this Rocky Mountain setting, I wish to live out my life so that people can say, "he walks in quiet solitude, the forests and the streams, SEEKING GRACE IN EVERY STEP HE TAKES."

Thoughts on a Churchless Sunday Morning

We are on vacation in Park City, thus our normal Sunday church activities are obviously unavailable to us. I brought Rob Bell's "Velvet Elvis" along with me and, as sometimes happens, a phrase leaped off the page at me this morning. I've always known grace is available to all, but I don't think I've ever heard it expressed the way it way this morning. (Disclaimer #1, I may have heard it before and wasn't in a position to process it the way I did this morning. Disclaimer #2 I ran it by Jan and she wasn't impressed, and she's usually a pretty good sounding board for these things. So feel free to stop reading now.)

Anyway, here's the phrase: "Hell is full of forgiven people God loves, whom Jesus died for." I've always known that God loves all, and Jesus died for all, but somehow the concept that people in Hell are forgiven had never occurred to me. I think most evangelicals have been taught God's forgiveness needs to be asked for and accepted. But pre-conversion forgiveness? That's a new one to me, but it makes sense, for a number of reasons.

First of all, I've always been told and taught that forgiveness needs to take place even if the "offender" doesn't ask for it, even if they are unaware they have wronged me. It's for my benefit that I don't hold on to that hurt and let it turn into bitterness. Forgiveness of others is an important command of Christ, and it doesn't come with the condition that it needs to be requested. So, if that is the standard for us, it makes sense that God has the same standard for Himself. The Bible says Jesus died, "Once for all," which means that all forgiveness for all time took place at that moment.

Secondly, if you think of Christ's words on the cross, "Father, forgive them...", he was at the moment referring to his murderers, who obviously didn't believe they were doing anything that needed to be forgiven. But they were forgiven at that moment, whether they wanted to be or not.

Thirdly, that forgiveness obviously applies to me and to you. One of the sticky things about switching churches is that we switched to a church that was pretty much at the other end of the spectrum in many theological positions. I remember the pastor at our orientation saying, "you've been forgiven for every sin you've committed and every sin you WILL commit." I struggled with that, and asked him about it later. He said it wasn't a blank check to continue sinning, but rather that the provision for any future transgressions was already there. (I suspect Rob Bell's quote wouldn't be that much of a shock for him).

In context of the entire chapter, the quote has even more meaning than can be discussed here, but it was an "aha" moment for me. As I said, we've been brought up to believe that part of the salvation process is asking for forgiveness, and then accepting that forgiveness. This can be a stumbling block for the person that says, "God can never forgive all of the things I've done." Before, I would say something inane like, "Sure he can, he wants to." Now I am going to say, "He already has." I think that was the "it is finished" part on the cross. That may not be a big change in your eyes (or my wife's evidently) but it is a paradigm shift for me.

So,even though I am 1000 miles away from Huntington Beach today, FCC had a big part in my going to church today. The teaching from day one has been about the marvelous grace that is available to all, and how easy it is to accept. Rob Bell was unknown to me until we started there, and his books were recommended by my friend Don (don't get all that much out of his videos). I love my church.

Of Yvette, Jan and Rick (not me)

Rob Bell tells a story of a young lady named Yvette who came up to him after church one day and told him she disagreed with everything he said and wanted to stand up in her chair during the messages and yell at him. His response: "I immediately liked her." She went on to say she was studying witchcraft and was totally opposed to his entire message. (I know a lot of churches where she would have immediately been escorted from the property). He said, "But you keep coming back," and told her that he hoped she would continue to do so. A few weeks later was the Sunday after the 9/11 attacks, and he preached on the need to forgive and let go of the hatred when people have wronged us. After, he saw Yvette face down on the floor sobbing. She later told him she had been raped years ago and had been carrying around that bitterness and anger and it controlled her entire life. She turned it over to the One who had suffered far more than her. A few months later she handed him a sheet of paper with her contact info on it. Whene he asked why, she started telling stories of witches she had been meeting who now wanted to become Christians, and if I met any, to send them to her.

That's a great story, and I'm using it to justify my claim on the story I'm about to tell. For Rob Bell said "I claim Yvette's story, for Yvette's story is our story and our story is God's story. Faith is a communal experience."

So I'm going to tell you about Jan and Rick (not me). Jan is adopted. A few years ago, through a series of miraculous "coincidences" the Aunt who arranged her adoption found her. We have since met with Aunt Glennis and Aunt Alice and have had conversations with one of Jan's nephews. Jan's mother had three other children, all boys, and two of them have passed away. The third, Rick, is about 18 months younger than Jan, and has basically been out of touch with the family since about 1984. He didn't know he had a sister, and the aunts gave us little hope of finding him. That's where my son Tim came into the picture. Tim has recently gotten really involved in ancestry exploration, and has traced all of our families back hundreds of years.

Now, Tim has had not much use for the institutional church for quite some time, causing his dad quite a bit of soul-searching, but as I get older I realize that Tim's heart is more Christ-like than most of the Christians I know. And this was never more true than in his search for the lost sheep that was his Uncle Rick. In hindsight, I think that was his ulterior purpose in digging into his ancestry. The search has gone on for about 3 years. Finally a couple of weeks ago, he told us he had found a couple of possible addresses for Rick (Trowbridge last name), and was going to write him a letter with our contact information.

Three days ago, Jan was at the dentist and I was home alone when the phone rang. The caller asked for Tim, and when I said Tim didn't live her, he finally got around to saying, "This is Rick Trowbridge." We talked for awhile and he promised to call back later in the evening. I immediately called Tim with the news, and to say he was excited would be a gross understatement. His next facebook post referred to shaking hands and pacing the floor. When queried, his response was simple: "I found my Mom's brother." There were some personal reasons for his quest, but I believe his main reason was that he knew how happy it would make his mother.

When Jan got home, I said it was too bad she hadn't been home, because then she could have taken the call from her brother. She immediately dropped all the mail on the floor, doubled over and began sobbing. She could have been the poster child for tearss of joy.

Rick called back and he and Jan talked for almost an hour. He had gotten Tim's letter the night before, had no idea he even had a sister, was somewhat miffed at Aunt Glennis for never telling him, but mainly it was evident that he was as joyful at having a sister as Jan was at finally talking to her brother.

We went to the movies yesterday, and a voice mail from Rick was waiting for us, the underlying message being, "I want to talk to you again." So Jan called and they spent another 45 minutes or so getting to know each other. His life has been as tragic as Jan's has been blessed, but my wife plans to do whatever she can to make sure the rest of their lives are spent as a family.

That is a great story. And, as Rob Bell did with Yvette, I'm making it my story. It's really Jan's story, Tim's story and Rick Trowbridge's story, but I can't imagine any of them being any more joyful than I am. The brother that was lost has been found. And we're having a banquet in our hearts.

A Cindertiller Weekend

I will never be a fan of dance, and it's probably too late in life to develop an appreciation. But I am (no shock to those who have to listen to me ramble about them) a fan of my grandchildren. And THEY are fans of dance. This past weekend they had their annual recital at Long Beach State, and I set a new personal record by attending 3 of their performances. Each show is about 40 dances, and the girls are in about 3 of those 40. So the in-between is excruciating for me. I am actually beginning to be able to tell the difference between a gifted dancer and the non-gifted one (guess which category my girls are in!), and I'm trying to develop an appreciation, especially since the more times I go, the more dancers I recognize from previous shows and it's kind of fun to watch them grow up.

For example, one thing I notice is that periodically the audience breaks into applause in the middle of a performance. As I analyzed, this usually occurred whenever a dancer was standing on one leg and going in circles. And it seemed like during the course of the weekend, every time I woke up there was a dancer on one leg going in circles. So I began to applaud, by myself. No one joined me. So it must be some special kind of one-legged twirling, like a triple toe loop or double axle or something. But I'm trying. I actually think that only two or three people begin the applause and the rest of the crowd joins in to make people think they know what they are watching.

My first show was Saturday at 1 pm. One of the reasons Jen scheduled me for that hour was that the rest of the day was filled with a Tustin High School runners reunion (hence the "tillers" part of the title of this blog). The theme was "A Day at Disneyland," which did nothing to improve my mood! However, since a few years of these events have taught me what to expect, I had my game face on and was ready to do battle without complaining. Jolie was in a dance in what looked like the Cinderella segment, and also a Pocohantas dance, and Jeslyn was in a 10 Little Indians dance (and, yes, there were 9 other girls). So, Jolie comes out for her first dance, and the music begins, sounding vaguely familiar. Lo and behold it is Stephen Curtis Chapman's "Dance With Cinderella," which as my friend Curtis pointed out is the "Dad Kryptonite" song. If you don't know it, it's about a little girl who asks her daddy to dance with her, starting with an imaginary ball and ending up practicing to dance at her wedding. The first time I heard it was a few years ago when I was, ironically, in the parking lot at HAD waiting to pick up the girls. Jen called me and told me to switch my radio to a particular station, which was playing the song. Given the song's effect on me, I'm glad I wasn't parked. Let's just say that when the girls got in the car their first words were, "Grampa why are you crying?" So that's the real reason Jen got me tix for this show. I'm so thankful that I have a daughter that loves her husband and kids dearly and still goes out of her way to make her Daddy happy.

Jolie's next dance was to "Colors of the Wind" from Pocohantas. Again, I enjoyed it because of her presence. Also, those of you Tustin staffers who may read this will probably remember an infamous inservice when the presenter suddenly broke into this song. So, hopefully, Jolie's performance will help erase that memory.

Jeslyn's performance in 10 Little Indians was as bright and energetic as she is, and even included some one-legged stuff. One of her fellow dancers was Rachel LeTourneau from our church.

Another great thing about the day was that Tim and Anne and Sophie joined us, and we had gone to lunch and then we had a great time of discussion/fellowship on the way home. Again, I am grateful for two grown children who have made good partner choices, and who still love to spend time with Mom and Dad.

Off to Louise's house for the THS runners reunion. There were about 15 of us and it was a great time. Saw Tom Coffey who I coached and taught with for many years, and most of the runners there were from the small window during which I coached cross country. (I love running almost as much as I love dance!) Great fellowship, but even greater were the times when I was able to spend some one-on-one with those who are still so special to me almost 30 years after they were a daily part of my life.

Great sermon Sunday morning. Two takeaways from Bruce's message: "One of these days is none of these days," meaning decide what you want/need to do and then don't put it off, and "My everyday life is not determined by decisions the government makes." I've been preaching that to my doomsday friends throughout this administration and it's nice to have my brilliant pastor agree with me.

Off to the one pm performance on Sunday. In addition to our girls, the recital included the debut of two little ones from our church, Lolly and Roxy Brookhyser. I love the little ones, especially when I have some connection to them, perhaps filling in for the one thing I miss from our previous church--children's programs at Christmas and Easter. Jolie was in a group dance from Mulan and was a card in a queen of hearts Alice in Wonderland dance. Jeslyn was a flamingo with 2 other little girls and a boy. My girls, of course,were great, but my limited dance knowledge/appreciation put it into the "same dance, different costume," category. But it appears to me that in the technical skill and "performance sass" category, my grandgirls are ready for high school dance teams, if those programs still exist when they get there.

The last show on Sunday night is reserved for the girls who are taking private lessons, and most of the dances are solos or duets. I told Jan after that it seems that for most of the older girls, they had chosen "Music to open your veins by." But this program had 3 highlights for me. Jolie was flawless in her solo as a doll come to life. Then the girls performed their dance from "Chicago" called "I just can't do it alone." I had seen it twice before but it was the first time for Jeff and the girls really wanted to surprise him with it. And each performance they got better. It was also special because Jeslyn was the youngest performer in this evening session.

I had thought on Saturday that it would be great to have "Cinderella" done with the dads, and that's what happened Sunday night. Two younger girls came out with their dads, danced on the verses and then their dads picked them up and danced with them on the choruses. My optic faucets opened up again.

The final number was a troupe number performed by all the girls who had been demonstrators for the young ones during the year, and Jolie was part of that.

Then the girls sat down, and they started showing pics on the wall of the girls through the years, including 4 of Jolie. Then the graduating girls were given flowers and a good cry was had by all. I found myself thinking, "this is just list a basketball banquet." It was a time to come together and reflect on the hard work for sure, but even more for the bonded relationships that were forged during the process. For these girls (I might mention there were also 2 boys who were very skilled) dance is every bit as much a part of their growth and life as basketball and baseball were to me and the kids I coached. It was a very special time, and I'm glad I was there. I'm sure the parents of the seniors were thinking, "It's over, already?"

So, really, the entire weekend was tied together. There was the enjoyment of my grandchildren at this stage of their life, the enjoyment of my children at this stage of their life, the enjoyment of my surrogate children in the runner's reunion, the realization that no government decision influenced the events of my weekend, and ultimately life is reduced to relationships. So I found myself thinking of a song that fits the theme of the weekend, sort of...from Jefferson Airplane, who sang "White Rabbit" which is from "Alice in Wonderland," sort of, which was a Disney movie.
"Don't you want somebody to love, don't you need somebody to love? Wouldn't you love somebody to love? You'd better find somebody to love!"

Schooling (with) Grampa

Both of my grandchildren are brilliant (they get that from BOTH sides of the family). They love dancing. That's pretty much where the similarity ends. Jolie is compliant and a pleaser the great majority of the time. So much so that I have to resist the urge to automatically take her side in any disagreement. She just got straight A's again on her final 5th grade report card. Jeslyn's second grade card was all "very good" or "outstanding", which represents a tremendous deal of growth on her part. I'm proud of both of them, love them to death, and feel so fortunate that they live so close, knowing a lot of my contemporaries don't have that luxury.

But (you knew there would be a "but"), Jes spends a lot of her time saying, "I'm sorry," either because we make her do so or she realizes she has crossed the line. Today was one of those times, and I'm realizing it's so much harder for me to be consistent with her than I was with Jen or Tim. They had a sleepover last night and were absolutely perfect. Got up this morning, entertained themselves until we got up, and it was time to go to breakfast. Jan and Jen had decided to meet at 9 at Corner Bakery, to turn over the girls so Jen could take them with her to help at Dream Dinners. Jeslyn, "I just went to Corner Bakery yesterday." Mom and Jan decided that a local diner, Papa Z's would work out best for timing and location. Jeslyn: "I'm not going to Papa Z's," and bullied her way into a trip to Coco's. This while planning what time Grampa would take her swimming when Dream Dinners was over. I decided it would be best if I didn't accompany them to Coco's and decided to ride my bike instead. Past Coco's. After a couple of loops, I decided to join them, not wanting to eat but wanting to spend time with them. First words from Jeslyn, "Sorry, Grampa, will you still take me swimming?" About two minutes later she threw a mini-tantrum about the smell of Jan's spinach omelette. I left.

I worked in the shed for awhile, exchanging winter clothing for summer clothing, and the girls arrived to pick up their stuff before heading for dream dinners. Jeslyn had written an apology. I refused to take it. She put it on the bed and said, "Read it." It was, "Sorry Grampa, will you still take me swimming. I'll promise to do better." Jan, to me: "Don't you give in and take her swimming." She also said, "Be mad at her, but don't stop loving her." Like that could ever happen. I also feel guilty NOT accepting her apology, knowing the limitless times God allows me to say, "I'm sorry." I tell her, "Wouldn't it be nice if you behaved in a way that made it not necessary to say you were sorry?" And God whispers, "Would you listen to yourself?!"

So I told her that as of right now, she wasn't going swimming. That I was going to require her to do something to show how badly she wanted to swim. It may be something as simple as writing 50 times, "I do not make the rules, I'm 7." I may make her read this blog (cruel and unusual punishment, I know). Ultimately my job as a grandparent is not to raise her. That's Jen and Jeff's job, and they are great at it. My job is to love her and try to make my correction in line with what they would do. I'm thankful she's not the type of child to say, "Go ahead and tell them, I don't care." The fear of Daddy is a wonderful thing. But it's tough to live with a perfect older sibling. Ask my son.

So off to Dream Dinners. I was thinking Dr. Dobson would have been proud of me for establishing boundaries. And we both would have been vindicated by her parting shot, which also reminded me who really was in charge: She blew me a kiss.

Moiola's Got (some) Talent

Went to another of my granddaughter's talent shows this week and last, and while I usually publish a tongue-in-cheek review, I won't be reviewing many of the performances this time, in that the programs was at 3 hours and still going when I left. Apparently all one has to do to qualify to perform in the talent show is to fill out an application. And, as I am now a retired teacher, I will take the liberty that many of my friends do, and that's to tell the Principal at Moiola how to run her school.

First of all, as I said, anyone who says they have a talent "tries out" for the final show. We saw the tryouts, and everyone who tried out appeared to have made the show. This included things like a young man dressed in camo who waved a stick in the air and eventually was "killed" by an intruder who was unarmed. Who knew that when we played army as kids we were exhibiting a talent? Two young ladies sang a song that I think was entitled "Across the Universe." I realized the title was actually a metaphor for the distance between their performance and perfect pitch. Three girls got into sleeping bags and their moms threw stuffed animals at them from behind the curtain. That was it. I can imagine them saying, "When I grow up I want to be a target." Or at least work there. It suddenly dawned on me that the reason that we have so many talentless people trying out for American Idol is that their elementary school didn't have the courage to tell them they had no talent.

The program also did something that I thought was impossible: It made me appreciate "Dancing with the Stars." Not for the dancing, of course, but for the fact that the dances have a time limit. One boy, who was very talented, did a break dance to a song that had to be six minutes long. Yes, he was good, yet the kids enjoyed it, but 6 minutes? My reason for this is very personal. First of all, I came to see my granddaughters perform, as I'm sure did many others (their grandchildren, not mine, though I suppose the word has gotten out about my grandchildren by now). The program started at 9 and my girls finally got on about 11:15. Fortunately, I had the time. My son in law did not. He had to get back to cover a final and did not get to watch the girls, neither Jolie's singing or Jolie and Jeslyn's dance, which they had prepared as a surprise for Daddy. Jennifer even went up and asked if the girls could be moved up, but no dice. And, of course, her video camera went belly up in the middle of the girls' dance--I think even a new camera would have died of old age waiting for the performance.

The girls' turns finally came, and for me at least I'm glad I stayed. Jolie sang Taylor Swift's "Love Story" and nailed it even better than she did last week when her voice teacher was there to watch (thanks, Chelsea). Almost all of the other "singers" just did a lip sync to the actual performance, which made Jolie's stand-alone even better, in my unbiased opinion. Then the girls danced a routine to "I Can't Do This Alone," (that's close enough) from "Chicago." So well done, and so sorry dad missed it. They are doing it again at their recital in a couple of weeks, but I know they really wanted to surprise him Monday.

OK, pity party done. I can understand the philosophy of letting everyone experience performing in front of a group, and the reluctance to tell people "you weren't good enough." I wouldn't want to be the one to tell a 5-year-old that nobody really wants to see him balance a big feather on his hand for 4 minutes. (I think I would have been able to tell the trio of girls who danced to Rocky Horror's "Let's Do the Time Warp Again," that performing hip thrusts in front of a bunch of jr hi boys was not a good idea). The Special Olympics has shown us the value of rewarding everyone who participates. So I get that. I'm sure the kids don't mind because a 3-hour performance is 3 hours out of class. So, in my ideal talent show, I probably couldn't tell someone they had no talent, either. So here's what I'd do (I'm sure you were dying to see this).

1) Define categories. What is talent, and more importantly, what isn't. I don't think it's a talent for some 7th grade boys to dunk a basketball into a 4-foot basket. (Tho it was kind of entertaining to watch the kid in the Celtics jersey keep missing at that height. Art imitates life.).

2) Limit the length. Most kids would have the technological capacity to edit out a verse or chorus of a song. Say you can only read 2 of your poems, not 7. Under current "guidelines" a kid could haul up a TV and an x-box and subject us to watching him play a role-playing game for 2 hours. It's definitely a talent, but out of place in this setting.

3) Give the parents a clue when their child (or grandchild) will perform. Even if was just "before recess" or "after recess" would have helped Jeff schedule differently. When I sing in church and friends come to watch (It could happen!), it's good to be able to give them an approximate time so they can either come watch or come up with a credible excuse. The way it's done now almost makes it seem like the show is for the kids' benefits, not ours. How selfish is that?

Every good sermon has 3 points, so I'll stop there.

Joplin Thoughts

My friend Don started blogging again after a two year break. I thought I had gone as long but I realized I wrote a blog after my Mom died last September. Don't know if I'll go another 9 months, but let's see if I remember how to do this.

I got a call a couple of weeks ago from Curtis, who is on our pastoral staff, to see if I was interested in helping drive a load of supplies to Joplin to help with earthquake. After considering for about a minute, I called back and said I was in. We left the Tuesday morning after Memorial Day, about 5 am, with a 26-foot u-haul loaded with supplies that The Bridge in Joplin said they needed. The Bridge is an outreach ministry in Joplin that focuses on junior highers, but had become the HQ for FEMA and the Red Cross, among others, in the city.

Our first day included paying $4.89 a gallon for gas in Needles, then seeing a Love's truck stop about 15 miles into Arizona for about $3.69; lunch at Cracker Barrel in Kingman--one of the best reasons for leaving the state of California; 3 more gas stops, a snack at subway, a lightning show as we entered New Mexico, and finally stopping about 1 am mountain time in Tucumcari, NM. Along with me, there was Curtis Templeton and John Bayhi, and we all got to know each other a lot better and in some cases, more than we needed to know! I now know that Curtis likes Wendy's as much as I do, tho I go for the chili and he goes for the frosties.

After about a 6 hour respite in Tucumcari, we headed out Wednesday morning for what turned out to be the remaining 10-hour drive to Joplin. Our driving shift was basically a tank of gas, and we all drove 3 shifts on the way out. the plan was to drop our supplies, drive the truck back to Tulsa, and fly out on Friday. By the time we got to Joplin it was too late to drop off supplies until the next day, so we drove into town to find our quarters for the night at Ozark Christian College. We were met there by our outreach pastor Mike Ferrulli, who had flown in that day with his wife Danielle. On our way we got our first breath-sapping view of the damage wrought by what turned out to be the first category 5 tornado in modern times. It comes upon you so suddenly as you crest a hill headed into downtown. I brilliantly forgot my camera, but quite a few pictures have been posted on the church's website and facebook page, so just go to FCCHB.com if you want to see them. Roughly a mile wide section of the downtown and residential areas had disappeared. We were there 10 days after the twister, and all they had basically been able to do was clear the streets. We were told not to bring water because they didn't need any, and as we drove down Main street there were pallets of water stacked on just about every block.

To say the accomodations at OCC were spartan would be generous. There were dorm bunks, no bedding, and they really didn't have accomodations for Danielle. We resigned ourselves to rough it there for one night, left the truck there and headed back downtown in the van that Mike had rented in Kansas City. We began driving through the destroyed neighborhoods. John and Curtis had their cameras working feverishly, and we made quite a few stops. I honestly don't remember much, because it was just more than my aging mind could comprehend. But here's what I do remember.

There was a police and military presence, because events like this always bring out the parasites who prey on the misfortune of others. Rather than dodge the officials, the guys went up and made friends with them. Once they realized we were there to help and not help ourselves, they opened up and allowed us to take pictures to show the folks back home why their help was needed. Houses had spray painted signs like "together we will overcome", "God saved us," and "room for rent, nothing down"--on a shell of a house. It was about then that the thought came to me that, paraphrasing the old saw about atheists in foxholes, there are no atheists in Joplin. Throughout our short time there, I did not hear one person blame God, whine about poor me, etc. Once again it was shown in Joplin that the church of God flourishes when times are at their worst, probably because it reminds us that we cannot survive in this world without His help.

We came upon a couple and 3 adolescent girls searching thought the ruins of a house in a way that suggested ownership. We stopped and the boys asked if there was any way they could help. It was at this encounter that I realized that they were so perfectly suited for the job they have been given in the church. It turns out the house belonged to one of the girls, who was staying in the home of the couple while he family sought lodging for all of them. They had brought her to see if there was anything she could find that was salvagable. They had no luck while we were there. The couple was from a small storefront church on Main street. the husband had gone back to work after a week, as their pastor had admonished those who still had jobs to go back to work, "because we are going to be taking care of a lot of people for a long time, and so those of you that can need to start earning money again." I didn't hear the man complaining about redistribution of wealth--which of course is what the church is called to do. Contact information was exchanged, and this church will be a starting point for our team that is scheduled to return in July to provide whatever assistance we can in the rebuilding of Joplin.

The couple told one of those stories that inevitably comes out of events like this, one that defies credibility and suggests a God who is active in such times. They had a couple in their church who was on their honeymoon when the storm hit, and came home to find both of their apartments destroyed, along with all of their wedding presents and pictures. They have friends in Springfield 75 miles away. Their wedding pictures wound up landing in the front lawn of their friends in Springfield.

I heard another story about the twister in Oklahoma City. A lady hid in her bathtub from the approaching storm and "the Good Lord" told her to move into the other bathroom. When the storm passed the second bathroom was all that was left standing. the bathtub was in a nearby tree.

Darkness was approaching and the affected area had a 9 pm curfew, so we prepared to pack it in for the night. though it appeared all hotels were booked, Curtis decided to try anyway because we had decided that OCC was not acceptable for the makeup of our group. After about 3 tries, and no one laughing in his face, Curtis was directed to a Baywood Inn and Suites, which was the designated hotel for emergency workers, and thus could not take advance or multiple-day reservations. We had 3 rooms for the night, a free breakfast, and a rested resolve to face the next day.

When we picked up the truck at 9 the next morning and headed to the Bridge, we were told that they were full up and no longer accepting supplies. We were directed across town to a Title Max, which is a company that floats short term loans, usually in exchange for the title to one's car. They had a distribution center setup, but it basically looked like a garage sale, with discarded clothing and shoes and not much else. So they needed and took everything our church had donated. It took the 4 of us about 4 1/2 hours to empty the truck, with Danielle providing unbelievable leadership inside the building to get the material sorted into some kind of organization. While we were there a few families came in for assistance, and it was the best part of the trip to watch them find new bedding, new supplies for their babies, and food to get them through the next few days. Curtis also handed out some prayer shawls our ladies had knitted, and the receiving ladies were incredibly touched. Our main concern at this point was that the word would get out about what was available. About 2, we were bolstered by the arrival of 6 volunteers from a local church. We left them with the task of sorting the supplies that we had only been able to unload from the truck with no recognizable order. Danielle overheard one of them say, "they finally found something for us to do." I was at this time so struck by the realization that in this country of ours, in the face of unimaginable tragedy, they had more supplies than they needed in the short term, and more volunteers than they knew what to do with.

Went to lunch at Billy Sims barbecue, recommended by the locals. Sims was a Heisman Trophy winner at the University of Oklahoma and I think he's a Joplin native. We found a u-haul place that took the truck and allowed us to van back to Tulsa to spend the night and fly home on Friday. We had a great meal in Tulsa and were treated to one of their Thursday summer concerts which is a huge event. The evening's entertainment was by a 60s cover band called "Midlife Crisis." There's a certain closure to that!

So now I'm home. As always, I am struck by the fact that so few in California have Joplin on their mind. We all bought shirts that say "restore Joplin" on the front, and in Missouri and Oklahoma they were automatic conversation starters. I've worn it a couple of times since getting home, and Californians just looked through it. I've decided that the desciption "America's heartland," has a new meaning for me as I think of the people we met in the midwest. there were times where I was just overwhelmed by the enormity of the task, and the belief that these people are up to it. Nearly every working business marquee had words of thanks, resolve, scripture, prayer, and encouragement.

If you want to help, there are all kinds of websites. The restore joplin site sells the t-shirts, with all of the proceeds staying in Joplin to help with the rebirth.

I've rambled a lot and haven't really said anything, I think. But maybe one reader will get the call to help and make a difference. that makes it worth the effort to put the thoughts down on cyberpaper.