On Steve Jobs Film
Last night Don and I went to see “Jobs,” a film on the life of Steve Jobs, a man probably deserving to be canonized as chief saint of computerland. As the world knows, he has brought changes to our way of life. We wanted to find out what it was about the man that made him accomplish so much. As the film progressed, I began to be uncomfortable with what I was watching. If the film could be believed, this was a man obsessed with a purpose, a noble one, but somewhere along the way, the noble purpose took over the man.
“You have changed,” Steve Wozniak (portrayed by Josh Gad) said emotionally, “You are the beginning of your universe, and the end of your universe and it is a very small world.”
The character in the movie portrayed Jobs as visionary. He saw way into the future, very much ahead of the pack. And as he worked to bring his vision to reality, he let nothing get in the way of that process. He had to have absolute control. People became mere tools in his hands, and when he was done with them, he was done with them.
The Pursuit of Success
I have met people who are cut from the same cloth as Jobs has been portrayed. They, too, have climbed to great heights and in the eyes of many, have attained success. They are unfeeling, hardhearted and brutal in pursuit of their goals. I see people destroyed, hurt and broken in the wake of their quests. There have been tributes and accolades heaped on Steve Jobs for the impact he has made on our world. Rightly so. Probably, he would not have been able to do as much if he were less ruthless. I don’t know. I think there are many who would disagree with my discomfort about the manner Jobs accomplished his goals. Times have changed and paradigms have shifted. The old belief that the end does not justify the means has become passé to the younger generations. Years ago, seating in my journalism class, I listened intently to my professor, a well-known newspaperman, emphatically say, “Your responsibility is to get the news, the facts of the news by any way you possibly can.” Then he added, “You have to get the news, by hook or by crook.”
Lost Award-Winning Moment?
Why do we do what we do? What we do comes from who we are. Who and what we are come from the totality of what we bring with us when we are born and the experiences and influences that shape us. An influence on me came from a Reader’s Digest story I have read as a kid about a journalist/photographer covering the accidental death of a 3-year old girl. The girl had gone behind the truck her grandfather was driving. Unaware of her, the grandfather put his gear in reverse and backed up, running over his granddaughter. As he got out of his truck, he saw her, picked up her limp body and carried her into the house. By the time the photographer arrived at the residence, a group of neighbors and media people had gathered on the front lawn making it difficult for him to take pictures. He worked his way to the back of the house and found the kitchen door unlocked. He quietly opened the door and went in, but hesitated to take another step. Right in front of him was the picture of grief. The little girl’s body lay on the kitchen table with the grandfather seated next to her, his face buried in his hands. He recognized that the emotional scene before him presented an award-winning photo. He prepared his camera and as he started to work on its focus, he stopped, put back his camera in its case and quietly left the grieving grandfather with his granddaughter. Given the golden opportunity to shoot an award-winning picture, the photographer made the decision not to use another person’s grief to make a name for himself. He may not have become an award-winning photographer, and in fact, I don’t even remember his name, but as he shared this story many years ago, a little girl in a little city in the Philippines decided she would like to be the kind of person he was.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Saturday, August 3, 2013
CHOICES
A Happy Old Maid!
I must have been 6-years old when I decided my ambition in life was to become a happy old maid. I was going to be a career woman and will show the world that a woman’s life fulfillment did not consist merely in getting a husband and bearing children. Where my 6–year old brain got this idea escapes me.
As I grew up, went to high school and off to college, I thought I’d be a prize-winning writer (a Pulitzer will do) or a well-known defense lawyer, a lady Perry Mason, who will defend the wrongly accused defendants in court. I read and wrote with these goals in mind. (I used to read more in my younger years, and started writing as a young kid, getting my first essay published in a nationwide magazine when I was 14.) In high school I was picking up causes in defense of classmates or friends who were too timid to speak for themselves before teachers. I was argumentative and always had to have the last word in any discussion. Needless to say, this gave me both a good and a dubious reputation.
Kawayan Camp, Murcia, Negros Occidental
But something happened in my junior year in college. I went to a Christian camp in Southern Philippines for a month. While there, we studied the book of Romans in the Bible’s New Testament, written by the Apostle Paul. Before the camp was over, I made a choice that caused a pivot in my life. This Jesus that I knew from my church experience as my Savior has to be more than that. I read and learned that He bought me at a very high cost. Having accepted Him as my Savior, I thought the whole of me then belonged to Him. The Apostle Paul (and I have no reason not to believe him) says, “You have been bought with a price. You are no longer your own.” If so, then I will live my life the way He would want me to.
Choices make up our lives. Each morning we wake up we actually make choices as to how we respond to things that come our way through the day. Most of the time, we do not have control over what comes our way, but we choose how we respond to it. Geraldine Jones, a character created by the 70’s late comedian Flip Wilson, made the line “The Devil made me do it” famous. We can always justify our poor choices by allowing other people or circumstances to control us. But the truth of the matter is no one can choose for us UNLESS we abdicate this authority to someone else. (Personally, I have stopped saying things like “He made me angry” realizing that no one can make me angry unless I give him control over my emotions.)
That summer of 1960 was the year I made the biggest choice I’ve ever made in my life, and thus impacting all of the other choices I make in my life. The dreams of becoming a famous writer or a crusading lawyer vanished, rather I have become willing to do the bidding of the One who died for me and purchased me with His own blood. And coming to think of it, it has been a wise move. If I were to make my own choices, I would make them based on limited information because I have a finite mind and don’t see all that need to be seen to make correct choices; whereas, the One I have trusted to make my choices has all that. It has been quite a journey, but now that I have more years behind me than I have before me, I am thankful I made that macrocosmic choice that has defined the many microcosmic choices that I have had to make through life. God has given me a life partner who has put up with me so well and has helped me become a better person. Through this partnership we have been blessed with children and grandchildren who have given us so much joy and enrichment. We have been led through experiences that I could never have imagined for us even in my wildest dreams. Some are awesome; some are hurtful and painful but all part of what make life interesting. Choices, life is all about choices.
I must have been 6-years old when I decided my ambition in life was to become a happy old maid. I was going to be a career woman and will show the world that a woman’s life fulfillment did not consist merely in getting a husband and bearing children. Where my 6–year old brain got this idea escapes me.
Kawayan Camp, Murcia, Negros Occidental
But something happened in my junior year in college. I went to a Christian camp in Southern Philippines for a month. While there, we studied the book of Romans in the Bible’s New Testament, written by the Apostle Paul. Before the camp was over, I made a choice that caused a pivot in my life. This Jesus that I knew from my church experience as my Savior has to be more than that. I read and learned that He bought me at a very high cost. Having accepted Him as my Savior, I thought the whole of me then belonged to Him. The Apostle Paul (and I have no reason not to believe him) says, “You have been bought with a price. You are no longer your own.” If so, then I will live my life the way He would want me to.
Choices make up our lives. Each morning we wake up we actually make choices as to how we respond to things that come our way through the day. Most of the time, we do not have control over what comes our way, but we choose how we respond to it. Geraldine Jones, a character created by the 70’s late comedian Flip Wilson, made the line “The Devil made me do it” famous. We can always justify our poor choices by allowing other people or circumstances to control us. But the truth of the matter is no one can choose for us UNLESS we abdicate this authority to someone else. (Personally, I have stopped saying things like “He made me angry” realizing that no one can make me angry unless I give him control over my emotions.)That summer of 1960 was the year I made the biggest choice I’ve ever made in my life, and thus impacting all of the other choices I make in my life. The dreams of becoming a famous writer or a crusading lawyer vanished, rather I have become willing to do the bidding of the One who died for me and purchased me with His own blood. And coming to think of it, it has been a wise move. If I were to make my own choices, I would make them based on limited information because I have a finite mind and don’t see all that need to be seen to make correct choices; whereas, the One I have trusted to make my choices has all that. It has been quite a journey, but now that I have more years behind me than I have before me, I am thankful I made that macrocosmic choice that has defined the many microcosmic choices that I have had to make through life. God has given me a life partner who has put up with me so well and has helped me become a better person. Through this partnership we have been blessed with children and grandchildren who have given us so much joy and enrichment. We have been led through experiences that I could never have imagined for us even in my wildest dreams. Some are awesome; some are hurtful and painful but all part of what make life interesting. Choices, life is all about choices.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
MY FRIEND'S STORY
How do you find the word that means Maria?
A flibbertigibbet, a willow the wisp, a clown . . .
Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her,
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay and listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/maria-the-nuns-lyrics-e-sound-of-music.html ]
She could have been a Maria von Trapp, but she couldn’t sing worth anything. But she had shades of Maria. She was always late for everything. Rules were never enough to define her behavior. She was a clown. It gave her so much delight to make people laugh. Like Maria, she would not make a very good nun. Unlike Maria, she could stay and listen, but was wont to do whatever she wanted regardless of what you say. Somehow, being contrary gave her pleasure. If she were a fish, she would be a spawning salmon, swimming upstream.
Opposites
The first few times I met her, I made up my mind to stay clear of her. She was glamorous, beautiful, moved about like a model, dressed and accessorized like one. On the other hand, no one can ever accuse me of being as attractive as she was. Not only did we look, move and behave so unlike each other, she represented the young; I represented the conservative, traditional values of the old. Until a few years ago, I didn’t know that she, too, decided, to stay clear of me; in her words, a goody two shoes.
We were legal assistants at the District Attorney’s Office, preparing and processing documents for criminal prosecution. I was totally amazed at how she worked. I kept a very clean desk, and everyone knew that my file folders and desk drawers were so organized. There was hardly ever a stray piece of paper on my desk. My pencils, post-its, paper clips, stapler, etc. were always where they were supposed to be. I was methodical and deliberate. She, on the other hand, had a desk that always looked like a tornado had just blown through it and deposited scraps of paper from everywhere. How she ever found the warrants, briefs or complaints she had to prepare or have prepared was a constant puzzle to all of us. Whenever we received our assignments for the day, most of us would immediately get started. Computer keys would be clicking away and papers would be shuffled, typed complaints would be stapled and correctly labeled. While the rest of us would be engaged with our business so furiously, she would stroll about in our work area and out to the hallways, like someone taking a promenade in the moonlight. But, she always got her work done on time and seemingly without effort. This drove our supervisors crazy. She wasn’t doing her work as they prescribed!
A Moonbeam?
She knew so many people in the 7-storey Hall of Justice that housed the Police Department, the County jail, the District Attorney’s Office, the Sheriff’s Department, Courtrooms, and the City Coroner’s. A five-minute walk with her through the hallways can easily turn into 20. She knew and was friends with the judges, the custodians, the secretaries, lawyers, police officers, etc. If she had run for political office, she probably would have won. But she was a contrary sort. Although a San Franciscan, she once told me that if she was watching football and the Niners were playing, she would cheer for whoever they were playing against, just to annoy the San Franciscans in the room. When she came to see us in our gated community, she wouldn’t bother to punch the entry code. Instead, she would wait for someone coming out, and then drive her car in through the “out” lane. She would send me emails in phone text knowing full well that I couldn’t read it and plain hated it.
God's Appointment
But God decided that she needed me and I needed her. He put us together working as Shop Stewards for our Labor Union. As we fought for issues that concerned our fellow employees, we developed a friendship that lasted over 30 years. She moved into my life and my family’s, watching and supporting me raise my children, marry them off, having grandchildren, changing jobs and retirement. I grew into her life watching her get married, lose her father, then her mother, her divorce, early retirement and through the many illnesses and legal troubles she navigated.
She started coming to my church and one day decided to accept Jesus Christ as her personal Saviour, to my great surprise. She would study the Bible with us. She developed friendships in the church. She found her niche and filled a modern “Dorcas” type ministry. She would organize parties for birthdays, anniversaries, or just for anything that she felt needed special celebration. She loved people and was great at making them feel significant. She had a driving ministry. She would drive for people who didn’t, taking them to doctor’s appointments, shopping trips, excursions to San Diego or to special services at other churches. She quietly found people who couldn’t return the good she did for them. She regularly bought and took groceries to a fellow employee who was having medical and financial troubles even when she, herself, was in dire financial straits. She helped elderly friends who could no longer do their personal banking and legal paperwork, spending hours and days with them. When my husband resigned from his pastoral ministry almost 20 years ago, she faithfully continued to ask us to pray for anyone who needed prayers. Long after we’ve left the church, she decided that we needed a Bible Study together, so she would come to our home every Friday and she and I would have a study and prayer together. She’d come for dinner with us and stay for the night.
My friend had a presence that could not be ignored. She had a big heart and a great concern for people. Sometimes they exasperated her, but most of the time she exasperated them with her contrary ways. But there never ever could be a question as to her love for them. Her niece, Shannon Caimol writes:
See, she loved being around people, especially her family and friends. She would
do anything for us. She often went out of her way just to make sure that we were
okay and that we had everything we needed. And she always gave us money, which
was cool. With her help, we never wanted for anything. She was so generous, and
not just with material wealth, but also with her time and spirit. This was a person
who dedicated her entire life to helping others. I could always count on her to be
there for me when I needed her. And even when I thought I didn’t, she was still
there anyway.
She always gave her best, and although she wasn’t perfect, she loved us more than
we could ever imagine. We used to get into arguments all the time and anyone that
knows her, knows she had a bit of a temper. She was opinionated and feisty to say
the least, but that was a part of who she was and why we loved her. She always
spoke her mind and was unapologetically, herself. I didn’t always agree with her
ideals but I admired her courage and conviction. She was one of the people who
challenged us the most, but we could never doubt the fact that she loved us fiercely.
I want you all to truly honor her memory. Not just the good times but also the times
when she drove you nuts. Like the way she sent text messages that were barely
readable and the way she always talked about her favorite TV shows, like “Dancing
with the Stars.” I'm gonna miss those conversations. I'm gonna miss the hilarious.
I'm gonna miss the way she popped up unexpectedly at our houses and complained
about all of our pets. I'm gonna miss everything about her. She was truly the heart
of our family.
This was the story my friend, Corrah Caimol, wrote with her life. Authentic. She was her own person. There was so much she taught me. On Friday, June 28, 2013 at 9:30 am, she was on the phone with a mutual friend. At about noontime, she was found slumped at the wheel of her brother’s truck, unconscious. She was taken by helicopter to the closest hospital. She stayed in a coma. “Heatstroke,” the attending physician pronounced. On Sunday, June 30th, she “waltzed” her way to the presence of Jesus, and in Shannon’s words, “possibly, joked and carried on with some cute angels on the way.”
How do you find the word that means Corrah?
. . .
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?
. . .
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
From Carmen Gaerlan: Will remember d happy moments we shared with d gang!!! Dining out, get-together activities in church as well as surprised parties, shopping and ur kulitan blues w/lady G!! And lastly ur text messages which sometimes cud hardly read!!! Love you so much!!!
From Emmie Alcantara: : You are a wonderful friend, never to be forgotten.
A flibbertigibbet, a willow the wisp, a clown . . .
Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her,
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay and listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/maria-the-nuns-lyrics-e-sound-of-music.html ]
She could have been a Maria von Trapp, but she couldn’t sing worth anything. But she had shades of Maria. She was always late for everything. Rules were never enough to define her behavior. She was a clown. It gave her so much delight to make people laugh. Like Maria, she would not make a very good nun. Unlike Maria, she could stay and listen, but was wont to do whatever she wanted regardless of what you say. Somehow, being contrary gave her pleasure. If she were a fish, she would be a spawning salmon, swimming upstream.
Opposites
The first few times I met her, I made up my mind to stay clear of her. She was glamorous, beautiful, moved about like a model, dressed and accessorized like one. On the other hand, no one can ever accuse me of being as attractive as she was. Not only did we look, move and behave so unlike each other, she represented the young; I represented the conservative, traditional values of the old. Until a few years ago, I didn’t know that she, too, decided, to stay clear of me; in her words, a goody two shoes.
We were legal assistants at the District Attorney’s Office, preparing and processing documents for criminal prosecution. I was totally amazed at how she worked. I kept a very clean desk, and everyone knew that my file folders and desk drawers were so organized. There was hardly ever a stray piece of paper on my desk. My pencils, post-its, paper clips, stapler, etc. were always where they were supposed to be. I was methodical and deliberate. She, on the other hand, had a desk that always looked like a tornado had just blown through it and deposited scraps of paper from everywhere. How she ever found the warrants, briefs or complaints she had to prepare or have prepared was a constant puzzle to all of us. Whenever we received our assignments for the day, most of us would immediately get started. Computer keys would be clicking away and papers would be shuffled, typed complaints would be stapled and correctly labeled. While the rest of us would be engaged with our business so furiously, she would stroll about in our work area and out to the hallways, like someone taking a promenade in the moonlight. But, she always got her work done on time and seemingly without effort. This drove our supervisors crazy. She wasn’t doing her work as they prescribed!
A Moonbeam?
She knew so many people in the 7-storey Hall of Justice that housed the Police Department, the County jail, the District Attorney’s Office, the Sheriff’s Department, Courtrooms, and the City Coroner’s. A five-minute walk with her through the hallways can easily turn into 20. She knew and was friends with the judges, the custodians, the secretaries, lawyers, police officers, etc. If she had run for political office, she probably would have won. But she was a contrary sort. Although a San Franciscan, she once told me that if she was watching football and the Niners were playing, she would cheer for whoever they were playing against, just to annoy the San Franciscans in the room. When she came to see us in our gated community, she wouldn’t bother to punch the entry code. Instead, she would wait for someone coming out, and then drive her car in through the “out” lane. She would send me emails in phone text knowing full well that I couldn’t read it and plain hated it.
God's Appointment
But God decided that she needed me and I needed her. He put us together working as Shop Stewards for our Labor Union. As we fought for issues that concerned our fellow employees, we developed a friendship that lasted over 30 years. She moved into my life and my family’s, watching and supporting me raise my children, marry them off, having grandchildren, changing jobs and retirement. I grew into her life watching her get married, lose her father, then her mother, her divorce, early retirement and through the many illnesses and legal troubles she navigated.
She started coming to my church and one day decided to accept Jesus Christ as her personal Saviour, to my great surprise. She would study the Bible with us. She developed friendships in the church. She found her niche and filled a modern “Dorcas” type ministry. She would organize parties for birthdays, anniversaries, or just for anything that she felt needed special celebration. She loved people and was great at making them feel significant. She had a driving ministry. She would drive for people who didn’t, taking them to doctor’s appointments, shopping trips, excursions to San Diego or to special services at other churches. She quietly found people who couldn’t return the good she did for them. She regularly bought and took groceries to a fellow employee who was having medical and financial troubles even when she, herself, was in dire financial straits. She helped elderly friends who could no longer do their personal banking and legal paperwork, spending hours and days with them. When my husband resigned from his pastoral ministry almost 20 years ago, she faithfully continued to ask us to pray for anyone who needed prayers. Long after we’ve left the church, she decided that we needed a Bible Study together, so she would come to our home every Friday and she and I would have a study and prayer together. She’d come for dinner with us and stay for the night.
My friend had a presence that could not be ignored. She had a big heart and a great concern for people. Sometimes they exasperated her, but most of the time she exasperated them with her contrary ways. But there never ever could be a question as to her love for them. Her niece, Shannon Caimol writes:
See, she loved being around people, especially her family and friends. She would
do anything for us. She often went out of her way just to make sure that we were
okay and that we had everything we needed. And she always gave us money, which
was cool. With her help, we never wanted for anything. She was so generous, and
not just with material wealth, but also with her time and spirit. This was a person
who dedicated her entire life to helping others. I could always count on her to be
there for me when I needed her. And even when I thought I didn’t, she was still
there anyway.
She always gave her best, and although she wasn’t perfect, she loved us more than
we could ever imagine. We used to get into arguments all the time and anyone that
knows her, knows she had a bit of a temper. She was opinionated and feisty to say
the least, but that was a part of who she was and why we loved her. She always
spoke her mind and was unapologetically, herself. I didn’t always agree with her
ideals but I admired her courage and conviction. She was one of the people who
challenged us the most, but we could never doubt the fact that she loved us fiercely.
I want you all to truly honor her memory. Not just the good times but also the times
when she drove you nuts. Like the way she sent text messages that were barely
readable and the way she always talked about her favorite TV shows, like “Dancing
with the Stars.” I'm gonna miss those conversations. I'm gonna miss the hilarious.
I'm gonna miss the way she popped up unexpectedly at our houses and complained
about all of our pets. I'm gonna miss everything about her. She was truly the heart
of our family.
This was the story my friend, Corrah Caimol, wrote with her life. Authentic. She was her own person. There was so much she taught me. On Friday, June 28, 2013 at 9:30 am, she was on the phone with a mutual friend. At about noontime, she was found slumped at the wheel of her brother’s truck, unconscious. She was taken by helicopter to the closest hospital. She stayed in a coma. “Heatstroke,” the attending physician pronounced. On Sunday, June 30th, she “waltzed” her way to the presence of Jesus, and in Shannon’s words, “possibly, joked and carried on with some cute angels on the way.”
. . .
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?
. . .
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
From Carmen Gaerlan: Will remember d happy moments we shared with d gang!!! Dining out, get-together activities in church as well as surprised parties, shopping and ur kulitan blues w/lady G!! And lastly ur text messages which sometimes cud hardly read!!! Love you so much!!!
From Emmie Alcantara: : You are a wonderful friend, never to be forgotten.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
STORIES FROM LIFE
 |
| Westminster Abbey |
I love stories. I love the different ways they come to me. Sometimes they are passed on by friends; sometimes by family. Some of them are written; some make their rounds by word of mouth. But sometimes they come through photos in family albums, and currently, through social media. I am quite technologically challenged, but I have learned enough to allow me to Facebook. I have not really learned the language except I know what “lol” means. When I read FB posts and look at pictures, I imagine stories behind them. I ask, “Why did he say that?” “Why does she talk about forgiveness all the time?”This past weekend I went to a Goodwill store. Thrift stores interest me. They are full of stories. I find old family albums full of photos and wonder why no one was interested in keeping them. On this day, I saw two big beautiful paintings which looked very similar and with these were two beautiful antique-looking end tables. They probably came from the home of a senior citizen who had just passed away. Whoever it was had excellent taste. I would have bought the paintings except our little condominium has run out of walls for hanging more paintings.
Cemeteries are full of stories. A few years ago, Don and I visited the most famous of
them all, Westminster Abbey. It was a walk back into history. I would have loved having a week just to explore this hallowed ground. I stood before the coronation throne, silently carried on a conversation with the first Queen Elizabeth, who reigned over England’s golden age. I more than glared at Charles Darwin’s grave for trying to rob the Creator of the glory that belongs to Him. It felt so unreal to walk in between the graves of the rich, very famous, very gifted and very powerful, icons of many, and indeed worshipped by some. I recalled stories told by Charles Dickens and thought about the milieu in which he lived. Lines of poetry from Tennyson, Shakespeare, Shelley which I have committed to memory years ago came rushing back to me. I’ve seen and touched graves of men and women who have made history and have helped shape my present world, men and women who were bigger than life.My favorite part of Westminster Abbey, Poets' Corner, can be found in the South Transept. It is the burial place of writers, playwrights and poets; the first poet to be buried here was Geoffrey Chaucer. Then there were Alfred Lord Tennyson, John Dryden, Robert Browning, etc. Many writers, including Dr. Samuel Johnson, Rudyard Kipling and Thomas Hardy were also buried here. Charles Dickens' grave attracts particular interest.
By the time we got to sit down at the end of the day to take in the Vespers at the Westminster Abbey, we felt overwhelmed by the whole experience. We stood on hallowed ground, final resting place for these illustrious dead who have left their mark not only on England, but throughout the world. Once more their stories came alive.
Each one of us is a story. Do you ever wonder what kind of story you are writing with your life? I do.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
HUSBAND, DAD, GRANDPA
 |
| Young Don |
A classic introvert, quiet (sometimes extremely quiet for my taste), voracious reader (Amazon.com must love him so!). Says, “split a Pepsi with you”; hoards chocolates in fear that another depression might come and the country will be out of chocolates. Analytical (this wife complains, “Oh, Don, must you always wonder how many angels can stand on the head of a pin?”), cautious (always wants to have his ducks in a row). “Great guns!” is the strongest exclamation you would hear from him; needs at times to get away to reenergize; very deliberate. Forgets names but remembers faces; loses things but never his way when driving. Loves deeply but never wears his deep affections on his sleeves. Never showy and hates to call attention to himself. Authentic.
Does not like IKEA because they make him put things together; avoids doing dishes like the plague; has a love-hate relationship with the telephone; thinks his wife is silly when she buys cut flowers rather than flowering potted plants. Loves music, and really good music, but music does not love him (music teacher’s statement “I think you may be tone-deaf.”); likes birds and birdwatching (was so pleased to find out that he shared this hobby with John Stott, the English theologian).
A Passionate Love for God
But these are not the qualities that I have found of great significance about Don, rather
 |
| Kristy & her dad |
The Model
A pastor’s life is not the easiest. As we raised our children, we had our share of fears. We relied heavily on God’s assurance that He was with us. The pressure of raising a pastor’s children as normally and as close to the scriptural way, in a culture that more often than not, conflicts with God’s ways, weighed heavily on us. Don’s being pastor of a small, interracial church also had its unique demands. But God as always, was faithful. Our lives have been the richer for everything He has allowed us to experience.
If imitation is the highest form of flattery (I rather want to say “compliment”), I think our daughter has flattered us. She, too, chose a pastor’s life when she married a man who has the same passionate love for God as her dad. She and her husband have been pastors to young people for about ten years of their 14 years of married life.
Have a very special
Father's Day, Don, and to all the fathers out there!
Saturday, June 8, 2013
PARADIGM SHIFTS & HEROES
Childhood Heroes
A red cape. That was what Matthew wanted, so he could swish it around his little body, pretending he was Superman. I can’t remember how old he was at the time. But I did make him a red cape. It was fun for him for awhile, running around our hallway and living room, just like the man of steel did, but no, he was not allowed to stand on the dining table. (Mom’s usually have high tolerance levels, but there are limits, you know.) Superman was my son’s hero, for awhile. Then came Spiderman. Yes, he had Spiderman bed sheets and pajamas. Then there was Indiana Jones.
Kristy and her young friends spent countless hours watching the Anne of Green Gables series. Whether Anne became a model, I don’t know, but I sure hope that there were some strengths in that young lady that Kristy found worthy to emulate. I know that like Anne she has become a voracious reader. But her dad is quite a reader, too, so she may have been influenced by both. Like Anne, she majored in English Literature and was also into drama.
Did you have models when you were growing up? We used to call them heroes. I had several. I used to have the picture of a young Filipina in her WAVE uniform. I had it scotch taped on my closet door. I so admired her. She looked so smart, pretty and had an air of confidence about her. I wanted to be a WAVE in the US Navy just like her.
Five Missionaries to the Auca Indians
On January 8, 1956 five young American missionaries were killed in the jungles of Ecuador. They were young men, in their prime, bright, energetic, with their whole lives ahead of them. Rather than pursuing careers that would guarantee easy, comfortable lives, they chose to commit themselves to sharing their Christian faith with people in the jungles of Ecuador who had not heard the name Jesus. I was so impressed by their commitment. Jim Elliot, one of the men, had said, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” The picture of five dead bodies sprawled on the beach of Curaray, Ecuador still lingers in my memory. (We have recently met one of the men who were entrusted with the task of bringing down the bodies from this jungle scene. Fifty-eight years later and he still talks about this very difficult task as if it happened only yesterday.)
Hungarian Freedom Fighters
On October 23, 1956, the Hungarian revolt led by young students against the totalitarian Communist regime, was in all the newspapers. I remember looking at the picture of young students standing before Russian tanks that were about to mow them down. I thought why were they doing this? In my youth, I had not quite understood that indeed there were causes worth fighting for and dying for, one of which was freedom.
Paradigm Shifts and Heroes
These young men’s courage, commitment, selflessness and purposeful pursuit of causes bigger than themselves touched me deeply. And so, the hero of my younger years – one who looked really impressive and pretty in her uniform, was slowly displaced by the missionaries to Ecuador and the young Hungarian students fighting for freedom. I was beginning to grow up. My paradigms were shifting. And they have continued to shift. As a young mother, I looked at other mothers; as a Pastor’s wife I found Catherine Marshall, wife to that famous “Man called Peter.” I admired her and her mother. We named our daughter after her mother (but changed the C to K to make it easy for our Indonesian friends to say.) Now, past these milestones, and into the winter years, I look at Caleb in the Bible, a model of a man. He was one of twelve men sent by Moses on a reconnaissance team to the land promised by God to the Israelites. He was one of only two who gave a truthful report. As a result Moses promised him that the land on which his feet have walked would be his inheritance and that of his children forever, because he had followed the Lord his God wholeheartedly. Forty years later and at 85 years of age, he declared to Joshua who succeeded Moses as leader:
I am still as strong today as I was in the day Moses sent me; as my strength was then, so my strength is now, for war and for going out and coming in. Now then, give me this hill country about which the Lord spoke on that day, for you heard on that day that Anakim were there, with great fortified cities; perhaps the Lord will be with me, and I will drive them out as the Lord has spoken.” (Joshua 14:11-12 NIV Bible)
Sunday, June 2, 2013
IN THE COMPANY OF THE YOUNG
A Trip to Costco
Yesterday I went to Costco, shopping with a young friend, probably less than half my age. He is supervising young summer missionaries in the City and I was helping him pick up groceries and supplies. He shared some stories as we drove the 20 minutes to Costco. He told me how he, from Georgia and she, from Virginia, met in New York. They fell in love, got married, came here to do graduate work in a Bay Area seminary. We talked about their struggles as a young seminary couple with not much money, settling in a culture away from what they knew and unexpectedly having a baby in the midst of their adjustments to the new environment, etc. This brought back a lot of memories. Some 30 years ago, Don and I went through the same experience. We traded stories about God’s faithfulness through the financial struggles and adjustments to marriage, having babies and living in a different culture and environment. Soon we were at Costco, grabbing one of those flatbed carts, we maneuvered our way through the aisles to get the paper plates, paper cups, groceries, household cleaners and the rest of the items on his list. We talked about what 12 young college kids would like to eat. Yes, tacos, spaghetti and meatballs and on and on we went picking up ingredients and chips, snacks,etc. Chocolates, young people need chocolates. It was fun shopping, especially because we were not spending our own money!
This may not have been an earthshaking experience, but I have begun to really savor experiences like this because I always come away enriched by it. When I was younger, relationships that crossed racial, age and gender barriers intimidated me. Crossing these barriers frightened me. Sometimes because of this fear I have deprived myself of experiences that could have enriched my life, and I’m the poorer for it.
The Paralegal Class
Amazingly, my life has taken a turn that took me from my birth country to the United States, transplanting me in a different culture and among a different group of people. My interracial marriage was another barrier breaker. And as I have become older the fear of relating to younger people crept in on me. How do you relate to people half your age? Though I have worked with some who were younger than I, most of my co-workers were more my age.
However, a few years ago I took a paralegal course that put me in a classroom of more than 30 students with all but one, were the age of my children. I was late on the first day of class and I remember how intimidated I was to see all the young faces that stared at me as I entered the room. But as we struggled together through the intense two-full day sessions every weekend for a number of weeks, memorizing legal terms, turning in homework and papers researched and written in-between regular work hours and sometimes through the wee hours of the mornings, constructing legal briefs and doing legal analysis of cases, we got to know each other. Soon it no longer mattered to me that I was old enough to be mother to my classmates. And the truth of the matter is, I don’t think my age mattered all that much to my classmates either.
Seminary Studies
After I retired from my job, I enrolled in a Seminary to study theology. I was encouraged by my experience in the paralegal class. Again, I felt out of place in this school, with the students half my age. How do I relate to them. How do I keep up academically with these bright, energetic young folks? But soon I got to know some of them. We sat together in classes. We’d meet in the library as we did research and wrote about Tertulian or Augustine, Karl Barth, or Spurgeon, or the history of the church, etc., etc. We sat in chapel together, and in the student lounge, having our sandwiches, or lunches from MacDonald’s or the nearby Panda Express as we tried to catch up on last minute readings before class. Every now and then, we would have personal discussions as we walked to our cars in the parking lot or on the way to the library. Some confided problems they were struggling with; some joyfully shared their excitement at starting church ministries. Some I’ve prayed with about choosing life partners. A young couple away from their families, found out they were having their first baby. I was so thrilled for them as they shared this news with me even before they were able to tell their families.
My young friends from the paralegal class have moved on, some have decided to go on to law school; some are employed in law firms in the City. I know of one who is with a law firm in Chicago. My young friends from the Seminary are serving in ministries in different states of the US; others are preparing for foreign missions assignments. My life has been enriched by my friendships. Every now, and then I say prayers for my young friends – friends who turned me onto Facebook, helped me study for quizzes and energized me as I shared in their excitement for the future.
Yesterday I went to Costco, shopping with a young friend, probably less than half my age. He is supervising young summer missionaries in the City and I was helping him pick up groceries and supplies. He shared some stories as we drove the 20 minutes to Costco. He told me how he, from Georgia and she, from Virginia, met in New York. They fell in love, got married, came here to do graduate work in a Bay Area seminary. We talked about their struggles as a young seminary couple with not much money, settling in a culture away from what they knew and unexpectedly having a baby in the midst of their adjustments to the new environment, etc. This brought back a lot of memories. Some 30 years ago, Don and I went through the same experience. We traded stories about God’s faithfulness through the financial struggles and adjustments to marriage, having babies and living in a different culture and environment. Soon we were at Costco, grabbing one of those flatbed carts, we maneuvered our way through the aisles to get the paper plates, paper cups, groceries, household cleaners and the rest of the items on his list. We talked about what 12 young college kids would like to eat. Yes, tacos, spaghetti and meatballs and on and on we went picking up ingredients and chips, snacks,etc. Chocolates, young people need chocolates. It was fun shopping, especially because we were not spending our own money!
This may not have been an earthshaking experience, but I have begun to really savor experiences like this because I always come away enriched by it. When I was younger, relationships that crossed racial, age and gender barriers intimidated me. Crossing these barriers frightened me. Sometimes because of this fear I have deprived myself of experiences that could have enriched my life, and I’m the poorer for it.
The Paralegal Class
Amazingly, my life has taken a turn that took me from my birth country to the United States, transplanting me in a different culture and among a different group of people. My interracial marriage was another barrier breaker. And as I have become older the fear of relating to younger people crept in on me. How do you relate to people half your age? Though I have worked with some who were younger than I, most of my co-workers were more my age.
However, a few years ago I took a paralegal course that put me in a classroom of more than 30 students with all but one, were the age of my children. I was late on the first day of class and I remember how intimidated I was to see all the young faces that stared at me as I entered the room. But as we struggled together through the intense two-full day sessions every weekend for a number of weeks, memorizing legal terms, turning in homework and papers researched and written in-between regular work hours and sometimes through the wee hours of the mornings, constructing legal briefs and doing legal analysis of cases, we got to know each other. Soon it no longer mattered to me that I was old enough to be mother to my classmates. And the truth of the matter is, I don’t think my age mattered all that much to my classmates either.
Seminary Studies
After I retired from my job, I enrolled in a Seminary to study theology. I was encouraged by my experience in the paralegal class. Again, I felt out of place in this school, with the students half my age. How do I relate to them. How do I keep up academically with these bright, energetic young folks? But soon I got to know some of them. We sat together in classes. We’d meet in the library as we did research and wrote about Tertulian or Augustine, Karl Barth, or Spurgeon, or the history of the church, etc., etc. We sat in chapel together, and in the student lounge, having our sandwiches, or lunches from MacDonald’s or the nearby Panda Express as we tried to catch up on last minute readings before class. Every now and then, we would have personal discussions as we walked to our cars in the parking lot or on the way to the library. Some confided problems they were struggling with; some joyfully shared their excitement at starting church ministries. Some I’ve prayed with about choosing life partners. A young couple away from their families, found out they were having their first baby. I was so thrilled for them as they shared this news with me even before they were able to tell their families.
My young friends from the paralegal class have moved on, some have decided to go on to law school; some are employed in law firms in the City. I know of one who is with a law firm in Chicago. My young friends from the Seminary are serving in ministries in different states of the US; others are preparing for foreign missions assignments. My life has been enriched by my friendships. Every now, and then I say prayers for my young friends – friends who turned me onto Facebook, helped me study for quizzes and energized me as I shared in their excitement for the future.
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