Saying good-bye to good soil

Tomorrow morning I will say good-bye to our church. We've gone to Community Mennonite in Markham for six years. Although I'll visit there three or four more times before Cheryl and the boys join me in Montana next summer, after tomorrow I will be more guest than member.

I will give my official good-bye during children's time. Somehow that seems appropriate. Children know how to say good-bye and mean it. When I was ten or eleven, my best friend Danny Snyder stood with me at the end of a country lane near Bloomingdale, Ontario, waiting for my mother to come pick me up. It was the last time we would spend together before my family moved back to the United States. Danny said good-bye by crying. It was a gift I have never forgotten.

The sermon topic for tomorrow is on the soil imagery of Matthew 13:1-9 and 18-23. I will tell the children that there is only one thing I want them to remember about the passage. I will tell them that they need to remember that their church is good soil. And then I will ask them to help me say good-bye to their church.

First, I will read a list of the good, rich soil that has settled in our church. I will describe:
- Shirley's care in telling me about the escapades of her cat every Sunday when I sit next to her in the pew;
- Mertis's unfailing good humor even when she has to stay behind from a family reunion to care for her ailing daughter;
- Martha's evident joy when she starts prayer by clapping for Jesus;
- Paul's ability to draw wisdom from the animals in his life;
- Keith's faithful prayer requests for his clients, neighbors, friends and family;
- Bonnie's ability to make Zach smile by hugging him every time she greets him;
- Lee's willigness to do a new thing by reading scripture in many scripture dramas;
- David's courage to stand up and offer prayer for his family even though he is young;
- Grace's persistence and humor that does not let anyone think too highly of him or herself;
- Chuck's playing of his guitar until the strings break;
- Jocelyn's dancing;
- Steve's Christmas letters;
- Cyneatha's sermons that she gives without notes;
- Ivorie's ability to move us through meetings without breaking a sweat;
- George's smile;
- Laura's and Eric's and Karen's passion for all our youth;
- Delores's care in cutting out job advertisements when I was searching for work.

I will tell the children that the list could go on. There is so much good soil in our church.

But I will then ask them to remember all those people for me and tend them well. I will tell them that I can say good bye better because I know they will be there to grow in the soil that is their church. I can say good-bye because they are there to water and weed, to soak up the sun, to prune, and to bear good fruit. Both gardeners and gardened, the children like all members of the church will tend and be tended. They will do so well. I can say good-bye knowing that I have been so tended and have offered my tending as well.

Tomorrow morning I will say good-bye to our church. I will miss Community Mennonite in Markham. I will miss the good soil there.

Freshmen, Drunk People and July 4th

don't mix. In fact, what pops out after all the stirring and mixing is a concoction equivalent to a very crappy night. Let me explain.

I would first like to point out that I have nothing against any of these things by themselves. (With the possible exceptions of freshmen and drunk people) Anyway...the day went by perfectly fine. I marched with my school marching band in the annual Evanston Parade. This went fine...except for freshmen that can't walk in step of course...but was a good experience overall. I then met up with my parents and my cousin Erin and her boyfriend Matt who had come down for the afternoon. We conversed in highly intelligent and interesting conversation about music, long distance relationships, and devil cats. Apparently Matt is fond of devil cats and so we disposed of ours to him (Wonder how thats going.) When they left I just chilled for the rest of the afternoon and had a wonderful time of it. Here's where the junk starts to happen.

Every year, we try to make it down to the fireworks display on the beachfront that the city of Evanston puts on every year. Every year the beaches are packed with circles of suburbanites complete with their blankets, folding chairs, glow sticks and beer hiding hole digging shovels. (They dig holes to hide the beer...they don't hide the beer in the shovel). Its a joyous event. You might be expecting this to be the moment that the drunk people enter the scene. Alas it is not...this is the moment that the freshmen enter the scene (although I have a theory that the two may be one and the same...hormones do crazy things to people). A very large amount of freshmen to be exact, mobbing right behind the Menno suburbanite circle my family had established (its Menno because no beer was involved or dancing for that matter). Within a few minutes of being exposed to the awesome stupidity of the freshmen behind us I catch the statement "this is the awesome moment right when my medicine is starting to wear off." It was at then that I began to think about how hard it would be to grab one of them and throw them in the lake. Another defining moment of the night was the boy who pulled a girl(who was taller than him ha ha) in between me and the fireworks to whisper something very important and dramatic to which she replied "uh, you're such a liar." LIKE, OH MY GOD. So as you can see [no meds+drama=ruined fireworks]. Ya don't learn stuff like that in high school.

Now to the drunk people. Around midnight I decided to head to bed to get some sleep. Unfortunately, drunk people like to be with each other i.e. a July 4th party. So I'm lying there with my room exposed to the outside sounds thanks to my air conditioner. Now, most parties produce a incomprehensible babble similar to white noise. Not drunk parties, though. Noo drunk parties insist on singing the National Anthem at the top of their voices. Drunk parties insist on talking at a very loud babble...not similar to white noise. What does this lead to...no sleep.

So that was my July 4th...how was yours?

On Parental Sacrifices and Growing Older

Last Thursday night found me sitting in our car in a Walgreen's parking lot on the south side of Chicago for two and a half hours. While I ate lukewarm beans and rice, mushy carrots, and week-old sheet cake with chocolate icing, Dylan and Zachary were living the good life in a White Sox box suite replete with ribs, wings, sandwiches, salad, sodas, beer (which they reported they had none of), ice cream, cheese cake, and a baller view of home plate. While I read a dissertation from the 1930s on Fresh Air exchange programs, the boys cheered the Sox on to a rousing ninth-inning victory over the team from Cleveland (I refuse to use their racist name). And while I flipped my way through a cheesey novel written in the 1980s that also featured Fresh Air children, Dylan and Zachary were already plotting how to get back to another game in a catered box suite. By the time I picked them up around 9:45, they were both high from caffeine, sugar, and a glimpse at how the wealthy live. Of course, given that I'm not only a sacrificial parent but also an aging sacrificial one, they were able to drop off into immediate slumber the minute they flopped into their lofts whereas I was awake for another hour. I finally went to sleep pondering how a history of the Fresh Air children and the White Sox could bring me tenure.

Speaking of aging, I had another reminder that I am growing older on Saturday this week. Cheryl and I had attended the graduation of one of our pastors, Cyneatha Millsaps, from Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary in Elkhart, Indiana. On our way home we stopped to fill up the car with relatively inexpensive Indiana diesel ($4.59/gallon as opposed to $5.05/gallon here in Evanston). I pulled out my wallet to give the cashier my credit card and she happened to glance at Cheryl's and my graduation photo. "Is that you?" she asked incredulously as she looked back and forth between my mid-1980s head of hair and my late 2000's lack thereof. I nodded, closed my wallet and signed the receipt. "At least you still have the picture," she added as if to say - can you believe that anyone has any artifact from those bygone days?

I think she wasn't even thought of when our picture was taken of, let alone conceived.

So I walked back to the car, told Cheryl of my encounter, and just felt grateful to have enough of my wits about me that I was able to drive the rest of the way home safely. I think the cashier would have been surprised to discover that I can still wrestle both my sons to the ground. As long as that still happens, I'm not yet ready for the retirement home.

So it's been awhile.   I could say I was sick, but that was only last week.  

 Here's what's happening tonight.  I just got home from having dinner at Devon's, a new seafood restaurant at Chicago and Wabash,  paid for by 2 pharmaceutical companies.  It was especially nice because it was just the nurses at our office and we didn't have to listen to a long "educational" spiel about cholesterol.  We could just eat - lobster bisque, grilled tilapia, asparagus, mashed potatoes and fresh fruit. It was lovely.  

Dylan and Zachary were invited to a White Sox games in one of the boxes behind home plate by their youth group leader.  Last I heard it was tied in the 8th. 

Tobin was a good father and drove Dylan to the game after play practice so he wouldn't have to miss either one.  "Dylan is playing 2 roles in A MidSummer Nights Dream.  Neither role has any lines but he is on stage a lot.  He plays attendant to the king and attendant to the fairy king.  Performances are June 5,6 and 7 if anyone is interested."

We've been stimulating the economy lately in our moving preparation. Tobin has rented an apartment in Missoula for next year. It's in the basement of a house and has red carpeting. He's bought a new bike.  We all have new phones because we had to switch our coverage to Verizon. (all the same numbers, though).  Dylan's retainer broke and has to be replaced. Tobin's pen scanner broke which makes him heartbroken.  Does it need to be replaced?  Zach and I haven't been spending any money at all.   

I've been trying to make pots in my beginners pottery class but that's not going very well.  The wheel is a lot more difficult than it looks.  The first 2 I tried just completely collapsed.  The next 2 are short and have lopsided walls.  I'll start again in 2 weeks.  

Zachary tried out for the orchestra/band for the falls Yamo production at the high-school.  This as a show that is student written, directed and performed.  He thinks he did ok after some initial jitters.  And he nailed the joke telling portion of the tryout.  

Dylan is trying out for the acting troupe tomorrow.

Enough from me. I'll get the others to write something soon.

  

My first blog ever

After numerous hints and reminders from my family, I am finally writing an entry which, as duly noted in the title, is my first blog ever. I must admit that I still don't quite get the attraction of this kind of public journaling. Seems like a type of streaking with none of the adrenalin and all of the exposure. Nonetheless, here I am, writing for public - albeit a very limited public - consumption.

By way of update, my days are spent adapting my dissertation for eventual publication, writing class lectures and syllabi for the fall, and preparing for my relocation. Regarding my manuscript, I sent a chapter, introduction, and table of contents to Johns Hopkins Press last week. It will be a number of weeks before I hear back from them. Nonetheless, I keep on writing in good hope. I am enjoying the process of preparing for classes although it is a bit hard to stay focused and motivated from a distance. I will be teaching Introduction to African American Studies in the fall. In the spring, the African-American Religious Experience and African American History: 1865 to the present. I can hardly wait to be in the classroom again. As for moving, we've settled on professional movers (moving parties no more! woo-hoo!) and I'll soon work with a Realtor in Missoula to settle on a one-bed room or efficiency for the first year until Cheryl (and the boys?) join me at the end of June in 2009. Then there are things like having to change our cell phone carrier because our current carrier does not provide service in the state of Montana, getting my bike in working order because I hope not to buy a second car after I move, and thinking through what I will take with me and what Cheryl and the boys will keep in Evanston.

So, I'm plenty busy. Looking at the calendar I realize that I only have three months here before I take off for Montana. We'll leave on Friday, July 18, spend a full weekend in Kalona, Iowa, and then take two days to drive to Missoula. Cheryl and the boys will spend three days in the city getting to know the place and the people I'll be working with and then return to Evanston. It will be a long four months until I see them again at Thanksgiving.

There. My first blog. Enjoy.

Tobin

Debilitating needs

On Monday morning, Tobin laid in bed and groaned.  He doesn't get sick often, so he thinks God is punishing him when he does.  "Why am I getting sick now?"  My unappreciated answer was, because of germs.  Sadly Zach had a similar germ so half the family was laid low.  Dylan and I, being awesome, did not get sick and went on to school and work.  We came home and opened cans of soup for supper because the chief cook was still laying on the floor,  groaning.  When I offered to prepare something for supper for the following night, Tobin checked to make sure he does nice things for me when I don't feel well.  Of course you do, I assured him.  Dylan was also affirming.  Dad, he said, you have a debilitating need to do nice things for mom.  You're always doing nice things for mom.   

I'm hoping that debilitating need gets passed on to Dylan and Zach.  Come fall when Tobin's in Montana and I'm here, I'll miss those nice things.  I'm hoping to be able to do my job from home 2-3 days a week starting in September.  The management at my work has to be convinced that this is a good idea so I probably won't have an answer for a few months.  But skipping the hour long commute will allow me to be here when the boys get home from school and do nice things for them too.

Tobin and Zach are well again and back to arguing about bedtimes.  Zach was the only one of us to feel the earthquake Friday morning but he mistook it for the cat shaking his bed.  

First Real Post...

So this my first real post actually concerning the blog's main purpose, to inform people about our lives and stuff (I'll provide the stuff). I should, however, update our faithful readers, and gossip mongers, on the present conditions of my life. First off, Junior Year. Yes, it does deserve caps and yes, it does deserve a scream in horror. Fortunately, its almost over with less than a quarter left and I would be excited except that final exams really suck. I'm also finished with my junior research paper and was able to quote two of the Beastie Boys, Chuck D, and ?uestlove. It was awesome. Junior Year also means college search. I refuse to talk about that now(maybe later). Hmm, what else, as far as recreation goes, I'm in band on the Tenor Sax, rock out on the guitar, and just joined the Ultimate club at school. What can I say, my life's a party. I think I'll end it right here. That's probably not close to being a good update on my life but I like to keep a sense of mystery about me... I'm also rather lazy.