Remembering Karl Kutz (1962 - 2025)

I was in the first class Dr. Karl Kutz taught at Multnomah University in the fall of 1996. My best friend, Jill, and I sat near the front in the middle of the long row of chairs bolted to the floor with built-in desks in L101. The class was “History and Poetry,” where we studied the Old Testament books of Joshua through Song of Songs. It was a lot of ground to cover, and Dr. Kutz was fresh from his PhD program at the University of Madison, Wisconsin. He gave us copious notes on every book in this section of the Bible, always with charts. We were his guinea pigs. He was finding out in real time what undergraduates could handle and what he could expect of us. At the same time, we were finding out what we were capable of learning.

My most vivid memory—and even this is fuzzy 29 years later—was the day he taught about the Song of Songs. I can’t recall which approach he took to the book—whether he read it as an allegory for God’s love for Israel or as a human love poem. What I remember is that Jill and I raised our hands and asked lots of questions of whichever view he took, skeptical of whatever he had just taught. We had a good rapport by that point; our questions meant no disrespect. We were engaging in the kind of sparring that he welcomed in the classroom. What happened next I will never forget. Dr. Kutz tipped his head to one side and said, “Well, I’ll have to think more about this.” We moved on to the next topic. The next day in class, Dr. Kutz handed out new notes on the Song of Songs. He had spent his evening rethinking his view and changed his mind completely. His new handouts reflected what he now believed to be a better way of reading the book.

I was stunned. I grew up in a family where, when challenged, we doubled down to better prove our point. Karl modeled humility, curiosity, and teachability. He was not threatened by our questions. In fact, he was grateful for the way they made him think.

Karl was so devoted to teaching well that he was constantly revising the charts and timelines he made from scratch. These became overheads, thin plastic sheets paired with laser printed paper and fed through a machine that burned the ink into the plastic so it could be projected on a screen hung at the front of the classroom. Never one to waste, in years to come, Karl would give me the overheads he had updated for his own lectures. Eventually more than a foot of space on my bookshelf was devoted to 3-ring binders with his class notes and cast-off overheads. I’ve kept them all.

Karl invited me to be his TA. For several years I graded tests, created handouts, edited documents, and recorded grades in spreadsheets. Once he asked me to read through Chronicles alongside Samuel and Kings, highlighting any differences between them. Another time he gave me the entire semester’s worth of Greek reading for fourth year Greek (a class I had not taken). My assignment was to underline all the words I didn’t know so that he could create a glossary of unfamiliar words. Since I had taken 3 years of Greek, I was in exactly the position the average student would be entering that class. It was a sensible plan, since Karl had difficulty remembering that not everyone knew as much as he did. He regularly assumed that others contained mental dictionaries in multiple languages and that we had retained everything we ever read or heard in class, the way he did.

One day Karl and I talked about the possibility of me going on for more schooling. His advice was clear and direct. “Carmen, you should not pay for a PhD. By the time you get to that level, someone should be paying you to go to school.” That seemed terribly unrealistic. I thought he had again forgotten that we were not all as brilliant as he was. But he was right. He understood the academic world better than I did at that point. And eventually, someone was paying for my PhD and offering me a stipend besides.

Karl arrived at Multnomah having mastered Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, Akkadian, Ugaritic, German, and French. I remember when Karl began teaching himself Chinese so he could read a manuscript related to martial arts. When I was a student he taught fencing as a PE class. Karl’s curiosity to learn new languages and skills was unquenchable.

As brilliant as he was, Karl was patient, others-centered, an encourager. And oh, how I’ll miss his infectious laugh! He and Laurie traveled all the way from Oregon to Colorado for our wedding at their own expense. He prepared a toast for the reception in true Karl fashion. Never one to work off the cuff, Karl had categorized all the “I” words in the English dictionary according to their part of speech (noun, verb, adjective, etc.). Then he composed his toast using almost entirely words that began with “I” for Imes. That’s just how he rolled. 

One day a couple of years later we sat at his computer—I had pulled up an extra chair beside him—while we scoured a website of Hebrew baby girl names. I had graduated by then, and was pregnant and auditing his Hebrew class with my free alumnus audit. He found the name Eliana, which we both loved. My husband and I had lost our first child to miscarriage, and it devastated us. Karl sat with me in that sacred space of emerging hope that our second child would be born healthy. The name Eliana means “My God has answered”—such a meaningful name for the child who was an answer to our anguished prayers.

Eliana was born during spring break. I spent the rest of the semester recovering and adjusting to motherhood, so I wasn’t there on the day classes resumed after spring break. Students filed into the classroom nervous to find out how much Hebrew they still knew after a week away. Karl put a Hebrew passage on the overhead for them to translate together. They struggled through the unfamiliar words and expressions—“after only one-and-a-half hours in pain of childbirth in the house of the sick . . .”—until they gradually figured it out. [Note: I labored much longer than this—about 22 hours—but Eliana was born just 90 minutes after we arrived at the hospital.] Recognizing that all the students would want to hear the news, Karl had composed a birth announcement for Eliana entirely in Hebrew. A few years later, Eliana sat astride the rocking horse in his living room while we visited—a horse he carved himself as a gift to his wife.

I was among the small group of students who sat around the lunch table with the two of them at the Old Spaghetti Factory to celebrate Karl’s 40^th birthday. Our birthdays were just one day (and 14 years) apart. He wasn’t quite old enough to be my father, but he was like a much older brother or fun uncle.

Karl was honest about his struggles. His wife’s health challenges absorbed much of their married years and made it impossible to think of having children. I remember those years as a dark cloud hovered over their home while they tried one unsuccessful treatment after another. Karl loved children, and it broke his heart not to be a father. He channeled his energies into his niece and nephew—his pride and joy—and into his students, counting us as part of his family. At his memorial service, his colleague Becky Josberger read a message he wrote to all his former students, telling us that we were like the children he never had.

Karl and his wife supported us monthly when we became missionaries. Later, when I entered fully into academic life we enjoyed catching up at conferences. I remember one such occasion when we sat on the floor in the conference center for a long talk. It was 2012. I think he had divorced by then. I remember him sharing openly with me about his wrestling with God. I don’t remember Karl teaching me in class about lament, but he lived it in a way that taught all who knew him. He was intellectually honest, which meant he had nothing to hide from his students.

Some seven years or more after I had graduated from Multnomah, I was reading a book in seminary whose approach to Genesis 1 was revolutionary. I wrote to Karl asking if he’d ever read the book or heard of this approach. I needed it to pass the Karl test before I embraced it. I knew he would not be threatened by a new idea. His response to my email was straightforward: “Yes, that’s how I’ve pretty much always read Genesis 1.” My jaw dropped. How had I studied and worked with him so closely for at least four years and not known this? How had we never talked about it before? The reason was simple. He arrived at Multnomah during my Sophomore year, after I had already taken Pentateuch.

Later he gave me a full set of his notes on the Pentateuch, just in case they would be useful to me. Now that he’s gone, I’m grateful that I’ve kept them all these years.

I was sitting at my desk at Biola University the day I got Karl’s email with his diagnosis and bleak prospects. I let out a cry of dismay and the tears started flowing. My husband responded to my plea instantly, coming across campus to my office to hold me and let me cry. Although Karl and I have rarely had the chance to see one another these past 10 years, just knowing he’s there for me has been enough. He believed in me, trained me, hired me as his TA, supported us financially, and cheered me on every step of the way. Karl never doubted that I would get a PhD and follow in his footsteps. When we saw each other at conferences he told me how proud he was of me. But after that initial email about Karl’s diagnosis, I never saw him again.

During the last year of Karl’s life, he stewarded all the energy he had left between chemo and radiation treatments for writing. In the week before he entered hospice care, he completed his commentary on Isaiah. At his memorial service, Becky shared the story of how on the day Karl announced he would no longer be able to send or respond to emails, his publisher had an emergency meeting. They offered him four contracts for books he had already written, which he signed on his deathbed.

The world of publishing has changed considerably in the almost 30 years since Karl started teaching. An author must not only be smart and able to communicate well, but they must have a public platform with a built-in audience. Not only was Karl nearly silent on social media, but now he’s no longer living. The fact that a publisher was not only willing to offer him one contract, but FOUR is a testament to the impeccable quality of his work and of his character. Karl wrote by teaching on paper, creating clear and helpful synopses of what he saw in the biblical text. He poured out his life for the sake of those around him, giving generously whatever he had. I’m so grateful that we’ll be able to continue learning from Karl in the years to come.

For most of his academic career, Karl studied the book of Job. He also lived it. His years of lament gave him strength of character and depth of empathy as well as a keen sense of his own need. Becky shared that in his last year on earth Karl finally felt like he was experiencing the end of Job’s story—seeing fruit where he had long waited empty handed.

Karl has been part of most of the major milestones of my adult life—our dating and engagement, our wedding, our miscarriage, the birth of our oldest daughter, our work as missionaries in the Philippines, my PhD journey, when I began teaching as adjunct faculty at Multnomah and we were finally colleagues, my move into a full-time position in Canada, the publication of my books. I received tenure just a couple of weeks before he died. In the week he died, Multnomah closed its doors forever.

The death of my alma mater will now perpetually be linked with the death of one of my dearest mentors. The tragedy of Multnomah’s closing means that I’ll never have to see what would become of Multnomah without Karl. His absence there is unimaginable to me.

How I would love to be a fly on the wall as Karl asks the Lord all his questions. I picture them walking through gardens, talking and laughing, and stopping to investigate each new discovery. By the time you and I arrive, Karl will have a 3-ring binder waiting with timelines and charts of all the things about heaven that he thinks would be helpful for newcomers to know. He’ll start with an apology for the things he got wrong in his class notes and then excitedly show us how things really are.

That’s just Karl. He was, and is, a gift to the world!

Under Our Noses

We were in the mood to explore. Up for something new. Felt like we needed to get "out." But where?

Falls in Downtown Oregon City
(Photo: C Imes)

Then I had an idea. I doubted it would be anything dramatic, but there was a waterfall nearby that we'd only passed by and never seen up close.

We've lived in our small, historic town on the Willamette River nearly three years now. This waterfall was right smack dab in the downtown area. We pass it multiple times each week. It's about time.

I tried to make it a secret adventure but our resident teenager and pre-teen insisted on knowing where we were going. I told them. Their response: "Seriously?" They opted out, so Danny, Easton and I piled in the car. (This post is my "I told you so!")

Oregon City 7th Street Elevator
(photo: C Imes)

Hardly more than five minutes from home, we parked and walked a half block to the top of the stone stairs. Our unique community has an elevator that doubles as a public street linking upper downtown to lower downtown. But it was closed for the evening, so we took the stairs. And that's where I wanted to be anyway, because I had never climbed them. I didn't realize that the waterfall went right beneath them. What a pretty spot! Leafy green trees created a tunnel of shade for our descent.

Taking the Stairs in Oregon City
(photo: C Imes)

In the mood to meander, we headed past shops and restaurants and across the highway to the edge of the Willamette River to see what could be seen. We've driven by that spot hundreds of times in three years. Other than a few fishing boats and kayaks, we had never noticed anything worth writing home about. But we were in for such a surprise!

Our Surprise Visitor: A Sea Lion! (photo: C Imes)

We stared at the water, foam still swirling from the Willamette Falls. Danny noticed the river seemed almost alive in places. Then suddenly the surface broke—two sea lions! We're more than an hour drive from the coast. How can this be? But it was.

I-205 Bridge over the Willamette
(photo: C Imes)

We watched the sea lions for quite some time, following one fellow as he lazed his way down the river, poking his head up for air now and then. (It turns out the local fishermen are deeply concerned. There are at least 30 sea lions this year, and they're eating too many salmon!)

West Linn-Oregon City Bridge
(photo: C Imes)

By the time we headed back to the stairs and up to the car, I was all the more convinced: You never know what you'll discover if you slow down. Linger longer. Park and walk. Take it all in.

There's a whole lot of life happening right under our noses.

15 best blog posts of 2015

Are you counting down 'til midnight? Wondering how to stay awake for the rest of the evening?
Join me in re-living this year's highlights by re-reading some of my best blog posts from 2015.
Some of these had the most hits, while others are simply my favorites. It's been a good year.
Thanks for giving me over 13,000 reasons to write in 2015!

on the academic journey (and life in general)
Feb 20 - now is the time for no
July 18 - on being finite
July 9 - why bother writing a dissertation?

on finding beauty in the ordinary
Aug 23 - unforgettable day
Dec 8 - a beautiful thing

on life and ministry
May 19 - an unlikely blessing
Sept 15 - life in the middle of nowhere
Nov 16 - when you don't (think) you have what it takes

on parenting
May 11 - Best. Mother's Day. Ever.
Aug 7 - how I've failed my kids
Dec 11 - another beautiful thing

on the Bible
July 25 - bored by Leviticus or lost in Numbers? don't miss this
Oct–Nov - does the new NIV distort the Scriptures? (a 7-part series)

in loving memory
Mar 13 - a giant has fallen (tribute to Dr. Harry Hoffner)
Sept 7 - four things I inherited from Oma

another beautiful thing

I sat in the Denver airport on my way home from Atlanta, waiting to board my plane with all the other travelers. Most stared at their phones. A few had books. Some sipped Starbucks.

An ambulance escorted by police vehicles arrived and parked outside the concourse, lights flashing, a reminder that all was not well in the world. People looked up. Stared. We watched as a woman was taken by stretcher to the ambulance. Long minutes passed before she was whisked away to the hospital. The drama over, I turned to check the screens. Why aren't we boarding yet? It's past time. The line of people exiting the jetway answered my question. Our plane had only just arrived. I settled in for a longer wait.

It was then that a quiet scene in the corner caught my eye. I had seen the pair arrive earlier, noticed the matter-of-fact way the father conversed with his young son, telling him that although their final destination was Sacramento, they would first land in Portland. The boy took it all in, asking questions until he was satisfied that he understood.

Now the father knelt on the carpet, facing his son. The boy was 4 or 5, and I soon realized the rest of us were invisible. He was alone with his Dad on the open sea, watching for land.

"Captain Qwibbles, has the fog lifted? Can you see anything?"
"I'll check right away, sir."

At this the boy went to the window and peered out into the depths, scanning for threats, looking for land. (When his breath steamed up the glass, he licked away the fog. I took a sharp breath, wondering what Dad would do. He must have seen it, but he never broke out of character.)

"Well?"
"There's a giant octopus coming toward us!"
"Prepare the men for action." At this the boy turned away from the window and got very busy. His preparations were urgent. Pointing, lifting, moving large objects through the air. His father stayed calm and engaged. If he had a phone, I never saw it. If he was stressed traveling alone with a child, he never let on. Now and then he would check the monitor to see if it was their turn to board. But the boy seemed entirely oblivious to his real surroundings (and therefore not at all restless because of the long wait).

The young couple sitting beside me were equally enthralled by this most unusual theater. The man turned to me and remarked, "I doubt anyone has ever had this much fun in the airport before."

I saw no bargaining, no bribes, no placating or pleading with the child to behave. There was no impatience, no temper on display. No boredom. No bravado. No superior and knowing glances at other grown ups in the room to validate his behavior. No "look at what a good parent I am." Simply a man, secure in himself, empty handed and calm, engaged with the imaginary world of his son. The boy had no need of an audience and had no idea we were there. Dad was his whole world, and he had his whole dad.

How. rare.

This ought to be normal, but I'm afraid it's not. And we all noticed.
That Dad was an inspiration.

He reminded me of Kameel, though they shared neither race nor occupation. Both men were fully present. Fully available. Fully secure in themselves. Both saw the immense value in another person, looked them in the eye, and let them know. Kameel was boisterous and loud, while this nameless father was calm and quiet, with no desire to attract attention. I saw Kameel at work in a successful career. I saw the other man between here and there, doing an ordinary job for which he'll never be paid. But both were right where they belonged, making the very most of the moment. Doing the most important thing in the world.

And believe me, it was beautiful.

friends of many colors

Anthropologists and missiologists sometimes use the term "Third-Culture Kid" (TCK) to describe those growing up in a culture that is not home to either of their parents. As a result they end up feeling like they don't fully belong in either culture, but are comfortable interacting with others from around the globe. I have often wondered if this label applies to my own children.

Though we've been missionaries for 13 years, all but 2-1/2 of these were spent in the U.S. Eliana was a wee thing when we lived and traveled overseas. But she has changed zip codes innumerable times. (Ok, that's an exaggeration, but she is attending her 9th school this year and living at her 10th address!) She's experienced living on the East Coast (South), in the Midwest, and in the Northwest, as well as the Philippines. And even when her feet are firmly planted on American soil, she has a magnetic attraction to other cultures.

How magnetic, you ask? Here's a list of the nationalities of some of her closest friends at each age of her life:

Age 2-3 - British, Filipino, Korean, American
4-5 - African-American
6 - Cuban and Japanese
7 - Indian
8-9 - Ethiopian, American
10 - Indonesian
11 - Filipino, African-American, Guatemalan
12 - Mexican-American, Filipino, Dominican
13 - Korean, American
14 - French, Brazilian

What is responsible for Eliana's multi-culturalism? Why is she more comfortable with nationalities other than her own? Why is her favorite class this year AP Human Geography?

Is it my own fascination with other cultures?
I'll never forget the day in 4th grade when Ana came home and told me she had made a new friend. She was apologetic because her new friend was white (!). That's when I realized that I had probably been too overt about my own quest for cross-cultural relationships.

Is it all the books we've read from around the world?
Many of those books are featured on my 'Best Kids Books' list to the right of this post. It started Eliana on a reading journey that continues today.

Was it living in the Philippines at a formative age?
This might have had the opposite effect. Eliana associated Tagalog with being pinched or otherwise harassed in the market. She refused to speak Tagalog, even when she understood it, and began to hate going shopping with me so I left her at home. On the other hand, "Nanay" was a beloved member of our family while we lived in the Philippines, and Eliana spent many happy hours with her. She also loved attending preschool with friends of many colors.

Or is it part of God's call on Eliana's life? Part of how he's wired her? Time will tell!

For now, I am thoroughly enjoying the journey.

does the new NIV distort the Scriptures? - part 7

In a time where questions of gender, identity, and sexual orientation are at the forefront of public policy and public discourse, it's understandable that gendered language would be a sore spot for Evangelicals. In this last post of the series, I'd like to share the two reasons why I applaud the NIV translation committee for their decision about gender inclusive language. Both are a matter of mission.

(1) One principle that guided the CBT (for the NIV) in their revisions is the international nature of the English language. It is no longer adequate to consider only patterns of English language usage here in the United States when deciding what best communicates the meaning of the Hebrew and Greek. People all over the world are speaking English and will be using our best-selling translation. Therefore it is imperative that we consider international patterns of English use when translating the Word of God. Some of the changes in the new NIV were made in this spirit.  

While the average American over the age of 40 might be comfortable with masculine pronouns in gender neutral situations, this is not the case worldwide, as people’s first languages exhibit a variety of grammatical norms. We dare not put stumbling blocks in the way of those around the world who are encountering Christianity for the first time. If a passage is directed to everybody, not just men, then it is increasingly important that we make that clear in our translation using gender neutral pronouns.

(2) The second factor to consider is (for me) closer to home. I am raising three children in a country where it has become bad taste to use masculine pronouns to address mixed groups. In most academic institutions, Wheaton College included, the use of masculine pronouns in written assignments to refer to humankind or a person in general is actually against school policy. People are certainly entitled to their own opinions about whether this is a good thing. Every generation brings changes to the English language that grammatical sticklers will not appreciate. But the point is that this is the reality in which we live. Our children are being educated in a context where they are not hearing masculine pronouns used generically. As a result, it does not sound natural to them—instead the Bible sounds archaic or misleading. Do we want to persist in using Bible translations that are confusing to them? We are losing young people in droves because they perceive that the church is out of touch. This is one simple adjustment we can make for the sake of mission.

If I thought that the Committee on Bible Translation had sold the farm, I would not embrace the new NIV. If I thought that they had capitulated to a liberal agenda, I would not encourage individuals and churches to "upgrade" their pew Bibles. That is not the case here.

Several years ago Wheaton College created a policy on gender inclusive language. It reads,

"For academic discourse, spoken and written, the faculty expects students to use gender inclusive language for human beings."

School administrators go on to explain the missional motivation for this policy:

"The college seeks to equip students for service in the world for Christ. Students need to be ready to communicate in that world. We want our students to succeed in graduate school, in the corporate world, and in public communication, all settings in which gender inclusive language for human beings is expected and where the inability to use such language may well be harmful to the Christian witness."

For me that's the bottom line. A good English translation of the Bible must be based on solid biblical scholarship and able to communicate that biblical truth effectively to the wider culture. In my opinion, the new NIV fits the bill.

how I've failed my kids

I still have not forgotten the talk our principal gave us on the first day of high school. It was the strangest "pep talk" I have ever heard. He told us we would all fail. He was confident that every one of us in the room would make a mess of something that year—a test, a report, a relationship, a job. Failure is guaranteed because all of us are human. It's only a matter of time.

But failure is only the beginning. When we respond well to failure, it becomes the foundation for success. That's what our high school principal had in mind. Recent studies show that we learn more from failure than anything else. Kids who are told they are intelligent struggle the most to learn new things. Why? They begin to assume that brain power is something that you wake up with in the morning. If a "smart" kid encounters something difficult, they often throw in the towel and decide they don't have what it takes.

The fact is, I have failed my children by telling them that they are smart. Here's how it has played out more times that I can count:

"Mom, I can't get this. It doesn't make any sense."
"I know you can do it. You're a smart kid. Your teacher wouldn't give you an unsolvable problem."
"No, I really can't get it. I've tried and tried. It's impossible. I'm not smart enough."
"That's nonsense. God gave you a good brain and you know it. Just keep trying."

Educational psychologists are now saying that we need to praise kids for their problem-solving skills, their ideas, and their strategies, rather than for their intelligence. These are the tools that have served them well, and will continue to do so when they face harder challenges.

I'm imagining new conversations with my kids:

"Mom, I can't get this. It doesn't make any sense."
"I wonder if there's another way to look at it. What are all the different ways we could try to solve it? What have you tried so far?"
"The problem isn't giving me enough information. I don't even know where to start."
"Let's read it together and brainstorm. I'd love to hear your ideas. Then we can try to break it down step by step. Imagine it's a mystery and we're looking for clues!"

This research is helpful for me, too. In academics it's awfully tempting to think that you don't have what it takes—that your brain is not capable of doing what needs to be done. If your best doesn't seem good enough, don't despair. Intelligence is not fixed. To have tried and failed is to mentally "level-up," unlocking the door for greater growth. If at first you don't succeed . . .

Several years ago I submitted an article for publication in an academic journal. Receiving that first rejection letter felt like a rite of passage. The second journal was kind enough to include a list of constructive criticism with their rejection letter. Most authors have a file full of letters like this. Come to think of it, no one is born writing symphonies or making 3-pointers or solving equations or designing bridges or interceding faithfully or balancing spreadsheets. Everything we know is learned. We all start at zero. And we have to make a lot of mistakes to get from here to where we want to be.

Still not convinced? Check out these videos from Khan Academy. They were my wake-up call today.

a lot of hops

It was Easton's idea. 

We had about an hour before the kids' bedtime and wanted to go outside.

"Let's make a hopscotch of the books of the Bible!"

We grabbed the sidewalk chalk and headed into the quiet street to get started.

"We could just do the Old Testament," he suggested. "How many books is that?"

"39," I reported.

"And how many in the New Testament?"

"27." [This has nothing to do with a PhD in Biblical Theology. What you memorize as a child sticks!]

"And how many is that all together?"

"66."

"Wow," he said. "That's a lot of hopping."

No kidding.

We drew and drew, using just the first letter of each book, and then hopped and hopped, trying to hop to the rhythm of the books-of-the-Bible songs we know (which is not easy—you try it!). Then we tried silly hops, jazzy hops, backward hops, dribbling hops, jump-roping hops, and any other way we could think of to traverse our longest hopscotch yet.

When we fell into bed, we were all hopped out, but all practiced up on the books of the Bible, which is a very handy thing to know.

Thanks, Easton.

bored by Leviticus or lost in Numbers? don't miss this

I've already mentioned this resource last year, but it's getting better all the time as more videos are released, and I'm guessing that some of you blew me off the first time, so I'm going to say it again, LOUDER.

This is quite simply the BEST COLLECTION OF BIBLE VIDEOS I have ever seen. The content is solid. The graphics are impressive. The cost is affordable (It's FREE!). In just minutes you'll begin to understand how the books of the Bible fit together, and how each one contributes to the Bible's overall message.

There's a reason why over 42,000 people have already subscribed to these videos on YouTube (Genesis is nearing 200,000 views).

There's a reason why I used class time to show these videos to seminary students earlier this year.

And there's a reason why all three of my kids were captivated this afternoon watching them. After watching Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Hebrews, Eliana (age 14) announced that she was going to head to her room and watch them all again. Emma (age 10) said, "That was amazing!" And Easton (age 7) declared that he wanted to send some of his own money to help fund more videos.

They're that good.

Think the Bible is boring? or confusing? Or do you love it and want a way to share that love with others? Look no further! Watch it come to life at www.jointhebibleproject.com or get started right here:

Is the video you want to see not available yet? Keep checking back. The team is upping production speed so that all the biblical book videos will be out as soon as next year!

on being extraordinary

Are you extraordinary?

On a whim, we counted all the books and magazines in our house the other day.

1,732

That's quite a few! I don't know if it really makes us extraordinary, but I do know that it affords us the opportunity to spend extraordinary days traveling the world, learning new skills, pondering profound insights, and walking a mile in someone else's shoes. I love seeing my kids lost in a book, knowing that it expands their thinking and enlarges their soul.

A bookless house is a prison for the mind.

If you want to unlock your cell, check out my "best books" lists on the right-hand side of this post. There's one just for kids. And one for the best books I've read about the Bible and the life of faith. These books have changed my thinking and shaped who I am.

In the meantime, my kids and I want to know how many books and magazines you have at your house. Count them and post the total in the comments section below. My parents have over 1000 (which is proof of my happy childhood). How about you?

Remember, the quickest way to stunt your growth is to stop reading.

Best. Mother's Day. Ever.

This is my 15th Mother's Day as a mom, if you count the one following my first pregnancy, which ended in miscarriage. I've received a lot of sweet crafts and cards from my kids, and flowers, chocolate, etc. But this year tops them all.

First, 10 days ago my girls took me on a special early Mother's Day date. Eliana paid for lunch at The Old Spaghetti Factory and then the new Cinderella movie. It was a red letter day. We loved the food, enjoyed our time together immensely, and were enthralled by the movie. It was wonderful!

Then, when Mother's Day actually arrived, I had the honor of sharing the podium at church with my delightful 14-year-old daughter. It wasn't originally planned that way, but two events -- my preaching and her announcement -- just happened to find their way to the same day on the calendar. Mother's Day was the occasion for my invitation to preach, but because of Eliana, yesterday was also "Compassion Sunday."

Months ago we received a letter in the mail from Compassion International. Because the child we sponsor shares a birthday with Eliana, all the mail from Compassion is addressed to her. This one invited her to become an advocate for Compassion International by hosting an event at our church. It caught her attention. A few days later, we were on campus together at Multnomah and a volunteer representative from Compassion just happened to be there manning a table. I was busy meeting with a student, so Eliana wandered over to the table to find out more. Without any involvement from me, the correspondence between them continued over the ensuing weeks. Before long a box came in the mail for Eliana with photos of children waiting to be sponsored, a T-shirt for her to wear, and posters to hang at church. She met with the Compassion representative along with one of our pastors to plan the event.

Yesterday I sat proudly in the front row and watched Eliana address our congregation and introduce the Compassion volunteer. She looked completely at ease as she give a stirring plea for all of us to consider. Where did this beautiful, responsible, articulate, and motivated young lady come from? And what happened to our little girl? The best part was that Eliana planned the entire thing from start to finish. What a gift to see God at work in and through our children!

Wait . . . that's not all. By the time we packed up and headed home, 13* new children had sponsors! Way to go, Eliana! That's the best Mother's Day present I can imagine.

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*Update: Some folks took a week to think and pray about sponsorship. By the end of the next week's services, the grand total rose to 20 sponsored kids as a result of Compassion Sunday!

In case you missed the press release in 2013, Compassion International submitted to an independent study by academics in the social sciences to find out if child sponsorship really works. The outcome far surpassed expectations. Compared with un-sponsored kids from the same families and communities, sponsored children grow up to earn more, learn more, be healthier and become leaders in their churches and communities. Sponsorship empowers young people to exit the cycle of poverty. Educating girls is the single most effective strategy for alleviating world poverty.

For related blog posts about inspiring kids to make a difference, click here and here.

immigration reform . . . from the bottom up

"Esteemed Mr. President, 

 "My name is María Dolores, but I can't give you my last name or anybody's last name or where we live because I am not supposed to be in your wonderful country. I apologize that I am here without permission, but I think I can explain. My teacher at my new school, Mr. B., said for our first big writing project we could write anything we wanted. So I decided to write to you because I understand you are the one in charge of the United States."

So begins María's letter. Her honesty is disarming. Her letter pulls me in.

"Mr. B. came around, checking on our first paragraphs. When he saw my blank paper, he suggested I write about my family and our culture. But I am too afraid to call attention to our family being from Mexico because my classmates might turn us in. And it is not as simple as all going back to our homeland, because there is a division right down the center of our family. My parents and I are Mexicans and my two little sisters, Ofie and Luby, are Americans."

Are immigration issues too complicated to explain to children? Here's a child ready to explain it to grown-ups.

"I have seen you on the television, Mr. President, saying that you want democracy for this whole world. I sincerely hope you get your wish. But that will mean that if everyone in this world gets a vote, the majority will not be Americans. They will be people like me from other countries that are so very crowded and poor. We would be able to vote for what we want and need. So this letter is from a voter from that future when you would want to be treated as fairly as I am asking you to treat me."

María's request is simple, though fulfilling it is not.

"Please, Mr. President, let it be okay for my father and uncles to stay here helping this nice family and helping our own family back home buy the things they need. Every week, my father and his brothers each contribute forty dollars to send to our family in Mexico. This total is more than their father used to make in a whole month. He was a farmer, working from sunrise to sunset. But now he is an old man, Mr. President, as old as you are—although he looks much older. But the companies that buy corn and coffee did not pay enough for him to be able to even buy the stuff he needed for the next planting.

I know this must seem like an untruth because coffee costs so much in this country. The other day Tyler's mother took us to Burlington, and after she bought us ice creams, she stopped by a shop where all they sell is different kinds of coffees. A big cup was almost two dollars! Mr. President, please believe me that those two dollars are not reaching my family. In fact, as Tío Armando says, we have come north to collect what is owed to us for our hard work back where we came from."

The complexities of immigration reform unfold in this award-winning book by Julia Alvarez. Her story, Return to Sender, is the story of two children — a young farm boy in Vermont whose family is on the brink of losing everything, and a young girl from Mexico whose father and uncles move up North to work on that farm. These families need each other to survive.

Tyler and María are only in 5th grade, but together they face big challenges that require every ounce of courage and generosity they possess.

We need stories like these — stories that help us to see the world through someone else's eyes, stories that make us angry and yet fill our hearts with compassion we didn't know was there. The plot takes a number of unexpected turns, so to find out what happens, you'll have to read it yourself! You won't be sorry you did.

on the lighter side

It's rare that I find a new children's book series that I can recommend. Those that are well written often have objectionable content. Those that are innocuous are often written poorly. A great many more suffer from both maladies. As a result we tend to favor the "classics" at our house -- Frog & Toad, Beverly Cleary, E. B. White, The Boxcar Children, and the rest of those listed to the right under "Best Kids Books." I've practically stopped even trying to find series I like.

But this week I've met an endearing new friend — Clementine. She makes me laugh page after page, and the prose is an absolute delight to read. The author is a genius at creating characters. No sorcery. No convoluted sentences. No (real) superpowers. No wildly dysfunctional family. Just a refreshing look at life through the eyes of an 8-year-old from a loving family – a sweet girl who is earnestly trying not to get sent to the principal's office . . . again. 

So if life is heavy and you need a few laughs, pretend you are checking out these books to read them to some children you know. I promise I won't tell anyone the real reason you have them in your possession.

Three cheers for great literature and good, clean fun!

fractions before breakfast

Easton stood there in my bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and shivering in the morning cold. "Mom, I had a question for you yesterday, but I didn't get a chance to ask you yet."

"Ok, what is it?" My interest was piqued. This must be important if he was still thinking about it before he was fully awake!

"What's a fraction?"

I couldn't hide my smile. Where does one find a child like this? Christmas morning he bounded down the stairs, workbook in hand, announcing that he was going to do some math before breakfast. In under a minute I explained how to add double-digit numbers with carrying. He had it down cold. This morning it was fractions. I told him that if he got ready for school quickly, we'd have time to get out a fractions game I had tucked away in the closet. He was jazzed and got ready at lightning speed.

Again, it took under a minute to explain what fractions represented and how to read them. He was off like a rocket, categorizing fraction cards and even learning how to reduce fractions.

Last night in bed he was completely absorbed in a career exploration guide from Portland General Electric, discovering which kinds of jobs in the energy sector would be just right for him. Did I mention he's 6?

While it may only take a fraction of a minute to teach him something, he has my WHOLE heart wrapped around his pinky finger. No question about that.

"all grown up"

This was a big week at our house. And I mean BIG.

I taught a FULL week of classes at Multnomah University and Western Seminary, subbing 14 hours for one of my mentors while he was out of the country and beginning my own class on the Gospels and Acts. I taught Exodus, Leviticus, New Testament Biblical Theology, Hermeneutics (for Heb-Rev), Bible Study Methods, and Gospels.

One of the best parts of teaching this week was sharing the experience with Eliana (age 13). In November, I paid her a dollar to read through my syllabus and look for typos. She thought the class sounded so cool that she wanted to sit in on it, too. Since she's doing high school online through a public charter school, she has a flexible enough schedule for that to work. I'm delighted to have her rubbing shoulders with such a great group of students and experiencing the campus that was so formative for me and Danny.

One morning I came down to breakfast dressed for teaching. Eliana did a double-take and said, "Mom, you look all grown up today!" Um . . . as opposed to . . . yesterday? (when she said I looked very "professional") This is the same daughter who told me recently that I really need to look into getting a refund for the wrinkle cream I'm using. Gotta love having a teenager in the house!

As if having a high schooler was not enough to make me feel old, our "baby" had his last day of first grade yesterday. Easton's teachers and principal decided that he should move up to second grade. Effective immediately. Which means that this fall I'll have a 3rd grader, a 5th grader, and a 10th grader. In three years we'll be sending our oldest off to college and in 10 we'll be empty nesting. Where has the time gone? Before you know they'll all be grown up!

spiritual disciplines for busy moms

Have you struggled with having consistent time with God? Most people do, and it's especially tricky for parents with kids at home. My dear friend, Heather, is publishing a series of guest posts on her blog about spiritual disciplines for moms. I thought this was a fabulous idea -- we all have so much we can learn from each other! Heather invited me to write the first post for the series. Here's how it begins -

It’s 6:56 a.m.  There’s a scramble as lunch bags are filled, zipped shut, and piled by the front door with coats and backpacks. Chairs slide across the dining room floor and I hear my husband’s footsteps on the stairs. In a moment we are all gathered around the breakfast table, getting settled and filling our plates.

 “May I start the chapter now?” Our 13-year-old checks to see if we’re all ready. We are, so she goes to the computer and clicks the play button. We eat silently, listening as the current chapter of Proverbs is read.

When it’s over, my husband asks, “Did anybody notice anything in particular this morning? Any questions or comments?” For a few minutes we comment on the text we’ve heard. Often the kids ask what a certain word means. Sometimes there’s a prayer request.

Then I announce, “Okay, we’re having five minutes of quiet now. I’ll call you back when it’s over.” This is a family favorite. The kids are free to sit at the table and keep eating or move to an adjoining room to spend five minutes praying, reflecting, journaling, drawing, or reading the Bible. Five minutes isn’t much, but we hope it’s habit-forming. These are precious moments to collect our thoughts, to tune our hearts to His, and to take a deep breath before the day begins. 

To keep reading, visit Unending Mercies. Thanks for reading. And thanks, Heather, for taking the initiative to help us all think through this important issue.

Austin, Heather, and David visited us
in our new home this summer!

back to school panic

InterVarsity published a short piece I wrote for their blog for Women in the Academy and Professions. It went live this morning. Here's a preview . . .

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Photo: C. Imes

It’s that time of year. I can feel it in my bones. In just a handful of days we’ll all be climbing back on the hamster wheel, our arms loaded with books, our schedule packed to the gills. Open days on the calendar are slipping through my fingers; my ambitious summer to-do list barely dented. Panic sets in. I like “back to school” season. But I need more time! What do I have to show for these long summer hours with no classes, no assignments, no grading, no committee meetings?

I meant to be productive. I really did. This was my chance to get ahead. To knock out a chapter, an essay, a conference paper, a book review. This was the ideal time to breeze through all those books on my desk, waiting to be read. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing. At least nothing that “counts” on my C.V.

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To read the rest of this piece, visit The Well . . .

published

Well . . . sort of. We now have 3 cherished books in our family library written by yours truly (4 if you count my MA thesis). Just last week the most recent volume arrived: a bound, hard-copy version of my blog from 2011 to 2014.

Book 1 (blue) is my first blog: www.mythirstysoul.blogspot.com, written mostly in the Philippines, and mostly for me.

Book 2 (pink) is www.seminarymom.blogspot.com from it's beginning until my graduation from Gordon-Conwell Seminary in 2011.

Book 3 (brown) captures the 3 years we lived in Wheaton. I was shocked to see how thick it was. That's a lot of writing!

Ordering the books was simple at www.blog2print.com, and -- thanks to a generous gift certificate from my mother-in-law -- it didn't cost much either (a total of $65 for all 3). My intention was to have a paper backup of what I've written, but yesterday I discovered another good reason to print my blog. Emma (age 8) found the blog books on my desk and began reading. She couldn't stop! She made it through books 1 and 2 before bedtime and started on book 3. The afternoon was punctuated with her delighted cry, "Mom, listen to this one! . . . " Then she would read a post recounting some cute thing she or Easton said when they were younger. It was fun to walk down memory lane. I even fooled her with this post (note the date stamp: April 1, 2010), because, like many, she didn't read all the way to the end. :)

Just yesterday my blog reached 50,000 hits. That tells me Emma is not the only one who enjoys it. I'm grateful for all of you who take time to read what I write! Blogging forces me to examine my soul at regular intervals, to make sure that what I'm learning matters, to connect with real people, and to practice communicating without academic jargon. It's been so good for me. I'm thrilled that my kids benefit, too!

dearly beloved

Whether playing games or working on my dissertation,
Ana and I make a great team!

Christmas break afforded lots of extra time with the kids. Thanks to -40 degree windchill we had a few extra days to snuggle and play together. I sure love these dear little people! Highlights from the past few weeks include gifts, games, and a marriage proposal ...

Eliana (12) took on an extra project last week: skimming my dissertation and highlighting all the abbreviations so that I could type up a complete list. She's getting taller by the day (already up to my nose!) and delights in spending time with her parents. She enjoyed all the extra game time with me this break. Our new favorite is Ticket to Ride, but Backgammon is a close second. She played 'Hand and Foot' (a card game) along with all the grown-ups this year, and looked very grown-up herself in her new Christmas dress from Grandma.

Emma reading to her cousin, Charlotte

Emma (8) has been full of holiday sparkle. She comes alive giving gifts, and the holidays give her the perfect opportunity to bless those she loves. She is so good with little ones—she bonded instantly with her Colorado cousins, Charlotte (3) and Kate (2). It was sweet to watch her reading to them, playing with them, and caring for them. She's also become quite the game player—I keep losing these days!

Easton (5) is extremely loquacious these days and lots of fun. One day he told us that the world inside his head is called "Discoveration!" I couldn't have thought of a better word myself. When Easton's not discovering something new he's making up something truly incredible. This morning he was busy caring for 77 invisible dogs and one new puppy!

Danny, waking Easton up one morning: "Hey bud, you said you would wake up on your own this morning."
Easton, sleepily: "Yah, but my dream unsmarted me."

Easton has already spent countless hours
inventing things with the Construx set
he got for Christmas.  Thanks, Uncle John!

Easton: "Mom, can you imagine when I turn 18?"
Me: "Yes, buddy. I can picture dropping you off at the dorm so you can start your degree in Engineering."
Easton, after a few moments of concentrated thought: "Mom, can I skip dissertation?"
You should have seen him dance for joy when I told him that most people never have to write a dissertation!

After playing with a friend on New Year's Eve, Easton informed me, "Mom, when we're 18, Abigail and I are going to move in together."
"Ummm.... you're not going to get married first?"
"No, because I don't like kisses."
The next morning, he announced matter-of-factly, "Mom, I changed my mind. I want to marry Abigail. She's adorable, and I'm in love with her."
Later he composed a letter to her. Emma wrote it down for him (and probably influenced the content considerably, but it does capture his heart):

Dear Abby,
I love you and I want to marry you! It would be so fun to have kids! But I might not be able to marry you because God has plans for me. Thank you for being my friend. Let's be best friends forever! :)
Love your best, best friend, 
Easton

He was delighted when Abigail did not rebuff his proposal. She wants to get married, too. It will be exciting to see what God has in store for these kiddos!

connect spiritually with your daughter in 2014

One of my favorite bloggers, a friend from seminary, just launched a new devotional blog with her teenage daughter. Lindsay and Kate would love to have you join them this year on a spiritual adventure just for girls!

Each Sunday they'll post a devotional for moms and daughters that includes a short game or starter question, followed by something to discuss and then something to do together. The first devotional is posted here.

I'd love to know if you decide to try it out this year with your daughter. Eliana and I plan to do it, too!