Naming My Champions

Another tribute -- this one to the many men who have shared the platform with me over the years.

Meet Our Champions: August Konkel, Dan Block, and Rick Hess
with Jen Jones and me at the IBR Emerging Scholars Session
in Boston, November 2017

As a society, we’re at an important crossroads where women and men who have been victimized are speaking out against the abuse of power. I commend their courage. I am grateful for their message. With each one, I cry out for the end of abuse, assault, and harassment. But the danger with momentum like this is that we begin to wonder if any man in power can be trusted, if any are “on our team.” In the wake of these gut-wrenching stories, I cannot help but feel profound gratitude for the influential men who have treated me with dignity, shared their platform, given me leadership opportunities, and mentored me well. So while in France, women are “naming their pig,” I thought I’d name a few of my champions — those who have spurred me on and opened doors of opportunity.

My high school pastor was the first. In 1993 I returned from a summer youth mission trip to Panama all fired up. But re-entry was difficult. I had glimpsed something worth dying for and I didn’t want to return to life-as-normal. At the time our family was attending a cozy Foursquare church in Denver, Colorado. Pastor Jim Hammond had the wisdom to harness my fervor by putting me to work in an official capacity. At 16 years of age, I’m sure I was the youngest volunteer “missions coordinator” our church had ever seen. I began presenting monthly missions updates during the Sunday morning service, telling about needs and opportunities around the world. Pastor Jim generously shared his microphone and his platform with a young woman who had no credentials and very little life experience. I don’t know if my words-from-up-front inspired anyone else, but they galvanized me for a life of service, helping me bridge the gap from my mountaintop experience overseas to life back home.

After my high school graduation, the congregation sent me off to Bible college with their enthusiastic blessing. My freshman year was everything I hoped it would be and more. I grew spiritually and academically. Critical for my development was a course taught by Professor Ray Lubeck, “Understanding Worldviews.” I came home that summer bursting to share what I had learned. Our generous pastor again shared his platform, this time by inviting me to teach an adult Sunday school class on worldviews. Then my pastor did something that still stuns me: he required all the church elders to attend. And he and his wife came, too. 

With Dan Block after I successfully defended my
doctoral dissertation in April 2016 

You can read the rest of my story over at The Well. My champions have been too many to name in one article. I'm so grateful for all who have shared the platform with me.

My Tribute: Snapshots of Billy Graham

At Billy Graham's funeral yesterday, his daughter Ruth said this: "One thing I've learned this week is that everyone has a Billy Graham story."

I am no exception. Mine is a series of snapshots that double as a memoir.

Billy Graham at Mile High Stadium
(Photo: AP/Aaron E. Tomlinson)

5th grade. Mile High Stadium, Denver, 1987. I sat beside my Dad in the choir section and listened to Graham preach to thousands. I remember that I wanted to go forward in response to the altar call and Dad wouldn't let me. It's true, I had already been a Christian for more than a handful of years, and I had prayed the sinner's prayer with regularity. Dad said the altar call was for those who were responding for the first time. I remember thinking that by responding, we'd be letting the world know that this Jesus was worth following publicly, that this Jesus made it worth getting lost in a stadium. I wanted those going forward to know it was a decision worth making, and that they were not alone.

High school. Babysitting. I was totally absorbed in a televised crusade. In the corner of the screen was a woman interpreting Graham's message into sign language. By this point I knew some sign language, and I was trying to follow along. Trying, that is, until the little boy I was supposed to be watching said, "Carmen, look!" While I was absorbed in the crusade he had become a pirate, complete with a permanent-black-marker patch colored in around his eye. I gasped, but soon learned that permanent marker can be scrubbed off skin if you do it right away. After that I focused on what I was being paid to do.

College. Dating. I will never forget my shock when my boyfriend (not Danny) said, "Who's Billy Graham?" Was it possible to come into adulthood in the 90's without knowing him? It was, apparently, though I couldn't imagine how.

Billy Graham Library, 2008

Missions Training. We flew into Charlotte, NC from Portland, OR, stunned to see Bible verses adorning the concourses. Stunned again to see that the main street leaving the airport was Billy Graham Parkway. Welcome to the Bible Belt! Later, after 2 1/2 years of ministry in the Philippines with SIM, we were transferred to Charlotte. It felt odd to be missionaries in a city with a street named Billy Graham. In 2007, the Billy Graham Library opened, a museum where one could experience his years of ministry and hear the gospel message. If you watched Graham's funeral, you saw its iconic barn in the background. We visited several times, but I most remember going with my grandparents, because after the tour we scoured the archives to find evidence that Graham had preached in the Netherlands when my Oma was a young woman, just after WW2. We found no record, but she remembers.

Seminary. Gordon-Conwell. Billy Graham co-founded my school -- the same Graham who said if he had it all to do over again, he'd study more. He spoke so frequently that there was little time for learning. I wonder which impact will prove greater in the long run -- the millions who "met Jesus" after hearing his simple gospel message or the thousands who have been and are still being deeply trained for pastoral and academic ministries in the seminary he started? Deep and wide, deep and wide, there's a fountain flowing deep and wide . . .

Billy Graham Center, Wheaton College (Photo: C Imes)

Graduate School. Wheaton College. My classes were held in the Billy Graham Center, just a few floors above the Billy Graham Museum. I defended my dissertation on the fourth floor. Graham and I are both alumni of this flagship of evangelicalism. He once said, "The years that Ruth and I spent at Wheaton College were among the most important of our lives." Mine, too.

Publishing. The magazine I find most consistently thoughtful and substantive for a general audience is Christianity Today, a magazine founded by Billy Graham. Within hours of his death, a special commemorative issue went to press. While his preaching was simple, the magazine is not. Deep and wide . . .

Prairie College. Our school President and his wife were invited to attend the funeral yesterday. My colleague, Ron Nickel, Professor of Digital Media, was head photographer for the event, which was also live-streamed on our campus. Graham's influence reaches even to our little school on the Alberta prairies. We are linked by a common purpose: the ministry of the gospel.

Graham's passing prompts all of us to look back and remember. What is your Billy Graham story? It also prompts us to consider how we can carry on his legacy. Yesterday his daughter Ann Graham Lotz so eloquently pledged to devote herself to the work of sharing the good news of Jesus.

Billy Graham Center at Night (Photo: C Imes)

Graham is most known for his preaching to millions. He took the simple gospel message far and wide. But these snapshots point to another dimension of his ministry: the founding of institutions that will have a lasting impact by going deep. I carry on his legacy by teaching Bible classes in a Christian college, training others to serve wherever the need is greatest, and by investing in the institutional health of my school. I carry on his legacy when I have occasion to preach. I carry on his legacy by writing for Christian publishers. I carry on his legacy by investing financially in mission work. By teaching, speaking, writing, and giving, I hope to carry on what Graham started: a ministry of the gospel that is both deep and wide.

Church -- Why Bother?

Alberta Sunrise (Photo: C Imes)

It's Sunday morning. I sit by the gas fireplace snuggled up in a warm blanket, relishing the quiet. Before long, the rest of the family will stir. The sleepy house will bustle with activity as we get ready to go to church. But why bother? Why not enjoy a leisurely morning at home, letting the kids sleep as long as they will? Why shatter the peace of the weekend by entering a crowded building, exchanging shallow greetings, singing muffled songs, and being told what to think and what to do? Why clutter the rest of the week with small groups and committee meetings and rehearsals?

No doubt you've seen the classic Christmas movie, It's a Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart plays the lead character, George Bailey, a decent guy who leads an average life and tries to be a good neighbor to those in his small town of Bedford Falls and prevent the greedy Mr. Potter from gobbling up their land. On one particularly dark day, George faces the loss of everything he's worked to achieve. He wishes he had never been born. That's when the magic happens: an angel appears and accompanies George on a virtual tour of Bedford-Falls-without-George-Bailey. He has the chance to see what life would be like if he did not exist. It's a sobering picture. Bedford Falls is now Pottersville; its main street lined with clubs, its neighborhoods crowded with cheap rental houses, its residents suspicious and snarky.

What if the church, like George Bailey in his suicidal funk, did not exist? What if we could have a George-Bailey-style personal tour of a churchless world? What would we see? What if faith was purely a personal matter and we ceased gathering weekly for worship?

We need to look no further than a recent sociological study for such a tour. In groundbreaking research at the University of North Carolina, Robert Woodberry made the following discovery, under the direction of his doctoral supervisor, Christian Smith:

"Areas where Protestant missionaries had a significant presence in the past are on average more economically developed today, with comparatively better health, lower infant mortality, lower corruption, greater literacy, higher educational attainment (especially for women), and more robust membership in nongovernmental associations." (For the full article in Christianity Today, click here.)

It is one of the great mysteries of the faith how a rag-tag gathering of individuals can have such a transformative effect on the world. But according to Robert Woodberry and his team of researchers, the results are quantifiable.

But what about me? Why not let the church do its thing and opt out myself? My fireplace is warm and cozy. I'm a well-educated, theologically grounded individual. It's unlikely that I'll learn anything new at church this morning. I could crank up the worship tunes at home and sing solo. Sure the church makes a difference for others but that doesn't obligate me to go, right?

Here's the deal: I am not my own, but belong body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ (Heidelberg Catechism, Answer 1). I belong not only to him, but to his means of grace in the world, the church. My absence diminishes what Christ can accomplish in and through the church, while my presence is a tangible means of participation in the kingdom. Ultimately, it's not about "what I get out of it." It's an act of surrender.

St. Barnabas Anglican Church at Sunrise (Photo: C Imes)

According to James K. A. Smith in his recent book, You Are What You Love (Brazos, 2016), this act of surrender has consequences that may be imperceptible now, but add up to something significant. Our habitual acts shape our loves and therefore who we become. Smith says that in order to cultivate virtue we must immerse ourselves in practices that inscribe them in our heart over time. He insists, "counterformative Christian worship doesn't just dispense information; rather, it is a Christ-centered imagination station where we regularly undergo a ritual cleansing of the symbolic universes we absorb elsewhere. Christian worship doesn't just teach us how to think; it teaches us how to love, and it does so by inviting us into the biblical story and implanting that story in our bones" (You Are What You Love, 85).

With this in mind, here are four reasons I choose to keep going to church:

1. Weekly fellowship in a church body orients my loves.

Of course, if I'm not vigilant, it can breed bitterness as well. No church is perfect, and there will always be things that merit complaint. In rare cases, the damage inflicted by a particular local church may even outweigh its benefit. But when I invest weekly in corporate worship with a relatively healthy community, I join with others in declaring where ultimate truth and value lie. Each week my heart is re-calibrated in tiny ways that keep me facing Jesus rather than drifting in another direction.

2. Weekly fellowship in a church body recognizes that following Jesus means joining God's family.

When I signed on as a Christian, it was not a transaction designed primarily to secure my eternal destiny. Becoming a Christian means becoming part of God's family and changing how I live here and now. Spending week after week with these people, sharing this experience, eventually adds up to a network of caring relationships. It doesn't happen overnight, but as we do life together, we lend support to each other on our faith journeys.

3. Weekly fellowship in a church body enables me to participate in God's work of grace in others.

The fact that I show up affirms the value of corporate worship for all those in attendance. It upholds the ministry of my church leaders. My smile and my handshake and my voice lifted in praise manifest the Spirit's presence to others who have come. I am not my own. I am a member of something bigger than myself -- Christ's body on earth.

4. Weekly fellowship in a church body is a means of declaring allegiance to the kingdom of God.

On the outside, the church may not seem like the "going thing." It may seem weak. But the truth is that the church is a visible witness to the unseen reality of God's kingdom. Being present each week testifies to this. It acknowledges that God's invisible kingdom is more substantial and more lasting than the other concrete institutions in my community. It will outlast the postal service, local businesses, schools, and politicians and their offices. My participation ensures this. It testifies to that greater and lasting kingdom.

So, for these and other reasons, I keep going. Whether I feel excited about it or not (and usually I do!), the church is my family, and I cannot be who I am meant to be without it. 

Trust Without Borders

Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders. 
Let me walk upon the water wherever you would call me. 
(Hillsong, "Oceans")

If your church is like ours, you've sung this song innumerable times. Did you mean it? How did God answer your prayer?

He has answered ours in a very surprising way.

In March we announced to our financial supporters that we were taking a step of faith by resigning from SIM, the mission we've served with since 2002. After 15 wonderful years of ministry with SIM, we felt God moving us into full-time teaching ministry. We hoped that a full-time job would materialize for me, but even if it didn't, we knew what we were called to do: Danny would focus on keeping our household running smoothly so that I could devote my energy to teaching. Lots of people step out in faith to become missionaries; our step of faith meant no longer raising financial support. Danny moved down to part-time with SIM while we explored possibilities.

We knew what we wanted -- to stay planted in Oregon and keep teaching (preferably with a full-time salary), to keep investing in these students and these relationships. But when no doors opened in Oregon for a full-time job, we began checking job postings in other locations. We knew this year could be a roller-coaster. Most schools post academic jobs around the beginning of the fall semester to begin the following academic year. That makes for a long season of uncertainty about what's next. How much energy would we spend imagining life in different locations, waiting for an interview?

But God had a surprise in store.

The Maxwell Center, Prairie's Main Administration Bldg

At the tail end of May, when hope in Oregon had dried up and we were buckling in for the long roller-coaster ahead, a job was posted at Prairie College in Three Hills, Alberta. Their need was urgent. They wanted to have an Old Testament professor in place by July 1st. Gulp.

They say that if you're the least bit open to taking a job, you should apply for it. I remembered having a good impression of Prairie when I was in high school, looking for a college. It's a small school well off the beaten trail with a long history of sending missionaries all over the world. Crazy as it sounded, I applied.

I figured there was little chance of an American being hired. Canadians would be given priority. But applying was a matter of due diligence. The up side was that there would be no long roller coaster with this one.

The next couple of weeks were a flurry of research. When I emerged less than 2 weeks later as the top candidate for the position, we felt the weight of the decision. We wanted to go in with our eyes wide open. This would be a major transition for the entire family -- not something to be taken lightly.

We scrambled to talk with mentors, read about the school, and explore the area online. I made a long list of questions and concerns. Danny started working on a budget. And we prayed. If we said 'yes,' we would be crossing an international border, with a complicated and expensive immigration process ahead.

Danny and Carmen, Alberta Bound

In late June, Danny and I flew up to Calgary where we were greeted by a friendly colleague and a vibrant landscape of rolling green prairie with a stunning sunset. During the 75-minute drive to Three Hills, we started in on our long list of questions. We had a number of concerns about the job, and we had asked friends to pray for confirmation and clarity. Over the next 48 hours, we were surprised as our concerns melted away one by one. We loved the little town of Three Hills. The houses were nicer. The schools were stronger. The area was more beautiful. The salary was higher than we thought. My course load was less than we thought. We thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the faculty, staff, and students on campus. In the end, we wanted the job.

Imagine my surprise to discover that God had been making arrangements for this job since birth.

Scenic View not far from Three Hills

On our final morning there, I received a text from my Dad that still floors me whenever I think of it. He was born in Canada, which I knew, but none of us had ever wondered what this meant for me and my brother. I assumed that he became a US citizen when he married my mom and that his Canadian citizenship was a thing of the past by the time I was born. But it wasn't. He waited until I was four years old to become a US Citizen. Chances are high that he is still a dual citizen, though he didn't realize it then. And the clincher: it's almost certain that my brother and I are dual citizens. We were born outside Canada to a Canadian citizen. That's all it takes. In fact, my children are likely dual citizens as well, since they were born to a dual citizen prior to 2009 (when the laws about the second generation changed).

Carmen with Mark (President) and Elaine (CFO) Maxwell

This will make the process of immigrating to Canada far less complicated and expensive. We simply need to pay a fee to have our records checked and a certificate issued that proves our citizenship.

When my official job offer came, there was another surprise -- a part-time job for Danny that fits his skill set beautifully.

So we said "yes"!  

We're in the throes of packing, selling our house, writing syllabi for fall classes, ordering passports for the kids, and saying our goodbyes.

Parable Place, where Carmen's Torah class will meet

Our God is full of surprises. We didn't expect to cross an international border again, but we're eager to see what God has in store for us in Canada. As I said in my sample lecture at Prairie, God has lessons to teach us that can only be learned in a state of dislocation. No doubt we'll have challenges ahead. But we're confident that the same God who has called us out upon the waters will be right there with us.

quilted hearts: mentoring for the long haul

Dear Hazel,

I wasn't ready yet for you to go.
In your own unassuming way, you "held the ropes" for us.

It's not just that I loved you. You loved me back, too.

I bumbled into your sewing circle in the church basement, a young mom full of zeal. Mentoring was what I wanted most, advice for how to raise children, how to make my way in the world. Since I was 40 years younger than the next youngest member of the group, I thought it an ideal place to learn. I prodded, asking questions, seeking wisdom. The women hunched over the quilt looked at each other and shrugged. I think you answered first, Hazel. You said something like "Don't ask us! We're no experts!"

It bothered me then, your reticence to pass along what you had learned. I didn't realize that your answer really was an answer, the answer I needed most—that all of us muddle through the best we can and figure things out as we go, and that what we discover along the way is that there's no single right way of doing things, and no guarantees that what worked for you will work for me.

When I was silent long enough, swallowing my questions and slowing my pace, the conversation drifted back to its natural cadences—TV shows and recipes, small town news and medical reports and silences. These conversations held no instant magic, but I see now that each was another quilting thread, connecting hearts as thread joins layers of fabric stitch after stitch.

Hazel (center), the last time I saw her (photo: C Imes)

Now that you're gone, the fabric is torn and so is my heart.

Quilting is slow work, and so are relationships. Your faithfulness over the long haul created something beautiful. We could always count on you to keep the conversation moving. Although you stopped short of giving advice, you gave me something even more important—you genuinely cared about me and my journey. I know because your face would light up when I entered the room. This, too, was a kind of mentoring.

You were there when Eliana cruised around underneath the quilt frame, her bald head a traveling bump. You were there when we sold our things and said our farewells, headed to the Philippines. You were there when we returned, broken and bleeding. You said farewell again when we moved across the country. And you were always there when we came home and I showed up unannounced at sewing. Every time the group was smaller, as friends went on ahead -- Elizabeth, Vesta, Edna, Ruth, Bertha, Alice -- but I could count on you to be there.

How I wish your chair didn't stand empty now! I'm afraid if I take my place around the quilt again my tears will make a mess of it. I didn't realize how much you meant to me until it was too late to tell you.

I'd like to know how many quilts you stitched, how many dollars they fetched for the cause of world mission, how many lives were changed as a result. As meticulous as they are, the minutes of the Women's Missionary Society won't be able to tell me that. But I know that your faithful giving and serving has brought light and life to many others around the world, including mine.

So Thank You, Hazel.
You'll be sorely missed.

the refugee risk

It was missions Sunday, so naturally I issued a challenge to extend God's love to those outside the reach of the gospel. In this case, refugees.

What made this challenge a risk was its timing:

• Less than three months after Muslim extremists carried out a series of coordinated terror attacks in Paris.
• Less than two months after Muslim sympathizers of ISIS opened fire in San Bernadino, CA.
• Just one month after refugees so generously welcomed by Germany returned the favor by allegedly sexually assaulting hundreds of German women.
• Just one day before Iowa's caucuses and the start of the Presidential Primary election season, with its polarized and publicized debate on this issue, and Donald Trump's pronouncement still ringing in our ears (like it or not) amid the cheers of thousands. 

Let's face it. The refugee crisis will not be solved overnight.
As a nation, we do not see eye to eye on this issue.

And yet, I felt compelled to speak. Politics aside, the church is called to welcome the stranger.

As I sat waiting for my turn with the microphone, Sarah stood up with an announcement. Her arms were full of towels and she carried a plastic grocery bag laden with toothbrushes, soap, and combs. She issued a challenge of her own, calling for the collection of funds and supplies such as these . . . to be given to refugees.

I relaxed. Clearly the Spirit was already at work.

At the close of my message (an abbreviated version of which is here), Pastor Kevin stood and addressed the congregation, thanking me for my message and sharing that he had already offered to have refugees move in with his own family.

Beautiful. Already the congregation was mobilizing to help refugees far and near, refusing to allow campaign rhetoric define or limit their faithful obedience to God's call. I merely reinforced what the Spirit was stirring in their midst.

The hands and feet of the gospel cannot be bound.

refugees and religious extremists -- what to do?

Did you hear the story about the Christian man from Syria? To protect his identity, let's call him "Hanan." Unlike most of his neighbors, Hanan is a follower of Jesus. I don't know a lot about his life, but I know that being a Christian is dangerous in his part of the world. It's a volatile place, with various factions vying for control. Hanan is respected by his neighbors, even those of other faiths, but still he has to be careful. You never know who can really be trusted. One day Hanan had a vision. The Lord directed him to go into Syria's capital to a specific house and ask for a man by name. When Hanan heard the name, he shuddered. The man he was to seek out was a religious extremist, bent on destroying the Christian faith. He had made a name for himself capturing Christians, imprisoning them, and torturing them to the death. Would the Lord really ask Hanan to go into harm's way? This didn't make sense! He protested, but Jesus reassured him and so he obeyed. He went to the house he had seen in his vision, asked for the terrorist by name, and prayed for him, inviting him to surrender his life to Jesus.

Are you curious how the story ends?

Actually, I don't know how things turned out for Hanan. What I do know is that the terrorist he met that day was a transformed man. He went on to spread Jesus' teachings all over Syria, Turkey, Greece, and then Rome. He corresponded with those who came to Christ, and those letters were collected in the New Testament. We call him Paul. The man I called "Hanan" is Hananias, or Ananias, and we meet him in Acts 9. Did you recognize his story?

Acts 9 is a key chapter in the study of Paul and his writings, but we don't typically spend much time thinking about Ananias. All we know about him is that when Jesus called, he obeyed, even at risk to himself. That single act of obedience changed the course of history.

Our obedience does not guarantee our safety, but it gives us a front-row seat to watch God transform lives.

In the words of Jim Elliot, "The will of God is always a bigger thing than we bargain for, but we must believe that whatever it involves, it is good, acceptable, and perfect." Or in the words of the popular song, "Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the water, wherever you would call me." (c. Hillsong United, 2013)

Ananias was a peacemaker. He walked into danger at God's command and extended Christian love to a dangerous man named Paul. Because Paul had not yet encountered Jesus, his religious zeal was misplaced.

Syrian Refugees (Photo: Angelos Tzortzinis/Getty)

Even today, across the Muslim world, the risen Lord is appearing in dreams and visions to our monotheistic cousins. Some of them — driven by war or propelled by opportunity — will cross oceans and arrive on our own shores. Many are zealous for the faith of their parents. Will we meet them with scowls and tell them to go somewhere else? Or will we welcome them warmly, building bridges so that in this place of religious freedom and physical safety they can openly pursue a relationship with him? In other words, will we view this as a problem or as an opportunity?

A friend of ours who has lived and worked closely with Muslims in the Middle East and Asia for many years explained to me that Muslim extremism thrives wherever Muslims experience rejection and hatred from others. One of the best ways to prevent Muslims from radicalizing is to offer them a warm welcome and a place to call home. It's much harder to hate those who reach out in love. Muslims who encounter suspicion, fear, and rejection become vulnerable to the clever recruitment tactics of radical Islam.

Last month, Evangelical leaders gathered to pen a declaration of Christian response to the refugee crisis. They remind us, "the refugees fleeing this violence are not our enemies; they are victims." The statistics of this burgeoning humanitarian crisis are staggering: "Never have so many people been recorded as being displaced, put in danger, and sent on the move. In Syria alone, more than 13 million children and their parents need humanitarian aid. Nearly 4.4 million have been forced to flee to neighboring countries for safety."

I am not writing as a politician, or even as a politically active citizen. Our nation's leaders will decide how to handle the refugee crisis. Beginning today, American citizens can cast their vote to decide who is best equipped to make those decisions. My challenge relates to the 'now what?' If and when the refugees arrive in our own communities, what would a Christian response look like? Are we willing to welcome them in the name of Jesus?

Our obedience does not guarantee our safety, but it gives us a front-row seat to watch God transform lives.

Perhaps among the throngs of refugees there is another Paul, one whose determination to destroy Christianity is fueled by deep devotion to Allah and a desire to purge the world of untruth. At any moment, Jesus could reveal himself to one such as this as the Lord of all the earth. And when he does, would we be as responsive as Ananias? When Jesus calls, are we ready to step out in obedient faith?

Our single act of obedience could change the course of history.

on polishing brass and rearranging deck chairs

I wrote this piece in April 2012 as a follow up to this parable, but decided not to post it because it was too controversial. But it's time. These are things that need to be said and need to be heard. So let's plunge right in . . .

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Titanic Sinking

The 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic got me thinking about some of the "pithy grabbers" about ships.

That's like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

Why polish the brass on a sinking ship?


Both sayings are getting at the same idea. We shouldn't waste our energy on something that is doomed anyway.

Unfortunately, both of these have been applied by well-meaning Christians to the very planet on which we live. For them, this world is a sinking ship. The idea of heaven so captivates their imaginations that they see no real value in developing sustainable agriculture or environmentally-friendly standards of living. They see public education, politics, and even scientific research as a waste of time. The only thing that matters to these missions-minded and rapture-ready evangelicals is "getting souls saved."

Now, before you throw rotten tomatoes at your screen, let me explain. I consider myself a missions-minded evangelical. My most recent post should make that obvious. But I do not agree with the subset of evangelicals who see this world as a sinking ship from which we are being rescued. I do believe in heaven, but my impression from the Bible is that heaven is a temporary place. ("What?!" you ask.) Heaven is not our final destination. It's more of an interim hangout for all those who have been reconciled to God but have died. [2015: After reading Middleton, I'm less sure it's even that.] The final destination, the real goal of the story God is writing, is the new creation. At the end of John's book of Revelation, where he is granted a vision of spiritual realities, he sees the new creation (a cubic arboreal city) coming down out of heaven. According to John's vision, it will be the place where all the redeemed live and worship the true king. The new creation will be much like this one, with streets and rivers and trees, only it will last forever. If you want to call that new creation "heaven" I won't argue with you, as long as you realize that it's on terra firma, not up in the clouds somewhere.


So what does this have to do with a sinking ship?


The mandate given to Adam and Eve to cultivate and care for the garden (Genesis 2:15) is still in effect. God's intention was that they would continue to extend the boundaries of that garden until it filled the whole earth. Our care for the planet is part of the role God has given to us until that time when he renews it all for eternity. Rather than expecting to be caught up to another dimension of reality, we can anticipate God's transformation of this world. And until then, it's our job to take care of it. Environmental concern is not for its own sake, but is part of extending his just rule in every place.

The idea that "this world is not my home, I'm just a passin' through" can be dangerous. God is glorified when we give our best efforts to reducing pollution, cleaning our waterways, protecting endangered species, and anything else that ensures that our great-grandchildren will be able to enjoy God's beautiful and bountiful creation. In other words, keep on polishing that brass. This ship's gonna be around for a while!

If I've piqued your interest, here are a few resources you can check out for more on this subject:

• Greg Beale's, The Temple and the Church's Mission (a biblical theology of creation and God's plan for the world)

• this blog post and video on why some Christians believe in a rapture (you'll hear more about the ship analogy)

• Keeping God's Earth: The Global Environment in Biblical Perspective, edited by Toly and Block

• N. T. Wright's Following Jesus, which has a great chapter on heaven. I'm told that Wright was interviewed about heaven for the Easter edition of TIME magazine [2012] as well. This would be worth checking out. 

I've said some controversial things here, and no doubt some of you disagree. My hope is to get us all thinking about how our theology affects the way we care for the earth as well as how we share the good news about what Christ has done for us. Getting saved is not so much a ticket out of here as it is permission to stay for a really long time . . . uh . . . like forever!

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.

an open letter to Multnomah students

Last fall, one of my college professors, Ray Lubeck, invited me back to speak to his Bible Study Methods class. Ray was more than just a professor to me. He became my mentor, boss, and friend, even performing our wedding in Colorado! It was an honor to visit his class again. I just came across my notes from the message I gave that morning, and I thought I'd share it with you as well.

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18 years ago I sat where you are sitting.

I soaked in every word that Ray taught.

I poured myself into lab assignments.

And it changed my life.

Seriously, I couldn't figure out why no one had ever taught me this stuff before.

The Scriptures were opened up in a whole new way for me and the Bible came to life.

17 years ago I stood where I'm standing now, as a [Bible Study Methods] lab instructor.

It was the single most fulfilling thing I had ever done.

I kept coming back, teaching a total of 5 semesters.

12 years ago my husband Danny and I sold most of our things, packed up the rest, and headed to the Philippines as missionaries. We were more than ready. We had 4 years of the best Bible training on the planet tucked under our belts, teaching and church ministry experience, a strong team of prayer and financial supporters, a set of gifts that were a perfect match for the needs our mission advertised, and a commitment to reach Filipino Muslims with the gospel.

Weeks stretched into months as our initial enthusiasm wore off. We floundered. Ministry opportunities were not unfolding the way we had anticipated. Life in Manila was really tough. It was hot. We wilted. It was smoggy. We could hardly breathe. Language school was brutal. We were so homesick.

One day I was walking to the market to see my Muslim friends. I thought about their lives. They were immigrants from another island, far from home and trying to get along in a new language. Squatters by day and squatters by night, they sold pirated goods along the street without a permit and lived in makeshift homes on property they did not own. At any moment the police could show up and drag them off to jail for any number of infractions. The women sat pregnant in the hot sun for hour after hour selling combs and batteries and cell phone covers. After their babies were born they left them home with an older sibling and return to the market to sell again so the family could eat.

On my way to the market that day I felt so, so empty. What did I have that these friends really needed? I had come prepared to teach Bible study methods, but they could hardly read or write. We were here to reach them with the gospel, but what tangible benefit did the gospel offer them? A stable income? Reliable housing? What I knew to offer was a far cry from what they needed. As for godly character, I was depressed and discouraged, cranky and selfish, homesick and tired. I had come armed with colored pencils and an inductive Bible study method. I felt a little silly.

It was around this time that I got an email from Dr. Karl Kutz [another of my professors from Multnomah]. He was conducting a survey of graduates from the biblical languages program to find out our greatest accomplishments post-graduation. My Greek and Hebrew Bibles had made the trek across the ocean with me, but frankly, they sat untouched on my shelves getting moldy from the humidity. My greatest accomplishment? Umm… at first I groaned. There was nothing much that belonged on a resume. After some thought I decided that my most noteworthy accomplishment was that I could walk unannounced into a Muslim neighborhood climb the cement stairs of a 3-story building onto the rooftop where two families lived -- my friends from the market. Salma and Aisah and their husbands were raising their small children on that rooftop with no railings. Two lean-to shelters stood side by side, with corrugated metal roofs and walls with scrap linoleum floors. Their only furniture was a table on which the TV and a small gas stove were kept, powered with illegal gas and electricity. We sat on the floor as the pouring rain seeped through the holes in the floor and soaked our clothes. We talked and laughed, and I prayed in Filipino for Aisah's new baby, whom she had named Ishmael, or for Salma's whom she had named Eliana, after my own daughter. I longed for these friends to meet the Savior. I loved them, and I knew they loved me.

They had no pencil between them, and they could not read their copy of the Qur'an which was carefully wrapped and tucked between the wooden post and metal walls of their home. I would never have an opportunity to teach them inductive Bible study methods. That's not what they needed anyway. We all cried when Danny and I were called to move back to the US.

Yes, I've accumulated more degrees since then, and my Greek and Hebrew are not as rusty as they were in 2003. But if Dr. Kutz sent me that email again today I'm not sure that my answer should be any different. Allow me some liberties with 1 Cor 13:1–2:

If I read fluently in the languages of the ancient near east, but do not have love,

I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I have impressive intellectual powers, advanced degrees,

and an exegetical method than can unlock all mysteries and all knowledge, 

and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

Soak in all you can this semester. It is valuable training, and it will shape you in profound ways. But know this: without love, we are nothing.

on being finite

As a child, life stretched out interminably before me, holding an endless array of choices and possibilities. What do you want to be when you grow up? was the question that punctuated a long and happy childhood. No career was out of the question. My dreams held no bounds. My pint-sized mind was pregnant with possibility. Missionary-scientist-teacher? Bible translator-orphanage director? At one point I decided to become a missionary-astronaut-famous singer. I had my schedule all worked out in advance: I would spend several years overseas doing mission work, and then during furlough I would squeeze in a space mission and a concert tour before resuming my work in Africa.

How could I have anticipated the exhausting pace of what is erroneously called "furlough," or the rigorous preparation required for a trip to outer space, or the endless hours of practice and coordination to schedule a road show? My dreams were good ones, but I had yet to discover my own finitude.

We are given only so many hours, only so many days, and only so many years. Chances are that we will not be able to pursue every hobby that tickles our fancy, or learn every skill that would be handy to know, or volunteer for every worthwhile activity. Even as an adult, I have far more visionary ideas than I do energy to carry out those ideas. (I should bring a meal to so-and-so, or help with such-and-such, or start making my own this-and-that.) That leads to overpromising, overcommittment, pressure, guilt, and stress. Just because I can do something (in theory), does not mean that I should, even if it's commendable or I would be good at it.

Perhaps in days gone by one could aspire to be a 'renaissance man,' mastering knowledge in a wide range of subjects. That age has expired, and with it my dreams of being an astronaut or scientist or Bible translator or famous singer or counselor or midwife. I've given up on quilting and canning (at least for now), writing children's books, learning to paint, or taking an active role in the PTSO of my children's school or our neighborhood association. I cannot do everything. I have limits. For the time being, I study and write. When time allows, I read fiction and go camping and play games and take pictures. Once a year I even work on the family photo album. But mostly I dissertate. When that is done I will teach. And that will leave precious little time for anything else.

Almost-38-years old seems a strange time in life to start slashing my list of ambitions. I am interested in more things than ever before -- languages, geology, travel, world economics, traditional arts, gardening -- but I'm also more aware of my limitations. I am not a machine, I am a human being. That means I need balance, margins, rest. I can't do everything. Neither can you.

It's freeing to know that although God invites our active participation in his work, he does not expect us (in particular) to do it all. We invest what we can, when we can, as he provides the means. The rest is up to him. Our finitude drives us to depend on the infinite God for the strength to do what he has called us to do -- nothing more, nothing less.

long found friends

The year was 1995 (give or take), and I was sitting at my desk in Memorial Dorm, staring at my computer screen, puzzled. (That put me in the privileged 32% of Americans who owned computers in 1995). The email was addressed to me, using the email address I had acquired when I left home that fall for my first semester of college. (If you must know, I signed up for my own account primarily to keep in touch with my parents.)

To: Carmenjoy@juno.com
From: ?

Frankly, I don't remember who it was from, but I knew I did not know her. She greeted me by name, sounding casual, and referring to something I was supposed to know about, but didn't.

I could have hit "delete," but I decided to reply. I think perhaps you have the wrong email address. My name is Carmen, but I don't think I know you . . .

Then she replied, embarrassed. Oops! I was trying to write my friend, Carmen. Her email address and yours are almost exactly the same. I just forgot to put a "1" behind "Carmenjoy."

And that was it.
Or so it could have been.

But this was not the last email I received for "the other Carmen Joy." At some point, I decided I should introduce myself, since we shared the same first and middle names. And so I did.

To: Carmenjoy1@juno.com
From: Carmenjoy@juno.com

As it turned out, Carmen Joy and I had a lot in common besides our names and (almost) our email addresses. Not only was the other Carmen a Christian, but she lived in the Pacific Northwest and she was thinking about attending Multnomah! She was interested in missions, too. We kept in touch the way all good friends did in the 90's—we shared email forwards. Through those "forwards" we learned a lot about each other.

My life's journey took me to the Philippines, North Carolina, and Illinois before circling back to the Northwest. Carmen's brought her to New Hampshire, and then to join YWAM in (of all places) Denver, the city of my birth. For years I received her prayer letters and she received ours. But in spite of her trips home to the Northwest and our trips home to Denver, we never met in person. Until last week.

Carmen is back in the Northwest for a season, about an hour north of us. I suggested we meet for lunch on campus at Multnomah. And so we did.

Carmen Joy Imes and Carmen Joy Matson meet at last! Photo: C Imes

It was just as wonderful to meet Carmen in person as I suspected it would be! After almost 20 years of long-distance friendship and mutual inspiration, I'm delighted to have had the opportunity to talk face-to-face. Carmen's life has been a sweet aroma -- someone who loves Jesus and pours out her life for his kingdom. She's taken the gospel all around the world (literally), investing in one group of young YWAM students after another, sharing her heart, her home, and her faith. Her emails and blog posts always point me to Jesus. I'm eager to see what adventures God has in store for her next!

Life is richer with like-minded friends to share the journey. I'm so glad Carmen's friends accidentally emailed me almost 20 years ago. Who could have guessed the sweet fruit of that "mistake"!?

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.

adventures in noticing

Prayer prepares us to see what we would otherwise miss. It conditions our soul for richer relationships. It "tunes my heart to sing thy grace."

It's a phenomenon common to every short-term mission trip. People who are normally rather shy and private about their faith and whose day-to-day experience is not terribly prayerful become bolder, full of faith, and fervent in prayer. The prayerful-ness of missions opens us to see what God is up to. We celebrate it. Seize opportunities to participate. And pray some more.

I remember those prayer-filled moments in Latin America as if they happened last week. I was only 14 at the time, on a short-term mission trip with Teen Mania in Venezuela. If we saw an ambulance go by, we would stop to intercede. When one of us was sick, we prayed. At a new ministry site we would pray, go out to invite people to come see our drama, and then pray them into the kingdom. Every moment was fueled with prayer.

How can we capture that kind of fervor for ordinary days?

During our pastor's sabbatical, he has invited us to read Mark Batterson's, Draw The Circle with him. Forty brief chapters, spread over forty days, invite readers to pray, and in so doing to draw circles around areas of life they want to see transformed by God.

I'm drawing circles around my students, my neighbors, family members, unbelieving friends, my dreams, and yes, my dissertation. It's amazing to watch God answer. Did he change the course of history because of my prayers? Or did my prayers simply wake me up so that I could watch him at work? Or is it some of both?

Batterson says that praying makes us "first-class noticers," people who "see things no one else sees" (67). "Prayer," he says, "is the key to perception" (70).

And so I pray for a student who has been absent from class. That prayer prompts me to write them an email. I continue to pray, and they respond, asking if we can talk. Their struggle fuels more prayer (and along with it the sense that we are in this together). Meanwhile, I begin to pray for another student who appears burdened, drawing a circle around that name and asking God to intervene on their behalf. And then I watch and wait. I don't want to miss God's answer!

new author spotlight

Several of our missionary colleagues have recently published their first books. It's my joy to share their work with you here. While I have not yet read all their books, these authors have lived authentically the stories they share here. Each of them have been an inspiration to me, and I'm excited to see their stories published. If you decide to read any of them, I'd be interested in hearing what you think!

Miracle Beans and the Golden Book: From a Snowstorm in Ohio to the Blazing Sun of Africa, One Family's True Stories Following the Call of the Gospel 

We've enjoyed this book as a fun read-aloud with our kids. Each of the short chapters is a snapshot of life in Africa. For us, the best part is knowing the authors and their kids and grandkids (our kids' good buddies from Charlotte), but we think you'll like it, too, if you want to instill in your kids a willingness to follow God's call anywhere. Don and Barb were mentors to us when we began our journey into missions with SIM. All the proceeds from the sale of this book actually go to support the ministry of SIM we joined almost 9 years ago: Sports Friends.

Growing Down: God's Grace in Spite of Myself

Sarah Wetzel and her husband, Jake, served with Sports Friends in Ethiopia at Camp Langano. They brought to Langano decades of experience in camping ministry in Bolivia with SIM, helping to build the infrastructure so that the camp could accommodate dozens of young people and their coaches each week. Sarah is a wonderful writer. Here she shares her own journey of spiritual growth. I think you'll find it encouraging!

God and Elephants: A Worshipper's Guide to Raising Support

Heather Ricks and her husband, Jason, joined our Sports Friends team just a handful of years ago after first serving in Ghana, and before that, planting a church in the U.S. Heather has not only watched God provide for their own financial needs as missionaries, but she has helped to orient others to the support-raising process. She's passionate about writing, about missions, and about seeing God glorified in all things. We've just ordered our copy of her book and we can't wait to see what she has to say!

Deep Waters: a journey of healing from sexual abuse

This book promises to be a fruitful resource for counselors as well as victims of sexual abuse. Our friend, Jasmine, shares openly about her own experiences in hopes that others who have suffered similar horror will find hope in Christ as well as practical help. She says, "This is my story of how God met me in the place of deepest pain and shame." If someone you know could benefit from this book, consider buying them a copy.


While I'm writing, do you know about Amazon Smile? If you begin shopping at smile.amazon.com, you can select a charity to receive a portion of the proceeds from your purchase. It doesn't cost you anything extra. I picked Compassion International. What will you choose?

thrust into the spotlight

10 days ago, most people in the world had never heard of SIM, even though our organization has been working around the globe for more than 120 years. The Ebola virus changed all that.

Now Anderson Cooper, Sanjay Gupta, President Obama, Donald Trump, the CDC, the WHO, and just about every other person with access to news in the developing world has heard of it.

Danny and I have been members of SIM for 12 years now, but as we settle into a new community, we're finding that lots of people we meet don't know what it is. Today's press release explains:

SIM is an international Christian mission with a staff of nearly 3,000 workers serving in more than 65 countries. In addition to medicine, SIM serves on every continent in areas of education, community development, public health and Christian witness. While SIM stood for Sudan Interior Mission when it was founded 120 years ago, it is now a global mission known as SIM. Two of SIM’s three founders died of disease within the first year of the organization’s founding. Yet SIM continued on to become one of the largest Christian medical missions in the world.

A few hours ago I watched a live press conference in Atlanta with our director, Bruce Johnson. No doubt his voice was heard on nearly every news network this evening. In the midst of a medical crisis, our SIM leaders and coworkers around the world have an unprecedented opportunity to "give an answer to anyone who asks us the reason for the hope we have" (1 Peter 3:15) in the face of suffering. Bruce did an outstanding job on this occasion, and he'll have many others in days to come. The disease threatening thousands of lives in West Africa may never have caught the attention of the West aside from this direct threat to American missionaries. Kent and Nancy are now known around the world as heroes who put themselves at risk for the sake of others in need.

I, for one, am grateful to belong to a band of people such as these. People who deliberately go where it's not safe. Who serve tirelessly where the need is greatest. Who have been doing so for ages without media attention. And who stand ready to give an answer for their hope in death's valley. Kent and Nancy (and the countless others like them who you will not see on the 10 o'clock news) remind me very much of Someone Else who gave up everything for the sake of the dying and lost His life in the process. May their tribe increase!

UPDATE 8/27/14: Last week Kent and Nancy were both released from Emory Hospital in Atlanta, virus-free! We're rejoicing in this answered prayer. Sadly, the virus continues to spread in West Africa. Pray that effective treatment will be developed and the spread will be stopped.

this ordinary adventure

I'm not the only one who has struggled with feeling ordinary. I suspect it's a common ailment of those of us in our late 20's and 30's who set out to change the world -- full of ideas and loaded with energy -- and woke up one morning 2 or 3 children later only to discover that we had, somewhere along the line, slipped into the very lifestyle we were determined to avoid -- an ordinary one.

I've been encouraged by fellow blogger and friend-of-a-friend Chrissy Jeske, who often reflects on this very phenomenon. In fact, she and her husband have written a whole book about it. After an action-packed decade post-college living in rural Nicaragua, China, and South Africa (chronicled in their first book), they did the unthinkable. They bought a house on 2 1/2 acres in Southern Wisconsin, put both of their kids in public school, and started in on the inevitable homeowners' to-do list. Meanwhile Chrissy began a PhD in cultural anthropology and her husband, Adam, got a desk job. Since their timing coincided nicely with ours, I enjoy reading Chrissy's blog posts. She and I often wrestle with similar questions, and she has managed to find adventure in ordinary life.

Adam writes, "When I despair at the long, slow ordinary adventure, I stop and remember . . . God has graciously built into us habits of noticing small amazing things every day, responding wholeheartedly and taking small steps for long-term effect, and that makes a difference." (This Ordinary Adventure, 192, emphasis mine) 

"Today, I can notice the little amazing things around me and I can respond. I can take steps and make plans that will grow almost imperceptibly. I can make some small decisions that will have big effects, like sticking tiny acorns in the earth. When I'm gray and wrinkly, if God grants me that grace, I'll enjoy watching the sun rise behind oaks rather than across an open field. I'll look back on my life and see how small decisions and tiny steps began some very big adventures. I hope to see the results of a life well-lived: my gray, wrinkly and smiling bride; two kids living well in the world; a church filled with people I've known for decades and people who've just come in; projects and ministries that we supported with our money and time; and friends who I got to see start on this ordinary adventure with Jesus. It's doubtful I'll see all of these slow-growing fruits from seeds planted now, but surely I'll see some of them.

"This is a terribly big deal, and it makes me tremble again. Am I really willing to consider everything -- my dreams, my plans, my education, my job, my free time, my money, my friendships, my marriage, my parenting, my house -- in light of God's amazing calling on my life that should still be affecting the world ten, twenty-five, even a hundred years from now? Will I do what is necessary to prepare the ground for a field of oaks that will drop their own acorns, seeding and reseeding in generations of resurrections? Do I have the foresight and the patience -- the faith -- to find the best acorns and stick them in the dirt?" (This Ordinary Adventure, 191-192, emphasis mine)

Planting acorns is neither glamorous nor exotic. It's terribly ordinary. But it's the first and most important step in a process that ensures the world is a different place 50 years from now. In our new house I've been harvesting cups of blueberries every day for weeks, thanks to the foresight of the previous owner, who was not here long enough to enjoy the fruit of her labor. I'd like to think that writing a dissertation (or parenting small children, or serving faithfully at church) is a lot like planting an acorn. Patient study is not a quick fix for the world's problems, but it cultivates long-term growth that will offer tangible benefits for future generations.

What are you planting today that your grandchildren can enjoy? Godly parents? Stronger churches? Shady forests? Great literature? It may feel ordinary, but your wise choices day after day can eventually change some small corner of the world.