Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Going in Circles

This will be my last work day of 2010…relatively speaking. My duties in the Conference Office will be put on hold for a few days as I exchange one boss for another. I already got a taste of it yesterday evening when I was called into service under false pretense by my wife. She had me drop her off at the Fashion Mall of Scottsdale, a den of iniquity if ever there was one, after having enjoyed a pleasant time at a vegan restaurant in the seedy side of Scottsdale (yes, there is a seedy side in Scottsdale). I had a surprisingly delicious bowl of vegan menudo—yes, it was delicious menudo. I will probably go back and visit this place again. But I digress….

I returned to work with the instructions that I should expect a phone call later on in the day to pick her up. I was happy to do this, although the trip back entailed a significant amount of city driving. It was worth it if it meant I would not have to engage in the pointless task of shopping. Yes, shopping. I understand the need for buying. As painful as it is, I comprehend the importance of purchasing items required for specific reasons related to family, friends, and home maintenance. But shopping? People who shop are like people who play with their food. They are at the table but they seldom take a bite and thus take hours to eat a plate of food that should otherwise take ten minutes to consume. Sometimes they do not eat at all! What’s the point! If you sit at the table—eat! But I digress, again….

I got the phone call at about 6:30 p.m. By then I had already called it quits at work and was in my Prius heading to the mall. Penny, my wonderful and beautiful wife of over 30 years, instructed me to pick her up at the Nordstrom’s entrance on the side of the parking structure. I imagined the exercise would be simple enough. I called Penny letting her know, as requested, that I was close to arriving. No response. I called again. No response. I drove to the entrance and called again. No response again! My stress level was beginning to rise with every trip around the block and corresponding phone call without response. After what seemed like my Jericho-like seventh trip around Nordstrom’s I was finally able to connect with Penny, who had apparently left her phone at one of the stores where she had been earlier in the evening (a very rare and uncharacteristic behavior for Penny….I sense a little sarcasm emanating).

By the time I saw Penny walking towards the car while carrying the spoils of her shopping and talking with me on the phone about one more stop she just had to make before returning home I knew the trap had been set and had been sprung in one graceful swoop. I had been hoodwinked! Bamboozled! Bait and switched! I had been led like a lemming to the precipice—like a bull to the slaughterhouse! It was too late to escape—to late to feign a bad mobile phone connection.

Three hours and a blur of stores and malls later I arrived at home exhausted and emotionally drained by the encounters with the hordes of shoppers, some with their out-of-control cretins in tow wreaking havoc in their wake. Oh the humanity! I am alive today—a miracle in itself. Only two more days remain before the holiday-induced frenzy and fanfare around me will end…until next year. Bah, humbug!

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Pre-Holiday Reflections

It is Tuesday afternoon and I am almost alone in the Conference Office. Someone is in the Business Office. I think Florence is working in the Community Service Department. Oh yeah, the Books Store is open for another half hour. But that’s it! So I am blogging since I have not been at it for a few days.

Penny is in town, but she’s out exploring the shopping establishments in the Scottsdale area. That’s a lot of shopping establishments! But she seems to be enjoying the experience. I have been sensing my wallet heating up spontaneously; perhaps due to its close relationship to a paternal twin credit card Penny has in her possession. I fear for my financial future, although the economy is being stimulated directly by my wife’s holiday economic endeavors.

I will be headed back to California tomorrow, or Thursday at the latest, to spend Christmas and New Year’s Day with the family. I look back and realize I have been here half a year already. That is unbelievable! I will spend some moments during my week off in serious reflection. I wonder what, if any, difference I am making. I wonder is the system can be saved. I wonder if the necessary chaged can be evoked with the present leadership in place. I wonder if it worth rescuing as it presently exists. I wonder if God brought me here. I wonder if He can make something extraordinary happen with such an ordinary person leading the charge.

The funny thing is that I know the answer to all these questions in the part of my heart that resonates with faith and hope. But the part of me that sees things from a different perspective cannot help but wonder how God is going to accomplish what He chooses to accomplish. I can’t help but wonder if God and I are on the same page. Yet at the same time, I do not see myself doing anything else! The Kingdom of God belongs to the little ones. Someone has to take the hits for those who don’t know any better.

This last week I shared glimpses of my life with my co-workers during our morning staff devotional time. I was in charge last week. My basic premise was that we can’t choose most of our lives’ experiences—where, when, to whom, why, or the circumstances surrounding our birth. It only gets worse after that. We are who we are due in large part to events over which we had little say. But, more powerful than the “we are” life commandments, are the “you are” declarations about us from God, through Christ. He makes declarations about who we are, not in spite but, because of who we are! His “you are” statements trump the “we are” life commandments we pick up along the way. The difference is made by the “I Am” statements of Jesus. His “you are” statements negate the “we are” statements because of His “I AM” statements. Was that simple enough? I guess you had to be there.

Which is exactly the point—here I am. Because of who I am as a result of my life, I am here to become what God has envisioned for me in His gracious heart. Wherever I am—I am!

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Simple Joys

Last night I visited the Mesa Palms SDA Church to take in a Christmas play presented by the eight students at the Red Rock SDA School housed in the local church. It was an event filled with all the unexpected and unprepared for twists and turns which children’s choir directors dread, yet the very same events that make children’s programs of any kind memorable and fascinating.

First, I must say that the kids sounded great considering they were such a small contingent of singers. There was significant doubling up of speaking parts which required quick changes of accessories. I am not sure the sound was all theirs, since I can almost say with certainty that I heard a professional sounding adult voice behind the childlike sounds emanating from the visible singers. Regardless, they did a fine job.

Yes, there were forgotten lines, exploding and malfunctioning props, and even exchanged lines between the teacher and her son at a critical junction of the play which brought the production to a dramatic pause, as if the child was telling his mom, “How dare you take my lines, I refuse to say my next line until you fix it!” She did. The teacher calmly went back into the script and recited the correct line leading into his rehearsed response. Classic! The point of all this imperfection is that it didn’t matter.

This was not a professional performance at the Pantages Theater. The actors were not paid. There was no director other than the teacher who was also an actor in the play. It was done for the joy of it…and it showed. Parents, grandparents, friends and family clapped and smiled every time the group sang a song. And after the performance, they got together for refreshments. I can almost imagine God smiling down at this unadulterated simple gift offered up by His kids. Not a bad evening, even for a Grinch! May we all have a moment of childlike joy every day of our life

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Bah Humbug!

Christmas is in the air. Lights are glimmering like fireflies in formation on the eves of festive homes lit up for the season. Malls are brimming with people who are rushing to and fro like blood corpuscles on an adrenaline-generated mission. Christmas tunes are blaring endlessly in competing cacophonies of reindeers, snowmen, and sleigh bells drowning out the silent nights. I have two words for you, “Bah Humbug!”

I am wearing my Grinch neck-tie today in my no-so-silent protest against the fever pitched pace of the season. Give me a quiet evening by a fireplace listening to the giggles and mischievous murmurings of pint-sized little ones who still have not bought in to the mercenary worldview that joy is measured in the number of toys under the tree. I have two words for you again, “Bah Humbug!!”

I am compelled to decorate my genuine artificial Bonsai Tree behind my desk with the Christmas cards sent by well-meaning friends and colleagues to the office and some gifted Christmas-related tree hangings. It’s a weak attempt of propping up my negative propensity towards anything festivities associated with the season. “Bah Humbug!”

I am trying, mind you. I go to sleep to the sound of Christmas carols sung by an array of artists, foreign and domestic. I attended a church Christmas play about a Bethlehem innkeeper and his daughter and their apocryphal tale. I will be attending a Christmas concert tonight in Mesa and tomorrow I will sit down for another helping of Christmas music at the TCE Christmas concert, here is Scottsdale. Aaaaargh! How many days remain ‘til December 26?

At some point before my days are done perhaps there will be a magical and transcendent moment that will finally melt the Ebenezer-like heart. I will continue to seek that epiphany in the rare quiet moments of this time of year. Until then, I got two words for you--- “Merry Christmas.”

Monday, December 6, 2010

Translation Needed

I was tired when I got to work today. I am not sure if it is old age or if I am simply getting older—either way, I am feeling old.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I spent the better part of the last three days interacting, eating, and speaking for a group of about 100 Pathfinders from the east side of Phoenix. They were made up of young kids belonging to three main Spanish churches: Mesa, Phoenix Central and Gilbert (I am guessing the last one). They each had their own nickname, which I can’t remember either.

What I do remember is that Penny was cold most of the time and there was no sound system. I also know that I enjoyed myself, and ate a lot, although I can’t help but wonder where all the youth speakers are. It seems a bit sad to me that the only speaker they can find is 20 years removed from his last year as a “youth” by any stretch of the imagination or policy definition.

Regardless, I had a blast. The kids were courteous and receptive. I even climbed the hills with the lion’s share of the campers on Sabbath afternoon and had the Sabbath vespers program at the Wind Caves, near the summit. It was only a couple of miles from the camp to the destination, but most of it was uphill, and a portion of it tugging Penny along by my belt, which she held from behind. She was unable to keep my slow pace so she decided to set me free to chase the wind while she stayed behind. I, of course, forgetting that I am 20 years removed from any vestiges of youth, chased the lead pack, wearing my slacks, a shirt and tie, and caught them before their reached the summit.
My heart was pounding at an alarming rate. My breathing must have sounded borderline obscene to those in close proximity. Thankfully by the time the remainder of the group had arrived (including Penny!), my heart rate and breathing had returned to normal. Most people still seemed surprised to see me there.

The funniest moment came when upon our descent (this time I chivalrously stayed back with Penny) from the hill, Penny and I found a straggler lady sitting at the side of the road. We invited her to join us since we were amongst the last (we were, in fact, the last) group to return to camp. She at first refused our invitation. But after mentioning that we had seen a couple of coyotes earlier that day she jumped up with new-found vigor and began to walk with us. I didn’t bother to tell her that coyotes do not normally approach humans. She was among the group that did not scale Mini-Everest earlier that afternoon. She said she had badly bruised her shin bumping into an immovable bench at camp. We did not challenge the story. What was mildly amusing is that she also mentioned that she was amazed that I was even attempting to climb, and beyond that she was questioning my mental stability earlier in the day when she saw the frenetic pace I had set for myself. Then she made a statement that requires some translation.

What she said literally in Spanish was, “It was just that you are such a strapping gentleman (un señor tan amarrado)…” Well, it occurred to me that amarrado (strapping) had perhaps a different meaning in Spanish than “strapping” in English. This was confirmed somewhat by the laughter emanating from a tall and strapping Hispanic gentleman that had recently joined our walk. He made it quite clear that the meaning of amarrado was more in line with my granddaughter’s “fluffy” than with my self-serving translation of “buff.” I chose the high road in light of her humorous color commentary and had a laugh at my own expense…again. Penny was very amused as well.

I am sure I would not be feeling so sore today if I were truly strapping. All of a sudden I am feeling very old again. Excuse me while I fill my tub with hot water, Epsom Salt and Ben Gay.

Friday, December 3, 2010

You're Playing with the Big Boys Now!

Penny is coming home for the weekend. I am scheduled to speak for a Spanish Pathfinder Camporee in some place called Ursery Park—who knows. Very busy week culminated by a School Board meeting in Prescott last night. I was bushed. I woke up late and have been scrambling all day.

I mentioned in my last blog that humor is everywhere, and not always planned or particularly pleasant, but it is humorous nonetheless. I must pre-empt my Swamp Smoothie vignette to talk briefly about an incident that took place at Thursday’s Executive Committee Meeting, prior to my trip to Prescott.

It was supposed to be an uneventful meeting. I was one of very few reporting members to this distinguished cross-section of male and female educators, philanthropists, lay people and clergy who gather six times a year to discuss the business of the church organization in the State of Arizona. It is the highest administrative committee in the organization.

Other than my report and a couple of significant votes related to personnel and policy, the two points of interest to me dealt with a proposal to liquidate some funds held in an account designated to assist TAA, who is facing some daunting cash flow scenarios in the coming weeks, and a vote to add the Superintendent of Education as a fourth administrative member of the Executive Committee.

The second vote came early in the agenda and the committee voted unanimously (unofficial biased count by me) to verify my appointment to the Executive Committee. I feel affirmed while, at the same time, feeling a bit weighted down by yet another committee that will require my presence. Maybe I can sway the way they conduct business as well, or maybe there is a reason why these meetings are conducted according to some unwritten agenda code that requires a litany of oral reports and commentary on the reports followed by votes on a myriad of items without much discussion at all. My theory is that by the end of the meeting most members do not want to prolong the process any further by discussion in light of the fact that they have engaged in two hours of reports prior to arriving at the “executive” portion of the meeting. This will remain one of the mysteries of administrative life.

I mentioned I was supposed to present the recommendation by the Education Board to transfer a sizable amount of funds from an endowment to the coffers of TAA to assist them with cash flow. The endowment was established for this purpose specifically. I was confident the vote would be positive, all seemed to be going well—the president and chair of the committee asked me to present the recommendation to the committee. I began to make my presentation standing where I had been seated—in what I refer to as the “detention chairs.” I had begun to make my eloquent and powerful appeal to the committee. It was at this point that humor made an unexpected appearance—at my expense.

The president asked me to come to the head of the table from my place at the side tables reserved for visitors and non-members. I began to make my way to the side of the table where only administrators dare trod. I made some snide remark about “playing with the big boys now,” a reference to the line by the Egyptian magicians in The Prince of Egypt, one of my favorite animated movies. As I arrived and looked at the group congregated it occurred to me that the reference may not have been as apparent to the committee as it might have been to me when I uttered it.

Secondly, I realized there were committee members of the female persuasion seated at the committee table. Wanting to be inclusive I quickly added the now fateful addendum to my previous quote. The words began to burn on my lips even before they had made their exit. “Oh, and the Big Girls, too.” I added. There was an uneasy silence which was soon broken by my attempt to recover as I looked around at the stares by the ladies seated at the table. They seemed unsure as to how to react to my statement. Big? Girls? Ouch! “That did not sound quite right,” I believe I said, hoping the ground would open up. I truly expected the Southwest Airline’s ring tone to preface a voice saying, “Want to get away?”

The president started chortling next to me with too much delight. “I would say not,” he commented between snickers. By now the committee had exploded into uninhibited laughter as I tried in vain to dig out of the proverbial hole of my own making into which I had fallen. No one helped me. Every attempt to recover was met with a “stop trying, Ruben” or “nice try” comment. Resistance was futile.

It took a couple of minutes before the laughter subsided sufficiently for me to find my way back to my place in my impassioned appeal for consideration of the motion. In the end, the committee voted to approve the motion and, soon after, mercifully adjourned the meeting. I doubt, however, that the officers will let me forget my faux pas. Humor is indiscriminate and equally cruel, but laughter is sweet salve to the soul, even for the one who is the victim of the humiliation. I think the Bible says as much, in the Book of Hezekiah. Oh well. I will not likely forget my first day on the Arizona Conference Corporation Executive Committee. On the other hand, I also will never forget my first post-40 visit to the doctor. Ironically, his name was Dr. Blizzard—no kidding! You can’t make up this stuff…unfortunately.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Seriously

Ten days without blogging is not a good thing. I can blame it on Thanksgiving break and time away from Arizona. Perhaps being alone in Arizona in the evenings gives me more time to blog. In any case, much has transpired since my last confession….I mean blog.

Today was a committee-filled day. The Arizona Conference Education Board held its bi-monthly meeting this afternoon. It was the second meeting under the new committee format I implemented last October. The lion’s share of the meeting is used in constructive discussion and problem-solving. Under the old format (quite honestly, most boards run this way) the lion’s share of the meeting is used to deliver reports with very little time used for discussion. Now, reports are submitted for acceptance, any questions are entertained on the basis of the fact that the members have already received and read the reports prior to the day of the meeting. The meeting moves faster; and the discussion is focused on the item designated beforehand.

A number of items were voted in addition to the reports by the Principals of TAA and HIS, and the superintendent’s report. Of particular import was the preliminary strategic plan for the educational system in Arizona. The superintendent was empowered to form a working committee to begin the process of implementation and report back to committee at the next meeting in February. I can hardly wait! The wheels are moving. There seems to be genuine excitement in the committee. It feels good to be a catalyst for change, although no substantive change has really taken place as of yet.

That meeting was following in quick succession by two other financial meetings at GAA and TCE schools. The GAA situation is critical, but the response was to go on the offensive rather than go into survival mode. It was exciting to see the faculty take hold of the vision. It will be interesting to see how the plan develops. The next three weeks before the end of the calendar year will be frenetic for all parties.
The TCE Finance Committee was a lot more relaxed since the discussion did not center on a critical state of affairs, rather on formulating a responsible budget for the coming year. It was a pleasant discussion, except for the bogging down on tangents that seemed irrelevant to the general discussion, but apparently were of import to a member of the committee. It is interesting to see interpersonal dynamics at work. Most people are well intentioned, albeit misguided at times. I prefer to deal with people by giving them the benefit of the doubt, rather than questioning their every motive. It’s a risk, but life is too short to get annoyed or paranoid by people who simply want to be heard or need to feel included.

Tomorrow is The Big Committee—Executive Committee! I am not a member of this exclusive committee, but I do report to this gathering. I will keep it short. The Education Board is forwarding some significant motions to the Executive Board. I am hopeful they will see fit to approve the recommendations. They are important to the parties involved.

Not much humor today. Sorry about that. I guess there are some days that are just serious. Or perhaps I am trying to resist the temptation to be carried away into some humorous tangent, just to be heard. To be quite honest—every day is filled with humor, without it life is too mundane. Maybe tomorrow I will tell you about the “Swamp Smoothies” that are now part and parcel of my daily dietary regimen. You can’t make this stuff up!

Friday, November 19, 2010

The Calm Before the Storm

I am so happy that Sabbath comes around once a week. I wish there could be more Sabbaths than just one a week. In any case, after a week-long stretch of meetings, paperwork, and more meetings, I find myself more than ready for rest.

I had a very significant meeting today with a friend. We met at a restaurant he suggested. It was called Picazzo’s Organic Italian Restaurant...the streak continues! Nonetheless, the content of the conversation was scintillating and quite thrilling as well. We discussed the future of Adventist Education, in Arizona and beyond. We talked about present challenges and failure. We mulled over historical blunders and bonanzas, with a sense of respective sadness for different reasons. Mostly we spoke of vision and ways to make that vision take wings. There is a movement underway on a national level that will bring about some exciting developments that will impact our territory. Bring it on, I say!

I have been talking and writing about change being in the air. I truly believe that change is necessary. I did not imagine change coming in the form that is beginning to take shape. I have become increasingly excited about the possibilities here in Arizona. I am beginning to see why God opened the doors for me to come here. I am seeing energy and creativity bubbling over in specific groups and individuals. I can also see the forces of defeatism, delay and doubt-mongering deploying to derail any efforts to take the risks that radical change requires.

For now, those thoughts are put to rest. I will put my trust and confidence where it belongs. Life is too short to lose sleep over things on which we have no control. The anticipation of the upcoming engagement is a better place in which to invest emotional capital. Things are beginning to line up. The battle lines are becoming clearer. The prize lies ahead even as the clash between opposing forces looms heavy…. On a side note, do you think there will there be Italian food in heaven?

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Sari About the Indian Food (or Not an Italian Funghi)

I am back in Scottsdale today after the Fall Education Council in Ontario, California. It was mind-numbing. The networking and friendships are great. On the other hand I was left wondering if there was a better way of communicating these reports and distributing this information. I am sure we need to know some of this information for some reason, I just haven’t found out why that is the place. I would rather spend more time in breakout meetings that are focused and dedicating time to discussion particular issues that require careful thought and corporate effort to resolve. The breakouts were helpful, albeit somewhat depressing at times, for example, the Legal Implications breakout. I was left feeling that we are destined to shut down any and all activities that are related to school, if we are to avoid litigation related to otherwise innocuous school activities. It is a sad day with no apparent solution in place or in the pipeline. I am back in Arizona where I hope to continue the steady process of needed change.

On the other hand, I had a great time with my colleagues while in Ontario, particularly my Arizona friends. It was nice to share a couple of meals with them during our stay in the Inland Empire. We ate Italian food one lunch and Indian food the second. Those who know me best know how difficult it was for me to choose those two venues. Those seemed to be the restaurant of choice for the groups. But it was the fellowship that mattered. It more than compensated for the adventure outside my culinary comfort zone.

I often wonder if people actually know of my aversion to certain types of foods and purposefully choose those dens of exotic flavors and fanfare when given an opportunity. It’s just that it seems that I find myself frequenting these establishments on a regular basis as part of my employment. I could opt out of these food establishment events, but I fear people will consider me more anti-social than I am presently perceived already.

I had a seven-layer burrito from Taco Bell for lunch today, just to bring back my digestive world back into proper alignment.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Of Ripples and Revolutions

Today I am in Southern California for the beginning of the Fall Education Council in Ontario. It is a gathering of educators; mainly, superintendents, principals, and business managers, from the seven conferences (Arizona, Hawaii, Central California, Nevada-Utah, Northern California, Southeastern California, and Southern California) in the five states that make up the Pacific Union of Seventh-day Adventists (Arizona, California, Hawaii, Nevada, and Utah).

It will the first time I attend these meetings as a superintendent. I don’t quite know what that will entail or what difference it will make. But as all newbies, I am sure there will be some good-natured ribbing from colleagues and friends. One of the favorite parts of the gathering for me is the networking and renewed friendships that are rekindled during this time. It is refreshing to sit with colleagues who share a common experience. That is important, particularly when a large majority of an educator’s time is spent working alone, especially in a small conference like Arizona.

In any case, most of the time is spent in listening to presentations and reports from various educational specialists and academic entities. We begin our days with some devotional thoughts shared by special guests invited for this specific purpose. I particularly enjoy the music provided by local Adventist schools as a prelude to the morning devotional thoughts. It really is inspiring. Another significant portion of the meetings is dedicated to policy review and approval of changes to the Educational Code of the Pacific Union.

Sometimes the discussions evolve and become the springboard for future change. I enjoy those moments. Those are the times when creative thought rules the day and the engagement is often heated as the group wrestles with major challenges and opportunities to change directions or remove obstacles to our mission. It is here that I hope to begin the momentum towards establishing a multi-grade educational track for prospective teachers graduating from our schools. As far as I can tell, there is no specialized training for teachers interested in ministering in multi-grade instruction or mastering the specialized methodology needed to survive and succeed in a multi-grade elementary school setting. In the case of Arizona (and in the general Adventist school system), most of the schools are multi-grade and in some cases only one classroom accommodating all elementary grades. Such a scenario can either be an opportunity for an excellent learning environment, if creative and intentional methods are used, or incredibly taxing and demoralizing, if the necessary skills are not present to capitalize on the inherent strengths of this model.

I am one who believes that we must stop apologizing for our small schools and invest in making our system, which consists of many small multi-grade schools, the best multi-grade system in the world. It will require elementary teachers who see multi-grade teaching as an opportunity of choice and not as a last option for teachers who do not secure a position in a large traditional classroom school setting. Perhaps the ripple will begin this year.

It is just a little ripple—but movements begin with someone making a ripple somewhere. God uses the smallest efforts, done in faith, to accomplish major tasks. Sometimes I shudder to think of the major changes that will be needed to turn this struggling educational system around. I know I am not able to accomplish it alone. But I can move and choose to be a vessel that evokes the necessary change that will accomplish God’s purpose. It is humbling, empowering, and exciting at the same time. Well, here goes….

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The Slow Shack Redemption

I did not realize yesterday was 10/10/10! That date comes around only once every hundred years! We only have two more of these types of days left in this century. The last one is 2012. Hey, wait, 2012? Crazy Mayan people, what do they know? They couldn’t even keep their own civilization alive.

Speaking of civilization—I finished the book “The Shack” yesterday. I must confess that I was a bit hesitant to read it, having read it was a new age attempt to dilute the Christian message and a direct attack on our 28 Fundamental Beliefs! What a disappointment—not the book, but the failure to deliver on the frontal attack on my soul.

In all truth it was one of the best books I have read. Yes, it does have some portions that are not particularly in line with Adventist orthodoxy or my personal worldview, but so are portions of Scripture (particular parables of Jesus come to mind). But one must not forget that this is a work of fiction (not unlike some parables). The imagery and underlying principles are solid food for thought. I plan on recommending the book to certain friends who share Mack’s somewhat distorted view of God.

I sense some portions are going to be hard for some Adventists to digest. I was able to filter these areas through my personal worldview and was able to enjoy the implications for me personally. I am going through a spiritual re-wakening during my desert exile. It’s a personal thing. Although I preach regularly, sharing what I am experiencing is more of a personal journey that has been in the works for a while. I would rather let my life and not my voice become the witness. It’s sort of like telling everyone about your latest diet and what a difference it has made as opposed having them comment or ask you about what you’re doing to look so good (not that I would have any personal experience with people telling me such things about my physique).

I have discovered during my short time here that serving people sure makes a bigger impact than lording over them. People are actually surprised that I am interested in their local school plight or that I am willing to make suggestions or find solutions. I don’t know any better—that’s what I do.
So far, I have been blessed by all the people I have made contact with here in Arizona. I even made a friend of one individual with whom I had a rough start and less than positive first impression. People are people—they need to be appreciated for who they are, even if they (we) are all little rough around the edges. It takes people to elicit change in systems. And change is needed—badly.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Close Encounter in Sedona

Not much time for blogging today. I have a board meeting in Tucson. I was hoping to spend some time on the campus today, but I have accumulated some considerable amount of work due to my journeys to Yuma and Cottonwood for the last two days. I doubt I will catch up.
I spent a great day at Cottonwood, at the Verde Valley School. I got to know the kids in this small seven student school a bit better. I had some time in between the end of the day and the evening school board meeting, so I scheduled some time with a retired teacher from the Ask Fork area in northern Arizona, 40 miles west of Flagstaff, Arizona on Interstate 40.
I met with Joan in Sedona. We were driving from opposite sides of the city and finally connected in front of a KFC. From there we went searching for a place to sit and talk about the future of Adventist Education in Ask Fork. We settled for a small diner, the name of which escapes me, which was a decorated with an extraterrestrial theme. Very strange. But we ordered something off the menu—she had a hot chocolate, which was delivered post haste with a generous helping of whipped cream and chocolate syrup spilling over the sides of the over-sized cup. I had ordered the Tofu Noodle Bowl—I had no idea what it was but it seemed “out of this world.” It was not. It arrived a bit later and quite honestly is a bit hard to describe. It was however, inedible. I am happy we talked back and forth for almost an hour and a half, since it gave me an excuse not to eat.
The discussion was fruitful and set the process in motion that hopefully will see a conference-sponsored school open up in the Fall of 2011. God's purposes often begin with insignificant and mundane meetings in strange places by people brought together fron totally different wals of life. Providence often seems serendipitous, but it is certainly not. I am happy to be part of the His journey, regardless of how it unfolds. By the way, the noodle cup was boxed and hastily disposed of soon after we went our separate ways. Thank goodness for Taco Bell…

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Mama Was a Rolling Stone

Moms—you gotta love ‘em.
I guess that preamble requires some explanation. After all, one would think that such a statement is not needed in light of the fact that all mothers are sacred, untouchable and off limits when it comes to derision or fault—one would think. My mother is in a category all her own. Here is today’s story, which only arises due to the fact that I stopped at her house on my way from Riverside to our Yuma school early Monday morning.
I will couch this story in a historical frame so as to give you some perspective. My mom is 78 going on 19 years of age. The Temptations’ classic ballad, “Papa was a Rolling Stone,” could just as easily been named, “Mama was a Rolling Stone,” and been a reference to my mother. For those too young to remember such a classic musical masterpiece, the reference is not to the Rolling Stones of Mick Jagger fame. If you do not know The Rolling Stones or Mick Jagger, then just limp along with me.
My mom has lived with me four or five times over the last twenty years—each time she has tired of the confinement and ran away—yes, run away, as in suddenly she is no longer on the premises and we don’t know where mom is! An addition, I have a sneaking suspicion that my mom went to Jewish Mom Training School, since she is never satisfied with the attention or efforts of her children on her behalf. That includes me.
Well, on this occasion I decided I should stop by to visit her at her residence in beautiful Desert Hot Springs, where she is temporarily housed in a senior living complex, complete with a beautiful view of the San Jacinto Mountains, and a mineral water Jacuzzi and pool a scarce 20 feet from her front door. Most people would be satisfied with such accommodations. My mom was satisfied for a couple days and ever since then she has begun to plot her escape.
I stopped over knowing well that the maternal radar that identifies when and which of her children is within 100 miles of her house had gone off and I would eventually hear about it if I did not stop and eat something she cooked up especially for me. I dutifully arrived and waited (I had an appointment in Yuma, remember?) as she prepared a breakfast from scratch. She talked as she cooked up her homemade beans, eggs, tortillas and fresh salsa. Her topic of choice—her need of a mobile phone with unlimited calling, texting, and electronic information transfer capabilities. She was withering away without contact with her children and grandchildren and friends and neighbors and…you get the picture. The truth is that I had suggested as much three months ago when I relocated her to her present facilities. She spoke of some magical phone that was available with such capabilities at a reasonable price with no contract. I had actually gone in search of this mythical phone only to discover it did not work in Desert Hot Springs.
She convinced me she was steadily declining in mental and physical health due to her lack of telecommunications. I finally conceded the point and asked her where I could go this time and secure such a device. She said, K-Mart!” As the model son that I am, I immediately went on a hunt for the nearest K-Mart in Desert Hot Springs; I tracked and captured a phone, identified a phone service, paid for the merchandise and returned to her house with the prize.
I set it up. I called T-Mobile and pre-paid. I made arrangements to have the flat fee for unlimited usage in the contiguous states deducted from my account. I put the phone together: battery and SIM card. I called T-Mobile to ensure all was well. I plugged the phone in to begin charging the battery. I gave her a crash course in usage of the phone. I called her a number of times before I left and had her answer the phone. She seemed delighted. I showed her how to dial and she heard my phone ring in response to her call. I talked with her from outside her residence to prove the phone worked. I believed I had covered all contingencies. I was far behind on my schedule for the day but I assured her that I would call her on the way to Yuma and that I would give the number to her children to call her. She seemed delighted to be connected to the world. “Seemed” is the operative word.
I called her once and she answered. She sounded happy as a lark that I had called her unprompted, since I “never” do that. I assured her she could call me any time. I did not hear from her for some time. I decided I would call. I did. No answer. I called again. No answer—went to voicemail. I called five more times; all with the same result. My brother, Art also called with no response. I was thinking perhaps she had gone out and forgotten the phone. Understandable.
When I arrived in Yuma and tried again to call with the same sequence: ring, voice mail, disconnect, I decided to find some help. I called my cousin Nena who lives in the same facility. I asked her to walk over to my mom’s apartment and check out if she was having some trouble with the phone. I was imagining her sitting on the rocking chair (she doesn’t really have one) having forgotten how to use the phone and just staring at the phone and not knowing what button to push to answer. If only….
I didn’t hear from my cousin for some time so I decided to call her back. In short this is what she told me. My mom, bless her soul, had taken the cell phone and had put it back into its original box and put it way in the back of her closet. When asked why she did this to her new phone, purchased by her loving and responsible son, she simply replied that she did not like the phone and thus she had put it away. When asked why she did not like the phone she informed my cousin that it was because it was too small and did not do what she wanted it to do when she wanted it to do it! When asked if she wanted a refresher course on proper usage of the device, she clearly stated that she would never, ever use the phone again since it was clearly not what she wanted, nor was it her idea to get a phone in the first place, much less one that did not do what she wanted, when she wanted!
My cousin gave up trying to convince her. The phone is in its original box, in the back of the closet in my mom’s apartment in Desert Hot Springs. I am sure it provides an occasional break from the monotony of her days. The musical tune she selected must remind her of its existence—but not much more. This is not how I imagined it would end. After all—it was a gift given with the best of intentions. Now I was paying a closet music box!
I was tempted to become incensed, but after some reflection I was reminded that I have occasionally pulled the same stunt—with God! I can think of a number of times when God has gifted me and I have simply set it aside and closeted it away. He is patient with me. I suppose I should be patient with my mom. I will trust God with my mom and all her idiosyncrasies. I can’t even imagine how God manages to deal with mine. Gotta go, I think my cell phone is ringing.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Live Crash and Burn

I had a fantastic Friday and Sabbath! Penny was visiting from California and I went all out to make the weekend special for her. I prepared some culinary treats which included some strange legume or vegetable named Edename. My spell-check wants to change the word to edentate, but I know better. I cleaned the house after a week of jubilee, when the house remained fallow to permit it to recover from the last cleaning (I believe it’s biblical).

I gussied myself up and set a table for two, with candles and special dinnerware. I bought a tablecloth with matching placemats and napkins with those special doilies that scrunch them in a very classy way. I had the raspberry lemonade (Penny doesn’t like carbonated drinks) on ice, the candle lighted and the roses in a vase displayed just right for her arrival. It was magical!

The next morning we arose early to get to the Monte Vista Spanish SDA Church where I was slated to preach. Mas TV was slated to be there and sure enough, they were set and ready to roll at exactly 11:00 a.m. I was informed that I could speak as long as I wanted, but the cameras would stop rolling at exactly 12:00 p.m. I had a great time sharing the message I had prepared especially for that morning. I forgot the cameras were in the house, but I remembered the clock, which stood glaring at me from the back of the church wall like a sentry protecting the required accuracy of the worship service. The pressure was on.

It worked! I finished my sermon at almost exactly 12:00 p.m. Since there was not digital clock giving me a second by second countdown I have no way of knowing whether I actually finished at 12:00 p.m. sharp or at 12:00 p.m. and 37 seconds. The director of the TV crew did commend me for finishing on time. I was delighted to know that I had made their job easier and managed to get my message across in a timely manner. All was well with the world. An enchilada dinner awaited me at the church pastor’s home. All I had to do was leave the building without tripping down the platform stairs. What could possibly go wrong?

I managed the stair part. Apparently the cameras were still rolling when I walked off the platform and was prompted to walk down the middle aisle of the church with the senior pastor. I looked down the center of the church and saw my wife sitting there about three rows back on my right side down the middle aisle. It seemed natural to invite her to walk with me for the remainder of the walk down the center of the church. It never occurred to me that she might be disinclined to join me. Alas, my mistake. With cameras rolling—like the guy who proposes to a girl during halftime at a sporting event with the picture up on the Jumbo-Tron, only to have the girl say “No,” she waved me off. Yes, in front of the millions of people watching Mas TV on Sabbath morning (maybe 10) Penny gave me the cold shoulder. It could have been worse—I could have spontaneously combusted.

Other than that it was a great day in sunny Arizona. We went to the state fair in the evening. Major disappointment, except for the health check that told me I am a ticking time bomb. Oh well, at least it’s only Saturday….

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Pulpit-pounding Reflections

I am enjoying a (mini) Week of Prayer on the campus of Thunderbird Adventist Academy every morning in their church. The speaker is from Texas, where he is director of recruitment for Southwestern Adventist University, in Keene. Texas. He is an incredibly dynamic and powerful speaker with a vivid imagination and a creative flavor that makes his narratives come alive. Add to that a terrific sense of timing and humor and you have a recipe that will captivate most young minds (and not so young ones). As I glance around the church I see most students engaged in his homily.

The beauty is the way he weaves a story, bit by bit, with unexpected twists and turns, sprinkled with a personal flavor of his own. Of course, this would only provide an interesting story and some needed entertainment, if not for the teachable moments on which great speakers capitalize. The preacher has created those moments and has taken advantage of those rare and tiny cracks when a young person tentatively slides their soul’s window open just an inch as they are captivated by a story that resonates with a personal experience or has simply disarmed them for a moment. It is at that moment that God works and the seed of the gospel is planted. It’s a God thing—from start to finish!

It is amazing to see God work through different personalities and gifts. If I listen merely as another person who does public speaking I would be tempted to hang it up and find some other pursuit. I do not have the flair, the vocal prowess, the diction, the homiletical skills, and the list goes on. But I am not another public speaker; I am a vessel for God to do what He does—from start to finish! The power is not in the speaker—it’s in the Word! I’d like to think in moments like this that I stand shoulder to shoulder with Balaam’s donkey—both living proof that God can communicate in surprising ways and get the point across. I can live with that. Back to work.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Back in the Classroom

I overslept for the third continuous day. I don’t know what it is. I have set me alarm to ring at 5:30 a.m. every weekday. Sabbath alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. Sunday—well all bets are off!

The sad thing is that I have had a conference call appointment at 6:30 a.m. every day this week. I barely made it on Monday and was cut off before I got to participate. Well, you guessed it—I slept right through the conference call. No explanation. Didn’t hear the alarm might be a plausible explanation, but I always hear the alarm. I am beginning to think there is a reason why I should not be at that conference call....

Today was even worse, because I made sure prior to going to sleep to check to see if the alarm was functioning properly. Yet, come this morning I was awoken by Penny’s phone call at 6:49 a.m.! I don’t even know what to say to the people who were expecting me 20 minutes earlier. I sent the leader of the group an e-mail. I have no believable excuse. I told him I would stay up all night tonight if that is what it takes to get me to my assigned hour in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll make it all night, but I have sense that I will be waking up every hour on the hour to look at the alarm clock. I will probably do that until 6:00 a.m.; then I’ll fall asleep again and wake up at 7:00 a.m. Aaaargh!

On a brighter note I spent an enjoyable day on the campus of Thunderbird Adventist Academy. I visited a couple of classroom with the academy principal. We were just doing some informal observations. We observed two very engaging classes. One was a young math teacher trying to convey the concept of y-intersect and graphing an equation, or something to that effect. It’s been a couple of years since my last algebra class.

We also visited a Biology class. This teacher was very engaging and enthusiastic. She used video, Smart Board, and a combination of inductive and deductive approaches to her instruction. I would have enjoyed Biology a lot more if I had had a teacher like that. I actually did quite well in all my classes in high school, but slept through most of them. I think I woke up sometime during my last quarter in college. The rest is somewhat of a blur.

Today reminded me how much I miss teaching. There is something about molding young minds. Seeing the lights go on when you share a concept or explain a nuance is unlike anything else professionals experience. Relationships are established that last a lifetime. I occasionally encounter past students of mine. It is as if we had just come out of a classroom. Memories flood our sense. Experiences are shared. It is amazing. But the clock keeps ticking. It’s sad, in a sense. On the other hand, I still have the opportunity to soak it. There are still lives to be changes; young people to be saved; minds lifted above the ordinary of life. I can’t sleep though that!

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Mud Madness 2010 Revisited

Monday, November 1
It has been almost a half a month since my last blog. I fell off my blogging horse and I intend to get on again. I was enjoying the pattern. Life got away from me in a flash. But I am back! Sort of….

My fingers are pretty much all that is working properly today since I participated in The Mud Madness Triathlon yesterday, October 31. That my fingers are the only part of me working is a slight exaggeration, since I feel somewhat normal, considering my ordeal yesterday. I will try to be brief.

I did not train.

That should be sufficient for you to fill in the blanks! People train for a marathon. People train for a half marathon. I know people that train for a 3 mile jog! I learned that training for a Triathlon is very advisable if you do not want to experience the worst stretch of time in your life and live to tell the story.

I had intended to train. I am not a total fool, just a fool. I ran a few times. Last month. I swam a few laps. Two months ago. I rode a bike last summer. I think my muscles had forgotten the training they had been subjected to earlier this year. I discovered this soon after I began my short 125 yard swim portion of the race. And make no mistake—it was a race. Maybe not for me, since I was all about pace—a pace slow enough not to push my rotund physique into shock. And although we were placed in age brackets that would make the race more competitive, I soon discovered my “competition” consisted of a guy who looked not a year older than 40, a mustached man in his mid-fifties with a large grizzly physique chiseled like a 30 year-old. He and his 50-something wife were regular participants in triathlons. They all had skin-fitting swimming attire a la Mark Phelps. The forty year-old “imposter” went before me. I sloshed 15 seconds behind him like some hairless brown bear trying to cross a river without touching the bottom. Awkward!

I had not reached the half way mark of the pre-determined distance before the mustached man and his senior Olympian wife crawled over my back to pass me in the water (as if I need the excess weight!). People were cheering me on, or at least I believe people were making loud noises. Perhaps they were screaming for the lifeguard to jump in and save me.

I dragged myself out of the pool after what seemed an eternity of swimming. I was so relieved to be finished. I could barely feel my arms and legs after the herculean task of swimming the five lengths of the pool. Then the thought suddenly flashed across my mind that a 6 mile bike ride was awaiting me—immediately! But first I had to run to the place I had left my bike a couple of hours earlier. I had to run in order to climb onto the bike with legs that no longer wanted to obey my mental prompts, and then force them to pedal for six miles in order to complete this leg of the “race.” This was no race for me—it was survival!

I soon discovered that I had further handicapped myself by securing a mountain bike with which to enter the race. The bike I brought from Riverside especially for this excursion was a rugged and manly ½ ton bike of heavy metal and iron spokes. Although I am mentally certain that it truly did not weigh half a ton, my legs were not convinced. I tried to smile at all the young people trying to guide us along the pre-determined course through the surrounding streets of Scottsdale. I was thirsty. But no one offered me water. My head was hot, but no one offered me a hat. I was wet from the recent plunge, and very happy to have something to cool me down as I tried my best to be brave. After two trips around the road course I coasted back onto the campus of Thunderbird Academy. The signs said “dismount bike here” but my eyes did not understand the meaning. Penny was taking pictures of her dying husband in the last vestiges of his mortal life. I almost ran her over since my body was not responding to any command other than pedal—not brake; not dismount; and certainly not prepare to run two miles, immediately!

Unfortunately there was no option. I fell off the bike on the grassy knoll in front of Thunderbird Elementary, threw the bike on the floor and visualized myself running out the gate towards the running course. The problem was that my legs did not want to move anymore. I willed one leg in front of the other in what can best be described as an inebriated stumble through the initial yards of the run. I was moving, but just barely. I could not see straight. I heard voices and I followed the path between them. I heard people say “this way,” “go that way,” and such. I followed as in mental default. My legs kept moving because they did not know what else to do with themselves. I had some options circulating in my mind, but I could not read them—I was half dead by now. I was losing touch with reality.

The last thing I remember was seeing/hearing someone tell me to follow the arrows through the adjacent Thunderbird property. I followed blindly. There did not seem to be anyone behind me, and I could not see anyone ahead of me. I was on my own! Man against nature. Nature won. I ran and ran, and continued to run until I realized that I was running on a dirt path in an area I had only visited once before. I thought in the vacant recesses of my mind dulled by thirst and exhaustion, “where do get out?” I kept running while surveying the surrounding areas for a possible exit to the course and finish line. I ran for what appeared to be hours (in truth a few minutes) before I concluded that I was hopelessly lost and I would have to be creative if I was to finish the race.

This is where the memory of Rosie Ruiz came to play. I could not see myself running in reverse in search of the race course. So I considered the only viable possibility for the only contestant who had detoured from the designated course. I would find a fence and climb it. I had not considered that my legs might not be inclined to climb anything. I considered how ridiculous I would look rolling over the concrete fence. Or worse I even contemplated what people might think as they saw me climbing over the fence to get back on the course—of course that would be (pun intended!), Rosie Ruiz, the infamous New York Marathon cheater who took the subway and won the race only to have her misdeed uncovered before the entire nation and subsequently stripped of her crown.
I didn’t care; I needed to get back on the course. I had little left in the tank and failure was not an option. I climbed up on some abandoned steel piping and climbed on top of the fence and then jumped off. I landed hard, but recovered my dignity only to hear shouts of “cheater” coming from some unknown source. I came to a checkpoint that sent people into the next portion of the run. They asked me if I had run a lap or something. I did not really hear them. I saw “Lap 2” with an arrow pointing left and I followed it in light of the fact that I had already run lap one. In hindsight, I believe I was supposed to run straight and run the course again, which was insanity since I had already run it once and had been running off course for a considerable time as well! History will judge me.

When I turned left I saw it! The finish line. I ran with an extra hiccup in my step. My muscles were celebrating early. “I can do this,” I kept repeating to myself. I was not listening. I was simply letting one leg trick the other one into keep moving. I arrived at the finish line ready to collapse in a heroic heap. But alas, there remained the crowning portion of the Mud Madness Triathlon—the Mud Madness! This portion consisted of a moat of water, dirt and other unspecified compost-like materials with a mound of dirt dividing the first portion of the muddy ditch from the finish. I did what any tortured soul would do with nothing to lose or gain at the end of a harrowing and tortuous sojourn—I belly-flopped into the muddy morass, clawed my way up the mountain of mud and slid down the other side towards the finish line.

I don’t know if I really officially finished considering the creative course I blazed. I know I did not medal in my division. I was the only non-medalist in my division. But I was standing, barely, but standing. I can’t wait to begin training for next year!

Monday, October 18, 2010

Busy Weekend in the Valley of the Sun

It’s been too long since my last blog. A few days can get away from you so quickly. It’s easy to get lost in the myriad of activities and tasks that beckon for our constant attention.

Rather than recounting all the events of the last seven days I will focus on a couple of events of this past weekend. Penny was in town. She arrived late Friday night. I was on Good News TV while she was on the road. I co-hosted a program titled Praying for the Sabbath, a one hour program that consists of two people taking prayer requests from viewers while on the air. The challenging part is to keep a coherent conversation going between requests.

There is always the fear that no one will call, which requires a much higher level of engagement between co-hosts. Pastor Jay, pastor of the Thunderbird Academy church, was the consummate professional host. He is the host most every Friday. I, on the other hand, was a novice thrown into the fray without as much as a dab of make-up or training. There was no obvious meltdown. It was a very pleasant experience. I have no idea whether I will ever be asked to return for an encore.

Saturday was a busy day. I had been asked to be the main speaker for the first Generation Joven Youth Rally for Adventist youth from all over Arizona (yes, those are two different languages in one slogan). The morning sermon was quite nondescript. 500 or so young people were seated in a high school auditorium. There was lots of music and a variety of attempts to engage the multitude. I got up to preach at about 11:50 a.m. I did not feel the sermon went well at all. I felt disjointed and off sequence. I am glad that the success or failure of a particular sermon is not dependent on my perfect or less than adequate delivery.

I sense the afternoon sermon came across much more smoothly. Of course it consisted of all of five minutes—a generous five minutes. My words came at the end of a two and a half hour marathon of music, dialogue, and drama, followed by an appeal following the drama. That was prior to my being presented to the 200 or so young people anticipating a full-fledged sermon. I tried to think what a typical young person would be feeling at that particular moment. In spite of cameras set up to record the sermon at the end of the program and a certain self-imposed expectation I simply sang an a capella Spanish version of Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, spoke for three minutes—tops, and then closed with prayer.

I got many compliments on my sermon. I would not be surprised if it might be ranked by the youth in attendance as one of the best sermons they had ever heard, if for no other reason than that it was only five minutes long. I hope the message landed before they realized it was over. Such is preaching. I am glad to be part of whatever God does.

Sunday was spent painting three homes on the campus of Thunderbird Academy, with a short break for breakfast/brunch with Penny, before she left for Riverside a little after 12 o’clock noon. I did not cheat myself out a full weekend. Now, if I can only survive the week!

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

My First Union Meetings

I can’t believe it is already Tuesday of a new week. I don’t know when was the last time I blogged, but my wife told me she had not seen a blog for a couple of days. So here I am again.
I write from Riverside, California, where I am spending the evenings after my meetings in Ontario, California—about 20 miles due northwest of my present location. I am attending the Pacific Union Conference K-12 Curriculum Committee, a semi-annual gathering that deals with elementary and secondary curriculum issues, in addition to voting or recommending policy to another committee who passes it on to yet another committee, and so on…. It is the way certain systems work. There is a place for such protocol. It makes me more than a bit impatient, while I understand at some level the need to be cautious when establishing policy that will affect a large number of people for years to come (or until the system realizes that there is a better way to do things—at which point the system begins the process to change the policy by establishing an ad hoc committee).
It was productive day, although I arrived an hour late to the morning meeting, which I had entered on my calendar at the exact time I arrived. It was a bit embarrassing to arrive late to my first Union meeting (not a labor union, by the way). I spoke up a few times and made my contributions, even a motion to take to the next level meeting, during the morning and afternoon meetings. I sat next to BA (to protect his/her identity), who kept me alert with his/her acerbic humor and running commentary of the proceedings, when she/he was not texting or reading the newspaper. She/he has obviously attended many prior meetings.
I was left wondering whether our discussion and input makes any difference in the long run. I hope it does, since it would be a waste of time and resources to bring this many people together for an exercise in futility. I wonder how many similar committees meet how often all over this country and globe? How much money is spent on organization and protocol? Is it a necessary evil? Is it simply necessary for a large system to place sufficient levels of checks and balances to counterbalance the propensity of a few to mandate for the many? Have we drifted afar or are we trying to perpetuate the biblical organization structure spoken of in the Book of Acts and the Pauline Epistles? Such thoughts!
I better shut down. Another full day of meetings awaits me tomorrow. Oh, joy!

Friday, October 8, 2010

Northern Exposure

It’s been a couple days since my last confession…blog. It’s been a busy couple of days. In spite of what my brother, Art, may think, my days do not consist of short days with long lunch breaks— as a matter of fact, I take two long meal breaks in between my daily golf ministries commitments and my daily midafternoon nap time which provides ample opportunity for my virtual school visits. Oh, yeah, there are some committees that are required…but I send my regrets in anticipation of my absence.

I’m glad I got that off my chest! Now back to blogging. It’s Friday morning. The office is on a four-day schedule, as far as office hours are concerned. I am at home preparing for my sermon at the Midvale SDA Church in southern Tucson, AZ. My four-day office week became a three-day week since I had scheduled myself for a visit and observation day at the Verde Valley and Prescott schools. (I would schedule myself every day, just to get out of the office, but then I would miss my naps.)

I had not had a chance to get back to those schools since before their school years started. I am glad I went back. What I found were two schools full of children that love their school and their teachers. I found students who were courteous, kind, and considerate. The Verde Valley School was operating in the dark, since their electricity had been knocked out by a violent thunderstorm the previous day. The students went about their day with aplomb. The teacher dealt with the students individually, according to their needs. It was a thing of beauty.

Prescott, where I spent the afternoon and evening, due a scheduled School Board Meeting at the church, is a school reborn according to all the people I spoke to at the church. Last year the church was struggling to justify keeping the school open with only six students and a facility that was in disrepair. Without going into details, a new teacher was providentially raised from the community. He and his wife have turned the school around. They gutted and refurbished the classrooms. They recruited. They raised the awareness of the value of an Adventist education. They changed perceptions in the church and community. They have 18 students this year, with plans to grow and expand the school.

It was a long but rewarding day in northern Arizona. Donna Oft, the principal at the Verde Valley school, and I had an opportunity to talk for a considerable amount of time during my stay. She is very encouraged—and it shows. They are doing some very creative things to enhance their program. Parents are delighted with their choice to place their children in the school. Aaron Long, and his wife Carrie, are full of ideas and energy. Some big things are going to come out of this bold initiative in Prescott. I have a sense that the ripples from Arizona are going to begin to be felt across the Adventist system. It is an exciting, albeit challenging, time to be involved in Adventist Education.

I better get back to work; my nap time is almost here….

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

What a Day!

It happened quite unexpectedly. I was in a conference with a group of Adventist clergy from all across the state. It was mid-afternoon, about 3:15 p.m. or so. The Vice-president for Administration for the Conference, Ed Keyes, was at the podium beginning the final thoughts leading to the final words by the President. People were sitting at their tables. Most were listening. Some were dozing. Others were playing Solitaire on the laptop computers. I was focused on every last word emanating from his lips. Of course that may have been because I was sitting next to the president, who was preparing to take his place behind the pulpit.

All of a sudden—and I mean all of a sudden; it sounded like the building was being sprayed with gun fire by a large mortar machine gun. At first there was confusion. Perhaps the noise was due to the thunder from an oncoming storm cell. But the thunder did not stop. There were flashes of lighting and loud thunderclaps, for certain, but I doubt they alone would have stopped the meeting as this did. The noise was deafening. Suddenly some of the pastors began standing on the chairs against the back wall to look out the windows which were seven feet off the floor. It is then that I saw what appeared to be hail falling from the sky. I surmised that the hail was causing the noise due to the rate at which it was falling, but I doubt the meeting would have come to a standstill solely over an intense hailstorm.

Then I saw it. And I saw it again. Perhaps I should say I saw “them.” At first I couldn’t believe it. I had to get a better look. All the chairs against the back wall were already occupied by pastors staring at the sight taking place outside the back window. I scurried out of the room in search of a better vantage point. I found myself looking out the front glass entrance to the conference office—together with twenty or so other people. It was amazing, especially to a native Californian, city-dweller like me. I had only seen this on the evening news, where pictures of hailstorms from the Panhandle of Texas or another Midwest enclave were beamed into my living room. But now I was looking at this scene in true living color. The landscape outside the conference office was being peppered with hail stones at a rate I had never witnessed before. Some of the stones were quite large. It would not be an exaggeration to say they were golf ball-sized hail stones. And they were coming down with incredible force!

The room almost emptied as attendees went to see the downpour or to survey the damage to the autos not parked under the limited covered parking. It took a while for the meeting to come back to order. The conversations gravitated mostly around the golf-sized hail stones. There was a buzz in the room. The hailstorm even garnered a reference during the closing prayer. It’s amazing how quickly things can turn. Many of those present will remember the event for a long time, some because their automobiles were dinged many times or their windshields were cracked. What a day!

What a day, indeed, when earth’s history will suddenly come to close. I have often wondered how such an event will sneak up on people. But it will, just like we were surprised but the intensity of the storm, although we had seen the clouds, and the wind, and the warning signals in the distance. But we had seen such signs and scenes many times before and nothing like this ever happened. “And so it shall be at the coming of the Son of Man….” What a Day!

Monday, October 4, 2010

Monday Night Football Interruption

It is really the night before Tuesday, but I had a sobering experience while sitting watching Monday Night Football. I felt compelled to write. It’s not like the game mattered much to begin with. I mean the Miami Dolphins versus New England Patriots doesn’t rank up there with the highlights of the football season, much less to a West Coast aficionado (St. Louis—is that West? In the NFL, it is!).

The moment of enlightenment came early in the fourth quarter (or late in the third quarter; I don’t recall anymore) of a game New England was winning handily. I had already lost interest in the game some time earlier, yet I was still glued to the computer screen like some dazed zombie! I was so bored I wandered to the refrigerator and grabbed something to eat. I wasn’t even hungry! My mind was drifting away from the game when I got a call from my son, Ruben, asking for prayer for one of the residents in a family home his wife administers for developmentally delayed adults. One of the consumers (the appropriate term used by those in the system), had had a serious reoccurrence of a very aggressive form of cancer. She does not even know she is dying. She is just living her life oblivious to the fact that the time clock of her life is apparently rapidly winding down.

I asked Ruben if she knew. He said, “No, the family has chosen not to tell her.” How sad. And yet I understand why they would not want to tell her. After all she is happy as a lark enjoying the time with her friends and living in a safe and nurturing environment. She seems fine. I just saw her a week ago and she gave me a “high five.” I have worked with the developmentally disadvantaged for over twenty years. They die too. My son has also been involved with these special people for all those years. He confessed that he needed prayer too. “I still don’t understand why these things happen to these innocent people,” he muttered. He followed that up with what I already know is true. “I have a sensitive side, and so does Janelle (his wife), when it comes to these things.”

At that very moment I was jolted into reality. I was left wondering, who was more clueless? The young mentally challenged young lady who does not know that her time is just around the corner, or me, who knows that there are scores of more important things to do with my limited time (time is relative, you know), but choose to remain glued to the TV screen watching meaningless things? For a moment it became clear to me that at that very moment and perhaps more often than not, I was the more clueless one.

I will pray for my special friend. She is dying of cancer. I will pray for God to give her the strength she will need to go through what awaits her. I will pray for Ruben and Janelle. I will pray for myself-- that God will teach me to better spend His gift of time to me. I could read more. I always need to pray more. I might even write some more. I would benefit from more time for reflection. I need to make myself more accessible to the One who wants so much to reveal Himself to his children—of which I am one of the least of them, but one of them nonetheless.

I am scheduled to give the devotional thought to the entire contingent of Seventh-day Adventist pastors from all over the State of Arizona. I was kind of nervous and reflective about such a responsibility earlier today. I was planning on coming home and reflecting on some thoughts God had put on my mind-- that is, until my thoughts were sequestered by the game. There is nothing wrong with football, mind you; any more than there is anything wrong with volleyball or ping pong. But I fear that for now, it served to distract me from what I should have been focused on tonight.

Ironically, the title of the devotional thought I had begun to prepare for tomorrow is “From Disgrace to a State of Grace.” I am shamed and encouraged at the same time.

I have to go now. I do have some studying yet to do. The game may be over for some; for others time is running out; others just don’t know, but I want to be in the fight when the time is called and the contest is ended.

Gone Bananas!

It was a wonderful weekend, filled with lots of people, new friends, banana-nut bread, and reading. Penny arrived via Greyhound Bus lines late on Friday evening. Her bus was delayed a couple times along the way. She actually met a couple of Tongan Adventists traveling home from a work week in the Los Angeles area. They were friends of the Tameifunas in Garden Grove. It’s a small world after all!

Other than Penny’s arrival and stay, I enjoyed preaching at the Paradise Valley Church. Penny gave me a “7” for the early service, and a “10” for the later service. Go figure! I enjoyed giving the children’s story during the later service. I even stuck around for potluck and shared the meal with the pastor and his wife, Paul and Donna Gibson. They are wonderful people. They actually sat and talked to us. They even tasted my banana-nut bread. Yes, you heard right, my banana-nut bread—not only by virtue of ownership, but by virtue of the fact that I actually made it from scratch!

I am not sure I have enough time to go into details as to how it came about that I made banana-nut bread. Suffice it to say that I had about eighteen very dark and mysterious bananas that had been in the fruit drawer of my refrigerator for a couple of weeks. It was either toss them out or eat them. I did not want to eat them, since over-ripe bananas are slimy and disgusting to chew or maul or squish in your mouth. I decided, on a whim, to find an internet banana-nut recipe (the first one I saw) and make banana-nut bread with all the near-rotting bananas in my refrigerator.

Lesson learned: read the entire recipe before commencing the task. The result of not doing it, especially if you are a novice, is that you drop all the ingredients in a large metal bowl with no mixer and only a potato masher to mix with. It took a lot of elbow grease to finally mix those ingredients into a workable mixture that would actually mold into the loaf thingies that you put the batter in before putting them in the oven. The kitchen survived. The house did not burn down. I ended the venture at about 2 o’clock in the morning. I ended up with six loaves of very dense, but tasty, banana-nut bread. Have lots of milk available before sitting down to eat these special loaves. And have a phone nearby, in case of emergency due to accidental choking.

I sent a loaf back to California with Penny. I will be watching the evening news for updates.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Apologies

I have to apologize. I spent a sizable time yesterday editing my blog. I am not sure I caught every typo, but alas, I caught many that I had missed during the late hours I have been writing it.

I have taken steps to ensure this editorial malpractice is not duplicated to the degree it took place under the present system. I had trouble getting through a blog—wading through the morass of misspelled words and misconstrued syntax.

Reader’s Digest—improve your vocabulary section, here I come!

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Night Rider

It would have been another Personnel Committee appeal process as so many others before. It ended up being the appeal that never happened. What was shaping up to be a contentious and divisive meeting developed into the beginning of a reconciliation and intervention process that left both parties, administrative and teaching, feeling positive about the present turn of events and future possibilities. I like it when adversarial positions are traded in for cooperative solutions. It should happen more often than it does in church circles. Oh, the patience of the saints....

In any case, the meeting was over sooner than expected and I was looking forward to a three hour long drive back from Holbrook Indian School through Heber, Rye, Payson, and other small hamlets sprinkled about the mountain ridges that lay between Interstate 40 on the northeast side of the state and the great Valley of the Sun, in central Arizona. Looking forward to the trip is probably not the best way to describe my general attitude towards the impending after-hours sojourn. I was tired and hungry. The best news is that due to the shift in the tenor of the meeting, adjournment took place before 8:00 p.m. I was gassed up and ready to go. I anticipated I would be home sometime after 11:00 p.m., if all went as planned. As planned....

Although the meeting ended on the short side of 8:00 p.m., the meeting had, for all intent and purposes, already concluded long before. We were just chatting pleasantries around the table about our respective journeys to Holbrook. Ted Benson and Kelly Bock had come from different directions but with a specific purpose beyond the committee meeting. They were delivering a truckload of donated items to the school. That is another story altogether, but it is germane because of a tale shared by Ted regarding his journey down the very road I had taken earlier.

Ted recalled how while on one of the roads weaving their way through the picturesque scenery of mountain ranges between Phoenix and Holbrook he encountered a surprising sight. He was driving after hours, as I recall the story, through the section of the highway that posts various warnings about wildlife, elks and dear particularly, who are residents of those forested areas. The problem arises when these forest animals make excursions onto the highway and have unplanned and totally unexpected close encounters with on-coming traffic. This is more apt to take place in the night hours, since these beasts apparently have no curfews.

Ted was somewhat prepared for elk and deer, he was not prepared for wild pigs-- Havelina pigs! These animals apparently roam aimlessly in these forests in search for new odors to add to their collection. Since these grotesquely hairy animals lack in the area of social graces associated with personal hygiene, they simply accumulate a combination of scents, one over the previous hideous stench, to the point that you may not always see them, but you can smell their presence long before they make a physical appearance. Well, in the middle of the highway, Ted encountered two 500 lbs. Havelina pigs. He did not stop to ask why they were crossing the road, or if in fact they intended ever to cross the road. He honked the horn on his oversized truck and that was sufficient to break up the porcine ad hoc committee.

To this tale all those present at the meeting added their personal words of advice as to how to avoid the inevitable encounter with some type of wildlife on the way home. Kelly advised, "If you see an elk or dear, turn off your lights and honk your horn." Apparently elk or dear will not move in the presence of oncoming headlights (thus the "dear in the headlights" idiom). They will run from the noise, but only if there are no headlights. Go figure! I asked myself, "What if they are deaf?" "What if they happen to be a stubborn animal, and chose not to move anyway?" I am heading at them blindly in the dark! They assured me they would move before I turned my headlights again. Oh, that's a relief!

They warned me about speed traps in the hills. They vividly described the topographical scenes that I should look out for, lest I be surprised by over-zealous patrol officers lurking inside their patrol cars embedded in the bushes on the side of the highway. I made mental note of all their suggestions and vivid descriptions of wildlife gone wild!

Armed with this pertinent information-- I was wreck all the way home! I saw antlers around every curve and behind every tree (and there are lots of trees between Holbrook and Phoenix!). I controlled my speed out of fear that I would be unable to stop in time in the event that a one ton Elk would prance across the highway at the very moment of my passing (bad choice of words). Even worse, what is a family of overweight Havelinas wobbled onto the very stretch (stench) of road I was on? How would the headlines read? "Superintendent Ham-bushed by Havelinas!" I imagined a giant crazed dear jumping out of foliage at any moment. Sasquatch might even make an appearance. That is not even considering my law-enforcement phobia. I did not drop my guard for one moment until I turned onto Shea Boulevard or Road or Street, whatever it is, on the outskirts of Scottsdale.

Maybe that is what it took to keep me awake and alert on the trip home. I was pretty beat when I got to Holbrook! Whatever the case might be, I am happy to be back in the office. The docket it full. By the way, I developed an addiction to CornNuts on this trip. I am not sure how to interpret the benefits or side-effects of my newly-acquired CornNuts vice. I am certain I will be seeing dancing Havelinas in my sleep for nights to come. If I wake up and can't sleep, I can always go and fetch some CornNuts!

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Storm Clouds Looming

After the morning devotional time with the office staff led by Florence Darby, a true saint, I was immediately called into the president's office. The president asked me to have a seat and proceeded to tell me that TAA had informed him they did not have the liquid funds to meet payroll for the end of the month. That was a dousing of cold water to begin the day.

I asked how much they were going to need to make payroll. The figure of $40,000 was the answer. I spend a sizable amount of the rest of my day in meetings with TAA administration, and later with administration and the development director, to strategize a plan for the short term and lay the foundation for further discussions regarding the plans for next year.

A couple of things come to the surface in response to this latest event. First, there is a need for a plan. Second, only in order, there is need for action. The conference should not have to worry about finding money every payroll to float the school. Mark, the development director, was commissioned with finding $40,000 by the end of next month. The principal will do his part to try to find any unaccounted for money in the conference coffers. This is a remote possibility. The conference is also trying to survive in a tough economy.

I must confess that I was thrown for a loop at the end of the day. Call is a moment of weakness. Perhaps it was more a lapse in focus. When I got home I lost sight of the reason I am here and reacted to the problem. I sought to hide from the problem, as if I could hide from anything, real or imagined, in my small duplex. Trying to run or hide from a problem is never good. The president (by the way, when I refer to the president, it is a reference to the president of the Arizona Conference, where I work. Any reference to any other president will be more specific, since they are not in my immediate realm) has a saying, "Our challenges are God's opportunities." I like that. But, in reality, it is not always easy to remember. To live in a state of feeble faith when life calls for a firm faith is hardly a favorable place to be. I was reminded before falling asleep late at night that I also need to remind myself constantly who I work for and why I do what I do. God is my Boss. I am called to serve. Both of those facts require a faith component that makes them irrational when that component is absent. But when they are infused with faith, that reality becomes empowering and fulfilling, regardless of the circumstance.

"The just shall live by faith" was never truer or more meaningful to me than it is now. The financial challenges at TAA, specifically, and across the conference, generally, will call for much work and prayer. Never a dull moment in the AZC!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Of Yumans with a Sense of Yuma

Disclaimer-- The title has little to do with my narrative, but I just wanted to use the Yuman puns since the story relates to my most recent visit to Yuma.
What would you do if your car suddenly shut off as you were in the middle of the desert in the midst of the afternoon in 112 degree weather? I was confronted with this scenario last Monday on my way to Yuma, Arizona, on the far southwest corner of the state.

It was not supposed to be a complicated day. I had my day charted out perfectly. I would leave early in the morning from Scottsdale and spend the lion's share of the day at the Yuma Adventist Christian School doing observations and getting to know the school community better. A number of complications short-circuited those plans before they even got started.

First of all was my return flight from Southern California. The flight was not originally in the schedule. You will have to refer to a precious blog in order to understand why a return flight from necessary from the other side of the Colorado River. That alone would have only put me behind schedule. There is more....

Late Thursday of the previous week I received an e-mail from the President's Office (as in president of the AZ Conference) informing me of a Director's Meeting which was scheduled for Monday morning. All directors were expected to attend and report on their activities. Even with this additional invasion of my carefully crafted scheduled I felt that the day was still salvageable. But there is more....

I calculated the meeting would take at most one hour which would still give me time to get to Yuma by early afternoon. It seemed plausible, if not practical or realistic. But the meeting ended long after noon had come and gone. This was now becoming extremely challenging. I looked at my watch incessantly as time slipped away during the endless meeting.

I rushed out of the Conference Office a shade this side of 12:30 p.m., still thinking I could make it before the end of the school day. I mentally calculated the distance and the time and had a decided I could still make it the 250 miles in less than 3 hours, maybe even 2 and a half hours. What was I thinking! I glanced at my gas gauge and saw that I had half a talk left. Once again I make my mental calculations and concluded I had sufficient gas to get to Yuma, with gas to spare, based on previous experiences. This was the beginning of then end.

To be fair, I do not believe I looked at the gas gauge again until I was 10 miles outside of Yuma...and then only because I noticed the gas light blinking. I even remember asking myself, "I wonder how long that light has been blinking...." Then it happened-- what I never imagined would or could ever happen to a hybrid-- a Prius Hybrid, no less! My car simply died! The instrument panel lit up light Las Vegas at night! Red exclamation points flashed. Orange engine-shaped icons with a line drawn through them blinked.
Bold capital letters that meant something that did not come to mind then or now beckoned for my attention. Buzzers, bell, and whistles made their inappropriate sounds clamoring for immediate attention like spoiled children on a long trip.
It was a moment of uneasiness. Had the car finally given up the ghost after 215,000 miles? Had the batteries short-circuited or melted in the hot desert sun? Had I pushed the car too hard trying to get to Yuma in time to see the students while still in their classrooms? The last was the closest to the truth.

I pushed buttons without success. I accelerated with no effect. I imagined myself stranded out in the outskirts of Yuma under the blazing furnace that is the Arizona sun in mid-September. I wondered if anyone would stop to help me and give me a lift to the nearest Toyota dealership. Would my fate be worse than that? Would my bleached bones be found lying on the shoulder of Interstate 8? I coasted for about four miles, every mile I coasted slower and slower? How long would I continue to coast. It wasn't downhill anymore.
After almost coasting to a stop I managed to get off on the first exit hoping for a gas station to park my car.

Unfortunately, there was no gas station or meaningful civilization on this exit. My car was now dead almost at the end of an uphill exit. I stopped the car. Perhaps the worst was behind me since I would not die out in the desert. I sat in the car in a continual state of prayer. "Please, God, don't let me be stranded in Yuma!" Nothing personal-- I am sure Yuma is nice in the winter. But this was late summer, and summer was not going out with a whimper. It was 112 degrees, but felt like 150 degrees in the car with no air-conditioner running (I had shut if off to conserve gas).

I was not going anywhere just sitting there on the edge of the off-ramp (still in traffic). I had nothing to lose so I pushed the "Power On" button. It turned on! Mind you the battery gauge had marked dead for a few miles. I had assumed the battery and engine were dead. The dashboard had strongly implied my engine was non-functioning. I was delighted to discover my electric engine was still running. I pushed the accelerator. The car moved! Minimally, but it moved. I was hoping to find a gas station with a mechanic along the frontage road I was on. The car went for a quarter mile and then stopped responding to my prodding on the gas pedal. My engine was dead. The road was flat. I had more than a mile to go before I got to the next road. There were no residences. There was a McDonald's. No people, no homes, no civilization, but there was a McDonald's! That is a powerful silent social commentary.

I can't explain how my car continued to move without battery life and apparently no gas. Yes, no gas. I was now banking on the possibility that my car had shut off due to lack of gas! I made the mental calculations again in my head. I saw the miles traveled. I noted the miles per gallon. I remembered my speed over the past three hours plus. The math did not add up.
Well, I guess, it did add up. I should have run out of gas miles ago. I did.

The car was almost totally stopped now, but somehow it kept moving. It kept moving and moving-- slowly, but moving. I was within reach of a Chevron station, but to get there I would have to maneuver my way on to the main street uphill and turn right and then right again into the station. The car was now not moving at all. I got out and started pushing the car uphill in 500 degree weather. I didn't seem that hot, surprisingly so. It only seemed about 112 degrees with 50% humidity! But miraculously, the car required very little effort to move it. It was as if someone was helping me push the car. It glided uphill as if pushed by five people and not just one chunky old man. I saw a person coming towards me asking, "Do you need some help?" All I could say was, "It seems to be moving pretty well right now." "You're killing me," I remember him saying, probably because he ws running in my direction after being prodded out of his car by his wife/girlfriend who was still in the air-conditioned comfort of their auto. He stopped and watched me push (with the help of my invisible friends)!

He did end up following me into the gas station. I filled up with mid-grade petrol. I pushed the "Power On" button, and presto! The car ran like a charm. Amazing how cars work better with gasoline than without it.
Well, I learned an important lesson. Bring lots of water if you are traveling through the desert. And also, angels are not averse to helping push hybrids. Thank you, Lord!

Friday, September 17, 2010

Sabbath Rest?

Sabbath Rest. Tomorrow will be a restfully busy day. I will still get up at a somewhat early hour-- by choice. I will still have to travel-- probably more than I do on a typical day-- by choice. I will preach a sermon. I will participate in a group discussion. I will spend time with people; a mixture of those who want or need to see me for various reasons. That appears to be the same. But it's not the same at all-- by choice. But not the choice you may think.
Yes it's true I choose to participate in all those ways that make Sabbath so special when compared to the other days of the week. Still it feels different-- but ultimately it is not my choice that makes Sabbath stand out. It's His choice.
In the universal context, yet in an ever so personal way, God chose. He chose to create me. He chose to give me life. He chose to give me freedom to make choices. He chose to take a chance on me knowing that I would mess up royally. Still He chose to make a day to spend with me, even if I chose not to show up. He chose to set aside 24 hours of His infinitely packed schedule to walk and talk with me even when I wander and ignore his chrono-investment in me.
Long before I was born, and long before I even gave Him the time of day-- He gave me a whole day to remind me that I have a place in the big scheme of things that blows away any puny self-centered dreams and goals.
Today I rest from the week of doing what is necessary in order to rest in the reality that what really matters has already been done for me-- His choice!
Happy Sabbath, everyone!

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Thursday Night Blues

I went for a walk tonight. I put on my black Nike shorts, slipped into my gray Nike t-shirt, laced up my silver and red Asics running shoes. I grabbed my iPhone and head phones, tuned on Pandora Radio and started walking. I don’t know if I knew where I was going when I started. I just needed to get out of the house.
Please understand that when most Thursday afternoons roll around and before Sabbath morning kicks in I endure the most difficult part of my week. Forget school board meetings. Contentious conference committees are nothing. Late hours in the office pouring over an overdue project are a cakewalk compared to the seemingly endless hours stretching from the quiet hours of Thursday evening through the hectic minutes before the race to Sabbath School on Saturday morning.
I usually try my best to keep busy doing something, useful or not. Tonight nothing could silence the conspicuous solitude of life without Penny. The rest of the week I can drown in my work and push any thoughts of separation out of mind and out of sight. But not tonight! My heart, which some believe I don’t have, was hurting. I was in a definite state of melancholy.
Two hours of walking down Scottsdale Road took me to Frank Lloyd Wright Avenue and back. It was a balmy 95⁰ with no measurable wind. I didn’t take water with me. I was parched half way through my night walk. I talked to Penny on the phone and listened to Pandora Radio. I obviously made it home since I am now writing about it, so it seems I survived my excursion. My heart will survive to beat another day.
I guess this is the price I must pay for the opportunity to be part of a miracle in the making in Arizona. I am in for the duration. I better get my heart checked.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Saying Farewell

Today's highlight was lunch at Arivederci Italian Restaurant in Scottsdale, Arizona, for the farewell luncheon for Ivan Weiss, my predecessor in the Office of Education.
It was a bit overdue, considering he retired at the end of June. But the summer schedule was so discombobulated that the office personnel was unable to get together until today. On the other hand, Mr. Weiss had given over 40 years of service to this denomination in roles ranging from pastor to teacher to principal to superintendent. His wife and he lived in faraway places across America setting their lives aside to serve their church. He invested his life in the lives of hundreds of students, many of whom he would probably never see again. Yet he did it. For what?
It was obviously not for the perks offered by the financial windfall that comes with retirement. It was not for the acclaim and fame that comes with tireless toil in anonymity. It certainly was not for the card and roses given after the meal at an Italian restaurant, nice as they might have been (something about a cruise).
I sense that Mr. Weiss did it because, as he so eloquently stated, "I am just a servant." Kudos to you, Ivan Weiss! The world needs more Ivan Weisses. It's not about power or recognition, fame or fortune. It's for the sheer joy that comes with planting seeds for the Kingdom of God.
Johnny Appleseed, here I come! May I live long enough to look back and see God's handiwork in the wake of my life.