Category Archives: Other

As I gave my guest a tour of our little house, we got to the dining room. There I showed off my print of Longs Peak in Colorado. A photograph of the snowy mountain, framed by evergreens and golden Aspen, is spread across three panels. It takes up the better part of the wall by our dining room table. My guest said, “That’s a nice triptych!”

“What?!”

“A nice triptych!”

“I know the word, but you’re the only person I’ve ever heard say it!”

I explained to my guest…. Long ago, a grader in seminary gave me a bad mark for using “triptych” in an exegetical paper. I chose the word because it illustrated the structure of a certain Bible passage. But the grader was having none of it. “No big words for you!” The word Nazi had a point. Long before, my father had taught me to never use big words when little words serve just as well. But dadgummit! Nothing served as well as “triptych” in this case.

I admitted to my guest, “As you can see, I’m not bitter about what the grader said to me twenty-five years ago!”

“Clearly!” he laughed.

I wrote this late one night after following a Facebook thread where two elderly people on Facebook seemed to think their conversation was private. One was denigrating worship in a particular church as vacuous. I begged to differ, and wanted badly to enter the conversation (which I later did, with extreme care). Instead, I prepared the post below. It was designed to offer a gentle refutation. Practically everything I say in the post is intended as subtle corrective.

Almost daily, I pick up an old accordion my Dad used on the mission field, and squeeze out a wide variety of tunes, from Pachelbel, Bach, and Dvorak to Martin Luther, Fanny Crosby, and Mungo Jerry. Although I can READ music, I am thoroughly enjoying learning to play without musical notation, to FEEL the music. Dad was a first-rate theologian and Bible teacher. More importantly, he was a humble follower of Jesus. He’d have been very happy to see me playing his accordion and soaking up the deep truth in one of the contemporary hymns we sing at Redeemer: “How Deep the Father’s Love.” Tonight, as I was meditating on Romans 8, I couldn’t get one phrase from that hymn out of my head: “Bring many sons to glory.” I love the influence in that direction (glory) that the sermons and music ministry at Redeemer are having on me. Thanks, Joel Hergert, Sten-Erik Armitage, and all you elders who aren’t satisfied with the status quo, but push us toward wholehearted devotion to God alone.

Until recently, I had to preface any verbal commands to my phone with “Okay, Google!” Now, all I have to do is give my phone a gentle squeeze and talk lovingly to it. Just now, I was in the kitchen preparing boiled eggs. Susan was in the living room wearing earbuds and carefully studying her laptop screen.

ME: “Set timer for 11 minutes”

SUSAN: “Were you talking to me?”

ME: “No. I was talking to my phone. When I wish to speak to you, I will preface with ‘Okay, Susan!'”

We both laughed. Good thing!

Part of wholehearted devotion to the King is recognizing which pretenders we have come to honor in His place. For me, that currently includes pondering David Koyzis’ “Political Visions and Illusions.” So far, I haven’t made it out of the first chapter, where he describes a slope that virtually ALL Americans find ourselves on, whether we consider ourselves libertarians, conservatives, or (modern) liberals. He depicts the stages in that slope with the figure below. I THINK THE SLOPE COULD ALSO BE INVERTED: Given the inherent instability in an ideology (Liberalism) where the individual is autonomous and the state is based on a supposed social contract, the slope could be thought of as a SLIPPERY slope. Libertarians and conservatives keep trying to claw their way back up that slippery slope while they denounce their (fellow!) “liberals” who are further down, and seem to embrace the slide. What doesn’t occur to us (I include myself) self-righteous conservatives is that we should not merely claw our way to a “higher” point on the slippery slope, but seek to get off the slope altogether! What does that mean? I don’t know yet. I’m a slow thinker. Koyzis could rightly point out that I’m a slow reader! I understand that he proposes a solution by the end of the book. Will I agree with his solution?

As I refine my understanding of God’s goodness over my life (one of the main benefits of our church’s Community Foundation small groups), I MUST consider the powerful influence of godly friends. This last weekend, that was Tom Newcomer and Darol Klawetter. On our annual mountain climb, we failed to actually summit Mount Columbia (due in large part to my poor preparation), but we SUCCEEDED in inspiring one another to be more faithful followers of Jesus Christ. The potential of positive elder-like influence on the part of everyone in the church is a large part of the vision Sten-Erik Armitage left with us in Sunday’s sermon on Titus 1:5-9. (https://www.redeemerbiblechurch.org/sermons/life-goals/ WORTH LISTENING TO despite some minor audio problems).

Susan got me one of those plastic containers with precut veggies (red and white onions, green, red, and orange bell peppers, hatch peppers). I dice them and saute them along with diced spam. Then I add in diced avocado and roasted pine nuts. Cool sour cream is my latest addition.

Sunday afternoon, I walked around White Rock Lake. The theme of my photography and encounters with people I met turned out to be something like “Coping With Extremes.” There were some beautiful scenes (like this and this), and I had an uplifting conversation with a young runner. That young man turned out to be one of those rare individuals who was as interested in learning about others as in talking about himself. He demonstrated humility despite the fact that he is an ultra-marathoner and independently wealthy due to successful investment(s) in crypto currency. I hope to run into Dillon again someday!

But First This…

Right at the beginning of my walk, I spied an old cyclist whom I had seen two or three times in the past couple of weeks. I had noticed that the panniers on his bicycle bear patches from all over the country. As I tell my sons, when someone puts stickers all over their stuff, it’s a safe bet that they welcome questions. So, I walked up to the guy and said, “Pardon me, I couldn’t help but notice that you have done some travelling. Do you mind telling me about your travels?” I barely had the question out of my mouth when he began a non-stop account of his great exploits. When he took a breath, I asked if I could take his picture, and record our conversation to post on my blog. He didn’t mind at all. So here it is:

LISTEN (this goes on for 11 minutes; you’ll get a good taste of it in the first minute):

LISTEN:

Yesterday morning, our youth minister, Brooks Nesse, preached a terrific sermon. Brooks made a compelling case for why and how older members of the congregation should be discipling younger members. As Brooks said in various ways, we should be reflecting Christ to younger believers, acknowledging Christ’s work in their lives, and challenging them to continue growing more like Christ. The sine qua non of all this is INTERACTION. You can’t disciple or mentor a person with whom you have no contact!

Then I Went for a Walk

It was an oppressively hot summer afternoon, but nothing else was pressing, so I did what I love dearly: I went for a walk around White Rock Lake looking for beautiful things to photograph. Only a few of the wildflowers I have been noticing lately were still blooming. So I decided to concentrate on what those flowers have been busy making all Spring—seeds. The brilliant colors are gone. The soft, delicate petals are few and far between. In their place are the tan and grey of seeds and the white of their wind-catching hair. Delicate has given way to hard, smooth to spiky. Youth has given way to old age.

Or Has It? A Little Wandering Afield

In college, one of my history professors assigned Johan Huizinga’s The Waning of the Middle Ages. We were to write a paper using that book to support either of two claims: that the end of the Middle Ages was either their “flowering” or their “going to seed.” Being a contrarian, I opted for neither, and wrote a paper arguing that 1) it is a mistake to divide history into neat periods (not sure if young Brad would convince old Brad on this one!) and 2) demonstrating that Huizinga’s evidence was inconclusive at best on the question of “flowering” and “going to seed.” The senescence of one age is the youth of another. Doesn’t even nature teach this?

Just three weeks ago, the fields wore a blanket of Queen Anne’s Lace. Before that, in late spring, the light green nests of this plant opened up to reveal white petals on supple arms. Now those arms have folded back in to form a new kind of nest: cages that hold a covey of spiky seeds.

Looking at the those tight nests, I asked myself, “Is this the end, or the beginning?” Are seeds old men or children? It began to dawn on me that what passes for death in flowers is, in fact, the passing on of their life. Old age is giving way to youth.

I’ll Photograph a Sermon

Yesterday, as I set out on a long hot walk, I was thinking about Brooks’ sermon, about the need to disciple younger people. Passing by browning fields, I was also thinking that I’m past the season for capturing the beauty of flowers. But then it dawned on me: just as my eyes have been opened to the beauty of wildflowers that nobody ever notices, my eyes can also be opened to the beauty of how those same flowers transfer life to next year’s flowers. Discipling happens in the field as it ought to happen in our church. I’ll be thinking of Brooks’ sermon for months to come. Old flowers and young seeds will bring it to mind.

Then I Got Home

When I got home after that long hot walk, I thought I’d throw my sweaty hiking pants into the washer. But then I noticed: they were covered with the seeds of Queen Anne’s Lace. Wandering afield to capture photographs, I had brushed up against the older nests of seed. I had interacted with them, come into close contact with them, the sine qua non of discipleship. It turns out Queen Anne’s Lace wants to grow in my own garden.

Good job, Brooks. It was a terrific sermon! It really sticks with me.

Almost two weeks after crews tore up my street, they are paving it. It’s fascinating to watch!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the best sister a guy could ever have: Cindy DeBoer. You still take delight in what is best in family, friends, and God’s beautiful world.

LISTEN TO THE FULL STORY HERE:

J.S. Bach has been one of my friends almost as long as I remember. From the time I learned to whistle at age five, his tunes were on my lips. One of those tunes was Wachet auf. I couldn’t have named the tune at that age, nor said what its title stood for, but at least I knew how it went. Like everything else in my simple, orderly world, it began on a downbeat, the very first note in its first bar:

If you read music, you’ll have noticed that five-year-old Bradley had it wrong. Wachet auf doesn’t start on a downbeat, but on an upbeat. But five-year-old Bradley didn’t read music. He only whistled by ear.

And Then He Saw an Ear Nose & Throat Doctor

Just kidding.

For nearly 25 years, I’d cheerfully whistle this tune… always wrong. I learned to read music, even to play piano, though largely by rote. And then one day, I sat down at a friend’s grand piano and my eyes fell on the score for Wachet auf. I tried to play it as I had always whistled it, but quickly realized, “HANG ON! That tune starts on an upbeat:”

Suddenly, I had a new appreciation for my old friend. He was trickier than I had thought! Ever since that day, I have listened more carefully for Bach’s inventive genius.

And So It Is With Other Friends

Here’s what I learned that day, and am still learning: Spend time with friends, getting to know them well enough to see past my assumptions and misconceptions. Go for long walks with them. Sit down together for coffee. Ask them probing questions. If I look at their score and try to play along, I might be in for a pleasant surprise.

From Sophomoric to Sublime:

Or this one!

LISTEN:

Recently, I was talking with one of my sons about someone I admire. “But Dad,” he said “I’ve heard that this person has a really judgmental attitude about [fill in the blank].”

I couldn’t deny his criticism, although I’ve never personally seen the flaw in this hero. My initial response was that an otherwise admirable person might have come to hold a judgmental attitude with some justification. For example, he or she might be responding to what the Bible apparently teaches.

The following morning, I looked out my office window. Noticing the hummingbird feeder, I realized that my son deserves a better explanation.

Old People Are Like Cargo Vessels

Let’s say you’re piloting a C-5 Galaxy and suddenly realize that you forgot to pack your parachute. Obsessively, you initiate a 180-degree turn so you can go back and fetch it. In this huge bird, you’ll cover more than a mile before your broad turn has you heading back home.*

The same could be said for other large vessels, like ocean liners or freight trains. They don’t turn, stop, or —frankly—do anything quickly.

That’s how it is with us old people. We don’t turn on a dime. For better or worse, we’re loaded down with decades of cargo. For an older saint, much of that cargo is precious: God-pleasing habits of discipline and obedience, things that a charitable person might even admire. But some of the cargo isn’t very good. It’s garbage that anyone and everyone would bring on board back when we were young. Back then, nobody—not even virtuous young people—actually thought it was garbage!

Finding fault in an old person is unremarkable. What is remarkable is seeing an old person recognize that some of their cargo needs to be thrown out, and actually doing it. It’s not an overnight process. I have the privilege of observing people even older than myself making this slow but sure transformation. It’s beautiful.

Young People Are Like Hummingbirds

The young person, light as a hummingbird, has little trouble changing directions. He’s not encumbered by decades of wrong thinking. Abandon an idea that he adopted just yesterday? Not a problem. Turn away from an action that hasn’t had time to become habitual? Easy! Almost admirable!

But is this lack of settled vice the same as virtue? I don’t think so. While the young person may dislike what he sees in an older person, he is not really in a good position to be judging the old person. To the young person I say, “Just understand that there, but for the grace of God go you. Some day you, too, may be weighed down by decades of wrong thinking, maybe even judgmentalism. For now, it’s best to acknowledge the weight of goodness in the older person, and pray for their transformation if that’s also needed.”

Hummingbirds are beautiful. So are young people who recognize the weight of goodness in their elders.

*For the nerds, here is interesting data from my friend Bert Howard when I asked him for a realistic minimum and/or typical turn distance for a C5 Galaxy (and the part about going back for a parachute was just my lame humor):

It really does depend on type of aircraft and mission profile… the C5A is more commercial form than other aircraft so would require more distance… the standard rate of turn is 3 degrees per second or 1-minute to complete 180 degrees of turn… formula for radius in feet is velocity in knots squared then divided by 11.26 times the tangent of the angle of bank… I’d think the C5A would hold at about 200-240 knots and use 25-30 degree single of bank…
200×200/11.26x.466 would be about 7,600 feet or about 1.2 nautical miles (6000’ for NM, 5000’ for statute mile).

Bert Howard

Listen Here:

An Honest Conversation

I recently had a conversation of the sort best reserved for wise and intellectually honest friends. It went something like this:

Friend One: I have spent thousands of hours praying for things that God did not grant.
Friend Two: Prayer serves to conform us to the Son’s character.
Me: That’s a palliative. From what Jesus declared in the Gospels, we should expect the Father to grant our requests.
Friend Two: Don’t get me wrong. My requests are often granted before I rise from my knees.

Before I Could Forget His Words…

Susan and I are in a remarkably tight-knit and loving small group at church. This morning I was composing a group email to remind us all of the prayer requests we shared at last night’s meeting. My request had been that I need a little more work… Not a huge amount. Just a little.

As I wrote my email to the small group, other emails were coming in FROM CLIENTS. Those emails were requests for at least two day’s worth of website maintenance work. Good, pleasant work, for excellent clients.

So, this evening, I texted our group about how our prayers had been answered before we rose from our knees.

Additional Thoughts

Another of my very wise friends suggested one of her favorite quotes on prayer:

Sometimes when we say “God is silent,” what’s really going on is that he hasn’t told the story the way we wanted it told. He will be silent when we want him to fill in the blanks of the story we are creating. But with his own stories, the ones we live in, he is seldom silent.”

― Paul E. Miller, A Praying Life: Connecting with God in a Distracting World

Listen to this story here:

A friend recently asked, “How can you tell if your congregation is growing in discipleship?” Being a contrarian, I immediately thought of one sign that a congregation is NOT growing in discipleship: NOT seeing love in action? It’s NOT growing.

My mind went back to a trip I took around Europe right after graduating from college. When I got to Vienna, Austria on a Saturday evening, I called a family who were missionaries with the same mission board as my folks, and got directions to their English-speaking church. I was secretly hoping they’d invite me to lunch, but that didn’t happen during the phone call.

The next morning, I left the youth hostel and made my way to their church. The service had already begun, so I slipped into the back row and set my backpack on the floor. Strange… everything was in German. I don’t speak German. An old lady on my pew could see I was confused, so she asked in broken English if she could help. I showed her my map, and the name of the church I had written down. She smiled and pointed on the map to where I should have gone. It was two blocks away. I had picked the wrong church.

“Oh well,” I thought. “It would be rude to leave now. I’ll just slip out as soon as this service is over. Maybe I can make it over to the English church before they let out.” The preacher ended his sermon and slipped out to where he could shake hands with the congregation and with visitors as they left his little chapel. So much for me escaping quickly. The preacher shook my hand and engaged me in a brief conversation. I don’t recall the content of that conversation; I do recall the warmth and evident love in his manner.

I shouldered my backpack and walked briskly over to the “right” church, the English-speaking church where the missionary family attended. Whew! They had not let out. I entered the lobby and set my backpack down beside me. It was a large pack, containing everything I needed for traveling around this strange land for two months. So there I stood, left hand steadying my pack, right hand ready to shake hands with my missionary contacts, or with anyone for that matter.

The service ended. People began filing out. They were speaking English! By this point in my travels, that was a welcome sound. I didn’t know what the missionaries looked like, and I was too shy at that point to ask the people who walked past me. They didn’t seem to notice me standing there, and I didn’t want to interrupt their conversations. Well, surely the missionaries would notice me! Given that I had talked to them on the phone the evening before, they’d surely be on the lookout for me…. The sanctuary emptied. Not a single person walking by me acknowledged my presence. The lobby was empty. I left. Empty, hungry. I had picked the wrong church!

Surely someday, the Lord will introduce me to the people in that little German-speaking Viennese church. Perhaps He’ll seat me with them at a banquet. The banner overhead will be “LOVE.”

[August 15, 2021 Note]
Recently, when I posted this story on Facebook, a friend pointed out that the piece seemed accusatory and unfair since some people are introverts. The friend gave me something I’m still considering. Nonetheless, here’s how I responded:

Was I rebuking that English-speaking church all these years later out of anger or a sense of entitlement? Hopefully not. As I said in the post, I am on a “long journey from THINKING right to DOING right.” The Israelites were admonished to learn kindness to strangers from their own history. Likewise, I must learn to BE kind (not just think aright) from MY history. Thinking about how it felt to be the shy, powerless, hungry, disconnected stranger all those years ago is instructive to me. Those of us who have struggled with shyness or extreme introversion KNOW how far a little kindness and hospitality can go. We, of all people, know that we should make the effort to be hospitable.

THIS is one of the most influential truths I have experienced in my 58 years. (I have checked out MacDonald’s claim…. Look at where “doctrine” is mentioned in the New Testament. Almost always, you find descriptions of BEHAVIOR, not abstract head knowledge):

“I firmly believe people have hitherto been a great deal too much taken up about doctrine and far too little about practice. The word “doctrine,” as used in the Bible, means teaching of duty, not theory.

– George MacDonal

And it’s beautiful. The best head knowledge comes as a result of practice, not the other way around. Are you not very “smart”? DO what God requests and you’ll be far smarter—where it REALLY counts—than the most intelligent God-denying individual ever, anywhere.

I have begun thinking about greed. It occurs to me that it is at the base of many other sins. Next step: catalogue and observe how it is mentioned in the Bible. My vague recollection is that it heads up several lists of vices, and is the subject of various stories and parables. It is one of the “Seven Deadly Sins.” Would it be greedy to ignore the thinking of Christians over the centuries and concentrate solely on what I personally can derive? Probably so. And stupid.

“When greed builds her dam,
The river becomes a cesspool.”

from The Politics of My Heart: A Book Not Yet Written by Brad Hepp

Shining my black dress shoes just now (for a banquet this evening), I realized that as a child, I SHARED in my father’s ministry when he taught at the seminary in Mexico. I don’t know how often it really was, but it seems like it was almost weekly that he’d line up his dress shoes and have me polish them. It was a privilege, even if I didn’t understand that at the time! Unbeknownst to me, he was often up all night preparing to teach difficult subjects in Spanish, and didn’t really have time for shining shoes!

Every year, I take my beautiful begonia next door for my neighbor to prune. Why? Glad you asked. Don Miller (my neighbor) is a nationally-known begonia expert. In fact, the begonia in question is one that a friend of Don’s hybridized and named in his honor. It’s called the “B. ‘Don Miller'” (or I believe some are now calling it the “Frosty” for its silver leaves). This year, he put the trimmed-off stems in a mason jar and assured me that I could easily propagate his plant. We’ll see about the “easily” part.

Here’s the challenge. The cats in my house go bonkers for begonia. If I leave my office door open, one will go over on my right side and distract me by juggling oranges or singing an aria from La Traviata (riveting!) while the other sneaks by me on the left and chows down on begonia leaves. They’ll take turns doing this (or something like it) until all the new leaves are gone. I say “gone.” Actually, the bulimic cat burglar runs out of my office and vomits on the rug as quickly as possible.

So, here’s the plan this year…. I made these three hanging shelves, suspended from the top of my glass office door using 1/8 inch all-thread. The shelves themselves are made from vinyl gutter downspout. At the ends, they are sealed off with 2″-thick styrofoam that I saved from an Ikea shipping box.

The trimmed begonia branches were given a sprinkling of root starter (my idea, Don may laugh) and planted in little jiffy pots. Way up there, in their propagation perch, there is absolutely NO WAY the tender new plants will be discovered and destroyed by my wicked cats. Soon, the begonias will be ready for regular pots, and I’ll give them to regular families, preferably families who don’t have cats. That’s the plan.

Oh yeah, the part about Don Miller is true. Scroll down for a photo Don forwarded to me. But first, here’s a video I just found (sorry, it isn’t embedded; clicking will take you to YouTube):

This morning, while cooking breakfast, I noticed how beautiful the cooktop is. Last night, Susan must have carefully cleaned it, as she often does. A clean, uncluttered work area is delightful to her. In the words popularized by Marie Kondo, it sparks joy in her. As I look around the kitchen and living room, I see objects that were given to Susan by sisters-in-law and other girl friends. These ladies are world-class experts in sparking joy. They learn what Susan likes, what colors she uses in her decor. They pay attention to what is delightful to her. Over the course of the year, they purchase or make things that match what they know about Susan. Then, on her birthday and Christmas — sooner if they just can’t wait — they give her these joy-sparking gifts. She does the same for them.

Am I learning from my wife and her friends? Do I keep my eyes open for things that would spark joy in Susan? In my own friends? In my boys? In my Savior? By God’s grace, I do occasionally spark joy in others. But, looking around the kitchen this morning, I want to do better. After breakfast, I think I’ll clean off the cooktop. Again. Better than last time.

This one makes me laugh every time I watch it. Those of us who have been guilty of pretense know the terror of being found out.

Notice the excellent videography and soundscape, both hallmarks of Key and Peele’s ingenious (if sometimes crude) sketches.

NOTE: many of the following (but not all of them) were written at a time in my life when I was extremely frustrated. For several years, I had been ramping up my own side business, and I was eager to go out on my own. But the side business was not yet profitable enough to support my family. I felt trapped.  In early 2017, the break finally came. Since then, frustration and resentment that built up over many years are slowly ebbing away.

Like I always say, “Like I always say…”

People without a sense of humor shouldn’t kid themselves.

Anything worth doing right is worth doing in a timely manner. This is what people sometimes forget when they say that anything worth doing is worth doing right.

Blood is thicker than water. Never mind how putrid the blood or how sweet the water.

Blood is thicker than water. So is sewage.

There’s plain old thoughtless lack of communication and then there’s malicious lack of communication.

My brain is like Minnesota, the land of 10,000 lacunas. That’s “lacunae” for the more affected.

When a man is arrogant, and insults everyone around him, then everything he does is liable to criticism.

A preacher who never ponders will likely be ponderous, but never deep.

Adding “so” to the end of every utterance does not make you a man of consequence.

He had bested the berry by popping it in his mouth
This he initially thought.
But within a year the berry vines had taken over
The farm he thus had bought.

You’re like a genius in disguise!

Congratulations! That was almost professional.

A preacher must love The Word more than his words, The Manuscript more than his manuscript.

The fellow in the next cubicle is a hunt-and-peck typist. But his thumb always knows its position. Between each word, his thumb pounds its one key with authority. The result is a staccato rhythm that interrupts my thought.

Mixed metaphors are like when the fly is in the pudding.

At the top of a leader’s priorities is making sure that the people who work under him have everything they need to be productive. A man who does not take care of that cannot be a leader.

I ran across this Ted Talk on language and it confirmed some of my notions about language learning. I have been frustrated ever since I attended Seminary and saw how little the language professors availed themselves of our natural aptitude for language. If Greek and Hebrew were taught as languages to be used in CONVERSATION, I bet a lot of us would have picked them up and retained them far better than we did. Instead, we were taught merely to read, write, and parse the languages. The enormous resources that God gave us for language learning were barely harnessed. One of the lame excuses was that we don’t know how NT Greek was pronounced. WHO CARES! So what if we pronounce it incorrectly!

TURN UP THE SOUND WHEN YOU WATCH THIS ONE!

Love this one: