Touchdown!

I don’t know about you, but I watched a little football this past weekend. I don’t really have a “favorite” team; I just like to see well-executed games. Besides, I learned long ago that, no matter who wins, the sun will still come up, my dog will still love me, and I’ll still have to pay the electric bill.

One of the things that amuses me as I watch games, be it professional or college, are the fans that are compelled to decorate themselves with masks, wigs, hats, costumes, face paint and/or body paint (don’t these people ever catch pneumonia?). These are the folks that one might call “rabid” fans of their teams. During the game, one tends to see certain ones over and over. I like to notice their composure as the score tends one way and then the other. While they have their heroes, and cheer lustily when things are going well, it is not uncommon to see/hear negative responses if their team/heroes are not doing well.

I’ve tried to find comparisons between sports fans and Christians. The Christian, too, has his/her team and Hero. Like the sports fans, we have our “pep” rallies – but we call it church. There we are clued into the game plan, and hear exhortations to “hold that line”. But it seems we approach ”the game” a little differently.

First of all, any sports fan knows that on any given day, any given team might beat the other. So each game is approached with at least a little bit of fear of defeat. But for the Christian, each game day (that is, every day) can be faced with the knowledge that our Hero has already vanquished the foe, and as long as we stick with the team, there can be no defeat for us.

Again, like the sports fan, we have our “game” face. But instead of painting our faces red and white, or bright orange, and running around “half-nekked” as the more rabid football fans do, our game face comes from the inner-dwelling Spirit. We need only think of our Hero to have our faces covered by smiles of love.

And, finally, during the game, instead of chanting about destroying the other team, or worse yet, booing our team and Hero from time to time if things look like they might be going badly, we need only believe, praise our team, and speak words of encouragement to one another. That doesn’t mean that the game won’t have its rough moments. It doesn’t mean that from time to time it may not seem the other team is about to win. But we have a fast-forward button that has allowed us to see the end of the contest. And our team wins! What a game.

Now, go down and out. I’ll get the ball to you. On four!

Dr. G

No Problem!

I apologize for the length of this posting, but feel it is a story that must be shared.

At the end of the previous posting, I was stranded at the Belize City International Airport with four young Biology majors in my care. We had missed our flight out of the country, and now four sets of eyes looked to me to figure out our next move. My first step was to ask the Lord for guidance. I would like to recount for you the ways the Lord intervened in our behalf.

When we first arrived in Belize, we’d stayed at one of the few hotels in Belize City that was really safe at the time. I’d noted the cost: $47 for a room for two. Now standing in an airport lobby, my calculations quickly told me a hotel was out of the question. Against my recommendations, all four students had spent every cent they had for souvenirs. I had two $20 travelers’ checks. None of us had any credit cards with us.

First, I thought, we needed to get reservations on the next day’s flight. So I approached the ticket counter, which, with the departure of our plane, was now rather unbusy. When I told the ticket agent I needed to get reservations, she smiled and said that she couldn’t do that. Reservations had to be made at the airline's central office in downtown Belize City. So we went outside to get a taxi to take us into the city, knowing that this would take $10 from our scant funds. The first driver we approached looked at us and our gear. “No problem,” he said. We filled the trunk of the taxi, put three guys in the back seat with more luggage in their laps, then one student and I got in the front seat with the driver. Off we went.

We arrived at the airline office about 12:30. I asked the taxi driver if we could leave our gear in his car until we got the reservations. “No problem,” was his reply. He picked up his newspaper, and entered the office with us.

The office was about 35 feet deep and 25 feet wide. At the very front was a waiting area with about six chairs. Just beyond, on either side was about 15 feet of counter, joined together about 10 feet from the back of the room by a railing. Beyond the railing were three or four desks. As we entered, there were two young women behind the counter on our right. Another three were sitting at the desks in the back of the room. I approached the counter where the two were, explaining that we had missed our flight and needed to get reservations for the next day to Miami and then on to Boston. With a smile, one of the young women explained that we were at the freight desk, and they couldn’t help us. Reservations needed to be made at the counter across the room. We looked over there to notice no one was behind the counter. Then she added, “They’re on siesta right now, and will return at 1:30.” Not knowing what else to do, I told my guys to sit down, and went to explain the situation to the cab driver. “No problem,” was his response. So we all sat down.

After a few minutes I thought maybe I could run to a bank and cash one of the traveler’s checks so I could at least pay the cab driver. I returned to the freight counter and asked if there was a bank nearby where I could cash a check. Smiling again, the lady directed me around the corner and down one block. I told the cabbie where I was going. He nodded, and again said, “No problem.” I began to wonder if that was his response to all questions/comments put his direction, or maybe the sum total of his English.

I walked to the bank, only to discover that they, too, were on siesta until 1:30. I returned to the airline office knowing in advance how the cabbie would respond. The counter girl only smiled as I came back in. Maybe she had thought a walk in the hot sun would be good for me. At least it was air conditioned inside, perhaps explaining some of the cabbie’s comfort.

At 1:30 the three girls who’d been sitting at the desks behind the railing walked to the reservation counter, looked in our direction and said, “May we help you?” Somewhat taken aback by their sudden interest in helping us, I again explained our plight. The apparent leader’s response was, “I’ll have to send a Tel-ex to Tegucigalpa (capital of Honduras – we were flying on the national airline of Honduras). I’ll have an answer for you after 4:30. Where are you staying?” I almost blurted, “Here in your office,” but decided against it.

Then the thought hit me, “My denomination probably has a couple of churches here in this city. I’ll try there.” So I asked the kind lady if I could use her phone book. I quickly looked under Seventh-day Adventist Church, and discovered not only several churches, but a mission office. Calling the latter, I was pleasantly surprised to be answered by the mission president himself (he explained his secretary was on siesta). I told him how we’d been stranded and needed a place to stay for the night.

“We have a guest room here that can sleep two. We normally charge $20 for it, but I’ll let you have it for tonight for $10.” I didn’t remind him that there were actually five of us, but jumped at the thought of some kind of shelter at that price. So I got the address, thanked him and hung up. Then I told the lady at the ticket counter that we would just come back at 4:30. Next we had to deal with the cab driver.

I walked over to him, and asked him if he could deliver us to another address (on the other side of town, of course) still for the original price of $10. “No problem.” I was beginning to wonder about this guy. Nothing seemed to faze him. We went back out to the car, got situated, and I named our destination. “It is the Seventh-day Adventist mission office. Do you know where it is?” Now his answer really shocked us, “No problem. My daughter is the secretary there!”

After stopping by the bank, we were taken to the mission. We were met by the president, who looked at us and all our gear. He smiled and shook his head in unbelief. “It is really small, but you’re welcome to it,” he said. It was up an outside flight of stairs above a shop or warehouse. He was right. Two could fit on the bed. Three could sleep on the floor, one at either side and one at the end of the bed. All the gear had to go into the bathroom. We left one small trail to the toilet. Before the cab driver could get away, I asked if he could be there in the morning at 8:30 to take us back to the airport. I wanted to get checked in before I woke up in the middle of a bad dream. Of course, his answer was, “No problem.” And every time with a smile.

We were now down to $20, ten of which had to be saved to get to the airport the next day. I went to the Mission president to see if he knew of a place where we might be able to get at least five bites of food for $10. He mentioned a Chinese restaurant down two blocks and over one. But we had to hurry. Their siesta began at 2:30, and it was now about 2:00. So off we went. The Lord continued to bless us. The five of us were able to eat our fill for $7.50. We felt rich. Of course, that meant no supper or breakfast, but we were feeling pretty good right then.

Since we no longer had fare for a cab, we had to walk back to the airline office, a hike of about 30 minutes. When we arrived we were greeted with good news. We had reservations to Miami. From there to Boston, we’d be on stand-by. But at least New York now had assurances that he’d get out of the country! On the way back to our lodging, I spent our last $2.50 on a large bag of roasted peanuts and ten oranges. So now we had some supper and breakfast.

The next morning at 8:15, “No Problems” was at the bottom of the stairs polishing his car. We loaded up and headed for the airport. Once inside, we organized our gear, separating carry-on stuff from things to be checked. New York looked around and said, “Where are my scuba tanks?”

“Where did you put them?” he was asked. “The last time I saw them they were behind the door of the bathroom,” he said. “Did you put them in the taxi?” “No, I thought someone else did.” He quickly tore out the door. Our cabbie was in line for a fare into the city. Bless his soul, he took New York back to the mission office for the scuba tanks, and again returned to the airport, not wanting to charge New York. With all the gear now accounted for, we checked in and breathed a sigh of relief. It was 9:45. After that, our trip home was uneventful – No Problem!

Again, I apologize for the length of this narrative, but whenever I think back on it, I can see the hand of the Lord reaching out again and again. He is real, He is there, and He really does care. Knowing in retrospect that the cab driver was a true Christian, I can understand his constant response, “No problem.” You see, he began each day by turning everything over to the Lord. And to the Lord, nothing is a problem. Whatever comes, if it has been turned over to Him in advance, we, too, can always say, “No problem!” We may not know when or how He will choose to resolve that which confronts us, but He can really be trusted. What more can we ask for?

May you next day be a “no problem” day.

Dr. G

(By the way, five of the seven students are now full-fledged physicians)

Get Me To The Gate On Time

It was early January, 1983. I had taken a small group of students from the small New England college where I was teaching to Belize for a two week introductory course in tropical biology. There were two girls (a freshman Chemistry major and her sister-in-law, who had come to chaperone) and five guys (all upper-division Biology majors). We were to spend a week in the rain forest, and a week studying the coral reef offshore. With the exception

of Sister-in-law and
one fellow from up-state eastern New York, all had a fair amount of experience traveling. Belize, I should point out, had just recently received independence from Great Britain, and was one of the poorer countries in Central and South America.

The fairly primitive third-world conditions (especially in the rain-forest did not set well with Sister-in-law, and the only thing that really kept her from jumping ship was that if she went, her younger charge would also have to leave. Chemistry was having the time of her life. New York seemed to be doing Ok, although his eyes often looked like those of a deer caught in headlights. Overall, I judged the trip to have been a success and a positive experience for each until the day to leave.

I had organized the trip through an outfitter located just outside Boston. He had taken care of transportation needs, hotels, meals, boats and guides. As it turned out, it was to our good fortune that he happened to be at the same hotel the day we were to leave Belize for home.

It is about a four hour drive from the town we were in (Dangriga) to Belize City, where the international airport is. Our flight was to leave at 11:30 for Miami where we had connections to Boston. We were to be picked up at the hotel by bus at 5:30 am. This would put us into the airport at 9:30, with plenty of time to check in. So at 5:10, I had everyone outside the hotel with the luggage, waiting for the bus to come. When the bus had not come by 6:00, I began to worry.

At 6:30, I went to the hotel room of our outfitter, and knocked. “What are you doing here?” was his sleepy greeting. Of course, in return I replied, “That’s what we’d like to know.” After some words not used in the Musings, and some cogitation on his part, he told me to get my group into the hotel dining room for some breakfast, and he’d look into matters.

As we were eating, he came in and said that a charter airplane would be at the hotel’s landing strip at 9:30. Seems that the hotel owner’s brother owned Maya Air, the “major” airline of Belize, and a plane was being dispatched for us. Considering it only takes 20 minutes from Dangriga to the international airport by plane, we were satisfied, finished our breakfast, and headed for the airstrip.

9:30 came. So did 9:45. Then 10:00. I ran back to the hotel to confirm that a plane was coming. Fully assured, I went back to the airstrip just as a plane came into view. But when it landed, we found it wasn’t our charter. It was nothing but a regularly scheduled flight that had room for only four, not the eight of us with all our gear. One of the guys played trumpet with a touring youth orchestra, and needed to be in Southern California the next day and was an experienced world-traveler. I put him on the plane. I needed to get the two girls out of the country before Sister-in-law came unglued. That left one seat. I took it. I mean, how could I lead if I stayed behind? Thus, I left four of my guys stranded in Dangriga until the next plane, and headed for Belize City.

When we reached the international airport, I checked in the three students I had with me for the flights, and patiently tried to prolong the departure of our plane, wondering where the other four students were. Finally, the airline personnel told me they had to send the flight. They had held it an extra 15 minutes the way it was. I had no idea what had happened to the rest of my group. The plane left the gate and began taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Just then, four huffing and puffing college students with back packs, scuba gear and a strong desire to be on that plane came running in the front door. Too late! Their charter had landed at the city airport, not the international airport, and they had had to take a 20-minute taxi ride from one side of the city to the other. So there we were, four students plus a professor, with $40 in my pocket. Theirs were empty.

Three of the guys took it fairly well. New York, however, had trouble dealing with the idea that he couldn’t leave the country. His face turned red and he began hyperventilating, gasping; tears welled up in his eyes, and he just stood there saying, over and over again, “That’s my plane! That’s my plane!” He had been left behind. He expressed anger, fear, depression, even despair.

The scriptures describe in several places the response of those who’ve not prepared to meet the Lord when He comes. Some can’t believe they’re not to be included, and try to point to their many “good” works. Some cry for the rocks and mountains to fall on them, because they can’t bear to see the face of the Redeemer they’ve rejected. Some turn on those they’d been trusting as their guides who didn’t know how or where to lead. In a small measure, I saw it all in the face of my student that day 20-plus years ago. It wasn’t pleasant. It sure would have been better to be on that plane. Likewise, it will be a whole lot better to be going with our Lord. May you have that necessary relationship daily so your flight is confirmed and you’re all set to go.

Wait a minute. Where did I leave my boarding pass?

Dr. G

I Never Did Like Green Beans

I’ve mentioned earlier that my older brother and I made several hiking trips in Mr. Rainier National Park as teenagers (see June 6 2007 posting, The Terror By Night). While our folks did support us some, we were required to come up with some of the financing, especially for the dehydrated foods we were to carry.

Now, my brother had a paper route, but I didn't have any sort of job. We received a modest allowance which met our basic personal needs. We did the lawn and washed the dishes, but that was expected of us, and we weren’t paid for these chores. That was our contribution to the family. So, to get money for our real wants, we had to come up with another plan.

One of our parents suggested that we join the dozens (hundreds?) of other teenagers that worked as day-laborers in the bean and berry fields in the greater Seattle area. I mean, bean picking had a tradition in our family, at least among our cousins who lived down in the Springfield, Oregon, area. They’d been earning spending money and clothes money that way for a number of years. So, with some reluctance, my brother and I agreed to give it a try.

The “hiring” area was down in the warehouse/railroad yard region of south Seattle. I don’t recall exactly where. But it was still dark when two boys with sack lunches were dropped off with the admonition to call home for a ride when we got back. We were slated to get on a bus, take the ferry over to Vashon Island, out in Puget Sound, to pick something. I don’t recall what.

I don’t know which of us made the suggestion. I’ll take the credit, since it was probably me. But bean picking didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. There were lots of things in Seattle that the two of us had always enjoyed seeing and experiencing. Up on the waterfront was Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, near the main ferry terminal. It was filled with all sorts of wonders to gaze at (and buy, if one had a need) – a mummy of an Alaskan gold-rusher, mammoth tusks, real shrunken heads, ---WOW! There was the Pike Place Market. But that was an even greater walk up town. Somewhat closer were several Army Surplus Stores over on Fourth Avenue that we frequented, supplying ourselves with leftovers from both WWII and the Korean conflict. But they wouldn’t open for some time.

More in the direction of home was a large cold-storage company where folks could rent cubicles in which to store frozen items (hunting and major fishing was still quite big in the Northwest then, and home freezers weren’t really common). But the neat thing was that the facility had a large collection of frozen fish for viewing. We decided we could walk from where we were to where the fish were and be there about the time they would open up. So much for picking beans or berries.

We eventually headed for home, thinking to walk all the way. Of course, we’d misjudged the distance, and our trip to see the fish had removed us from the direct line to home. Thank goodness we’d thoughtfully brought our lunches! Our route toward home took us from the middle of the warehouse zone of south Seattle, westward across the Spokane Street bridge over the Duwamish River, into West Seattle, and then southward to White Center. It was mid-afternoon when we finally called our mother from there, still about six miles from home.

The whole experience reminds me of a story in the scriptures. Seems a father had two sons who he asked to go work in the fields. One said, OK, I’ll go, but didn’t. The other said, No, but went. On that day many years ago, my brother and I were like the one who said he’d go. But other interests got in our way. We were well intentioned when we left home that morning. Our interest waned, however, and we ended up more tired after a day of avoiding the work than we would have been had we gone out and picked beans. It takes a lot of effort to avoid doing work, sometimes.

It also takes effort to avoid doing the Lord's work. It isn’t hard to smile at a fearful or lonely child in the hallway. Nor is it difficult to say an encouraging word to those you meet wherever it is you meet people. If the Lord is in your heart, you’ll find Him popping out in things you say and things you do all the time.

Lord, fill my heart so I can work in your fields all the time, every day. May I avoid the temptation of going into cold storage to avoid your work. Lead my feet so they don’t walk miles out of the way to avoid what you’d have me to do. Help me to like green beans enough to go pick them in Your name.


Have a great day!

Dr. G

The Honor Guard at the Wedding

Over the past weekend, my wife and I attended the wedding of our son up in Berrien Springs, MI. In spite of my bias, I must say it was a very happy event for all who were there. The weather was warm and sunny. Excuse me, I lie. It was hot (93 degrees) and sunny, and the formal pictures were taken outside. Otherwise, it was a wonderful weekend.

Berrien Springs, a rather small town, is the sight of Andrews University, where our son is attending the seminary. His new bride teaches sixth grade at a local 8-grade private school. She is an extremely popular teacher, and is really loved by the students (and their parents) she's taught during the last two years. This past year, our son was the worship director for the main church service at Pioneer Memorial Church (having perhaps 1,200 in attendance) on campus, with the responsibility for organizing everything except the sermon. He came away from the experience with high regard on the part of both the parishioners and the pastoral staff.

So it wasn't a surprise to us when we saw the outpouring of love and affection of the locals at the wedding. Mothers of two of the bride's students oversaw the entire weekend - the rehearsal dinner, wedding coordination, reception, decorations - I mean everything! Of course, they had the help of a number of others. It seems as if they couldn't do enough for our kids. Our son has an appointment with the Florida Conference of Seventh-Day Adventists to begin pastoring somehwere in that state next June. At least four Berrien folks told my wife and/or me that some of the locals would like to see the Michigan Conference to buy out our son's contract with Florida so they can keep the newlyweds in Berrien Springs. Wouldn't that be a hoot!

The ceremony was well done. The pastor did a great job, the music was fantastic. But to me, the highlight for our son and his bride was what the coordinator had organized with more than thirty sixth- and seventh-graders. For the Bridal Procession, the students lined either side of the main aisle as an honor guard, each holding a lit candle. When the bride reached the front of the church, her eyes seemed to be brimming with tears.

This took my mind to several Biblical themes. Of course, I remembered from the Book of Matthew the story of the 10 virgins with their lamps who went out to meet the bridegroom. But that didn't quite fit the situation, when I thought it over. Half of them weren't prepared, and they weren't there to honor the bride. So my mind went looking for another application. and I think that in the book Revelation there are some hints of what I was sensing, where it speaks of the wedding of the Lamb. He has returned to earth for His bride (the church) and then regressed to heaven. And that is where I envision the parallel with our new daughter-in-law's honor guard.

Can't you just see them? Innumerable glorious angels, reflecting the light and glory of Christ as they line the corridors of heaven honoring Christ and His Bride as they travel through space to their heavenly home. I so much want to see it, experience it. I don't know who'll cry out fo joy the more: the angels, those of us who make up the Bride, the Bridegroom or His/our Father who'll be standing waiting at the door. Dont' you want to be there?

And we won't have to worry about people tying tin cans to our fiery chariots or short-sheeting us on the honeymoon!

Dr. G

Avoid the swamps of life

When I was about 14 years old, a small group of youth from the church I attended at the time was led by several fearless adults on a hike up a mountain located about 50 miles to the east of Seattle, Washington. While none of us were terribly experienced at hiking, we all had been walking since birth. And since there was a trail, we figured we were good to go. Anyone could climb Mt. Si. Or so we’d heard.

We had no trouble finally reaching the plateau atop the mountain, but we decided as a group not to attempt climbing the “haystack”, which is an uneven stub of rock sticking up about 50 feet high at the very top. After spending about a half hour looking down into the valley and town of North Bend about 3100 feet bellow, we headed back down. Somehow, we’d forgotten to drop bread crumbs, and, part of the way down at one switch-back in the forest, we wandered off-course. I do not know why someone didn’t notice right away that we were off the trail, but the whole group of about 15 was soon far off into the woods with no idea of exactly where we were.

We did have some idea of our general bearing, since we could tell where the sun was. We knew it to be setting in the west. We also knew that to the west at the base of the mountain there was a road. Since we were not experienced hikers, we really had no idea how far it was to the road, nor did we have a clue what lay between us and that road. But we figured that was our best bet.

Now, the trail to the top comes up the backside of the mountain, from the southeast. At the south base is a small triangular hill called Little Si. In the photo, it is the small dark triangular shape at the bottom right. Our group managed to struggle over the saddle between the mother mountain and Little Si, and directly into some rather large, swampy areas. For this we were not prepared.

Our leaders held several vigorous discussions about which way to go, with one adult male determined to go his way, and two others determined to go around another way. Us kids compromised and went straight ahead, getting wet above our shoe tops. The three adults went their ways, and eventually caught up to us, wet well above the knees.

Finally, about dusk, we reached the road. The men walked about two miles to get the vehicles while we kids and the one wife with us waited at the road-side. It had been quite an adventure, with all of the problems having been totally avoidable if we’d had a map and had paid attention to where we were putting our feet in the hurry to get down the mountain.

Have you ever had a mountaintop experience in your spiritual life, only to find yourself wandering on swampy ground only a short while later? Satan so loves to get us off the trail, to get our minds into his territory. How necessary it is to keep the Lord’s road map close at hand, and to make use of the Guide He has promised. May your walk with Him always be on higher ground.

Didn't we see that big tree over there just a few minutes ago?

Dr. G

A Word To The Reader

I'm sorry for the silence of the past two weeks. With the new school year having started, my men's chorus practicing and going out for concerts, and a trip out of state to my son's wedding, things have been rather hectic for a while. It looks like my life will now settle down somewhat, and I hope to be able to get two to three postings out a week. Please bear with me, and keep reading.

Dr. J

Now, where has that mouse run off to?