Big Sky

Most days in our neighbourhood are cloudy. We get a lot of that grey blanket of cloud that seems to seal the lid of the world tight above us. So often those clouds do not bring rain, but neither do they admit the sun.

Some days are crystal clear, the dome of the firmament so high and light blue that it seems not even to be there. The sky then is an ethereal film above your head; the sun dominates with her bright rays, making the earth shine and glow.

Then, ever more rare, are the Big Sky days. These are the days I miss Colorado the most, for Colorado has these days all the time. A Big Sky is a bright blue sky scattered with a patchwork of giant clouds, fluffly cumulonimbus working their way with deliberate speed across the heavens. They are luminescent and white on top, shaded on the bottom where the sun cannot penetrate the tight droplets of moisture. They have texture and depth--oh, such great depth!--so that looking up is like looking down into a sea of air. The Big Sky is close, so close you might touch those floating titanics, if only you could reach a little higher. The wind that carries the mighty air ships caresses the ground and your hair, as if to say, Yes, yes, you can reach a little higher! Try it!

And you want to watch the clouds all day, to see where they are going, to read whose names are etched on the sides of the heavenly barges, to dream of leaving this earthly port to sail around the world far above it with angels and dreamers. Perhaps your name is on one of those ships; or perhaps it is the name of your friend, your lover, your long-lost relative.

And I sigh into the wind, feeling the warmth of the sun, then the cool of a cloud-shadow, then the warmth of the sun again. And I take Sara's hand, and we walk on across the high field, savouring the promise of spring under the gift of a Big Sky.

~emrys

Blowing Glass

Before we came to Orlando, I had to come up with something to do on my birthday. (This is part of the deal for Birthday Week--no matter where we are, the three birthday kids, David, myself, and Sara, have to set the agenda for the day of our anniversary.) Having discounted the central Florida usuals (D-World, S-World, and golf), I searched the internet for what artsy stuff was going on in the city of Orlando.

"Keila Glassworks." That sounds interesting.

I clicked on the link (you can, too, at the bottom of this entry), hoping to find a cool hand-blown glass gallery to peruse and enjoy.

I found what I was looking for--and so much more.

On the Keila Glassworks website I saw a link to "Classes." Classes? You mean, I might actually be able to try my hand at this ancient craft? Yes! I clicked a couple more times, the heavens opened, I heard an angelic choir, and I found my birthday activity: getting a lesson in glass blowing and creating my very own piece. Awesome!

Charlie, one of the head honchos at Keila, met us at the gallery with a smile, a firm handshake, and lots of jokes about his long dredlocks ("this bear on my back"). He led us behind the studio to the work shop, where he gave me a tour of the process by which glass pieces (in this case, a drinking tumbler) are created. Then, with Sara and the in-laws looking on, he sat me down to do some of the hand work of shaping molten glass into a gorgeous, usable piece. Charlie's generous demeanour and genuine hospitality made our time there a joy.

Now, to be honest, I only did a little bit of the work. But, as Charlie told me early on, glass blowing is not something one can learn in one lesson. He said, "If I do 80% of the work and you do 20% of it, and you come out with a basic knowledge of how glass is made, then we've been successful." And that's about the ratio of effort: 80% Charlie, 20% Emrys (hm, maybe 85/15). But in that one-fifth of the process I got to feel how gentle and soft is molten glass; I got to test my hand-eye coordination by trying to shape a blob of glass on a rolling steel pipe; I got to feel how hot the glass really is coming out of the furnace. (I got a mild sunburn on my right forearm from being within ten inches of the glass while working it. The glass really is like lava.)

There will be pictures in future posts, since the peanut gallery watched and documented the whole show. (And they kept their heckling to a minimum.) But more important than the pictures--and even than the glass I now have as a souvenir--was the chance to set my hands to this ancient art, to feel the heat, to try the skills, and to learn first-hand about something that until Sunday was just a mysterious curiosity.

To Charlie, Meg, and Charles (The Second) at Keila Glassworks, great thanks. I raise my glass to you!

To y'all who are reading this post, I ask you for a favour. Even if you have a persistent distaste for glass (who on earth would have that?), help me in promoting the enriching experience of Keila Glassworks by clicking on their link below.

http://www.keilaglassworks.com/index.html

~ emrys

Orlando Face Lift

Four days ago our plane landed in Florida. We boarded the monorail that runs between the terminal and pick-up areas of the Orlando airport. As the doors closed, I noticed a group of men standing together joking and laughing. Their faces were lit with the joy of Florida sun, the promise of golf courses for their Titleist ball caps, and the hope of attractions at Epcot Center. They joked with a stranger and his son about how much things would cost, and how this five-year-old would tap his father for money on this vacation; all in the kind-hearted banter that grows on trees in the Sunshine State.

I thought about what these guys did on the weeks they weren’t on vacation. One was likely someone in the high-powered world of finances, where no one jokes about how much things cost. Another likely did some form of valuable labour—an auto mechanic, maybe?—whose boss is always passing on crap from the customers. A third is probably just making ends meet, who comes home and tells his own children that they can’t have all the money they want, because the stuff doesn’t grow on trees. They may all work in the world of hard labour and disappointment: the grind and the rat race for the ever-shrinking cheese at the end of the maze.

But today—this week—they step off the plane and step out of the maze. They come to a place where the grimace of hard work can give way to the smile of rest; where the furrowed brow of hoarding can surrender to the belly-laugh of spending. They have come to Orlando for their Sabbath rest. They have come to Orlando for a face lift.

And though I can see the scars, Lordy doesn’t that new look make a world of difference?
~ emrys

Online Baptism

I read about it, and said, "Huh?"

I emailed the guy in charge, and said, "What?"

Now I've seen it for myself, and I'm saying "Whoa." Here it is: the Flamingo Road Church "Internet Campus" website, conducting its first ("the" first?) online baptism. If you want to watch it, check out the link:

http://www.frclive.blogspot.com/

A first response for me is: How cool! They've figured out how to use the human-made tool of commuication, the internet, to encourage folks to be baptized. They have used the medium of cyberspace to reach across time and space to conduct one of the most powerful and foundational rituals in the life of a Christian. Awesome! I say, Praise the Lord that Alyssa is baptized and has committed her life to Christ! She has answered the call of the Spirit, and that is always a wondrous thing.

My second response is: how strange! Pastor Brian, as he "led" the baptism of Alyssa over the gap of cyberspace, required someone else to "be his hands" for this ritual. Lisa, a believer and relative to Alyssa, followed his instructions by lowering Alyssa into the bath tub after Brian declared the trinitarian formula (Father, Son, Holy Spirit) from afar. Lisa did the baptism, but she was Brian's hands for the event. Why couldn't Lisa have done the baptism herself? Why were Brian and the other pastor on the other end of the internet link necessary?

I could only speculate on why Lisa felt like she needed Brian to lead the baptism. But on the surface it looks like Brian has some sort of authority to baptize. Perhaps he has been ordained as a pastor of Flamingo Road Church, to lead this on-the-edge ministry through the internet. And I think this idea of ordination (calling individuals to use their gifts in certain roles in the Church) is good. Brian ought to be doing the work he is doing.

Yet, if Brian has been ordained to a ministry of online baptism by a community of faith (Flamingo Road Church), where does this community of faith connect with Alyssa? I did not hear any words about how Alyssa has committed herself to living within the body of Christ, in relationship with other believers. I did not hear Brian challenge her to get involved in a local congregation, to worship the Lord with her brothers and sisters. The baptism is presented as an isolated incident in Alyssa's life. In one sense this is quite fitting, for the internet is a place where we can connect with other people without sacrificing our anonymity. We need not draw close to a community that can hold us accountable or walk with us on the journey; we can have the baptism without the connections. And to my generation, this may be the way we like it best.

But is it the way that the Spirit wants it? Does she want us to get dunked, feel good (as Alyssa rightfully does), and go on living our own lives? Or (as maybe you suspect by now that I think) does the Spirit want us to be baptized into a community of people who, being baptized like us, also commit to loving us and holding us accountable to our discipleship?

I come from a tradition and reading of scripture in which baptism is very important, and in which the community function of the Church is just as important. So the Flamingo Road Church online baptism phenomenon makes me both excited and concerned. I see that the Church has discovered how to reach through cyberspace with the call to follow Jesus. I also wonder if the Church has discover how to reach through cyberspace with the call to be gathered in the name of Jesus.

~emrys

Thanksgiving

I recently received news (as it was happening) that a friend was having an encounter with the police. The severity of the crime was not such that I was concerned about having to visit this friend in prison anytime soon. Nonetheless, as a result of this minor incident, I noticed something that gave me pause.

When I heard about the police questioning this friend, I did not feel an overwhelming fear that my friend was in danger. That is to say, I did not bear anxiety that my friend would be treated unfairly by the police or placed in a position where he would have to pay a bribe to fend off corrupt law enforcers. I trusted the police presence to weigh my friend's situation justly, rationally, and gracefully, and to act within the bounds provided by the government.

I thought of how many places there exist in the world where having the police show up at your door causes rightful anxiety and fear. There are so many towns and cities where the police may detain you at the will of the officer, demand a bribe, or worse. There are too many locales where having the wrong last name makes you an enemy of the police and other government officials. In some places, calling the police for help is like calling the mob to do your taxes.

So I give thanks to the Lord for the privilege of peace, such that I can trust the presence of the police to serve our common good. I praise the Lord that, for now, this part of our lives may remain reasonably free from fear. For this not so little thing, I give thanks.

Shalom,
emrys

The Utility of Force

"The Utility of Force," by General Rupert Smith, is my latest read. I recommend it to you. Smith surveys military history from the time of Napoleon up to the present-day war in Iraq, with an eye for discerning how military force is used effectively or not.

The book is quite a tome, and explores exhaustively its topic. Smith is thoughtful, with a strong analytical mind and acute perception of the things that go on during war. This reflects his long and varied experience in the field of making military decisions.

Smith does not ask the question "Should nations ever use force?" He is far from a pacifist seeking to convince us to scale back our use of force. Instead he argues that we must learn how to use force better; that is, make it more useful. He argues that our (the European and American West's) current use of force is ill-equipped for the challenges we face. This failure to match use of power with our goals in the world is what produces "quagmires" in places like Iraq and Afghanistan.

"The Utility of Force" gave me new questions to ask when I watch the news about events in war-torn areas of the world. Now, instead of echoing the popular cry that "War sucks, but sometimes you just have to go to war," I can think more critically about why and how nations go to war. Best of all, Smith offers a way out of our current spiral of watching heavily armoured vehicles full of well-intentioned coalition soldiers getting blown up by IEDs on a regular basis. The way out, as always, requires a profound shift in thinking. But I, even as someone who only watches the wars from the media sidelines, am grateful for Smith's vision, a ray of hope in what I sense to be an otherwise despairing situation.

If you are interested in a different way to think about war that honours the complexity we see these days--and if you can handle some heavy reading--pick up "The Utility of Force."
~emrys

Seeing Red (At Last)

The next step to completing the new countertop in the kitchen has been completed. I finished the outside of the cabinets with hardwood plywood, installed a sliding closet door, and painted it the same red as the accent colour in the kitchen. (What percentage of surface must be covered in paint before it's no longer an accent colour?)

The sliding door came about because I didn't want to waste the three cubic feet of space under the countertop. Seems like I spent enough time in other countries to catch the desire to use every cubic inch of space in the house.

Or maybe I'm just tired of seeing every horizontal surface fill up with stuff so fast.

Last element in the project: install shelves in that little space.

~emrys

Getting Waxed

It snowed today. We received from the weather angels about 5 inches of that magic stuff that is, as one Pakistani student once exclaimed, "frictionless." Well, close enough anyway. So sensing an opportunity I asked a few of the youth in the congregation to come sledding with me on the hill behind the sanctuary in Nineveh. Of course, they were in.
The slope behind the sanctuary has two teirs of clear grass (er, snow), before it gives way to a sharper, forested slope. In order to get the maximum thrill out of the experience, we trudged up the slope, into the woods, found a path that did not intersect with any trees (of significant size) and started cruising down.
Oh, and there was a jump.
Well, it wasn't really supposed to be a jump at first. We intended it to be a curve--a luge sort of thing, you know--which diverted the sledder on a longer path to the bottom. However, it became rapidly clear that the velocity at which we descended out of the forest would carry us over the curving ramp, turning it into a jump.
There's nothing wrong with a good jump, so we changed our tactics.
Jordan was the first to discover the vaulting quality of our former embankment. He shot down the hillside, leaves torn up in a cloud behind him, and leapt from the edge of the snowbank into the air.
Awesome! I thought, and climbed the hill hoping to get the same effect.
No dice. I went down twice, then three times, but I couldn't get enough velocity to get any air. At most I crawled over the snow like a meatball rolling over a lump of spaghetti. Not very thrilling.
"I just can't do it. Is there anything special about your sled?"
"Yeah," said Jordan, "My dad waxed it."
He waxed his sled! "Can I borrow it?"
"Sure."
I climbed the hill, armed now with the triplet wonders of snow, gravity, and ski wax on my side. I got as high as I could and threw myself onto the track.
When I hit the slope and felt the slide of the sled under my belly, words leapt into my mind that pastors aren't supposed to think (let alone say). I had underestimated the effectiveness of the wax. I tore down the hill like a bat out of--well, a bat on a waxed sled--and hit the jump at a velocity I had never heretofore experienced in my memory. I also ascended higher than I like to be when my feet aren't under me.
Needless to say, I lost control of the sled and three of my limbs. With one hand still gripping the sled handle, I yardsaled into the snow on the other side of the jump.
"That was awesome!"
I got up, ignored the pain above my right kneecap, and did it again.
I gotta get me some wax.
~ emrys

The Re-creation of the Kitchen

Winter does this strange thing, we're forced to stay inside for days on on end and looking at the same walls all the time brings about this urge to change things. Here's the result of this winter's cabin fever. The story of the re-creation of our kitchen. When we bought our house this was one compromise we made. The kitchen was lacking - lacking counter space, lacking color, lacking personality, lacking function. Emrys and I both love to cook and take on kitchen projects (not to mention that the kitchen also serves as my candle factory!) Most who know us, are aware that this hasn't stopped us from hosting large dinners, waffle breakfasts for the youth, storing quarts and quarts of veggies and fruits from the garden, local farms and Frog Pond. But now, we can do all these things and more!

When we started there was a floor to ceiling cabinet next to the stove and that was the first to go - before we even started taking pictures! Now it serves as storage in the downstairs bathroom.

The counter top was the first part of this project. Emrys has found a friend who has a saw-mill and a ready supply of rough-cut lumber and ET wanted to take on the project of making a butcher-block styler counter top. With a friend's woodshop available to us with the necessary tools, a fun project and all for less than formica laminate- who was I to stand in the way! We cut and planed and clued and sanded and the result is a beautiful countertop that the photos just don't do justice. It's not a true butcher block in that we won't be chopping on it and we did seal it with polyurethane but the method was there.

The rest is pretty self explanatory - border taken down (I had been ready to see it go since I moved in), fresh coat of colored paint replaced the straight from the can white that was on the walls, two new cabinets and the counter top all resulted in doubling our counter space and an eat-in breakfast bar to boot! We have some finising work to do and to get some stools but that's right around the corner. Here's the pix! Enjoy! (click on pictures for captions)
~sjt

Just a bit of Snow!

So I've been e-mailing with our friends at Sonlight and they have had a crazy amount of snow this winter topped off by 24 inches of fresh snow at camp since Sunday morning! Take a look at their shoveling job and ask yourself if your driveway looks so bad after all!