Cordially Declined

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS”: the poignant words uttered by Gandalf as he faced the dreaded fire demon. As the hobbits screamed back with tear streaked faces, Gandalf battled his ominous foe. Even though he was drawing a line to alter the fire demon’s path, Gandalf’s own path was decidedly altered: behind him savage spider-like Goblins, farther back still, a dim-witted (but upset) water monster, and hundreds of miles up a mountain pass not fit for kings (or holiday ski resorts). Even for a wizard this was a serious plight. With a well-aimed wicked lash of the whip, the demon pulled Gandalf down with him into what was practically a bottomless abyss.
I guess all of this to say that Gandalf’s choice A was blocked, so he had to go with what was choice B or C (or maybe even Z).
As some of you know, I was declined entrance into KU’s School of Law. I would not say this was the school I had placed my highest hopes and expectations upon, but still, the way is blocked, and I acknowledge that this is not a good sign. Going to law school has been a large part of my focus for the last nine months, and I suppose the most upsetting aspect of this news is that I don’t have a plan B. I don’t know why, or for who, I need a plan B- is it for myself; my family; for God? I’m not sure; it just seems important right now.

… Hopefully, my fall back plan won’t involve sky diving with fire demons.

Water Water Everywhere

The swimming pool at Kansas Bible Camp provides a crucial, refreshing service to hundreds of giggling/ screaming/ shouting campers every summer. Because it remains coatless throughout the winter, rain water, leaves, frogs and miscellaneous debris combine forces to create murky water in its depths. The concoction is semi-lethal to the swimming pool filter, and so the water from the pool is removed via human muscle and five gallon buckets. I participated in this annual pool-cleaning event last weekend.
There are three aspects to the KBC water displacement process: there is the Scooper, who fills the bucket with water then hoists it up as far as they can to the ledge of the pool, then there is the Watchman, who hoists the bucket out of the pool, and finally, there is the Pourer who pours out the bucket once it reaches ground level. It did not take umpteen buckets of water for me to realize that I was (am) a weak individual, and this activity also helped me remember I had certain muscles that I had forgotten about. After two hours of this service, I was reduced to a haggard Pourer. And finally, towards the tail end of the activity, an individual crouched down by the side of the pool, handing down shaky empty buckets to those below.
This experience made me grateful I’m not a sailor, especially an old time sailor on a sinking ship. It is one thing to be doing this kind of work to the sound of cheerful voices singing catchy songs from Newsies, but to do this while fearing that my sailing vessel was going to plummet into the depths of Davey Jones… WHEW! That would be sobering. As a crew of approximately twenty-five people we displaced several feet of water from that swimming pool, but to have the whole ocean trying to get into the bowels of a ship through some broken boards would be disparaging, to say the least. The salt water would lash against your skin, stinging cuts and open wounds, and find its way into your eyes, mouth and ears. UGHTH! The battering from the ocean would knock even the most experienced sailor off their feet. The raw power of the ocean is startling; who can fight it?
If we tried displacing the ocean’s water in its entirety, it would be a stupid venture. No matter what we would use, it would be more foolhardy than attempting to empty the KBC pool with a handful of sewing thimbles.
Today I was reminded that God’s love is like an ocean. It is vast… it is powerful… and wow... that’s a lotta love!

An Audience Member

For my 24th Birthday two of my Irish roommates took me to hear the virtuoso violinist Benjamin Schmid play Concerto No. 1 by Szmanowski. Our front row seats were almost too close to the Dublin Symphony, if that is possible. As we craned our necks upwards, practically staring up into Schmid’s very nostrils, we witnessed Szmanowski played with zest and precision! Even though my roommates and I were practically sitting at the violinist’s feet, he was oblivious to our presence. He knew we were there collectively, the several hundred “we”, but Schmid could have cared less if the three of us were absent from the concert hall that night.
Or did our presence make a difference to this virtuoso? Come to think of it, we were well behaved audience members. We were not heckling or pummeling rotten fruit at him. We were there to support his playing, and did our best to avoid hindering the fire of his art. In a way, our presence DID matter.
There are many facets to being an audience member. When I was visiting my friend Jess in Columbia, I had the privilege of watching her lead a girl to Christ. Because of the language barrier I was unable to understand every word that was being said, and unable to fully take part in what was happening, but I understood what took place. In a small sense, I got to be part of the event. I witnessed God in action; changing a life; snatching a soul from the damnation of hell.
Several weeks ago I found myself at the doorstep of a woman in her 40s, asking her where she thought she would spend eternity when she died. I was scared, but I got to witness a person who was tender to the gospel, and who readily grasped hold of Christ. God had prepared this woman’s heart before I (and the two other people I was with) had timidly knocked on her door. As I think about this recent experience, I again find myself in the audience seat, and it occurs to me that someone greater than Schmid is playing the tune.