Children Have More Than "Potential"

We attended Ash Wednesday service last evening, and I was blessed to be a Lay Eucharistic Minister, serving alongside three elementary-age girls, very attentive and diligent “acolytes”. A few years ago, I attended a mass celebrated by our local bishop.  During the preparation for communion, he surrounded himself with young acolytes and with purpose he paused the liturgy to explain why he always does so: "Young people are not our future; they are our present."  I've always remembered his words, though I was never sure what they meant beyond a nice platitude (or a desperate attempt to rebuild sagging church membership!).

But last month, I caught a powerful glimpse of how that mindset might be lived out in our reality, and the impact it could make.  I visited World Vision programs in Honduras with a group of supporters, and what struck me most was how children and youth were part of every visit, not simply as "beneficiaries" of sponsorship and other programs, but also as vital community members and activists.  

Gifted child-preachers led us adults in devotions.  Others spoke beautiful and articulate prayers from their hearts.  Nicole Alejandro, age 10, gave a lovely devotional message. She told the story of Jesus feeding the 5000, how the disciples—like World Vision—didn’t have enough resources to help everyone. "But if we trust in God, God will provide enough.  A little child provided the loaves and fishes, which shows that children can be part of the solution, too.  Those weren't enough food, but through prayer, Jesus' prayer, God multiplied the food and made it enough for everyone.  And this miracle prompted the people to praise God…"  As she unpacked each point, she wasn’t proud of herself or coquettish; she wanted us to understand!

At another gathering, a young boy, Benitas, preached to us and to several hundred community members and then prayed for our lunch. “Lord, please use me as your instrument of blessing… And, any strength we receive from this food, may we use it to do your will.”

Young people made the majority of the presentations we heard, and they did so with confidence.  At our very first stop we heard from the "Youth Mayor", age 13, who casually sipped coffee and, along with his 12-year-old colleagues, walked us through the many programs they are helping organize and conduct.  Now, these were not simply youth-focused programs; these young leaders knew the statistics on how many people had access to clean water and what was being done about it, what the health care needs of the community are, they discussed surveys being conducted to assess various community-wide problems and the solutions that are being brought, and explained through photos and displays the extent of their community's strategy and programs.  It was quite stunning to realize that these are not simply youth leaders, but community leaders!

Many youth have received training through World Vision's Channels of Hope program.  This global initiative reaches pastors and faith leaders, to reduce stigma around HIV & AIDS and transform judgment into tangible, compassionate response.  COH has now been adapted for youth, and the HIV training has become a platform for many additional youth empowerment programs.  Our final stop was to a large open field next to a school, where five separate COH youth groups stood in the rain and presented to us.  

One represented her group by explaining, "Through the training we have received, we raise awareness on HIV through expos and AIDS fairs, and we organize marathons to support youth workshops on self-esteem and leadership… It's great to be able to advocate for change here in our area and -- why not? -- at the level of the whole nation!"

Following the presentations and some fun folkloric dances, we moved next door to invade the empty school for an actual Channels of Hope carnival.  Three good-looking young men gave us a very energetic and visionary explanation of what was taking place, as scores of noisy children streamed past us to start playing the various carnival learning games inside: “We’ve seen great attitude changes about HIV through this program. In the churches no one would discuss AIDS, but now churches will discuss it openly, and they have become the main actors [in ministry outreach]. It's been a very difficult topic to discuss here, but Honduras has the highest HIV rate in Central America, so something must be done.”

They showed us a quiz game with a spinning wheel which tested knowledge not only about AIDS, but also gender issues, discrimination, values, nutrition, and spiritual issues. "We adapt the topics for the age of the player.  We always have a specific target audience... children, or adults, or youth. We are all volunteers, and we started this program after receiving training in 2009. A month before our next planned event, we start working at raising funds and ask businesses to donate the prizes.

"COH is different by linking in the Christian component.  We always incorporate spiritual motivations and try to influence youth. Every day more leaders get involved and join us. Now we are even part of the community structure, and we've impacted those structures."  At times, it felt as though we were talking with Latin revolucionados, whose fervent goal was to overthrow the minds and hearts of their entire nation.  They had vision and passion and clearly believed that they could impact their world.  "Now we can say we have become ambassadors of Christ and bring truth with love."

My mind goes right to my own grandkids: what do they believe about their impact?  It's certainly true that our own kids could learn from these kids.  Couldn't we adults perhaps also learn from these programs, these communities, about how to create an "enabling environment," where our children see themselves not simply as "the future,” able to impact their world once they finish their education and reach adulthood but, as we heard from the Youth Mayor and his cabinet on our first stop, as "the present”?

Beyond the novelty and heart-stirring notion of kids helping their communities like this, what's the big idea here?  It's that communities are taking the lead, and “community” extends to include the youth and children as part of the asset base.  World Vision provides tools, and the youth and children, as well as the adults, are taking these firmly in hand to improve their communities.  They are turning their dreams, their desired future, into their present reality, and inviting anyone who has the will to help make it so.  By not giving kids the notion that they are simply "the future", after you get your education, after you reach 16 or 18 or 21 or 30, new vistas for creativity and energy are opened up, allowing young men and women to not only dream youthful dreams but help make shared dreams into shared reality.

I realize now that I missed an small opportunity to embrace that mindset last night. Though I always strive to learn the names of my fellow LEMs, I can’t tell you the name of one young acolyte.  Yet they—especially their leader—were more attentive to the order of service than I was, performing their roles very diligently.  But most of what they heard from us adults was “Good job!”…exactly what we say to my 20-month-old grandson.  An verbal pat on the head was proffered, yet that affirmation also declares a hierarchy in the relationship between us servers. Reverse age discrimination in a way, perhaps?

The mindset I witnessed in Honduras was different, and convicting. Children aren’t simply “precious in our sight”:  If you are here, you are part of the present, not just the future. So come, bring your ideas and your passions, and let's work side-by-side to create the future, our shared future.  We need you at the table. We are stronger with you here.

There is much good news in this mindset, a mindset which I want to develop.   And hopefully, a little child shall teach me.

Cory

February 2013

PS: On a personal note, after the vision trip, Janet met me on the island of Roatan off the Honduran coast, where we celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary!

Prayers from the Bottom

As the nation prepares for Monday’s inauguration* (which I will miss while traveling to Honduras), I was reminded once again of the most meaningful part of Barack Obama’s first inaugural.  After the main speeches and the swearing in were over, after the crescendo was past and many (like me) were turning off the TV, an old Black preacher ambled slowly to the podium to give the closing benediction.  At the time I only heard it in my car, but I’ve watched and re-read it at least a dozen times since.

Just before him came poetic stanzas that set the table from which the preacher would feed us, penned and read by Yale professor Elizabeth Alexander:

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”

Others by "first do no harm," or "take no more than you need."

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light…

I happen to think the mightiest word is love, and I applaud anyone willing to wonder so out-loud, especially on such an electric and soon-dissected occasion, where talk about love could seem sentimental at best on this occasion where the world’s mightiest power transfers that power.

Then an introduction… and a pause.  An empty microphone waited as the old man of God, the Reverend Joseph Lowery, ambled toward the podium to give the benediction… a prayer which one must surely live before one could give it.  Spoken by one who seemed almost a relic, a living proof-text of the holy writ he read.  Spoken not with jubilation, but in the slow, lilting rhythm of a Negro Spiritual, which is the only way it should be read.  A prayer bubbling up from the bottom, a recollection of the pain of the past, mixed with a cautious word to the disempowered who were eagerly anticipating becoming—finally, just maybe—empowered:

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,

Thou, who has brought us thus far along the way,

Thou, who has by thy might led us into the light,

Keep us forever in the path we pray,

Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee,

Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee.

Shadowed beneath thy hand, may we forever stand

True to thee, oh God, and true to our native land.

The whole prayer, even the parts that made me squirm a bit, gave me a glimpse through the window onto the marginalized.  Not the militant, not the triumphalist, but the preacher who is shepherd-guide to the also-rans… 

We pray now, oh Lord, for your blessing upon thy servant Barak Obama, the 44th president of these United States, his family and his administration. He has come to this high office at a low moment in the national, and indeed the global, fiscal climate. But because we know you got the whole world in your hands, we pray for not only our nation, but for the community of nations.

Our faith does not shrink though pressed by the flood of mortal ills.

For we know that, Lord, you are able and you're willing to work through faithful leadership to restore stability, mend our brokenness, heal our wounds, and deliver us from the exploitation of the poor, of the least of these, and from favoritism toward the rich, the elite of these.

His truth, his sting, even his enduring personal pain which bleeds through were wrapped in such beauty, symmetry and poetic rhythm as to disarm us, undo us, convict us all with truth while enfolding us in grace. 

In the low cadence of a preacher man too old, too tired and too somber to be fooled into thinking Obama’s ascendance would change everything, yet with the trespasses of the past still in his mind, he too closed with a call for more love, more justice, more transformation…

With your hands of power and your heart of love, help us now, Lord, to work for that day when nation shall not lift up sword against nation, when tanks will be beaten into tractors, when every man and every woman shall sit under his or her own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid, when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day… when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around ... when yellow will be mellow ... when the red man can get ahead, man… and when white will embrace what is right.

Let all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen.

Prayers from the bottom, glimpses from the disenfranchised poor, of a hoped-for future he’s too old to see come to fruition.  I glance at them furtively, uncomfortable and somewhat afraid of the implications they might have for me and my position at the top of the heap.  Yet, this week I read that there are 1,009 passages in the Bible about God’s concern for justice, with special concentration in the book of Isaiah, the book to which my Lord most closely aligns his own ministry. 

The sweetness of the preacher’s verses help me to swallow their medicine.  And they become a siren call, beckoning my heart where it knows it must go, over the energetic protestations of my head.

(You can see Rev. Lowery’s benediction at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Il9r-VSu9g)

Cory

January 2013

* Post-script: This past Sunday evening, I was in Washington, D.C., and a colleague and I walked a few blocks to the Capitol.  In the early evening darkness, the Capitol’s gleaming white dome was wrapped in fog and draped in light…ethereal and beckoning.  Though it would be eight days before President Obama’s second inauguration, the thousands of  chairs and the grandstands and the serpentine lines of porta-potties were already in place—poised with anticipation, it seemed, for yet another historic event in a city which has seen many.  It was quite a sight.  The blanket of fog, the quietude… everything shrouded in darkness save the Capitol dome, which seemed to emanate fuzzy light… one could sense that something was about to happen.  Yet the scene itself, like the future, was unclear. In Les Miserables, every character passionately sings his or her various prayers and hopes and anticipations in “One Day More,” then collides their voices together in the climactic acknowledgement of Who alone holds the future in his hands: “…Tomorrow we’ll discover what our God in heaven has in store.”

'Tis the Season to be Tender

It's the most wondrous time of the year.  That's true enough. But our songs all insist we must all put on a jolly face, have a wonderful time and, for goodness sake, we'd better not cry! 

Goodness knows, we don't want to be sad this time of year.  We are supposed to be happy, right?  "I'm sorry," my friend apologizes through reddened eyes, "I don't know why I'm weepy."

And yet, it's the season of the year when we celebrate the most vulnerable time of all--the birth of a baby.  Death in childbirth for mother and/or child was an all-too-common occurrence then (and still is in too much of the world), multiplied several times over by placing the newborn in an animal trough!

Angels and shepherds and circumcision and magi and Herod... we bunch together a couple years of gospel events into one big season of constant celebration.  And maybe that's the point: we call it all a "celebration" when the story itself calls for a commemoration.  There are solemn, even somber, parts to that story.  Those parts didn't have to be part of the scriptural record.  It could have been all angels singing, innkeepers repenting, shepherd dancing in gay apparel, no sheep dung on their sandals. But isn't that just like the Bible to show life as the mixed bag it really is, warts and all? David, the "man after God's own heart," adding adultery and murder to his résumé . Peter, both passionate and foolish.  The ancient Israelites, set apart as God's "chosen people," yet berated by their own prophets for their greed, injustice and xenophobia.  If there's one thing that strengthens my faith in the veracity of Scripture, it's the unvarnished and almost universally unadorned portrait of its characters.

Yet over the centuries our culture has adorned Christmas and varnished it 'til its glossy sheen nearly blinds us to the underlying material. It has become something different, a magical season of fantasy.  Janet and I watched the original "Miracle of 34th Street" last night and were swept up in the story as much as the next guy.  It's fun to delight once again, like we did as children, in a myriad of memories and traditions and twinkling lights like those that mesmerize my young grandson.

But not only can this feeling not be sustained for the entire “Christmas season” (which is a shopping term of ever-increasing length), but neither should it be.  The Church's term throughout history, "Advent", invites and even beckons a different and more complex set of emotions.  It's a time of preparation, of remembrance of the full story, of feeling the complete range of human emotion at the full-orbed story of the entry of the Christ-child into our full-orbed world. 

"Peaceful Christmas" music wafts behind me, courtesy of Pandora.  It invites a peaceful acceptance of emotion, as violins now render "Silent night, holy night."  The phrase, repeated in every verse of this most-beloved song, is "holy night," not "happy night."  "Holy" can be joy-filled, thoughtful, tearful, awestruck, watchful.  None of those emotions need an apology during a season of preparation for a holy night. 

In my office hangs a framed photo I was given when I left Promise Keepers, after serving as their California state manager during the boom years.  The Orange County Register published the photograph during the largest stadium event PK ever held, at the LA Coliseum in 1995.  The photo portrayed what was best about that uneven men's movement: as worship music was pulsing from the stage, the men on the front row are shown alternately lifting hands, kneeling, weeping openly, singing passionately.  Their diversity of response to what was "holy" is as riveting as their diversity of race and socio-economic status.  It is beautiful to behold.

Let that be our invitation then, to not only feel but to accept and even welcome the full range of human emotion in this season, without apologies that "I'm such a downer" or "I know I shouldn't be sad at this time of year."  Those of us who struggle to feel the complete range of emotion should be jealous.  We lack the taste buds to enjoy the full-bodied communion wine of all the complex flavors of Advent. 

If you can taste them fully, but are tempted to apologize for that, perhaps it will help to remember that this is first and foremost Advent season, the time of preparation for Christmas, which lasts for a day.

In my view, an Advent season without tears is the saddest Christmas indeed.  'Tis the season to be tender.

Cory

Advent 2012

Joy Deep As Sorrow

The slaughter of 20 innocent first-grade children in Newtown, Connecticut last week sickens and disheartens us all. There is some pathos that the tragedy occurred the day after I sent out my meditation "I'm dreaming of a safe Christmas" dedicated to vulnerable children. That it happened during Advent season, when we are re-reading wondrous Christmas stories that always crash headlong into Herod’s terrible slaughter of the infants in Bethlehem, makes both incidents all the more poignant.

At times like these, people often look to spiritual leaders for answers. I'm sure some of these “spokespersons for God” are feeling great pressure to find meaning in the senseless violence, feeling a need to defend God's reputation.

I was talking with a friend today who told me she’d just seen one of the popular television preachers on a major network morning show. The primary question that the host had was, "After a terrible tragedy like this, how would you reassure our viewers that God exists and that God cares?"

My friend felt the clergyman had done a fairly good job of empathetically providing the explanations most of us, if we've been people of faith for some length of time, have heard repeatedly in one form or another:  reminders about man's free will and assurances of God’s compassion for the victims.  Without question, this is a tough circumstance in which to be an apologist.

But as she was talking, I put myself in the place of this "man of God,"  and I realized that I no longer feel it's my responsibility to "apologize" for God, to defend God in times like this. God is perfectly capable to defend God.

That sounds odd, doesn't it?  Somehow we've all been indoctrinated that this is our job.  We’ve had our gospel sales training and we walk around feeling great pressure to help get God off the hook. 

If there's good news in that gospel, I don't see it.

I even think we can do a disservice to God in trying to use reasoning that we humans can understand.  It implies that I can understand God and you could, too. In truth, If we could understand the mind of God, God would not be God.

As we discussed it further, I was reminded of an article that was written over 20 years ago to World Vision staff. It was written by a staff psychologist before PTSD was a household term. He was offering empathy and an explanation of our colleagues who work in relief camps or other difficult settings surrounded by misery and pain, who then come back and would worship with us at World Vision's weekly chapel service. The counselor counseled the rest of us not to be concerned that these wounded warriors were not being demonstrative in chapel or singing praise songs with great gusto. Don't think they've lost their faith in God, he advised us. Rather, they continue to believe in a loving God despite the evidence to the contrary.

I've remembered that article for over two decades and I especially appreciated that he inserted the word "the" in the phrase “despite the evidence.” It acknowledges what we all know is true yet are usually afraid to admit—that there is evidence, compelling at an emotional level at the very least, that argues against belief in a loving and all-powerful God.  So, to hold our own subterranean fear of unbelief at bay, we do all we can to defend that God, “our God”.

As I'm writing this, my wife just sent a text with the disturbing news that a former church member and acquaintance died yesterday of complications from a terrible motorcycle accident. Frank has been a well-known radio host at a Christian station here. What will his family go through?  What words of comfort will quickly morph into fervent explanations and apologia?

Let’s face it. Life is painfully cruel; as life is unbelievably beautiful. 

My new friend bob Bennett sent me the very first CD of his new album. He burned it himself for my dying friend Mark Archibald, who passed away the next day, before Bob could mail it, so it came to me instead. The title song asks plaintively, "Is there joy deep as sorrow?" 

Despite the evidence to the contrary, the fact that the answer to Bob' question is a resounding yes may be all the defense I personally need for God.  Oh yes, there is joy deep as sorrow. 

And for those who can open their hearts to it, this season offers deep reminders of both.  Our usual response to someone’s loss or heartache at Christmastime is, “Oh, and how terrible that it happened at this time of year, too.”  Perhaps the ultimate victory of the Christ-mission despite the river of blood from Herod’s infamous Slaughter of the Innocents requires a different reading, a different response when tragedy strikes at this very time of year.  Perhaps at no other season is there such clear evidence that joy is always comingled with sorrow, and vice versa; such a clear sign of ultimate hope, that sorrow can be redeemed. 

Redeeming last week’s sorrow is the task before us now, as well… a task we can undertake in strength and comfort, reaching out for the hand of One who also endured great sorrow while beckoning us to a Peaceable Kingdom of unending joy.

Peace on earth; goodwill to all,

Cory

December 2012

I’m Dreaming of a Safe Christmas

This year I've found new courage to open myself to the tragic problems we lump together under the term "children in crisis". This refers especially to children living alone on the streets of the world, children in abusive labor, and trafficked children.

Frankly, it takes a good deal of courage to engage these issues. They are so disturbing, so evil, so repulsive. It's a great deal easier to focus on providing clean water or micro loans, seeing smiling faces and proud countenances of those being helped, not the slumped and somber frames of the fortunate few children who are rescued, their identities hidden from the camera.

I encourage would-be contributors to these "Child Protection" issues to first pray about whether or not they feel called to it, because I believe it takes a special calling to stay in this battle against insidious evil in some of the places where it is most firmly entrenched. 

Yet the silent cries of these children is a drumbeat on my own soul lately. I'm hearing that same divine calling myself, and now Janet and I allocate much of our own giving to this issue.

A colleague and good friend just sent out the note below to our co-laborers  around the country.  I appreciate Steve's deep passion and heart on this issue—refueled by a riveting trip to Bangladesh and India this year where he experienced vignettes like these first hand—and feel his note is worth sharing, without comment.  It's a message for Christmastime that may be worthy of reflection again during the holiday, as we seek to make it truly a Holy-Day.

Advent blessings,

Cory

           Christmas letter to my fellow reps about Child Protection

In about two weeks, we will all largely cease our busy activities regarding the ministry of World Vision. It will then be a time for families, exchanging gifts, wearing something new, and of course those delightful Christmas cookies that seem to be consumed by the half-dozen!

We will also gather to worship in a variety of settings, whether a simple chapel service or an ornate candlelight communion somewhere which allows us to reflect on the significance of Jesus's entrance into a troubled, and less than ornate, world.

I was asked by the Child Protection team to remind us of some of the themes of this sector. How could I do so without immediately noticing the obvious contrast between those we serve and this affluent Christmas culture we call home?

Consider their Christmas morning…

- A child of ten forced into working 12 hour days in a factory with conditions that don't exactly tout coffee breaks nor a leisurely lunch hour, meanwhile netting maybe 50 cents a day.

- A girl of 12 whose value on the street, due to her youth and lack of prior sexual experience, can give her family the most expensive "Christmas gift" they have ever received; their only problem being that there is no address for them to send her a thank you note.

- A young child's only experience of "Silent night!" will be hearing the threatening exhortation from his mother, a sex worker in a brothel, to keep quiet while she goes about earning her living.

- A teenage girl already rescued from the darkness of exploitation, yet still yearning to find joy in singing "Joy to the World"… perhaps next year she can get through the first line without weeping.

I believe that Jesus is the HOPE of the world, that indeed He brings Joy, salvation, comfort and healing. Will you join us in praying for children like these, and for our global Child Protection team as we seek to bring light and hope to these precious children?

God bless us, EVERY ONE!

The Day the Music Died

I got the call a little after 7am this morning from a mutual friend in Chicago: "Mark is dancing in eternity.  He's not suffering any longer."

I've just lost the most faithful friend I've ever had, or that I expect I'll ever have.  Actually, I never expected to have this one.  But I suppose friends like Mark are never expected.  

Mark was diagnosed at age 56 as Stage 4 of a rare lymphoma and told he'd have 3-4 more years.  That was almost three years ago, so this was not a surprise.  When he was beginning life's end game a couple of months ago, we changed our September vacation plans to travel back to Chicago for a second, and final, extended visit.  Two amazing things occurred which I'll never forget.

I introduced Mark to the music of a budding Christian singer-guitarist back when we lived in Chicago 30 years ago, Bob Bennett, who lived way out in California.  Mark got hooked and knew virtually every word to every song, and these became part of the soundtrack of our friendship together and of Mark's life.  Bob sings of brokenness and grace, and Mark was well acquainted with both, so Mark would said that Bob was "singing my life with his words", as the lyric goes. We'd sing Bob's songs together when he'd make his annual winter visit to SoCal.  Through God's amazing grace to Mark--and me, I was able to surprise Mark and arrange for Bob to come to Chicago while we were there, to give Mark a private concert.  Mark was stunned; he alternated crying, singing and shaking his head.  Bob did this for no fee, simply as an act of love for a guy he'd never met, at the request another guy he'd never met.  When  I emailed Bob about the idea, I innocently mentioned that I know a friend of his--who as it turns out has been Bob's best friend for 40 years.  I think that's all Bob needed to read, as he called me 30 minutes later and had already been looking at flights.

The other unforgettable memory came from another prompting.  I knew we were choosing to visit Mark while he was still alive and coherent, in lieu of attending his memorial, but I also wanted to honor Mark that day in our absence.  I knew immediately that I needed to write a eulogy...and read it to Mark while I was there.  Reading it aloud was terribly difficult, yet one of the great honors of my life. How often do we get the chance to express our love and appreciation to someone as clearly as we do in our remarks about  them after they are gone?

I seriously choked up multiple times, and then went out to the kitchen and wept hard.  Mark, usually the emotional one, sat quietly, mostly watching me...and apparently listening.  When I finished, he was silent.  Then Mark, who has always been my most faithful editor, said in a voice that was commanding yet barely audible, "Don't...change...a word."

I thought I'd share my remarks here as well.  I do it only to honor my dear friend, and maybe there's a lesson for the rest of us about friendship from the way he modeled it.  What a great privilege it has been for me to experience it; it's also a privilege to testify to it.

Cory

---

Mark came to light up our lives when we moved to the Chicago area 30 years ago.  We were in the Calvary Baptist Church library, and he was holding Matthew, his first son, who was a toddler at the time.  I still remember that first encounter.  And I remember how Mark was dressed...as I recall, Mark was wearing a coat and tie that day for some reason, but what I'm certain of is that he was dressed in a smile.  This was before the days when Mark was the official or unofficial greeter at the church, but Mark never needed a job description to be welcoming, and we were new to the church and eager for friends.  

He had me at hello.

No matter how many friends Mark already had, he was always happy--no, hungry--for more.  Mark was always ravenously interested in people, his appetite for building relationships was never satiated, and as far as I know, his compassion inbox has never reached "FULL".  

So there may well be fifty other people in this world or even in this room who would say that Mark Archibald was their closest friend.  Mark was that kind of guy.  All I know is that he was mine.  And I feel like my heart just slammed into a brick wall, and now it lies bleeding on the side of the road.

One of the reasons I know Mark was my best friend is that we didn't agree on everything.  I could drive him crazy, though I'll never know why!  Close friends walk that fine line: on the one hand, you want to fully show that you respect the individuality and rights of the other person to have his or her own opinions; on the other hand you care so much about them you want to be of one mind on everything, to share the same ideas and concerns you have.  I'm blessed to count many friends, friends all over the world.  Yet Mark, alone, was uniquely concerned with knocking me upside the head.  As parents, none of us exercises the same level of concern for other people's kids as we do our own; and that added level of concern is the measure of our love.  I've always, always known that Mark's concern was the measure of his love for me.

And truth be told, I wanted to knock  him upside the head sometimes, too.  Which means he's not actually a friend at all...he's a brother.  And not just to me; he was a dear friend to our entire family.

Mark loved our kids like no friend I've ever had.  Ben and Karey actually have a special code with Mark, a song they'd sing when they'd talk with Mark by phone or see him... Robert Palmer's classic rocker, "Bad Case of Loving You."  One or the other would invariably start the conversation by belting out, "Doctor, doctor, gimme the news..."

I found out the other day that Mark even had our granddaughter Taylor's phone number in his cellphone...and that her name is spelled out using the baby language her siblings used when she was little..."Tay-wer."  

How much must someone be a part of your life for them to do stuff like that?  ...to know--and remember--the pet family names of your... grandkids?  Can you imagine having a friend like that, who takes that level of interest and shows that level of love to your loved ones?  It's simple: our loved ones were Mark's loved ones too.  Every one of them made special efforts to see Mark when he'd come to California for his annual visit, and they've all been praying for Mark these past few years.  I've always felt bad that I didn't have the chance to invest similarly in Mark and Debbie's kids. They were younger than ours, and we moved away to California just after Jeremy was born.  Even so, Matthew has a special section in our family's urban legends.  And sometimes I think, even though he's so much like Mark, yet Matt could be a blood relative of mine: the way he plays the piano and sings is almost identical to me.  Early this summer we came for a visit, and on the last evening Matthew and Lara came for dinner.  Matthew and I sang duets to Andrew Lloyd Webber tunes and traded off playing the piano accompaniment, one song after another until we'd exhausted the songbooks and our voices.  We had a fantastic time that I'll never forget.  But more immense than the joy Matt and I experienced, I looked over and there was Mark in his chair just bursting with pride and joy and contentment.  Finally as we ended with some worship songs he couldn't take it anymore, and during "How Great Thou Art" he began singing along at the top of his failing lungs, sucking in oxygen from his nose-tube so he could keep going.  It was incredible.

That was Mark, giving all he had to give, and then pushing himself to give more.

I think Mark's most singularly attractive character trait was beyond his love, his friendliness and even his humor, though every one of those was a defining trait that made Mark the amazing person he was.  Rather, what attracted me most and for so long was his humanity.  Mark was so terribly human, and he embraced his humanity.  He was fallen, he knew it and he thanked God every day for grace.  He made mistakes, he dusted himself off, he beat himself up, he questioned himself, he muddled through... and he kept on muddling even through the darkest times.  Isn't this why King David was such an intriguing character and probably the #1 personality and star of the Old Testament? He wasn't perfect, but he was real, and he wasn't private about his failings.  

Like David, or Peter, Mark was a man after God's heart.

Mark clung fiercely to the hand of God, and with his other hand, he held on just as fiercely to the rest of us.  We got to experience Mark's life with him, and he made himself comfortable in our lives.  And as the most faithful editor of my writings, he coaxed my guts out onto paper by accepting me and challenging me to be real, too.

He was exactly what I would want and need in a "best friend."  That's not a phrase I ever saw myself using. To have had that relationship with Mark is beyond my hopes.  That it doesn't continue to the end of my life is heartache.  The fact that it continued to the end of Mark's life is my gift back to a friend who has given me far more than I could ever repay.

Traveling at the Speed of Life

Too often, I speed through stories of impact and of personal transformation. Maybe it's an occupational hazard in my work and my drive to "get everything done."  In the process, I miss the real story, of struggle, of aspirations, hopes, dreams and fervent prayers.  Like those times when a long lost friend says-- as one did to me last month at my 40th high school reunion-- " I've been sober for 27 years!" We’re so busy keeping the conversation going, keeping things cordial, bouncing from conversation to conversation, that we can't begin to plumb the depths of the story, of the personal victories and failures and the daily struggles behind the factoid.

While driving to Phoenix last weekend, I wanted to demonstrate to my wife Janet how Siri, the "personal assistant" voice on my iPhone, could even read emails aloud to me while I'm driving. So I opened a random email for Siri to read. It was from a colleague, and in it he was forwarding a thank-you letter from an African village leader about the impact of clean water on her village.

Siri reads quickly and efficiently.  As we sped down the freeway, we happily enjoyed Siri’s speedy recitation of the impact that water, now both near and clear, was having on the communities’ families.

One of Siri's little quirks is that she keeps reading even the sign-off information at the end of an email if you don't stop "her". And so it was that Siri read even the sign-off details from this letter... the "stuff" I rarely even skim.

But in this case, those details made us slam on the brakes of our minds.

It turns out this thank-you was from the very same village where Janet and I had visited a couple of years ago to see their then-new water well.  Janet even worked the handpump.  And we'd a powerful encounter with the women there, which I've written about previously.  This was the village that felt so isolated that they renamed themselves, choosing the name of the furthest place they could think of in the world: California, or "Kalivonia" in their phonetic spelling of it…

Dear World Vision,

Thank you for wiping our tears!

It was like a dream when we finally got water in our village. We always walked about 4 kilometers to the nearest source of water from our village. We had suffered for a long time and like the children of Israel when they were in Egypt,  God heard our cry and had mercy on us by sending World Vision to support us to dig a well in our community.

From this day, our problems have become less. First, we had clean water nearby, and then we began using it to water our vegetables in our kitchen gardens.

Our living conditions also began to change for the better. We started earning some income from the sale of our vegetables. The health of our children also improved because of the clean water and nutritional foods. We also learnt the importance of good hygiene and sanitation and we practice it because we can easily get adequate water in our homes.

The committee and a few other members were trained on how to maintain the pump. Water from the well is sold to members at a shilling for every 20 liters [roughly a penny for 5 gallons]. The proceeds from the sale are used to maintain the pump. Members have used surplus income from the project to initiate other income generating projects and today the members have 28 goats.

We members of the project have also earned 3,000 shillings from the sale of vegetables (tomatoes, kales and spinach) that we water from the well. We hope that by the end of this year, we will be able to earn more than 20,000 shillings from the sale of vegetables. Our desire is to buy a generator to pump water from the well and construct a storage tank.

We thank World Vision for the love for us. May God Bless you.

Elizabeth Ndugu Joseph
Secretary
Ngiluni-Kalivonia Water project in Kenya
 

Janet and I promptly re-read the letter, at the speed it deserved.  It was lovely to be reminded about all the impacts and benefits which have been brought about because of clean water, and to know that these are now even expanding into economic benefits.  We'd seen the humble kitchen gardens which had been recently cultivated right near the well.  At that time, they were mostly aspirations—their seeds and their hopes had been planted and begun to sprout, now bringing in an expanding harvest.

But the encounter which seared our minds most indelibly that day is neatly tucked away in Elizabeth's phrase above, "We also learnt the importance of good hygiene and sanitation and we practice it because we can easily get adequate water in our homes." 

Here's what I wrote two years ago early the morning after our visit:

Our group tried out the handpump and then we all adjourned for warm soda under a tree, where they told us more about the impact which the well has had. That's when things got personal.  One woman reported happily that now her children are clean, because she has enough water to bathe them.  My mind flashed to a recent recounting of a woman who said that her top personal “dream” is to be able to take a bath at home.  Just then, a very brave women chimed in, and we heard the translation amid muffled snickers and giggles from others in the crowd. "Before the well, when a man and a woman would come together as a couple, they were not able to wash afterwards."  Her words were shocking in their obvious meaning and profoundly human practicality, yet without any salacious subtext. I felt extremely honored that she would make such an intimate comment to seeming strangers...though of course World Vision is no stranger here.

After more praying, singing and dancing we bounced off to our next stop. But that night over dinner we each spoke of our most powerful image or memory from the day, and I found myself bringing up this woman's comment. Lucy, a Kenyan woman on our staff who'd also grown up "in the bush", commented, "Yes, it was very brave of her to speak so frankly. But what she didn’t say, yet was really implying behind the words, was that if the woman can't be clean, then her husband is likely to lose interest and go into town to find 'girls'."

After you've taken that in, imagine with me that every sentence in Elizabeth's letter is just as pregnant with meaning and human practicalities as the one about good hygiene.  It might be worthy of a second, slower reading. 

Personally, I've concluded that, though I still love Siri, and freeway speeds, in matters of the heart it’s wiser to take my foot of the pedal and travel at the speed of the human heart.