Bears stop here

Warm weather adventures

Well, I guess if we wanted to test our systems for a long trip, yesterday was a good test. We got an early start and were on the road with a full tank of fuel around 8:30 am. It was 78 degrees when we left Mount Vernon. It was 88 by the time we got to Everett. After seeing temperatures in the 90’s we topped Stevens Pass at 88 degrees. There is just a bit of snow left at the top, but it is melting quickly. The temperature got hotter as we descended. At the rest stop before Leavenworth it was 94 degrees and 104 at Wenatchee. When we stopped for lunch at Coulee City it was 108 and it stayed that hot for the rest of the drive across Eastern Washington. It was still 108 at Spokane and 106 at Coeur d’Alene, where we stopped in the late afternoon at Wolf Lodge where we had a reservation 388 miles in high temperatures and everything went well. The engine and transmission temperatures never got out of the normal range and the air conditioning worked well. Wheel bearings stayed inside of normal temperature ranges as well. The new tires held up well to the heat. It looks like we’re properly outfitted for the trip.

Of course traveling with a camper is taking time to repair the camper. One of the slides on one of the drawers needed to be repaired. Fortunately, it has happened before and I had a spare part on hand.

It took a while for the air conditioning to cool down the camper. I cooked supper outside to keep the inside pool and by the time we took a short walk in the evening heat, the camper was comfortable inside. By 9 pm or so things had cooled off enough that we could turn off the air conditioner and open the windows. As we sat outside talking, we could hear the other campers discover that they didn’t need their air conditioning and the campground quickly became quiet and sleep was no problem.

These temperatures are unheard of around here as well as at the coast. Normal June and July high temperatures in Coeur d’Alene are in the 70’s. We saw lots of folk trying to cool down in rivers and lakes and the campground is full of people wearing shorts and tank tops. That’s not my style, but I have been wearing a big floppy hat and staying in the shade.

We grew up near the mountains and are used to being able to escape the heat by going to the high country, so it seems strange to have such high temperatures in the high country. I used to be able to show people snow year round by driving up into the mountains. I keep thinking of that lonely snow bank at the top of Stevens Pass. The pass isn’t very high - just over 4,000 feet, but there is usually snow there into early July. And the last time previous to yesterday that we drove over the pass was in early November when there were a couple of feet of snow on the ground and the roads were slippery.

I know that anecdotal evidence isn’t what scientists are looking at when they teach us about global climate change, but this much heat this early in the year is impossible to ignore. Whether or not it is evidence of global warming, it is dramatic. Usually when high temperature records are set it is by a degree or two, not ten degrees. And this particular heat wave is lasting longer than usual as well. The duration of the heat wave means a lot of stress for vulnerable people. Because the Pacific Northwest is not among the warmest parts of the country, there is a lot of housing, including most affordable housing, that has no air conditioning. While we can open up the house we are renting and use fans to vent the heat, many apartments don’t have any cross ventilation. That means that their occupants suffer much more during the hot days. People who have no homes are even more vulnerable. Skagit County, where we live, has opened up four air conditioned public buildings to serve as cool shelters for those who have nowhere else to go.

I don’t know how it is working for the folks in the mountains. Fortunately, it cools off pretty well at night in the high country. It is down to 76 degrees as I write. That is comfortable for those who are outdoors, but the forecast is for more high temperatures throughout the week.

When I began my ministry in rural North Dakota, I used to joke about some of the conversations I had with people about the weather. In a community of farmers and ranchers, the weather is always a big topic. I don’t know how many people told me, during my first years in North Dakota, that the current weather was “unusual.” In the summer they would say, “It is unusual for it to be so hot.” In the winter they would say, “It is unusual for it to get so cold.” I decided that there wasn’t a “usual” day for North Dakota weather. On the other hand, part of what made our ministry in that place successful was that I was comfortable going down to the city cafe and drinking coffee with the ranchers and talking about the weather. I used to comment to seminary colleagues that graduate school teaches ministers about theology, history and biblical studies, but not about how to teach those subjects to North Dakota sunflower farmers. In order to do that, you have to know how to find the guys out in the barn working on their machinery, how to climb on a combine without stopping it, and how to talk about the weather. One morning, as a joke, I started counting church members in the local coffee spot. I discovered that we had a quorum for an official church meeting had we wanted one. If you want to serve people, you need to go where they gather naturally and you need to talk about the subjects that are important to them. When you make your living from the land, the weather is important.

A quick note to regular readers: On my website there is a short blog called “The Adventures of Edward Bear.” It is a place-by-place record of our travels that I publish for our grandchildren. If you are interested in knowing where we are when we travel, you can check it out.


I suppose that much of my life has involved some degree of imagining what comes next. When I was a teenager, significant energy was devoted to imagining what it would be like to have a driver’s license. I thought about how it would expand my freedom, give me access to new activities and relationships, and enable me to travel faster, farther, and more independently than before. As soon as I had my driver’s license, I began to imagine what it would be like to have my pilot’s license.

Although my memories aren’t as clear, I suppose that I imagined having my own bicycle before I got my first bike. I probably imagined going to Kindergarten and to elementary school. My older sister was always a couple of years ahead of me, so I had a source of information about those activities.

When I was a camper, I imagined being a counselor. When I was a counselor, I imagined being the camp manager. When I was the camp manager, I imagined being an ordained minister. I imagined graduation ceremonies before I earned degrees. I imagined married life before our wedding day.

Part of being human is thinking about the future. Our imaginations empower us to work to bring about desired outcomes. Despite the advice not to “waste time with daydreaming,” exercising one’s imagination can lead to productive results.

Interesting to me is that I never spent much time imagining what retirement would be like. There were a few times, when the stress of working was intense, or when I was frustrated with the pace of change in the institutional church, when I thought that it might be pleasant to be done with all of that. Imagining retirement for me, however, never involved imagining life outside of the church. I will always be a part of a congregation and will participate in a variety of different roles as my circumstances change.

I now find myself retired and I don’t know for sure what I imagined, but it isn’t quite the way I thought it would be. Today we leave our home in the middle of an unprecedented heat wave and drive across hundreds of miles of hot country towing our camper. Our truck is air conditioned and in good mechanical condition. Our trailer has new tires and the wheel bearings were just packed. Still, there might be some who would say today is a good day to stay put and wait until cooler temperatures before proceeding. I might agree with them, but we have a schedule to keep. Part of being retired is being able to help my sister prepare for a family gathering. Part of being retired is being able to be present at the gathering. On the other hand, most of the folks gathering will not be retired. Our nieces and nephews who are coming are in the midst of their active careers and have made time for the gathering.

The next couple of days of driving are just the start of a month-long trip for us. In my imagination being retired might mean that we would have six weeks to travel this distance and a slower pace. But being retired doesn’t mean that one has no schedule. The lives of other people are still important to us and giving them respect means that we pay attention to the events in their lives and the timing of their schedules.

I think that as long as we are alive, there will need to be some adjustments to meet the schedules of others. I don’t mean to be complaining about this trip. We are incredibly privileged to be able to take a journey this size. And it isn’t the first time I’ve made such a trip. After graduating from college our son was living in Portland, Oregon and was accepted to attend graduate school at the University of North Carolina. I was actively working at the time, but I responded to his invitation to help him move. I took a few days off from work and drove from Rapid City to Portland, loaded up a pickup and rented a tow dolly for his car. Then I drove back to Rapid City. After filling the pulpit for worship and doing some work at the office, we took more vacation time and drove from Rapid City to Chapel Hill, North Carolina. We unloaded and returned the tow dolly and then drove back to Rapid City. Shortly after our return, I made a run to Billings, Montana and back. It was more than 6,000 miles in less than a month. I didn’t drive very fast for much of the trip because I was towing a car. It all worked out despite encountering some big thunderstorms and heavy rain on our journey.

The joke about our son picking his graduate school for its distance from his undergraduate school has faded. It was replaced by a joke about his sister not living on the same continent during stints in England and Japan. Now that she is in South Carolina, we joke about our two children choosing opposite corners of the continent. Some of our most wonderful and fun adventures have been traveling to destinations prompted by decisions that our children have made.

There is a Chinese proverb attributed to Lau Tzu, probably mistranslated into English, that says, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Our journey of around 6,000 miles will begin with less than 400 miles today and a little more than 400 miles tomorrow. Those first 800 miles will bring us to my sister’s place where we will linger for a few days and enjoy a family gathering. It is a route that I’ve driven quite a few times - including five times last year as we were moving from Rapid City. We won’t be as uncomfortable as we were decades ago when we made the trip in a Ford Pinto that did not have air conditioning. I remember that as a very hot trip.

When we made that trip, I couldn’t imagine that we would one day live at this end of the trip and be setting forth across the continent with enough leisure to explore and enjoy new adventures along the way. I can’t imagine what will come years from now when our lives will have continued to change in dramatic ways.

Warm days

We are in for a few hot days around here. Yesterday it got up to 96 degrees here and the forecast calls for higher temperatures over the next couple of days. For us, coming from the midwest, the high temperatures don’t sound all that intimidating, but they are setting records around here. The high in Bellingham yesterday was 92 degrees, one degree shy of the highest temperature ever recorded in June in that city. Today it is expected to make it to 95 degrees and on Monday the high is forecast to be 98 degrees, which is higher than the all time high of 96 degrees recorded in that city. Here in Mount Vernon, we could see highs above 100 degrees today and tomorrow. We’ve got our eyes on the forecasts because we plan to leave tomorrow on a month-long trip across the country to see our daughter and her family in South Carolina. We’ve pulled our camper in temperatures above 100 degrees before, and we have good air conditioning, but we’ll be taking things a bit slower and paying attention as we go.

The hot temperatures have left people scrambling. Today was set for a much anticipated hybrid worship service at our church in Bellingham. The plan was to have a parking lot service for in-person worship while broadcasting the service over social media to what the church calls “the wider balcony.” However, an all-church email went out yesterday saying that church leaders have scaled back the plans. In place of the parking lot service, a smaller number of people will be allowed to worship inside the building while members are encouraged not to come and to participate over social media instead. The church building is not air conditioned and leaders fear that temperatures will be come too high in the sanctuary.

Part of my story is that I served the bulk of my career in churches without air conditioning. The church we served in Boise, Idaho did not have air conditioning when we started as pastors. We arrived in the summer and it was a hot one. We learned to open up the building at night and turn on air handlers, but Boise wasn’t a place that cooled down at night as much as other places where we have lived. The congregation installed air conditioning about half way through our ten years of serving it. In Rapid City, our church did not have air conditioning until just a couple of years ago. In a way, the congregation never got to fully enjoy the benefits of its new air conditioning because of reduced service attendance during the pandemic. Rapid City, for the most part, cools pretty well overnight and we were able to keep the church comfortable except during times of long stretches of hot weather.

I often say that the hottest I have ever been during a church service was at my daughter’s wedding. She was married in our Rapid City church before the air conditioning was installed and during a long July heath wave.

There are quite a few options for cooling down around here. Area lakes and beaches were crowded yesterday and some people headed out to the coast where the breeze from the ocean cooled things a bit. Temperatures were in the high eighties in Anacortes on Fildago Island. about ten degrees cooler than here.

Our son and his family have a swimming pool. It isn’t something that they might have chosen, but they were looking for an acreage and the one they found came with an in ground swimming pool. He has had to learn quite a bit about pool maintenance and we built a fence around the pool this spring. It has been fun to take a dip in the pool and we spent some time swimming with our grandchildren yesterday. Our son commented that they have a busy social schedule this week, with friends dropping by. In one case a colleague who he doesn’t know very well, but who has children similar ages to his, suggested that they “hang out” this weekend. Actually, the way the conversation went was something like this: “Hey, you have a pool, don’t you? How about my family coming over to hang out sometime this weekend.” A couple of other friends have planned visits to the farm this week.

We have developed a pattern of going out for lunch on Saturdays with our grandchildren. Our daughter-in-law sees clients all day long on Saturdays and the children are with their father for the day. In the time before the pandemic they used to explore area cafes. After we arrived, during the pandemic, we have explored different options for carry out dining. However, more and more places are open for eating in and yesterday our son decided that the destination for lunch should be an air conditioned shopping mall with a food court. It was a hit with the children, who got to choose a burger joint for their food while we adults got teriyaki from a Japanese stand nearby. We took a walk inside of the mall after our lunch and enjoyed the air conditioning.

I suspect that the mall will be a popular place over the next few days and people seek refuge from the heat. It isn’t just churches, there are a lot of homes in the area that do not have air conditioning. We don’t have air conditioning in the home we are renting, but we have never lived in a home with central air conditioning and we are fairly practiced at keeping the place cool. And we are planning to leave tomorrow. Things will be cooled down by the time we return. We will see a few days with temperatures above 100 and quite a few with temperatures in the 90s. However, we should be in the mountains of north Idaho by tomorrow evening and into Montana by Tuesday where we can cool our feet in the river.

Regular readers of my journal: please note that we will be traveling for the next month. We will be staying at campgrounds and most will have Internet access, but it is always a bit uncertain when we travel. Don’t worry if the journal posts are late or if I miss a day or two. We’ll catch up soon enough. The journal will probably be a bit of a travelogue for a while as we head out on our road trip.

Living the questions

One of the points of conversation among church leaders these days is a reflection on how much is changing and how quickly in the life of the church. Things were changing pretty quickly in the church before the pandemic. Patterns of church attendance were shifting. People in their thirties and forties don’t remember the days of blue laws and businesses being closed on Sundays. Although many work five day work weeks, they don’t think in terms of Sundays being set aside for church and church activities. They have a lot of different recreational opportunities and their weekends afford precious little time for them. It isn’t just that participation in church activities has decreased, which it has. It is also that religious activities are a lower priority in the lives of people. Many congregations are becoming gathering places for older people, with fewer and fewer children participating. Families with children who do participate in church are looking for lower levels of commitment in terms of time and energy.

The pandemic accelerated some of the changes in church life. With congregations halting in-person worship, members shifted their priorities. Being able to participate in worship online, although not the same as being together in person, offered an appealing flexibility for many. No need to get up and get dressed on Sunday morning. One can lounge and enjoy another cup of coffee while listening to the service online. The experience was less participatory. Despite their commitment to building community, church leaders began to think in terms of production quality and other performance terms.

Now the talk among church leaders includes an attempt to envision what the new future for the church might be. There is general agreement that churches are not going to go back to the way things were. There is less agreement about a vision for the church that is emerging.

Some of my colleagues found the pandemic to bring about a more relaxed pace for their work. Meetings were shortened. Decisions were made more quickly. There were less opportunities for pastoral work, so there was less work that was done. No more nursing home visits. Hospital and home visits were made over the phone or computer. Things could be scheduled. There were less interruptions. Other colleagues found themselves working harder than ever before. New programs were added at new times of the day. Developing an online presence, with all of the technologies involved, was a steep learning curve. Funds had to be raised to finance new cameras, computers, and sound systems and ways of sharing over the Internet. Cell phones and tablet computers became cameras and monitors. Sanctuaries became studios. And all of this involved more learning, more work, and fewer people to share the work.

Some congregations are emerging from the pandemic lock down with buildings that have been empty or nearly so for more than a year. Deferred maintenance is visible and decisions need to be made about how to maintain the institution. Some church leaders are envisioning a much leaner organization with fewer and smaller buildings. Many enjoyed working from home and are reluctant to return to church offices as they once were.

Perhaps it is just a reflection of my age, but I think that some of the seasons of our lives benefit from looking back and reflecting on the experiences of those who have gone before. We are turn-of-the century people. Even though it is now more than two decades into the 21st century, many of us remember the anxiety that the dawn of a new century brought. We might not remember the details of Y2K, but we do remember the anxiety about the future. And the questions about what shape the future will take linger. Psychologists tell us that there is more anxiety and less certainty in recent years. The pandemic brought out anxieties that had been less visible prior to the changes brought about by a global health threat.

Looking back at the last turn of the century, the dawning of the 20th century, Rainer Maria Rilke stands out as one who found words to express what it means to be a turn of the century person. Living between 1875 and 1926, he could not have known what the 20th Century was to bring in terms fo two world wars and unprecedented upheaval. The Austrian poet was, however, sensitive to the changes that the new century brought. A few years ago, I spent some time with a new translation of Rilke’s Book of Hours, reading the verses carefully and slowly and found them to be surprisingly contemporary. A new translation of Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet” is now available. I haven’t gotten my hands on a copy, yet, but I have read a few reviews that include some thoughtful quotes from the book.

In the forth letter of the book, Rilke writes, “I ask you, dear sir, to have patience with all that is unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves, like closed rooms, like books written in a foreign language. Don’t try to find the answers now. They cannot be given anyway, because you would not be able to live them. For everything is to be lived. Live the questions now. Perhaps you then may gradually, without noticing, one day in the future live into the answers.”

“Living the Questions” is the name chosen for a group of resources aimed at Christians who have moved beyond the conventions of the past and still value the spirit of the teachings of Jesus. The concept echoes Rilke’s invitation. We may well be at a point in our history where we are not yet able to see the church that is emerging. We may not know what the future holds for religious institutions. We can’t imagine the roles clergy and lay leaders may be called to assume. It is a season of transition and change. It is a time of living the questions.

As Rilke promised the young poet, the answers emerge gradually and only when we are willing to live the questions. The church has projected a kind of certainty in the past that may not be possible in our current circumstances. Like previous turn-of-the-century generations, ours may be a generation of living the questions.

All trimmed up

48 years ago, three days after our wedding, I shaved off my beard. I had been hired to work at a production bakery that produced bread for a huge geographical region. I spent the summer loading racks of bread onto semi trucks that delivered the bread to stores in a six state area. Although my job in the warehouse didn’t involve any handling of food that wasn’t already sealed in plastic bags, the standard in the bakery was that workers wore hair nets. It might have been possible to wear a hair net on my chin, but it was impractical. The obvious solution was to shave the beard. I needed that job. I had just gotten married and I was a college student without any savings. When asked, during the interview, if I would shave my beard in order to work at the bakery, my answer was, “yes.” In September, when I had finished that job and returned to school as a full-time student, I grew my beard back.

That was the last time I was clean shaven. I’ve worn a beard ever since. That means that my children have never seen me without a beard. None of the congregations I have served, including the one I served as a licensed minister that year, ever saw me without a beard. I have not, however, been one for a long beard. I have kept my beard trimmed. That means that I shave part of my cheeks and my neck nearly every day, just like men who are clean-shaven do. Over the years, I have grown accustomed to jokes about not having to shave, but fashion and my own hubris dictate that I need a razor wherever I go.

For many years, I have had barbers trim my beard to keep it the length I like. I also get my mustache trimmed. My beard grows faster than the hair on the top of my head, of which I have very little these days, so my usual practice is to trim my beard myself in-between haircuts and have it trimmed every six weeks or so when I get a haircut.

All of that changed with the Covid-19 pandemic. I had my beard trimmed in February of 2020 and from that point on, I trimmed it myself. Even when we were able to return to barber shops wearing face masks after procedures were developed and refined to provide for the safety of the workers and customers, I couldn’t have my beard professionally trimmed because I had to keep the face mask on.

So yesterday was a kind of a special day for me. For the first time in over a year I got my beard professionally trimmed. There is a barber shop within walking distance of our home where the workers are all fully vaccinated and where fully vaccinated customers can remove their masks and have their beards trimmed. The shop employs students from a local beauty college and I thought it was possible that the student who cut my hair might not have ever gotten to trim a beard, but she seemed to know what she was doing and she did a good job. I can’t seem to get the same good results as a professional. It is more than a lack of training, it has to do with hand-eye coordination using a mirror. I also have trouble aiming a hand mirror correctly to see the back of my head in the wall mirror after a hair cut. I can back up a trailer using the mirrors on my truck, but I can’t seem to trim a straight line on my beard looking at a mirror.

Yesterday, then, was a kind of a tiny celebration and an acknowledgement that we may be moving beyond the most restrictive part of the pandemic. People are still wearing face masks quite a bit around here and masks are required in some neighboring counties regardless of one’s vaccination status. We wore masks while riding the ferry and whenever we went into a building during our recent visit to San Juan Island.

Checking myself out in the mirror, I still don’t have much hair on the top of my head. I’m still an aging man. I’m not much to look at, but I feel a bit better with my hair cut and my beard neatly trimmed. It feels good.

Here is another sign that we have emerged from the depths of the pandemic. There are boxes of disposable face masks in impulse bins at the check out stands of many local stores. I saw boxes of 25 masks for $4.95 at the hardware store recently. At the height of the pandemic, they were selling packages of 5 masks for $6.95. Even more impressive was a “one free with any purchase of $5 or more” hand sanitizer at a local drug store. A year ago hand sanitizer was a precious commodity. I remember when a local brewery started making hand sanitizer and donated a few gallons to the Sheriff’s Office where I worked as a volunteer chaplain. We were all using hand sanitizer every time we went into and out of the break room or the briefing area, which meant that the office was going through a lot of the product and shortages had caused the price to rise dramatically. Stores were limiting quantity for customers. Now, apparently, they’ve become over stocked and are literally giving the stuff away to get it out of the store.

Supply chain issues are still being used as the reason for higher prices on some items, and several local stores have signs about potential shortages, but we haven’t had any troubles obtaining any of the household items we use. In the early days of the pandemic, a lot of attention was paid to shortages of toilet tissue, but we never ran short. We had our usual supply and bought small packages when they were available and had no trouble, other than paying a slightly higher price.

The beard trim, by the way, was not expensive. I get a senior citizen’s discount at the barber shop. In fact, it was about the same price as my last hair cut without a beard trim. Maybe the students need the experience after more than a year of pandemic.

Heat wave coming

Yesterday morning I got up and, as is my custom, prepared my breakfast and read a book while eating before getting dressed for the day. After a leisurely start to my day, when I did get dressed, I was aware that my feet were cold. the sensation surprised me a little bit. I checked, and it wasn’t very cold in the house, above 60 degrees Fahrenheit. I got dressed and pulled on my socks and quickly forgot about the sensation. I have noticed that I don’t remember the feeling of being hot or cold for long periods of time. It seems to me that it would be useful to be able to remember the sensation of being too hot when winter chills return. Likewise remembering the shivering mornings of winter would be a good feeling on summer’s hottest days.

As it is, I’m a bit more of a winter person than a summer person. I’ve learned to live with cold weather. I know how to dress for cold weather. When it is cold, you can always add a layer to keep yourself warm. When it is hot, however, there isn’t much you can do about it but endure until cooler temperatures return. I know that there are plenty of people who disagree with me about this. Some people thrive with hot weather.

At any rate, the day began a bit gray and cloudy yesterday, which was a contrast with the previous few days when it was clear, bright and sunny, with highs in the 80s. The clouds dissipated by early afternoon and temperatures rose into the seventies and it was a pleasant day.

We’ve spent quite a bit of time here in the Pacific Northwest during previous summers, coming for our vacation. In general, we have found it to be quite comfortable, with highs in the seventies and overnight lows in the fifties. It is easy to take the warm temperature when you know it will be cool for sleeping at night.

We are, however, new to the area and have much to learn about what it is like to live here.

Forecasters are calling for record high temperatures in our area over the weekend and into early next week. This isn’t the southwest, so record high temperatures means highs in the 90’s with the possibility of daytime highs reaching 100 degrees for one or two days. Overnight temperatures could remain in the high sixties or low seventies during that time.

Over the years, we have learned to live with a few hot days each summer. A story from our past, however, reveals a bit about our lack of experience with hot climates. On the day of our graduation from theological seminary in 1978, as we were preparing to attend the ceremony, workers in our apartment building began to cut through the walls of our apartment to install air conditioning. I was quick to register a complaint with the building manager. We were set to have our apartment inspected to determine whether or not we would have our deposit refunded as we moved out the next day and workers were literally filling our apartment with brick dust as they cut through the wall. The workers were diverted to another apartment and we got through the graduation ceremony and the move out inspection with another hitch.

That was as close as we have ever come to living in a home with central air conditioning. In South Dakota we did have window air conditioning units in the upstairs bedrooms, but we’ve never had central air conditioning. We’ve never felt a need for it. We have learned to open up our house in the evening and allow the cool temperatures to enter, then close the windows and the curtains in the morning to keep the house cool through the day. The routines of managing the temperature in the house keep us from suffering from excessive solar heating. Even in rooms that have a lot of windows, we are generally able to keep the temperature below the outside temperature during the heat of the day.

On occasion, as happened yesterday, we get a bit carried away and the house gets a little chilly. A good pair of socks, however, cures cold feet.

We’re not doing much to prepare for the record heat. Our church is having a parking lot service on Sunday and we’ll be there with some floppy hats and a water bottle. We may find our way to a swimming pool in the afternoon if things get too hot, but that is about it. Our cars have air conditioning that works well and we don’t expect to suffer. If our house is a bit warm at bedtime, we have a good fan that we can use to keep the air moving in the bedroom.

Despite the fancy colors on the weather charts on the Internet, the actual temperatures here won’t be anywhere near the temperatures predicted for southern California, Nevada and Arizona. The thermometer won’t top 110 in this part of the country. And we sill will have significant cooling overnight to help us maintain comfort in our home. If it gets particularly hot, we may take a bit shorter walks on one or more days, but we don’t anticipate any significant disruption in our lifestyle.

Still, it probably makes sense to pay attention to the warnings from the National Weather Service. Their warnings and watches about severe thunderstorms were worth noting when we lived in South Dakota. Their warnings about heat probably should not be ignored, either.

If I was still a working preacher, I would have to be prepared for the jokes about the temperatures being caused by all of the hot air coming from the preacher, but I’m not the one to make that kind of joke about Sunday’s parking lot service. I’m just glad to see the inauguration of hybrid worship in our church after months of Internet worship. I thrive on in-person worship and I’ve missed it.

Around here when people say “rain or shine” they really mean that an outdoor event won’t be cancelled due to rain. I’m pretty sure they mean the same for a hot day, but so far we haven’t experienced temperatures high enough to cancel an event. I’m not expecting that kind of heat for this weekend, either.

Exploring the islands

For many centuries the islands off of the coast of the Pacific northwest were home to the Coast Salish people. The language they spoke i now called Norther Straits. They lived is small villages scattered around the coastal areas of the mainline and on the large and small islands now known as the San Juans as well as on Vancouver and Whidbey Islands. Two features of their environment were key to their lives: the abundant fish of the sea, especially salmon, and the giant trees, especially cedar. Fishing and working with wood were two time-honored skills.

The people lived in relatively large post and beam great houses, sometimes called long houses from their rectangular shape. The cedar posts resisted rot and lasted for a long time. They had a rich aroma. And the wood was relatively soft and easy to carve. During rainy days and other times when they took shelter from the weather it was natural for the people to carve the posts and beams of their homes and decorate them with images of their world and the history of their people.

The other thing that they made from cedar logs were the canoes that were a necessary part of their lives. They crafted large and small boats, usually with a distinctive bow to handle the ocean waves. The canoes were capable of hauling heavy loads, covering the distances between the islands, and provided a stable platform for fishing. They rolled for chinook and coho salmon. They set reef nets for sockeye and pink salmon. They fished the ocean banks for halibut and the rocky shores for lingcod and rockfish. Their diets were not only fish, however, the islands yielded deer to the hunters. The shores provided shellfish. They knew where to collect berries and harvest camas. Over the centuries they learned to set fires to prairie areas to limit the encroachment of the forest and keep the meadows productive for camas. Their small numbers made lived abundantly on the land and their practices left a legacy of sustainable stewardship of their world.

These days, only a remnant of the former populations of Coast Salish people remain. They suffered from multiple pandemics of illness introduced by explorers and settlers. Eventually the settlements encroached on their traditional lands and the loggers cut some of the most productive forests. Different bands of indigenous people were small enough that they didn’t gain the recognition of the federal government that was given to larger plains tribes. Fewer and fewer people were able to live on the islands, displaced by settlers. Traditional skills such as the making of tule mats and weaving dog wool and duck down blankets were lost. Knowledge of canoe design and construction, handed down from generation to generation for centuries, was lost.

All around the area there are signs of the rich culture that the Coast Salish people shared. Carved and painted poles and posts and beams remain in parks and other areas. Local museums have preserved some of the canoes and in recent years, a revival of the traditions of carving and paddling canoes has provided a new view of the traditional ways of living. Traditional canoes have covered distances of hundreds of miles along the coast as far north as Alaska.

As we explore this new to us home, we have had a few opportunities to visit some of the islands. Fildalgo, Whidbey and Camano Islands have bridges connecting them to the mainland. Guemes and Lumi Islands are accessible with short rides on the ferry. Washington State Ferries provide regular service to many other islands off of the coast. Yesterday, in celebration of our wedding anniversary, we walked onto the ferry to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. The day was warm and sunny. It was a good day for an exploration. The community of Friday Harbor is located right next to the docks, so we had no need for a car, though the ferries we rode had two decks for automobiles and trucks that regularly make the passage between the islands. Tourism is an important business on the islands and we had no trouble finding fun shops to explore and enjoyed hand-battered fish and chips from a stand for our lunch. Even hiking up some of the steep streets didn’t full work off the large lunch so we decided not to sample the ice cream shops, but noted that there are at least 72 flavors of ice cream available within a very short walk from the ferry terminal. After our return trip that featured a short stop at Lopez Island, we allowed ourselves a bit of blackberry ice cream from a shop in Anacortes.

As we rode on the ferry, we could understand how the distances between the islands seemed larger when the mode of travel was paddling a canoe. Yesterday’s calm weather and clear skies would have provided a good day for paddling, and since you can see nearby islands throughout the area, navigation would have been easy for those familiar with the waters. There are many places throughout the islands that afford spectacular views of Mount Baker rising above the coast and providing an easy way to identify directions. Still, our experience was far removed from that of the indigenous people who once populated the shores and islands.

Coastal and inter island navigation required knowledge of the tides. The tidal current is very strong, faster than one can paddle a canoe in some places at some times of the day. Indigenous paddlers learned to use the movement of the tides to speed them on their way.

I have much to learn about this new place where we are living and the people who lived here long before we arrived. I have made several boats out of cedar, using very different techniques than those who burned and carved the traditional canoes of this region. Like them, however, I have developed an affinity for the use of the wood and a sense of responsibility to avoid wasting this precious gift of nature.

As has been the case in the other places we have lived, there is much to learn from those whose ancestors lived here long ago.


Over the years, we have been honored to attend several significant anniversary celebrations. I often tell the story of the 60th wedding anniversary of Susan’s grandparents. Guests had been asked to refrain from bringing gifts, and the celebration was focused on friends and family. After the celebration we gathered at a cabin belonging to close friends and the family presented the couple with a single gift. Susan’s grandmother had been complaining that her coffee maker wasn’t working properly and didn’t make good coffee. We had all heard her go on about the coffee maker and it made sense to go together and purchase a new coffee maker for the occasion. Coffee is a part of the fabric of social life in North Dakota. When we lived there, people often simply gave us a cup of coffee when we visited, without asking whether or not we wanted a cup or where or not we drank the beverage. It was just something that was done. Coffee hour after church meant coffee - plenty of it. So a new coffee maker seemed like a nice gift for the occasion. Susan’s grandmother opened the gift and made a big show of being excited and surprised. “How did you know we needed a new coffee maker?” she asked. Her husband of 60 years turned to her and said in his droll way, “Why didn’t you complain about the car?” Everyone laughed.

At anniversary celebrations, especially after long marriages, a common question is “What is the key to your successful marriage?” I’ve heard plenty of different answers over the years. One we comment on is the husband who said that the key to their marriage was that they decided, before they married, to make sure that they would stay together for the entire initial adjustment period. When asked how long that period is, he said, “Near as I can figure, something longer than 50 years.” We heard that comment in the first year of our marriage and we’ve sometimes referred to it as a joke over the years.

Other couples speak about the hard work of marriage, taking time to resolve conflicts, sharing the chores associated with parenting, having common interests, enjoying recreation together, and many other qualities that are important in sustaining a long-term relationship.

Our wedding anniversary falls just after the summer solstice. We’ve heard plenty of times about our choice of the shortest night of the year for our wedding. That has never been a problem for us. We are also married on every other night of the year, including the longest. Marriage is so much more than the ceremony marking its beginning. It is a lifetime of sharing big things and little things, of listening and learning and growing together.

Today is our 48th wedding anniversary. The numbers are getting up there, but we’ve got a couple of yeas to go before marking 50 years, which I assume will involve a bit larger celebration. Over the years, we have been apart on the day of our anniversary some times, but we have always found ways to celebrate, even if our celebration has to be moved a bit to accommodate busy schedules. I remember the wedding anniversary when I was in Hawaii and Susan was in Idaho. I was chaperoning a delegation of youth attention the Western Regional Youth Assembly of the church. She was holding down the fort at home, caring for our children, who were too young to attend, and covering our work at the church. On our 25th anniversary, members of our church arranged a special cake for the coffee hour after worship. It was supposed to be a surprise. It was. I was there to lead the service. Susan, who at the time worked only 9 months of the year, had gone ahead with our children to Montana, I stayed behind, planning to begin our vacation after worship. So Susan wasn’t there to celebrate with the congregation.

There have been many, many other anniversaries over the years. Some stand out. Others blend with the memories of other occasions and celebrations.

I have decided, however, that I need to give a bit of thought to the question of what makes for a long and successful marriage. We’re likely to get that question in a couple of years when we celebrate our 50th. The problem is that I don’t know the answer to the question - or at least I know that it isn’t something that I have done. Looking at friends and family who have not enjoyed long marriages, or who have experienced divorce, about all I can say is that we were so lucky to have found each other early in our lives. We were young when we married. As it has turned out, we found exactly the right person to marry. The longer we have been married and the more time we are given together the more grateful I am for having Susan in my life. Each year has brought new joy to our relationship. I know how fortunate we are to have each other in our lives. But saying that the reason we have a long-lasting and satisfying relationship is luck seems a bit trivial. Somehow it seems like I should have a better answer to the question than that we were lucky to have met when we were young.

Promises are important to both of us and we knew that about ourselves before we married. We also trusted our partner to keep the promises that we made at our wedding. We have been fortunate to be able to work together professionally all of our married lives. We have deep respect for each other’s professional work and capabilities. The fact that we have worked together has meant that we have gotten to spend more time together than some other couples. That has been a blessing for us. We have learned to work together and to share responsibilities. We are good at handing off jobs to our partner - a skill that is every bit as useful in being parents and grandparents as it is at work.

I guess it is a good thing that I’ve got a couple of years to think about my answer to the question. I really don’t know the answer. I do know that we have been exceptionally fortunate.

A happy father's day

Yesterday our son and his family came to our house for lunch after church. It always gives me a thrill to have our grandchildren burst through the front door yelling my name. Yesterday they each had a gift for a combined celebration of Father’s Day and my birthday. Our lunch plans were simple, just burgers and hot dogs on the grill. I waited until they arrived and took custom orders so each person got what they wanted. When the meat was cooked, everyone sat at the table, finding our places from the custom place cards made by our seven-year-old granddaughter. I passed out the meat and buns to each. A plain hot dog here, a bacon-cheddar-mushroom burger there, a burger with bacon only, a hot dog with cheese. Each person got what they had ordered. The last to be handed out was for my wife, who had requested a plain hamburger. I placed it on her plate and said, “And a plain hamburger for grandma.” The four-year-old looked at her and said, “You get what you get, so don’t throw a fit.” I burst out with laughter.

Later in the meal the four-year-old wanted someone to pass the sweet peppers to her. We were all talking and she got no response when she first asked. She asked again, a bit louder, and added, “I said it in English!”

There are real advantages to having moved close enough to pop over for Sunday lunch together. Seven at the dinner table is a great feeling. The picture with today’s journal entry is the banner that the children made for the occasion.

Our two children live a long ways apart. One in Washington, the other in South Carolina. So we had to be satisfied with video clips and pictures of the day for our grandson who lives in South Carolina. There were so many people making calls to wish “Happy Father’s Day!” that both Skype and FaceTime were buggy and slow when we talked earlier in the day, so our daughter made sure that I had a few cute video clips to remind me of our grandson and to brighten up my day. He is as talented at bringing a smile to my face as are the three who live here in Washington.

The biggest joy of holidays like Father’s Day is the joy of watching our son, who is a truly great father. We have a similar feeling about our daughter on Mother’s Day. He is a natural with the children, listening carefully to them, setting firm boundaries, and making them feel loved and secure. He has become accomplished at solving home maintenance tasks while keeping his sense of perspective. His job can be stressful at times, dealing with the politics of city government while trying to serve the entire community through the library, but he manages the stress of work and the balance of family life very well.

Being a grandpa, however, is pure delight. My life has a bit of stress, but less than was the case at some other points in my career. My relationship with our grandchildren is natural and their love is freely given. Even in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic, our family was within our bubble. We were careful, but we were given access to our grandchildren. Our daughter and her son were with us for a month in February as they were moving their household from Japan to South Carolina.

We know stories of others who are given limited access to their grandchildren. Sometimes it is just a matter of distance. People live all around the globe these days and there is no guarantee that grandparents and grandchildren will live close to one another. Even when grandchildren are in close proximity, family relationships can be complex. We know grandparents who are not allowed much time with their grandchildren. Fortunately for us, we have unrestricted access. We help with their schooling, share meals together, and visit their home whenever we want. They stop by our house whenever their activities bring them to town. One of the luxuries of this phase of our life is that we get time with our grandchildren individually. They can come to work with their dad and spend the day at our house while their siblings are back on the farm with their mother. We get to know them better and we can have adventures geared to a particular age. I have to admit, however, that grandpa is barely able to keep up with our ten-year-old grandson on a bike ride. Fortunately I happen to have a 21-speed bike and his is only 8 speeds. The mechanical advantage allows me to keep up for now. Among the gifts I received yesterday is a new bell for my bike, so I can issue a warning to pedestrians when I approach at the speed of a ten-year-old.

Decades ago, before we had children, when we were dating, or perhaps just newly wed, I once said to my wife that I thought I would enjoy being a grandpa. I could make toys and entertain kids. It was the kind of silly conversation that young lovers indulge themselves in. Somehow we both can recall the conversation. Being a grandpa isn’t quite as I had imagined it, but the basic idea, that being a grandpa would be fun has definitely come true. One of the great joys of life is the joy of growing old together. Susan, as it turns out, is a very good grandmother. It makes sense, she is a wonderful mother.

Out day yesterday was just right. After the grandchildren left we had time for an evening walk down a path under a tree canopy in the early evening breeze. We could tell our neighbors were celebrating from the number of extra cars parked at their house. The whole neighborhood seemed to be in a good mood with music and barbecue smoke drifting through the air. We miss our home and friends in South Dakota, but feel fortunate to be at this place in our lives. Our joy is a gift to be savored and will last long after the holiday has passed. It was a happy father’s day.

World Refugee Day

In 2001, the United Nations recognized the 50th anniversary of the 1951 United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees by designating June 20 as World Refugee Day. Every year since, the day has been observed around the globe to draw attention to the plight of refugees and to mobilize political will and resources to help these people rebuild their lives.

Back in 1951 as the world emerged from the global violence of World War II, people were acutely aware of the many people who had been displaced by the war. Many agencies, including the government of the United States invested heavily in the rebuilding of Europe and Japan. People opened their hearts and donated to help strangers in different parts of the world. The crisis of refugees is even larger 70 years later. According to the UN, at the end of 2020, there were 82.4 million people who have been forcibly displaced by persecution, conflict, violence and human rights violations. The worldwide COVID-19 pandemic meant that fewer refugees were able to be relocated to more permanent housing and in 2020 alone there were more than a million new claims from asylum seekers.

This year organizers at the United Nations are encouraging people to think not only in terms of the needs of refugees, but also to celebrate the strength and courage of people who have been forced to flee their homes and countries to escape conflict, hunger or persecution. People do not leave their homes and countries easily. They feel that they have no other choice, fearing persecution because of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion.

More than 6 million refugees live in camps worldwide. The camps are temporary facilities established to provide immediate shelter and protection, usually in response to war or other major disruptions. The camps strive to provide basic needs, such as food, water, and shelter. Some medical treatment and other basic services are also provided. Often the camps become crowded and basic hygiene is difficult to maintain without permanent water and sanitary sewer.

By country, Turkey hosts the largest number of refugees at at least 3.6 million persons. On our side of the world, Columbia is currently sheltering 1.8 million people in camps. The crisis in Central America has been exacerbated by people fleeing Venezuela during recent years and a slow down of processing of asylum claims at US border crossings.

Over two-thirds of refugees in the world come from just five countries: Syria, Venezuela, Afghanistan, South Sudan and Myanmar.

The bible is clear in its teaching about refugees: “You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 22:21) “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.” (Leviticus 19:33-34)

We are taught to treat others as we would like to be treated. And we are reminded that the story of our people is one of forced displacement. The Gospel of Matthew contains the story of Joseph and Mary and the infant Jesus fleeing to Egypt to escape the cruelties of Herod. The biblical story reminds us that we come from refugee stock and our story is one of displacement and fear. That story, however, is also one of courage, strength, and resilience.

There are no refugee camps near the places where we have lived. We watch from afar, seeing the images of the refugees of the world on our computer screen. The distance makes the people and their plight seem a bit unreal to us. However, our communities are not immune to people who have no shelter and lack the basic resources of life. As I learn my way around this place, in which we are newcomers, I see homeless people living on the streets. I’ve been here lone enough to recognize some individuals. I am learning some of the places where they go seeking help and the basics of survival. I know where there are tents set up for shelter and which corners are chosen by those who use discarded cardboard to make signs asking for help. These people may not be refugees in the sense of those displaced by war. Nonetheless many of them feel that they have been forced into their circumstances. Addiction and mental illness are just two reasons why people end up without homes and means of obtaining the most basic services of nutrition, health care, and shelter.

World Refugee Day is a day to raise the awareness of people like me. Those who are refugees don’t need a special day to recognize their status. Every day is refugee day for those who have no homes and few options about where to go. In the comfort of our homes, with regular meals assured, we who are privileged need a day to remind us of the needs of others. We need to be reminded of the teaching of our Bible and the call of our faith to reach out to those who are in need. World Refugee Day is for people like me.

It seems as there is always a crisis in the world. We hear over and over again about needs that are greater than our individual ability to respond. There are problems that are bigger than our capacity to solve. It is easy to feel insignificant and incapable of addressing the needs of the world. Jesus invites us to remember the small ways we are called to help. In both Mark and Mathew Jesus’ words are recorded that whoever gives a cup of water to drink belongs to Christ. We may not be able to solve all of the problems of the world, but we can offer a cup of water to drink.

May World Refugee Day be for us an opportunity to remember and serve those who are in need.

I am a Protestant

I am a protestant. I was born into a protestant family and have participated in a protestant church all of my life. I have celebrated Reformation Sunday as a regular part of the Christian Year. I have tried to avoid public criticism of any part of the Christian Church and I have many good friends who are Roman Catholic. While we have far many more points of agreement about theology and the expression of faith, we appear to be divided for now and for the rest of my life by the Roman Catholic Church’s unwillingness to accept the leadership of 50% of its faithful members. By denying ordination to women, the church has turned away so many capable, qualified, faithful, committed, and prepared leaders that the entire leadership of the church is skewed in its opinions and understanding of the members of their congregations.

But it is not my place to tell any member or leader of the Roman Catholic Church what to believe or what to do.

Yesterday, however, I once again understood the deep divisions within the Christian Church. I know that while we all pray for unity within the church and we all reach out with Christian love to one another, we cannot become a single church. My heart breaks, not only for the unity of the church, but also for the faithful members of the Roman Catholic Church by the yesterday’s decision of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops to draw hip a teaching document on politicians who support abortion. Specifically the move, which easily passed on a vote of 168 to 55 with six abstentions, will declare that those who support abortion are out of community with the church and therefore not eligible to receive Holy Communion.

The Most Rev Liam Cary, the bishop of Baker, Oregon, said the church was in an “unprecedented situation,” with “a Catholic president who is opposed to the teaching” of the church. I want to point out that he is factually incorrect. The situation is not unprecedented. In the first place the only precedent is John F. Kennedy. Joseph Biden is only the second president in the history of the nation who has been a member of the Roman Catholic Church. That aside, there have been hundreds of American politicians who are Roman Catholic who have supported the death penalty, in direct opposition to the teaching of the church. Moreover, and more importantly, Holy Communion is not reserved for persons without sin. The liturgy for Holy Communion includes a prayer of confession. We confess that we did not earn the right to come to the table by our own righteousness, but rather have received that invitation by the Grace of God to us who are all sinners. The “holier than thou” attitude of the Bishops, who believe not only that they are all worthy, but also that they have the right to determine who is and who is not worthy to receive communion, is itself in direct conflict with the teachings of the church. The notion that anyone, including the officiating clergy, would be free from sin was rejected by the church more than a thousand years ago.

The action of the bishops is in direct conflict with the opinion of the majority of the members of the Roman Catholic Church. In the debate, the Bishops argued over a single politician, Joseph Biden, although the name of Nancy Pelosi, also a member of the Roman Catholic Church, was also mentioned. According to recent polls, 67% of US Catholics favor the president being able to receive communion regularly. That is not a small majority. A cynic could say that not only do the bishops favor denying ordination to women, they also do not listen to the opinions of female members of the church.

The bishops do not even represent the majority of US ordained priests. Cardinal Blase Cupich, archbishop of Chicago, one of the few members of the Conference of Bishops whom I have personally met, stated that most priests will be “puzzled to hear that bishops now want to talk about excluding people at a time when the real challenge before them is welcoming people back to the regular practice of the faith and rebuilding their communities.” The Most Rev Robert McElroy, bishop of San Diego, warned that the document now being drafted will lead to the “weaponization” of the Eucharist.

The document that will be drafted will not be binding. Each individual bishop retains the right to decide who should be blocked from the Mass in his diocese. And it will be debated when the Bishops gather in November. The Vatican, the center of power in the hierarchical church expressed opposition to yesterday’s debate, urging the bishops to delay the vote. I guess they didn’t feel obligated to listen to the teaching of Cardinal Luis Ladaria, prefect for the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, the Vatican’s theological watchdog. I guess they didn’t feel obligated to listen to the Pope himself, who warned against weaponization of the Eucharist. I confess, I don’t know what they were thinking.

In recent decades the Conference of Catholic Bishops has failed to deal with its own sin of paedophilia and the sheltering of predatory abusers of children. The decline in membership of the Roman Catholic church in the United States has been in part due to this decades long scandal. The choice to consider punishing the best-known American Catholic, a man who attends Mass weekly and regularly speaks of his faith, is nothing less than a partisan political move.

I think it was Jim Wallis of Sojourners, who coined the phrase “insufficiently pro life.” It is a phrase that could be applied to the US Conference of Catholic Bishops. Opposition to abortion is an official teaching of the church, but it is not the church’s only teaching. The church also has official teachings about the care of the poor. The church has official teachings about the welcoming of immigrants. The church has official teachings about the death penalty. If they decide to deny the eucharist to those who disagree with the official teachings of the church, they quickly will find themselves without anyone who has been deemed “worthy” of receiving communion. That hardly is building up the community of the church, the body of Christ.

I have no right to tell the US Conference of Catholic Bishops anything. I understand that. All the same, on this day I am grateful that I am a protestant and will continue to celebrate the brave church leaders of our heritage who sought to reform the church, even at the risk of themselves being denied the sacrament. And, I know another thing that the bishops do not. They cannot control the Holy Spirit. Thousands of people that the bishops seek to deny the sacraments of the church receive the sacraments through other communities of faith. It doesn’t take a bishop for the sacrament to exist. We protestants have known that for hundreds of years.

A stroll along the bay

Yesterday the New York Times published an article detailing the draft report of the Justice Department’s Inspector General Michael E. Horowitz into the policy that resulted in the separation of thousands of families, many of them fleeing violence in Central America and seeking asylum in the United States. The separation of migrant children from their parents, sometimes for months, was at the heart of the administration’s assault on immigration. The policies that caused global outrage were promoted by the highest officials in the administration, several of whom have since left their positions. The belief of those promoting the policies was that separating migrant families would deter future illegal immigration.

The draft report cites more than 45 interviews with key officials, emails and other documents and provides the most complete look to date at the discussions within the Justice Department as the family separation policy was developed, pushed and carried out.

Draft reports must be taken carefully as they can be significantly revised before their final release, but the report points to an alarming push to prosecute as many people crossing the border as possible without regard to the consequences in the lives of children. The justice department sought to separate itself from the care of the children, deeming that to be the duty of other departments, primarily the US Marshals Service. Arresting and charging a defendant with a crime often results in the separation of that individual from their family and when children are involved, they are transferred to other agencies for care while the prosecutions play out. In the case of the family separation policies, arrests were made to be the highest priority of border officials, prosecutions were frequently delayed for months and people were detained without due process. Duty logs of US Customs and Border Patrol offices document the separation of children of all ages, including “taking breastfeeding mothers way from their infants.”

Children ended up in detention centers, often without adequate care. At times as many as 2,000 migrant children were being held without their parents. At least six children, five from Guatemala and one from El Salvador have died in federal custody. Conditions in the camps included unsanitary conditions, overcrowding and cruelty. The detention facilities were referred to as “concentration camps” by child advocates and by lawmakers. It was widely reported that children lacked access to adequate food, space to sleep, or basic supplies such as soap and toothpaste.

The child separation policies proved to be so unpopular that administration officials have backed off of the most severe policies, but the detention of migrant children continues. It is all a part of an attempt to stop all immigration into the country. Top administration officials, including former Attorney General Jeff Sessions, have sought to separate themselves from the policy, but the draft report makes it clear that these policies were embraced by top administration officials. The report states that Mr. Sessions told prosecutors, “We need to take away children.” Deputy attorney general Rod J. Rosenstein instructed prosecutors that it did not matter how young the children were. He urged government lawyers to prosecute cases that involved infants.

It is hard to read the reports. It is not the image of our country that we have treasured. Increasingly, however, it reflects how the rest of the world is viewing our nation as a place that does not care about refugees, will not accept asylum seekers and does not provide for the basic needs of families with children.

The argument presented by the administration is that immigrants are a threat to the employment of citizens. Those at the bottom of the economic spectrum, who are struggling with unemployment or employment that does not pay enough to provide for the basics of housing and food, are suffering because of people of even worse circumstances who are fleeing violence and intolerable conditions in their home countries. Instead of seeing income inequality as being produced by the concentration of wealth among a very small segment of the population, people are encouraged to blame those of less fortunate circumstances. “The immigrants are coming to take your jobs away!” is the chant of the fear mongers despite little evidence that this is the case.

Whatever you think about immigration policy, it is impossible to escape that children are innocent victims of decisions made by others. Separating children from their families except in cases of abuse or neglect is never in the best interests of the children.

Inspector generals reports often are lost in the crush of other information that is part of our daily lives. Most citizens never get around to reading the reports and they are often filed with other piles of bureaucratic papers. Administrations change and policies are altered. Hopefully the child detention policies can be replaced with more enlightened ways of responding to the worldwide migration crisis. The damage already done to children, however, is severe and, in many cases permanent. They have lost the basic trust that is required for them to mature.

Hear our prayers for children in detention, gracious God. The stories of our people tell of how you have been with us when we were refugees, fleeing the persecution of Egypt, wandering in the wilderness, seeking a home while living in tents. We know that you desire freedom for all of your people. We know that you have heard the cries of our people when they suffered slavery and persecution. Enable us to see the lives of others who are fleeing and homeless in the stories of our scriptures. Inspire us to become more aware of what we are doing as a nation and to speak up for those who have no voice in the politics and policies of our country.

Almighty God, make your presence known to children in detention camps. May they find moments of care and concern. May their fears be calmed and their resilience sustained. May they be reunited with their parents as soon as possible. May our eyes be opened and our action inspired to seek justice for these little ones. In Christ we pray, Amen.

Copyright (c) 2020 by Ted E. Huffman. I wrote this. If you would like to share it, please direct your friends to my web site. If you'd like permission to copy, please send me an email. Thanks!

Juneteenth is coming

In the midst of a very divided congress that struggles to pass any legislation, the overwhelming vote by both the Senate and the House to make Juneteenth a national holiday came as a bit of a surprise. The effort to establish the holiday has been underway for several years, but Senate rules made it nearly impossible to pass the legislation. A single member of the Senate could block the bill from getting a full vote. However, the long effort to commemorate the day was overwhelmingly passed and the holiday will be established. The act establishes a new holiday for federal workers. It maintains the traditional day of recognition, June 19, unlike some federal holidays that are always observed on a Monday. President Biden is set to sign the bill into law this afternoon.

Most states already have an official observance of Juneteenth. Earlier this year, Governor Jay Inslee signed House Bill 1016 making Juneteenth a paid holiday for state workers in Washington. The bill does not go into effect until 2022, but it will make Washington the fourth state, after Texas, New York, and Virginia to recognize the Juneteenth by giving state employees a paid holiday. Only North Dakota and South Dakota have no official statewide recognition of Juneteenth according to the Congressional Research Service.

I am not aware of a Juneteenth observance in Mount Vernon, but in nearby Bellingham, the celebration will be held at Maritime Heritage Park between 3 and 7 pm on Saturday.

I don’t remember Juneteenth being a part of my formal education as a child. We learned that the salves were freed by the issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation. The proclamation and executive order, issued by President Abraham Lincoln on January 1, 1863, declared “that all persons held as slaves are, and henceforward shall be free.” I thought that the proclamation ended chapel slavery in the United States. My simple, grade school understanding, however, didn’t reveal the full story.

There were several limits to the Emancipation Proclamation. It applied only to states that had seceded from the United States. There were states where slavery was legal that remained loyal to the Union. Furthermore the proclamation expressly exempted parts of the Confederacy that had already come under Northern control. Finally, the promised freedom was dependent upon a Union Victory, which after three bloody years was far from assured at that point in the war.

Nonetheless, the Emancipation Proclamation was a critical step in a long overdue struggle to end slavery in our country. The movement to end slavery, while supported by abolitionists and religious leaders, really began with actions taken by the slaves themselves. In the Civil War, slaves acted to secure their own liberty. This movement added moral force to the Union cause and strengthened the Union both militarily and politically.

It took several years for slavery to be officially ended in our country. Juneteenth marks the day when federal troops arrived in Galveston, Texas in 1865 - 2 1/2 years after the Emancipation Proclamation - to take control of the state and to inform the state’s slaves that they had been emancipated. The day was one of celebration and June 19th has been recognized as African American Emancipation Day ever since. Most contemporary celebrations across the nation emphasize education and achievement, with picnics, guest speakers and family gatherings.

The holiday is both a recognition of the past, which has many events worth celebrating, and the acknowledgement that the work of justice and equality is unfinished. On Juneteenth people not only celebrate the end of slavery, but also recognize that systems continue to marginalize and oppress people of color in our country. Dr. Martin Luther King used to frequently quote Theodore Parker: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” Juneteenth recognizes that the journey towards freedom continues with opportunities to join together with others to make significant and lasting improvements in our society.

Winston Churchill adapted a quote from the Irish statesman Edmund Burke to write, “Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” Recognizing the importance of learning as much as we are able from the mistakes of the past is important. Juneteenth, however, is not just a time to learn about the horrors of slavery and the incredible inhumanity of those who came before us. It is, rather, a celebration of the American spirit to recognize wrong and to work together to make things right. The establishment of a national holiday is yet another opportunity to celebrate our country’s greatness and to work together for justice.

The holiday seems to fit well into the flow of the year. With the coming of summer in the northern hemisphere we celebrate longer days and the approaching solstice. Public schools go on vacation and people engage in a variety of outdoor activities and events. It is a good time to recognize and celebrate freedom. Coming a couple of weeks after Memorial Day and a couple of weeks ahead of the July 4th celebrations of American Independence, the national holiday fills out a season of remembering and honoring the struggles of so many of our forebears to give us the freedoms we enjoy.

This year we plan to spend part of the day with our grandchildren and it will provide an excellent opportunity for us to teach them a bit more about the history they are inheriting and the sacrifices of so many along the long, long road towards freedom and justice. After a career of teaching the stories of Israel's Exodus from slavery in Egypt, we have a few ideas about how we teach the concepts of freedom and justice to a new generation.

A new holiday is an opportunity for new learning for our country. The ability of Congress to come together to find common ground in a season of partisan struggle and conflict is a long overdue sign that shows a level of maturity and dignity that has not often been demonstrated by our leaders in recent years. It is long overdue. It is worthy of our recognition and celebration.


When we lived in South Dakota we would purchase a State Park pass. Most of the time that pass was used to visit Custer State Park, a real gem of a park that is filled with wildlife and gorgeous scenery. We loved seeing the buffalo calves. I know that they are American Bison, but I still call them buffalo. I also pronounce coyote the way fans of University of South Dakota Coyotes athletics do.

Being new transplants to Washington, it made sense to me for us to purchase a Washington State Parks Discovery pass so that we could explore the many different state parks within our immediate region. Birch Bay State Park is only 4 1/2 miles from our son’s farm and it offers a great place to explore the coast with our grandchildren. Peace Arch State Park, on the border with Canada is just a few miles farther up the road. There are more than a dozen state parks within 25 miles of where we live. We are avid walkers and state parks offer many trails for walking and exploring. We have only begun to explore the richness that is offered close to our home.

Washington State Parks began with Larabee State Park, the first area to be recognized as a state park. The park, just south of Bellingham, offers views of Samish Bay and the San Juan Islands as well as opportunities for paddling, viewing tide pools, and exploring the forests. In addition to the ocean shore the park has two lakes to explore. Although currently closed to shellfish harvesting, the park is known as a place to find clams. We also enjoyed the winding Chuckanut Drive south from Bellingham to Burlington. It isn’t as quick a drive as Interstate 5, but far more scenic and a good alternate route when driving between our home and our son’s farm.

We’ve also taken walks at Camano Island State Park and explored other areas as well, but there is much more we want to see.

Yesterday, we took a hike along the shore at Deception Pass State Park. The park, located on both sides of the Canoe Pass and Deception Pass bridges connecting Fildago and Whidbey Islands, is a short 15 - 20-mile drive from our home. The bridge itself is picturesque and although currently covered with tarps for sandblasting and repainting, it is still a dramatic structure. Under the bridge the rushing tides create strong currents that are a danger to boaters unfamiliar with the area. Still, the waters around the park are filled with kayakers and small boaters. Kayak rentals are available within the park.

Deception Pass is Washington’s most-visited park, but it was not crowded when we visited yesterday. We parked at Rosario Beach, where there is a boat launch and took a hike on a trail that wandered along the shoreline and through old growth forest out to lighthouse point and circled around back to the parking area.

When we walk through the forest out here, I find myself looking up at the tall trees. After so many years of living in the hills and thinking that a 60- or 75-foot tree is a tall tree, these forest giants that stand 150 or more feet high never fail to impress me. Looking so far up is slightly disorienting and I have to be careful not to become dizzy if I walk and look up at the same time. All the same, the trees are incredible and it helps us sense the size of creation as we walk along.

The coastline in this part of Washington is dotted with islands and looking out towards so many islands gives the coast a different feeling that is the case in places where the beach faces an expanse of open water. The islands are inviting and one can imagine taking a kayak and paddling to explore the shorelines of many different islands. I haven’t been doing much paddling recently, waiting to connect with experienced local paddlers and guides to teach me about paddling in these waters. There is much to learn about tides and currents and the techniques of saltwater paddling. What is more, I’ve been a bit busier than I expected as I adjust to retirement and have not paddled as much as I expected I would. That will change as we learn our way around. Yesterday, a lovely birthday hike was just the right thing as we wandered along the trail enjoying the views of the ocean and the areas where the path led through dense undergrowth that made us feel like we were wandering through a J. R. R. Tolkien story. We did not encounter any trolls or hobbits on our hike, but the paths were inviting nonetheless.

We didn’t have a sense of being in a remote wilderness area, as the park is very near to Naval Air Station Whidbey Island where navy pilots engage in Field Carrier Landing Practice. The fighter jets flying overhead on approach are noisy, but for an airplane buff it is the kind of noise that doesn’t bother me. I do suspect, however, that there are much quieter places to camp. Having camped next to railroad tracks, however, we are the sort of people who might take our camper to the park one day.

One area in the park that I want to check out is Kukutail Preserve. It is located on Kiket Island and co-managed by the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community. I think that access is by kayak, but I have to learn more before visiting that particular area. I know that there is a neck of land on the island that is completely off limits to people to protect the fragile native plants growing there.

We have had the luxury of a lot of travel and exploration in our lives, but walking in the park to celebrate my 68th birthday reminds me of how much of this wide world we have not yet explored. There is a whole lot more to be discovered and much of it is very close to home and accessible to us. More adventures await.


The story is that when I was born, my father flew his airplane over the home of a friend, cut the throttle so the plane was quiet and yelled “It’s a boy!” loud enough that the people on the ground heard him. I don’t know who the people on the ground were. I don’t even know if the story is about me. I also have heard the story told that it was when my sister was born that he did the trick, only yelling, “It’s a girl!” It seems a bit unlike our father to have done it twice. It is quite like him to have done it once. He was a pilot by profession. He flew light aircraft that were relatively quiet. He often flew low and slow, not too high above the ground. Our father is no longer alive for us to ask him the story. Whoever he yelled the news to is probably not around either. Still, it makes a good story and I’ve told it as if I was confident that it was bout my birth.

Another story about my birth that I think is accurate is that when I was born, my mother waited until the last minute to go to the hospital. Our house was right next to the hospital, so it was just a matter of going out our back yard, past our garage, and across the alley to the emergency entrance of the hospital. At any rate, the nurse had called the doctor, and was helping my mother settle in when I was born. I didn’t wait for the doctor to arrive. My mother told me that story several times and she often did so as she commented about the fact that I have always enjoyed getting up early in the morning.

Some people like to sleep in as a special birthday treat. I’ve never wanted to spend my birthday in bed. I like to get up and do things. As I age, I don’t seem to have gotten much better at sleeping. If I’ve averaged 8 hours a day of sleep, which seems like as good a guess as any, I’ve spent one third of my life sleeping, which comes to 22.67 years at this point in my life. That seems like enough to me so that if I occasionally miss a few minutes of sleep I have plenty of sleep in reserve.

Here is something I do know: when I was born my parents were glad to have a son born to them. The family, prior to my birth, consisted of my father, my mother, and three sisters. There were plenty of females in the family and I was the first little boy. The novelty probably wore off by the time our family was complete. There were three brothers born after I came into the world. I don’t know the significance of being the first boy, but it has always been a privileged position in the family for me. When I was a child, I got lots of time with my father. He would often take me to work with him at the airport. I loved going to the airport and being in his office and his shop. His office was filled with maps and the shop was filled with airplanes. I am the only one of my siblings who learned to fly with our father as my instructor. I got my pilot’s license after taking formal lessons with him, but that followed so many years of flying with him that it seemed to me like he had always been teaching me to fly.

When I started to seriously date my wife, I came into a privileged position in her family. She grew up the oldest of three girls. Her father was the only male in the family. Even the cat and the dog were female. When she became serious about me, I was warmly welcomed into the family. Her mother and father always treated me very well. I often say that it was because I was the first son in their family, too.

Whenever my birthday lands on a Sunday it falls on Father’s Day. Before I became a father, I thought it was a special treat to occasionally share the day with my father. After I became a father the day is even more meaningful to me. I like being occasionally able to “double dip” with two holidays on the same day.

As far as I can remember, I’ve always looked forward to my birthday and enjoyed the day. Last year my birthday landed on a Monday. It was my first day of retirement. Technically, I was employed to the end of the month, but I had saved two weeks of vacation so my last official day of work was June 14, 2020. I’ve still not fully adjusted to being retired, but it seems like a kind of a milestone to have come to this day one year later.

I have friends around the world. Right now it is late afternoon in Melbourne, Australia. That means that I got birthday greetings from a friend who lives there before I went to bed last night. I had already received cards and posts on social media from other friends as well. Part of the fun of the day is that birthday greetings stir good memories of good friends. I have a good friend whose birthday is the day before mine and another whose birthday is the day after mine, so I always think of them at this time of the year. Both of those friends have devoted their lives to the ministry, so we have lots in common to share when we are together. When we are together, I joke about the dividing line between youth and enthusiasm, and old age and experience, falling between us. Since I have a friend who is a day younger and another who is a day older than I, I can be the young one or the old one depending on which friend I am with.

So today will be a good day for me. A day to note that I am now 68 years old, which seems like a good age to be.

Working remotely

Yesterday we participated in the semi-annual meeting of our congregation. The meeting was held remotely over Zoom. I’m not sure how many people participated, but participants had to scroll through several screens to see all of the participants and early in the meeting, the clerks declared that a quorum of 44 people were present. Several of the screens, like ours, showed two participants in the same frame. I learned long ago that it is too distracting for me to stay in the gallery view when there are more than eight or ten participants, so we participated with the view that shows the speaker in a large frame with a single row of frames of participants.

We’re pretty comfortable with the Zoom format. We were early adopters of Skype when our daughter moved to England a decade ago. We really appreciated the ability to see her as we talked with her. It was a good way for us to tell how she was doing. Over the years, she has lived quite a distance from us, not only in England, but also in Japan and now she lives in South Carolina. We also used Skype to keep in touch with our grandchildren and still find it to be a good way to keep regular contact with our grandson who lives in South Carolina. We went through a phase of purchasing two copies of children’s books so that we could read to our grandchildren over Skype. They would look at one copy and we would have the other. We’d read, giving them clues of when to turn the pages. Yesterday, as we visited with our grandson, we got out our puppets of Grover and Cookie Monster and did an impromptu puppet presentation for our grandson. It wasn’t exactly up to the standards of the television shows that he is allowed to watch occasionally, but it was enough to hold his attention and we got to see his face and his reactions over the distance.

Video conferencing, however, never was a very big part of our work life. We relied on face to face meetings and direct conversations to do our pastoral work. Although the telephone was a major tool in our work, there were plenty of times when just going to a person and seeing them face to face was a much preferable option for sharing prayer and counsel.

The pandemic hit a few months before our retirement and we upped our technological game quite a bit. Our church invested in a second video camera and we learned to livestream worship. I made daily prayer livestream videos for the congregation. We used remote meeting software to continue the work of the church when face to face meetings were not advised.

The change was much more dramatic for some workers, however. In offices all around the world, people began to work remotely, usually from home. They used computers and video conferencing to keep in touch and coordinate work with others. Microsoft had previously purchased Skype and transformed the Skype for Business application into Microsoft Teams and bundled it with their popular office tools.

Suddenly people weren’t spending 40 and more hours in a physical office. They were working remotely and often asynchronously. Responsibilities for childcare and family life forced adjustments of schedule. Videos of children and pets appearing in the midst of serious business meetings went viral. There was a degree of humanizing that came from the physical distance.

To be clear, only some jobs can be performed remotely. During the pandemic there were plenty of workers who had to be physically present to do their work. They got some attention as frontline workers, but many of the jobs that require physical presence are also jobs that paid lower wages. The ability to work remotely was reserved for a certain elite group of workers.

Initially some workers discovered that they didn’t need to pull the long hours - 50 or 60 per week - in order to be productive. In fact, many discovered a truth that researchers have been long known: putting in more hours does not result in increased productivity. In fact people learned to be more productive by working fewer hours. We’ve known for years that it is productivity that matters, but business rewards presenteeism. Just being in the office is frequently rewarded. Those who arrive early and stay late are more likely to be noticed by management and promoted to higher paying jobs.

Fairly early in the pandemic the urge to work longer hours began to take place even in the lives of those who were working remotely. They felt pressure to be constantly connected. They worried that missing an email might indicate that they were not being productive. They responded to communications quickly and allowed their work to infringe on family time. For many the distinction between work and family life blurred. Family meals were also times to check the phone for messages. Time with children was interrupted to make an appearance online. Workers felt the need to be accessible early in the morning and late at night because coworkers worked adjusted hours to fit together family life and work.

During the pandemic many of those who were able made major adjustments to their work and home life. Some moved to new homes that were more distant from their offices, hoping that they would be able to continue working remotely indefinitely. It is estimated that the workplace of the future will often not involve an office or a particular physical location. There will be more and more jobs that are not dependent upon a specific place. This may work for some jobs, but there will be plenty of others that still require physical presence. And there will be plenty of workers who feel pressured to work extended hours just to be present, even if that presence is online instead of sitting at a desk.

Studies have shown that many businesses lose productivity by enforcing rigid work hours and worker presence. Allowing flexibility for family and other obligations increases productivity. But they also show that too much flexibility decreases productivity. It appears that the balance may be somewhere around 15 to 20 hours per week of actual presence in an office with additional hours worked remotely. All of that depends on the type of work and the amount of collaboration required.

The pandemic forced us to take a look at how we work, but it remains to be seen whether or not we have learned much from this experiment.

Of birds and trees

With a smile we tell people that when we lived in South Dakota we enjoyed watching the deer and wild turkeys in our yard. Now that we have moved to Washington, we watch the rabbits and humming birds in our yard. Our setting here is a bit more urban than our South Dakota home. For most of the time we lived in South Dakota our home was in a rural, unincorporated area. Then our neighborhood was annexed. We received some city services, such as water and garbage disposal, but our subdivision was not connected to the city sewer. We also did not have curbs and gutter and street lights as is true with some parts of the city. We enjoyed our rural lifestyle. We didn’t want street lights and preferred being able to see the night sky more clearly with less light. Our deer and turkeys, however, paid no attention to city boundaries. Rapid City has plenty of urban wildlife and we weren’t the only ones who got to know the deer that nibbled the grass in our lawn.

There are plenty of deer in the hills around here, but we haven’t noticed any urban deer in town. The rabbits, however, seem to be having a good year with plenty of cover and lots of forage to eat. There are eagles and other predators in the area, but the rabbit population seems to be holding strong.

Watching birds has brought us a lot of joy in our time of living here. The humming birds haven’t been in our yard year round. We just began to notice them as the yard began to flower with various plants. They are shy and we don’t see them every day, but they visit frequently enough to bring us a great deal of pleasure watching their unique flight from blossom to blossom. Occasionally, we will catch the profile of one sitting on one of the higher branches of the neighbor’s tree.

Even more dramatic than occasional visits of the humming birds was the six months or so that huge flocks of arctic snow geese occupied the fields around town. They were joined by thousands and thousands of swans. Trumpeter, mute and tundra swans in huge numbers live about half of the year in Skagit County and the other half of the year in places farther north in Canada and Alaska.

And then there are the seagulls. We used to see an occasional California gull that somehow ended up temporarily in South Dakota, but when the river is running clear it is a magnet for hundreds and hundreds of gulls who come up from the nearby sea coast following the food. The Skagit River has a huge delta and the surrounding wetlands provide a lot of cover for all kinds of birds.

Other than domestic chickens and turkeys, however, we haven’t seen their wild neighbors in our immediate neighborhood. I don’t miss the mess the turkeys left on our deck and back yard, but I do miss watching their antics as they made their daily journey across our lawn in South Dakota.

The prophet Ezekiel described his vision of trees and birds in the 17th chapter. He tells of God’s promise to take a sprig from a tall cedar and plant it “on the mountain height of Israel.” “Under it every kind of bird will live; in the shade of its branches will next winged creatures of every kind.” It seems that Ezekiel’s vision of the return of the exiles and the restoration of Israel and the coming of God’s reign of peace includes time for bird watching.

Part of my retirement routine has been listening to a program that airs on our local NPR station called Bird Note. I haven’t been a very attentive birder in the past, paying attention to only the most obvious birds in the neighborhood. The radio program has been educating me about differences in how nestlings leave the nest, about sapsuckers, about how robins choose their nest sites and about predatory birds such as the Northern Goshawk. I don’t consider myself to be an expert in the lives of the birds, but I am learning more than I used to know.

At our son’s farm, we enjoy watching the swallows chase insects in flight during the early evening hours. They were treated to the magnificent sight of a bald eagle perched on their bar roof last week. I’ve seen eagles soaring in the area before, but having one land on the barn roof was a special treat.

Since I have been paying a bit more attention to the birds, I have noticed that there are references to birds in the Bible. In addition to the vision of Ezekiel that is part of the lectionary readings for today, Jesus parable of the mustard seed in today’s Gospel reading mentions also speaks of birds: “yet when it is sown and it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.” Jesus is teaching his disciples about God’s realm. Jesus’ parables use our human propensity to watch birds and observe their nesting as a way of helping us understand the expansiveness of Gods’ love for all of creation. God’s love grows as dramatically as a tiny seed. And when it grows there is much more than the original seed. There is shelter and shade and protection and a place of rest.

Today marks one year since we led our final worship service as pastors of 1st Congregational United Church of Christ in Rapid City, South Dakota. In some ways the year has gone by very quickly. I think we expected that we would be settled and adjusted to a retirement lifestyle by now. It hasn’t worked out exactly as we had planned. The pandemic changed everything, but beyond that, we were unable to fully envision what retirement would bring. Like the mustard seed, it is producing more possibilities than we were able to envision. We are still wondering exactly where we will find our more permanent nest and what our role in this new phase of our life may be. Along the way, the words of the teachers and prophets inspire us to pay attention to the other creatures in God’s creation. The trees are growing and the world is changing and there is room for all in God’s realm.

Easing trauma

When I was a suicide first responder one of my tasks was to help educate those who had just lost a loved one to suicide about how the coroner system worked in the county where the death occurred. There are certain procedures and processes that must be followed in investigating an unattended death in order to gather as much information as possible about what happened. This process can be very invasive and frustrating for grieving family members. They have just experienced a major shock to their entire world and now officers, often uniformed, are swarming their space and preventing them from attending to the body of their loved one. Often there is a period of time when families need to be out of their home and wait for the investigation to take place.

In the United States, there are two main different systems of investigating deaths that occur outside of a medical setting with a physician attending. The medical examiner system emphasizes the medical training and qualifications of the examiner. Medical examiners are board certified physicians with special training in examining bodies for evidence of how death occurred. They are generally appointed and follow a specific investigative routine to determine the manner in which a death occurred.

Coroners are elected officials, and have been trained in criminal investigation and special techniques for preserving evidence. They are not physicians. When there are questions that require medical expertise they employ the assistance of forensic pathologists who perform autopsies and other medical examinations.

In the United States whether a death is investigated by a medical examiner or a coroner depends on the jurisdiction. South Dakota, where I worked serving families who had experienced suicide loss, has the corner system. The belief is that in matters of answering questions about how death occurred having those who are investigating subject to election holds them accountable to the people they serve.

Elections, however, are far from the minds of the people who are experiencing the trauma. Often when working with grieving families, I needed to gently explain that the process was one of learning as much as possible about the circumstances of the death so that as many questions as possible could be answered. The big questions on the minds of the grieving families, however, are ones that cannot be answered. They are wondering why the death occurred. “Why did this person do what was done?” While some information about the circumstances of the death, such as a recent change in financial status or the threat of an arrest or some other things can be known, the real answer to the question is not evidence that can be collected. The evidence died with the victim.

To make matters more difficult for families, in many jurisdictions across the country suicide has been historically seen as a crime with a full criminal investigation taking place. While coroners try to be sensitive to the needs of family members, they feel the need to document as much evidence as possible and preservation of evidence means excluding others from entering the place where the death occurred. This can be especially traumatic for those whose lives have already become defined by the trauma of the death of their loved one.

My role in all of this often was to assist the investigators by providing support and information to grieving family members. This meant trying to explain procedures to people who were not in a position to retain the information I was giving them. The shock and horror of losing a loved one means that grieving individuals are not in a position to listen to a lecture or observe what is being told to them. Often they don’t remember any of the content of what we have said to them during those first traumatic hours. Gentle repetition can be helpful. Often, I would allow family members to have control of what I said. Instead of just giving them the information I had, I waited until they asked a question and tried to respond as directly and succinctly to their question as possible. Sometimes, I simply sat in silence with them as they processed the early stages of their grief.

My experiences taught me a great deal about how resilient humans are. I met remarkable people with incredible courage and grace in the face of deep trauma. People didn’t fall apart. They might have a period of uncontrolled sobbing, but the continued to breathe and within a short amount of time began to regain composure. My experience is that people don’t fall apart even under the great stress of the loss of a loved one. They deal with the unthinkable in their own unique way, and call upon resources deep within themselves to find ways of moving on from the trauma.

It isn’t easy. Those who have experienced the suicide of a loved one are themselves more vulnerable to suicide. The unthinkable has become something about which they think constantly. Without proper support and often professional help, they can become immersed in depression and despair following their loss. The follow-up after a suicide loss is critical to the long process of recovery.

Grief is not something that people “get over.” It remains with them. I used the words, “get through” when talking with grieving families. Your life has been forever changed. You will not forget. You will not get over this event. But you can get through it. And you don’t have to do it all by yourself. There are others, some of whom have experienced a loss similar to yours, who are there to be with you in this process.

When I hear of calls for police reform, I think of how functions, such as learning as much as possible from a death, might be performed by people with different skills and roles than that of uniformed officers. Differences in training and in the way we identify those entrusted with such examinations might go a long way towards easing trauma. Sometimes in suicide situations my response team would be the only strangers in a situation who weren’t carrying weapons - sometimes we were the only ones who weren’t wearing body armor. All of those weapons can add unnecessary trauma to a trying situation. Many changes are possible if we work together and always keep the victims in our minds as we work with our neighbors.

Figurative language

During the pandemic, our grandchildren have been home schooled. They will return to their regular schools in the fall, but for now, their home schooling lessons are continuing. As grandparents we get to work with them and help with their schooling from time to time. Yesterday, I was helping our granddaughter, who was writing a thank you letter following her recent birthday and also making a father’s day card for upcoming celebrations. Across the table I could overhear a conversation between my wife and our grandson about a lesson in his workbook that was introducing the concept of simile and metaphor. The exercise involved using similes comparing aquatic animals and land-based animals: “A tiger is fierce like a shark.”

Thinking about it now, on the next day, I am aware of how important it is to teach the use of complex language. Being able to use figurative language is essential to human communication. If we limited ourselves to using only literal language, our conversation would be limited to a much small realm of human experience. Being able to make comparisons and to use words in ways that point beyond the obvious is a tool that I use every day. I couldn’t write the blog without such language. Figurative language is an everyday tool of a preacher.

We use much more than similes and metaphors. We make allusion. We create imagery. We employ personification. Oral language is even more filled with figurative language than written. Onomatopoeia is simply more fun when spoken out loud.

Of course, a workbook exercise designed for a ten year old didn’t discuss seven or twelve or how many forms of figurative language exist. The exercise was designed to be an introduction, making the use of figurative language simple. We teach our children to go beyond literalism in their reading and writing. It is part of the core curriculum of a good school.

Since we are used to using language in ways that reach beyond simple literalism, it often surprises us when the basic tools of figurative speech seem to escape others. Over the course of my career, I was often asked by people about things they read, and things that they thought might be in the Bible. I suppose every minister has been asked, “Where in the bible does it say . . . “ as if we had memorized the entire book. Often those questions are about things that aren’t actually in the bible. People often think that aphorisms from popular culture have biblical origins. And when you get to the actual words of the bible, you encounter a lot of figurative language. It makes sense. Talking about God stretches the capacity of language. We can think of many ways to describe a bit of what God is like or give evidence of God’s action in the world, but coming up with words that fully describe God eludes us. Our language is limited. It shouldn’t surprise us that the Bible is filled with figurative speech. Still, there are many fundamentalists who try to interpret figurative language as if it were literal.

Jesus often spoke in parables. In Mark’s Gospel, when Jesus gives the parable of the mustard seed, he prefaces his simile with an acknowledgement of the limits of language. He asks, rhetorically, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it?” He knows he is describing something for the people that goes beyond the use of literal language. He does not say, “It is a mustard seed,” but rather, “it is like a mustard seed.” It is classic simile. The kingdom of God is not tiny, but it is a concept that does have the capacity to grow.

A ten-year-old knows when you use a simile, you aren’t speaking literal truth. Our grandson knows that a tiger is not the same thing as a shark. He understands that the comparison is limited to some of the qualities of the two animals. Comparing them does not equate them.

The extensive use of figurative language throughout the entire bible means that the value of the words lies deeper than simply the surface. It also is job security for preachers. There will always be room for interpretation of the words of the bible. You can discover that by a quick scan of several different mainline church services this Sunday. The Revised Common lectionary reading for this week is just two verses from the Gospel of Mark. Mark 4:30-32 is the parable of the mustard seed. All around the world the same words, or translations of those words into many different languages, will be read. From those two verses preachers will deliver sermons from a short reflection to a half hour or more. And they will take many different meanings from Jesus’ parable. Jesus uttered one long run-on sentence that has inspired over two millennia of sermons. Anyone claiming to have the final word on this parable is clearly making a false claim. Christians will be talking about it generations from now.

Language is powerful, but it is limited. We cannot express all of human experience and the fullness of religion with words alone. To fully educate our children, we need to teach both the power and the limits of words.

The church, of course, is not just words. It is not just what is said. The practice of religion involves the use of symbols, music, sacrament and direct action. We sing, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love.” And, as David James Duncan wrote, “People often don’t know what thy are talking about. When they talk about love, they really don’t know what they’re talking about.”

I do not call myself a biblical literalist. I am firmly committed to the the truth of the bible, but I know that the truth doesn’t just lie on the surface of the words. A lifetime is all too short to explore all of the meaning in a single book of the bible. Fortunately for us, our faith has been growing for millennia before we were born and will continue to develop long after our time on this earth has ended. We’re a part of something much bigger than ourselves.

The tulip tree

On January 12, 1785, George Washington wrote in his diary that “Rode to my Mill Swamp, where my Dogue run hands were at work & to other places in search of the sort of Trees I shall want for my walks, groves, & Wildernesses.” He was deep into the process of designing his estate along the Potomac River. He selected several different varieties of trees. Among those are tulip poplars located in the Bowling Green just outside the Upper and Lower gates, which were transplanted from the area that is now the Pioneer Farmer site. The shade trees, also known as White poplar and Whitewood, are indigenous to the eastern United States.

It is unknown whether the connection with George Washington’s estate is the reason for the large tulip poplar that grows at the corner of Cleveland and Snoqualmie streets in Mount Vernon Washington. The mature tree has been there a long time and it seems a bit unlikely that in the early days of the community, there would have been much attention paid to landscaping. Certainly there weren’t the extensive nurseries and plant sales that you can find at Lowe’s and Home Depot these days.

The actual history of the tree is a matter of speculation, with no one in Mount Vernon that we have encountered knowing the full story of the tree. Whatever the story, the magnificent tree dominates the corner across from the site of the current library building and the city parking lot. At one time, when the current city hall was under construction the house on that corner was leased by the city and housed the city planning division. That meant that care of the tree, including cleaning up all of those leaves each fall, fell to the City of Mount Vernon. The local story is that the city public works director wanted to have the tree removed when its roots broke up the surrounding sidewalk. It was decided, fortunately, that cutting down that tree would be political suicide and the sidewalk was relocated creating a wrap around the tree the extends into the right of way a bit.

The tree is the largest of its species in the State of Washington. It is significantly larger than the tree that one of the trees George Washington himself planted, dubbed “The Independence Tree.” It is likely that the conditions here in Mount Vernon, Washington, are even more conducive to the growth of the tree than the namesake of our town, the estate of George Washington.

A couple of known historic facts might give insight into the age of the tree. The first settlers along the banks of the Skagit River here arrived in 1870. The town gained its name seven years later. The area where the city is located was heavily forested when the settlers arrived and they had to cut hundreds and hundreds of trees to make room for the city’s first buildings. It likely took a couple of decades before there was any ornamental planting. The house next to which the tree is growing was built in 1901, so 120 years or so seems like a likely age of the tree.

In a City Council Meeting on April 10, 2002, Mayor Richendrfer signed an Arbor Day proclamation. In that proclamation the mayor reported that “The City has named the Tulip Tree as the Official City Tree because of its name, the tulip shape of its leaf, its stately qualities, and its historical significance as being one of the oldest planted trees in Mount Vernon and largest in the state.” The mayor’s proclamation further “urged all citizens to plant tulip trees, as well as other trees, to gladden the heart and promote well being of this and future generations.” The city has officially planted other tulip trees in town, including one at Hillcrest Park and another next to the reader board at First and Kincaid streets.

We frequently find ourselves at the library, picking up or returning books and meeting our son, who is its director. Our summertime activities include parking our car in the shade of the tree while we walk to the Post Office or take a stroll down the riverfront walk in downtown Mount Vernon. The glorious tree garners our attention every time we are in the area. I wondered what color the blossoms would be, and was perhaps a bit disappointed that they are mostly the same color as the leaves, with a bit of yellow in the center. They pale in comparison with the trees autumnal display of bright yellow before the leaves are dropped for the winter. And this tree has a lot of leaves to drop.

Large trees are part of the legacy of this region of the country. After living most of our lives in places where a 60’ tree is considered tall, we find ourselves looking up a lot around here as we wander through forests of Cedar, Douglas Fir and Hemlock. The rich soil along the Skagit River combines with abundant rainfall and mild weather to make this a great place for growing trees. Mount Vernon’s iconic tulip tree is one of the sights we will always remember from our time of living here.

Speaking of trees, the dogwood at our son’s farm is blooming. Unlike some trees, the dogwood blossoms put on their display for a long time. The bright blossoms give shade to a flower garden below that the children have dubbed the “fairy garden” and have ornamented with tiny figurines. They have placed a couple of child-sized chairs in the garden and we often find them there, taking a break from chores or playing in the sand box not far away. After living for a quarter of a century in a beautiful pine forest, the diversity of trees here captures our attention.

We have received so much beauty from trees. In the words of the former mayor of the city, “to gladden the heart” is one reason for a tree. Our hears are indeed gladdened. When we find a home to call our own, one of the things we are sure to do is to plant a few trees.

Building a tractor

The word tractor comes from Latin. It is a word that evolved from a verb, “trahere” which means “to pull, or draw.” In the 18th century, the word tractor was used for a quack medical device consisting of two metal rods which were supposed to relive rheumatism. The rods were said to pull the pain from the victim. Back then animals were used to pull wagons and plows and to haul heavy loads. Tractors for agricultural use first emerged in the 19th century. The first farm tractors were steam engines used to drive mechanical farm machinery such as harvesters. These barn engines soon became portable and evolved into self-propelled devices.

I know a bit of the history of tractors because my father was a John Deere dealer for 25 years of his life. Along the way, I started collecting miniature, 1/72 scale die cast models of John Deere tractors, going back all the way to the company’s first tractor, the Waterloo Boy. John Deere found his first success in the agricultural business by developing a steel plow. The first tractors the company sold were the product of them purchasing another company. Soon, however, the company developed its own two cylinder engines with a distinctive “popita popita” sound. These engines were made to be powered by gasoline, LP gas, and diesel and dominated the company’s offerings through the 1950s. In the 1960s a “new generation of power” saw the company develop more powerful engines and larger tractors. Although it was not the first company to develop articulated four wheel drive tractors, the larger articulated tractors became popular. The John Deere Company weathered the farm crisis of the 1980s better than many other companies which experienced bankruptcies and reconfigurations during that downturn in the farm economy.

When you say tractor, I think John Deere.

So it might come as a surprise that one of the projects I’ve been working on is building a chicken tractor. A chicken tractor isn’t a tractor at all. At least it doesn’t pull anything. I is not self propelled. What it is a portable enclosure for chickens. Some are essentially mobile playpens for chickens to use during the day. Others have shelter for the chickens to roost and stay in the tractor. The tractor is moved to give the chickens access to fresh grass and soil. The birds will dig for worms, grubs, snails and slugs and will aureate and fertilized the soil as the tractor is moved around the yard.

The chicken tractor I’m working on needs to have room for quite a few birds. Although we may end up building two units, the plan is to start with 33 meat chickens in the shelter. The birds will be moved from their brooder when they reach the pullet stage and will be moved about the yard as they put on weight. Meat birds are bred to gain weight quickly and they will become more and more sedentary as they grow. At our son’s farm, the chicken tractor has to be substantial enough to provide protection from the occasional coyote that might wander onto the place.

The farm already has one chicken tractor. In addition to the coop with its enclosed yard, they have a small tractor that can hold about five laying hens. It has its own inside area for the hens to roost and lay eggs and the hens are shut up inside the shelter at night. The tractor is a bit difficult to move, so our new tractor is being designed to be easier to move. It may need to be pulled into the barn every night in order to protect the meat birds from coyote predation. Therefore, I’ve come up with a design that will allow the tractor to be pulled by the riding lawn mower that is used on the place, which, of course, is a John Deere. So we already have a tractor to pull the tractor.

I’ve done my research online and we’ve even visited neighboring farms to view, measure and photograph their chicken tractors. I think I’ve improved on the designs that we’ve viewed, but I’m sure we’ll find a downside to our device after it is completed. With the high price of lumber, I’ve been using up old boards that have collected around the place, ripping larger boards into 2 x 2s for the framework and using plywood gussets for the corners and cross bracing. Construction this way is time consuming, but farmers trade time for money every day, and I’m retired, so my hourly rate is well within the farm’s budget. I’m considering making the second tractor out of PVC pipe if we run out of on hand lumber building the first one. The pipe will make a lighter tractor, and I may learn enough from building the first one to make the second one a better device. At least that is the hope.

We raised chickens at our place when I was a kid growing up and I wasn’t a fan of the process. It seemed like there were plenty of sicknesses that would take some of the birds before they were grown. I didn’t like the job of cleaning the coop. I found the birds to be less than intelligent. A chicken will bloody itself trying to attack its own reflection in a shiny object. And I especially didn’t like the process of butchering. In fact the fall I went away to college, I stayed away from home until I was sure that the last of the butchering was done and the chickens were in the freezer. I haven’t butchered a chicken yet and have no intention of taking up the craft now. Our son and daughter-in-law have joined a group of neighbors who share the butchering process with plenty of experienced hands, so I’m getting off the hook on that task. As a result, since I do plan to share in the eating of the chickens, my task is to help with the chicken tractor, which isn’t a tractor at all.

Who would have thought a retired minister would find such interesting work?

A busy summer

Over the past week we have been putting the finishing touches on our summer plans. It probably isn’t fair to even call what we are doing “finishing” touches, because there are still a lot of variables in our lives that will play out. A year ago, when we were envisioning how our first year of retirement would come to its end, we thought we would focus on housing this summer. It would be a good time to stay in the area and search for a home to buy. The plan of renting for a year as we scoped out the market seemed to make sense and a year seemed long enough for us to decide what the next steps might be.

There were several things that we had failed to take into consideration.

Our siblings have decided to make the summer of 21 a summer of family gatherings. Both sides of our family have set dates for family reunions this summer. We weighed in on the dates selected for both gatherings and expressed our reluctance to gather so soon, but there were other voices. People are eager to get together. The dates were set. We will work around those dates so that we can participate.

A year ago our daughter and her husband did not know where they would be living after they came back to the United States from several years of living in Japan. Now they are settling into their new home in South Carolina. For the record, that is 3,042 miles from where we are living her in Mount Vernon. The distance is a factor because we have several boxes of items, some a bit heavy to ship, others a bit too fragile to ship, that we need to get to them. That is no problem. One of the things we wanted to do in our retirement is to take a few trips with our camper and explore the country.

Planning a 6,000 mile trip with our camper, however, isn’t quite the way we imagined retirement. As recently as 2006, when we took a month to travel with our camper during a sabbatical, we were able to travel without a set schedule. We headed out with a destination in mind, but we were able to camp wherever the end of the day found us. Except for a few holiday weekends, reservations were not needed. Campgrounds were easy to find and there was room for us. A few years later, we learned to estimate where our day might bring us and call ahead to reserve a spot in a campground. We could adjust our travel schedule day by day as circumstances, energy and other factors demanded.

Those days are gone. In order to have a place to stay in a campground, reservations need to be made, often weeks in advance. As we planned our trip to South Carolina, we discovered several campgrounds, including those in South Dakota, were filled. We had to check campground availability and make reservations for each night on the road. This means that an unexpected event might throw off our entire schedule. If we are delayed by even a day, we will lose deposits on campgrounds and be left scrambling to find places to stay. No wonder the parking lots of Wal-Marts and Cabellas have campers parked in them every night.

When I was envisioning retirement, I thought that there might be less schedule and more free time. Now I find myself working out my schedule three months in advance. Yesterday, I struggled to schedule a routine visit to a dermatologist because my August schedule is so packed.

I don’t mean to be complaining. We have a very good life. We have a supportive and loving family. We have the means to take a wonderful trip this summer. We can delay our house hunting until the fall. We have more flexibility in our schedules than many people.

It is just the nature of the times in which we live that we complicate our lives by trying to do too many things in too short a time span. I’ve been doing that all of my life. I guess I shouldn’t expect retirement to be all that much different.

the journey of Moses and the people of Israel from slavery towards the promised land was much shorter in distance than our planned summer trip. It took them forty years and there were a lot of changes in plans over the decades. During that time the people kept forgetting, over and over again, the basic rules they had received regarding the defense of their freedom. They kept making decisions that led them away from their relationship with God and placed restrictions on their newfound freedom. At one point in the trip, they were prepared to sacrifice their newfound freedom to the security of idol worship. They had to learn over and over again how to live as free people.

We tell their story, over and over again, precisely because we also keep making decisions that limit our freedom. We have to learn, over and over again how to live as free people.

The process of becoming retired takes a bit of practice. As much as I thought about retiring before I did, and as much as I planned, I know that there are many adjustments that need to be made. That is true of any plan. Even when we have a schedule and think we know where we will be each day, we need to develop the kind of flexibility that allows us to make changes and to adapt to new ways and new realities.

2021 will be a year of changes for us. We’ll drive a lot of miles. We’ll make the adjustments needed. We’ll make and change plans. We’ll enjoy seeing family and friends. And there will be days when we are tired and feel like we pushed just a little bit too hard. That’s OK with me. I’m not ready to spend my days in a rocking chair on the porch.

Besides, we haven’t found a home with a porch yet.

Life is good

There have been a lot of conversations among our friends and others about the year 2020. It was, for so many, a difficult year. In March, the pandemic caused so many activities and events to be shut down for a year and more. We have not yet fully returned to our ways of living and doing business that we practiced pre-pandemic. We may never return to all of our pre-pandemic ways. As we near the midway of 2021, conversations are turning to the process of returning to normal. Yesterday, during a virtual fellowship time following worship, we got to talking about what people are looking forward to the most about being fully vaccinated. A common answer was “hugs.” People missed personal contact with those who mean the most to them. Another answer had to do with being able to go out for coffee or a meal.

2020 and 2021 have been challenging years for us in some ways and we certainly don’t want to minimize the loss and sorrow that have accompanied this pandemic. However, the fact that we retired nearly a year ago and we moved during the months following our retirement has meant that we have had stresses and grief that we might have had were there no pandemic. I don’t know how we will remember this past year, but I don’t think our memories will be all bad. There have been some moments of joy and reunion as well as those of sorrow and separation.

Our years are like that. I often cite 2011 as a year of grief for us. Susan and I both lost the last of our parents. I had not fully recovered from the grief of the death of a brother ion 2010. But 2011 was also a year of great joy in our family. Our first grandchild was born. Our daughter was married. We were granted a sabbatical that involved, among other things, some extra time to go for long walks and process our grief and joy. Not everything worked out the way we had planned, but it was a good year for us in some ways even though it was difficult.

Here is one measure of 2021 for us so far. We have four grandchildren. In 2012, we took vacation and were able to be present for the birthday celebration of our oldest grandson. We have made a few other birthdays over the years, including the special joy of being with our son and his family at the time of the birth of their youngest. We planned to be present for the birth of our daughter’s son, but he arrived early so we arrived late. Nonetheless we were able to visit when he was a tiny infant. 2021, however, will be our first year of being able to be present at the birthdays of all of our grandchildren. Yesterday we celebrated the third birthday with our son and his family and plans are in place for us to celebrate our fourth grandchild’s birthday with his family in July. That is a treat that means a lot in a world where people travel so much and we live so far away from parts of our family. We only have two children. One lives in Washington State. The other lives in South Carolina. That’s almost as far apart as you can get in North America. However, we consider ourselves to be lucky. At least they are now both on the same continent, which hasn’t been the case for several years when our daughter lived first in England and later in Japan.

Birthdays are only one way of marking time, but they are times of special memory for us and a good time for thanksgiving. We are so fortunate to have four grandchildren and to have the joy of watching them grow up.

A birthday celebration was only part of our day yesterday. We also had the formal membership welcoming ceremony at our church and became members of our congregation here. Even though the worship was virtual, over FaceBook, we felt warmly welcomed and enjoyed the Zoom fellowship time that followed.

And, in the evening, after the birthday celebration, we were able to take a walk on the South Bay Trail in Bellingham. It had rained earlier in the day, but we enjoyed a dry walk along the historic walk around Bellingham bay with views of the bay to the west and parts of the city to the east. It was a new trail for us and we only covered about half of it, so we still have another walk of discovery ahead of us, but I am sure that it is a walk to which we will return again and again. It is a convenient stop on the way to or from our son’s farm. The long days are giving us more options in terms of what time of day we take our walk. Since we have made taking a daily walk a discipline of our lives, we have learned to appreciate the time together. Sometimes we have a lot to say and talk with each other for the entire walk. Other days we walk part or much of our walk in silence, appreciating our surroundings and the joy of just being together.

Returning to the question of what we are most anticipating now that we are fully vaccinated, returning to in person worship has to top my list. Our church will have its first limited gathering later this month. I’m eagerly anticipating that, but I know it will take some time before we will fully return to worship at the church building and I also know that for some people worship over the Internet will become the new normal of their lives. Hybrid worship is here to stay and just because the pandemic eases its grip on gatherings does not mean that the church will return to a pre-pandemic way of being. Part of the newness brings excitement. Part of it brings sadness. Life is like that in good years and in bad. Tears of joy mingle with tears of sadness on our cheeks.

Still, life is good. And a worship service, a birthday party, and a walk all remind us of how good we have it.


When we are baptized, we are baptized into the church universal. That means that by our baptism we become members not only of a specific local congregation, but of the wider church of Jesus Christ. Our baptism is shared across the differences in individual churches. That bit of theology is shared by the majority of Christian churches, but there are a few that do not recognize the baptisms of other church families. It is a long-standing division in the church. Many people think of that division in terms of the method of baptism. Because some congregations practice baptism by total immersion of the body, while most practice baptism by using water symbolically to pour over or touch the person baptized, it has become common to think of that distinction as the difference between churches. Others have come to distinguish believer’s baptism from infant baptism, saying that baptism should be a matter of individual choice and the one baptized must be old enough to make their own choice. The baptism of infants, and indeed of entire families, however, has been a part of the church from its very beginning. These distinctions of method and of age, however, are not at the heart of the ancient controversy. Anabaptists do hold strongly to their convictions about believer’s baptism, but the name given to this part of protestant Christianity comes not from the age of the one baptized, but rather from the practice of repeating baptism for one already baptized. Mainstream Christianity has accepted baptism as a once in a lifetime event. If it is truly a sacrament, then it is beyond the limits of human frailty. Whether or not we performed the act according to a particular ritual or custom is not the point. If it is indeed the Holy Spirit who baptizes, which is what we believe, then our human part in the ceremony is not the important element.

Christians have been arguing about distinctions of baptism for over 500 years, and it is likely that we will continue to have disagreements about it long into the future. Interesting to me, as a member of the United Church of Christ is that our denomination, formed by the union of multiple predecessor denominations, has elements of both mainstream and anabaptist roots. We practice and recognize multiple forms of baptism. Some of our members have been baptized as infants. Some were baptized as youth. Some were baptized as adults. We recognize baptism by sprinkling and pouring and immersion. As a pastor, I have officiated at baptisms in churches with and without immersion tanks. I have officiated at baptisms in streams and lakes and swimming pools. Our denomination recognizes all of these baptisms as valid and meaningful.

I myself was baptized as an infant. I have my original baptismal certificate, signed by Rev. Brentwood Barker, pastor of the church my family attended. As a young teenager, I was confirmed in that same congregation with Rev. Joe LaDu officiating at the ceremony. In our tradition, confirmation of baptism is the act of free association when an individual joins in an equal covenant with a particular congregation. It was the first of several congregations to which I have belonged. When I was in college, I transferred my membership to a congregation in the town where we went to college. It was in that congregation that we were married and we kept our membership in that congregation when we went away to seminary.

Ministers of the United Church of Christ belong to the local congregations that they are called to serve, so my membership has been transferred to each of the congregations into which I was installed as pastor: Reeder and Hettinger Congregational United Churches in North Dakota, Wright Community Congregational United Church of Christ in Boise, Idaho, and First Congregational United Church of Christ in Rapid City, South Dakota. In the normal course of our lives, we would have already changed our membership to the congregation we participate in here, but the pandemic has meant that the process has taken a bit longer than usual. So today is the day of our formal covenant with First Congregational United Church of Christ in Bellingham, Washington. We will be formally received into membership in this morning’s service. Because this congregation is still meeting virtually due to the ongoing pandemic, the process has been a bit unusual. We actually spoke our part of the covenant in a zoom conference a couple of weeks ago. That recording will be played and the congregation will speak their part of the covenant in this morning’s worship service. Because the service is virtual, some members will be participating live while others will view the service at another time during the week. It certainly isn’t the same as being there in person, but we feel that we are being warmly received and are looking forward to both the worship service and the virtual fellowship hour that will follow.

There is a bit of sadness in having transferred our membership from our Rapid City Congregation. There has been a bit of sadness in each of the other times that I have transferred my membership. I become attached to congregations. I have belonged to 1st Congregational United Church of Christ in Rapid City, South Dakota longer than I have belonged to any other congregation. Transferring my membership, however, does not disconnect me from that congregation. We believe that we are all part of the larger church universal. My baptism has been fully recognized in each congregation that I have joined in this life’s journey.

Through the asynchronicity of virtual worship, our membership certificates arrived by mail earlier this week so we would have them this morning. We are newcomers to a congregation with a long and courageous history. We have much to learn about this specific congregation and we are longing for the return to in person worship, which will begin in this congregation in three weeks on June 27.

The prophet Isaiah spoke of God’s continual creation with words that are often quoted in reference to Jesus: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” (Isaiah 43:19).

Today is a day of a new thing for us.

5 senses prayer

There is a prayer that I like to include in my meditations called the five senses prayer. One simple form it goes like this:
Bring to your mind five things that you can see. Give thanks for each individually.
Focus your attention on four things that you can hear. Offer a thanksgiving for each.
Pay attention to three things that you can smell. Express your gratitude for each.
Name two things that you can touch. Say thank you for each.
Savor one thing that you can taste. Thank God for it.

It seems like it might be a very ancient prayer. I don’t know. Awareness of one’s body and what goes on with it has been a part of prayer for millennia. Counting five senses is a common understanding of human perception. Aristotle, who lived in the fourth century BC, enumerated five senses in his work “De Anima.”

Not every person is capable of experiencing the prayer the way that I do. Those who are blind might choose not to include vision. Those who are deaf might not include hearing. There has been much information about how the disease caused by the COVID-19 virus causes a lessening or even a loss of the senses of smell and taste. And there is no magic or ancient tradition about the order of the senses in the prayer. I suppose I have a preference for saving taste to the last simply because I have a tendency to over eat and so a prayer that keeps the number of things I taste to a minimum is a good idea. One certainly could prayer the senses in a different order on different days. Then there is the fact that neurologists tell us that we have as many as 21 senses. We can sense heat. It is called thermoception. Some scientists believe that the sense of cold is a separate sense. The perception of pain is called nociception. Equilibrioception is the perception of balance. There are other senses, such as body awareness. Can you close your eyes and touch your nose on the first try?

We use the word “sense” in other ways as well. We speak of a sense of direction. We say we can feel a sense of the presence of the Holy.

There is, however, a power in the simple prayer. I am writing in the early hours when it is dark outside. I have a lamp on my desk, but the other lights in our home are not turned on. It is cloudy and there is little light outside of the window. My eyes are adjusted to looking at the bright screen of the computer monitor. But I can easily bring to mind my senses.

I can see the pictures of my grandchildren that I keep rotating on my computer desktop.
I can see the papers on my desk. They remind me of work that is undone.
I can see the pantry shelves filled with food staples and spices.
I can see the dining table that welcomes family and friends to share a meal.
I can see a light on in the home of a neighbor across the street.

I can hear the ticking of a clock.
I can hear the murmur of a quiet conversation of neighbors who are up late.
I can hear a dog barking in the distance.
I can hear the clicks of my keyboard as I type.

I can smell the wet grass in the yard outside my window.
I can smell the roses growing next to the house.
I can smell the vinegar in a spray bottle of home-mixed cleanser.

I can touch the firmest of the old oak library table that is my desk.
I can touch my own cheek and feel my beard.

I can taste cool water from my glass.

One of the things about the prayer is that the world in which we pray is constantly changing. Just now the refrigerator came on behind me. I can no longer distinguish the sound of voices from the neighbors. The dog has ceased its barking. The wind has shifted and I can’t distinguish the subtle scent of the roses. My eyes are drawn to sights I did not list above. Each time I pray the prayer it is different from previous prayers.

It has been twenty years since I suffered burns on my hands, chest and face in an accident. As burns go, it wasn’t very bad. My burns were mostly first and second degree.Other than having a long ambulance ride to the hospital, a lengthy process of debridement of my hands and arms, and a brush with dehydration, I did not suffer much. Still, I used prayers to help me manage the pain and the dermatologist who provided my follow-up care commented about my “zen state of mind” when he changed bandages and probed. I am no expert in buddhism and I didn’t experience it as zen, but I know that focusing on my breathing and saying a breath prayer helped me get through the experience. It was during that time that I prayed the five senses prayer daily. It makes me giggle now to remember because for about ten days the strongest smell I experienced was the unpleasant smell of my singed beard and mustache. It lingered in my nose much longer than I expected. Somehow, however, I could smell other things as well. The silver sulfadiazine cream had a soothing aroma and was cool to touch.

Paying attention to my senses through that experience reminded me of the same thing I notice when I pray the 5 senses prayer today. It is good to be alive. It is good to be able to sense the world around me. There is much for which I am deeply grateful. Even in the times of pain and grief and anxiety, life continues with things to see, hear, smell, touch and taste. Sometimes just being able to focus my mind on another sense provides a way to journey through the pain.

For the senses I have, however many, I am indeed grateful.

Looking up

Not long ago we were walking and my gaze went upward to the canopy of trees overhead. At the same time as I was enjoying the overhead view, I was aware that looking up while walking was affecting my balance. I had to redirect my vision back to my own level to keep myself from staggering. It was an experience that I have had thousands of times before. I think I’ve been looking up towards the sky all of my life. Among my earliest memories is looking up to see an airplane as I heard the sound of its passing. The prevailing winds in my hometown meant that most of the town was two to three miles off of the approach end of the prevailing runway. The result was that the lowest flying airplanes we heard and saw were often heading to land at our airport and my father was the manager of the airport. He also was the pilot who flew the most in and out of that airport. I learned, at a very early age, to identify the airplanes he flew and knew that seeing his airplane come towards the airport meant that he would soon be home.

One of the things I notice about our new home is that I don’t look up at the night sky quite as often as was the case in our South Dakota Home. In South Dakota, we lived at the edge of town. In fact our home was outside of the city limits until it was annexed during the last few years we lived there. Our neighborhood didn’t have street lights. The view of the night sky from our yard was glorious. I loved looking up and identifying stars and planets. Here, in our new home, our backyard is smaller. There are more lights from neighbors’ homes and street lights. And there are clouds in the sky more often. The combination has resulted in a slight change in my behavior when it comes to looking at the sky.

Still, I look up quite a bit. Planes landing at Skagit Regional Airport often fly over town on their way. Fighter jets from Naval Air Station Whidbey Island make turns over town. And the summer weather has meant fewer clouds in the sky.

When we look up at the night sky from a relatively dark place, we can literally see trillions of miles. We can see light that has traveled across the galaxy and even farther across the universe. Some of that light has been traveling for thousands of years. Scientists tell us that the unaided human eye can see a supergiant star in the constellation Cassiopeia that is a little over 4000 light years away. That is a lot of distance.

When we look down at our feet, however, we can’t see very far at all. The roots of the grass in the lawn are just a few inches beneath our feet, but we cannot see them unless we take time to dig and even then we rarely go more than a short distance. I dug a few holes for fence posts this spring. The deepest was probably only about 3 feet deep. Unless I visit a cave that has been opened to tourists, I rarely get a glimpse at what is beneath the surface of the ground. I can see a bit deeper into the water, but I’ve never been in a vehicle that could travel deep underwater. My eyes have only seen things near the surface.

It probably should not surprise us that people think of heaven as being up in the sky and hell as being down under the earth. Those images have been a part of human thought for millennia. No doubt it has something to do with burial customs. Many cultures have cared for the bodies of deceased loved ones by placing them in the ground. Burial keeps above ground scavengers such as rats and birds from eating the body. Burial keeps the smell of decomposition from reaching the surface. Once buried, the body of the loved one can no longer be seen, but people continue to imagine what has happened to that person. Because the presence of breathing is one of the ways we know that a person is alive, it is easy to imagine that the breath - the spirit - of the loved one has left the body. The spirit goes into the air like the wind that we feel. The body goes into the ground where we know it decomposes. Imagery of heaven and hell come to mind.

I am no expert on what happens to us when we die. Although I’ve had my share of experiences with those who are dying, I can only say that death is a mystery. I don’t know exactly what it will feel like to die. I don’t know what will happen to me after I die. My faith, however. convinces me that death is not the end. That same faith, however, does not lead me to the images of Dante’s Inferno. It does not make me imagine streets paved in gold or angels playing harps while floating among the clouds. When I think of life beyond death I don’t think in terms of place or of the physical surroundings. I think of love that never dies. I think of relationships that are more precious than anything that can be owned.

As such, I guess I’m not a very good preacher of heaven and hell. I find no reason to come up with frightening images to scare non believers. I am content with sharing the stories of our people about the love of God.

There are a couple of old small cars that drive around Mount Vernon that are painted with expressions of the faith of the owner. I know they have the same driver because it is someone our son has met. One of those cars has a large sign attached to the roof that says, “Hell is real.” I’m pretty sure the driver of the car could give a description of how that person imagines hell to be. I suspect that the description would involve fire and probably devils with pointed tails and pitchforks. I don’t find seeing the cars to inspire me. Looking at the night stars is much more inviting. For now, I think I’ll keep looking up.


Memory is a fascinating phenomenon to me. Perhaps I notice my memory more these days as I move deeper into the process of aging and am aware that my memory is not as good as it once was. It is something that I have known for a very long time. When I was a youngster, my memory produced more reliable results than it did when I grew older. I can play my entire 4th grade piano recital piece from memory. I have been able to remember that piece of music since I memorized it as a child who was a year younger than our oldest grandchild. I have excellent recall of the 23rd Psalm, which I memorized around the same time. I can recite the Lord’s Prayer, the beginning of the Gettysburg Address, the opening of the Preamble of the Constitution, the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence and several other things I memorized as a child.

Things that I memorized at an older age are harder for me to recall. I’ve memorized countless passages of scripture to use in a single sermon. I could recite them when I delivered the sermon, but cannot do so a week later. I did, as an adult, memorize the birth narrative of Jesus from the Gospel of Luke and the prologue to the Gospel of John. I can recite both, but if you were to read along, you would discover that it isn’t the same kind of word for word accuracy with which I have memorized the Lord’s prayer or the verses of “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.” I know the first verses to dozens and dozens of hymns, but can’t recall the second verses of a large percentage of them. I know the first lines of lots of show tunes, but cannot sing the whole song.

A couple of years ago I discovered that my memory of childhood items isn’t quite as accurate as I thought it was. Cleaning out my mother’s piano bench, I ran across the sheet music to that 4th grade piano recital song. I opened the music and discovered that I had forgotten a whole section of the song. Now I wonder if I remembered that part of the piece when I played it at my 4th grade recital, or if I played it the way I play it from memory now.

I know that my childhood memory is not flawless. It is either that or my brother didn’t grow up in the same house as I, or perhaps he is the biggest liar I ever met. We have divergent memories of the same events from our childhood. Perspective makes a bit difference when it comes to what is remembered.

Much of what I remember comes to me in words. I am a storyteller and I recall stories in words. I also have a fair memory for tune and verse. I can recall a lot of songs. Sometimes, however, memories come to me as bursts of emotion. I remember how something felt. It happened to me twice yesterday.

The first memory was triggered by a bike ride with our nearly seven-year-old granddaughter. We have sought opportunities to have our three oldest grandchildren visit us one at a time, so that we can give special attention to them individually and so that we can get to know them better. Yesterday, our granddaughter was brought to our home by her father on his way to work and stayed until he picked her up on his way home. She baked muffins with her grandmother, did crafts, played games and fixed lunch. She and I went on a six-mile bike ride. She was dressed in pink and as I rode my bike behind her I noticed the bits of blond hair sticking out of the back of her bicycle helmet. That glimpse triggered a strong memory of riding bikes with our daughter when she was young. Our daughter was an early riser as am I, so we would get up while her brother and mother were still sleeping. Sometimes we would go ride our bikes. We liked to go out for breakfast on our bikes. I would have her go in front, so I could keep my eyes on her and remain aware of exactly where she was at all times. I guess I stared at her blond hair poking out of her bike helmet. Yesterday as I watched our granddaughter I was flooded with very pleasant memories with all of the emotions included.

Later, in the evening, after she had gone home, I participated in a Zoom class with members of our church. Another member of the group reported spending much of the previous night in the emergency room. His heart had been racing and they rushed him into the ER and attached a heart monitor while doctors and others scrambled to figure out the best way to provide treatment. Eventually he was allowed to go home, but instructed to rest until his appointment with a heart specialist which will occur this morning. He didn’t tell us many details of his experience, but asked for our prayers. As he described his experience, however, it triggered my memory of when my wife was admitted to the hospital with a heart rate of 185 in Atrial Fibrillation. I remembered how frightened I was. I remembered the next couple of weeks and the panic we had during her treatment. Eventually the treatment was successful, but I was as frightened as I have ever been along the way. Hearing my friend describe his condition, which is not the same, triggered that memory and emotion flooded over me as surely as it did when I was watching our granddaughter earlier in the day.

Memory is a gift. The collective memories of our people is a gift. We are fortunate to know a bit of our history and of the things that hold us together as a people. Recall of emotions is a precious experience. the older I become, the more memories I have to recall. There is great comfort in knowing that I have much to remember twinged with a bit of fear because I know how much have already forgotten. Sometimes, however, just the right event or experience will trigger a memory. For that I am deeply grateful.

House hunting - sort of

There is a headline in the online version of the Washington Post this morning that says, “$1 million over asking: D.C. bidding wars escalate as U.S. housing crunch intensifies.” I didn’t read the article. There is no need. I’m convinced that the houses in the article aren’t the right home for us. First of all, there is the obvious. We re looking for a place to live in Washington State, not Washington, DC. Secondly, we aren’t planning on spending a million, much less a million over the asking price, not that we could if we wanted to.

We have been very fortunate when it comes to housing. The rent for our first apartment, after our wedding, was not measured in dollars and cents. We traded janitorial services for the building for our rent. We could afford it because we were young and energetic. Even though we were both full-time students and I had a part-time job, we didn’t have trouble finding time and energy to do the work. We got pretty good at running a vacuum cleaner and scrubbing bathrooms. We could wash windows and replace light bulbs quickly. I learned to bleed the air out of a steam boiler system in a three-story building pretty quickly. A little care avoids burned fingers. Burned fingers teach you how to avoid future burns.

Our graduate school required us to live at the school. Because we were married that meant that we would live in a one-bedroom efficiency apartment in a building owned by the school. The next year, we went together with other students and rented a house next door, also owned by the school. Summers we lived in a cabin provided by our summer job - managing Camp Mimanagish in Montana. Life doesn’t get much better than living in a cabin in a beautiful mountain valley provided as part of your job. After graduation, we lived in a parsonage for seven years. You don’t earn any equity that way, but the rent is just right. The fact that the church owned the parsonage meant that they could afford to pay our salary and benefits, which was a good thing. These days health insurance premiums exceed our total salary package in that job. A lot of churches have sold their parsonages.

Moving into a community as a pastor, it was easy to find a realtor who belonged to the congregation. From there, we had an agent who was invested in helping us find a place that would work and that we could afford. In two different callings, that worked well for us.

And now, we have found a house that belongs to a couple who have moved to be closer to their grandchildren. They have a son who is in the rental management business, so with his advice and help, they bypassed rental management and are dealing with us directly. It works well for them and it works well for us.

We’re shopping for a place to live, and we realize that the inventory of homes for sale is rather low at the moment and that it may take us some time. We also know that we will continue to revise our vision of what we can afford and how much space we need, but that is a good process, too. After all, we don’t need to find a lot of homes. One will be enough.

Yesterday we had a zoom conference with a few of the leaders of our new church and one of them told us, “I heard you were looking for a place to live in Ferndale. We live in Ferndale, and I keep seeing ‘for sale’ signs and thinking, ‘that might be a good place for them to live.’” We also have met another church member who is a realtor. We’re pretty sure that our church connections will once again be a help as we seek a place to live.

Most importantly, we don’t have to panic. Our rental situation is very comfortable. Our landlords are willing to rent to us month by month once the lease ends.

Still, I’m a bit nervous when I see headlines or stories that talk of bidding wars and people paying over asking price for a home. I have no experience working in that market. The two homes that we have bought in our lives were purchased after a short negotiation following an initial offer that was slightly lower than the asking price. When we sold those homes, they both sold for our asking price. We are used to figuring out a fair price and using the concept of fairness when it comes to making a deal. Once, a few years ago, a car salesman refused my initial offer of a price and refused to negotiate any discount from his asking price. I thanked him and said, “It’s your car. You don’t have to sell it to me.” I found another dealer and another vehicle and I don’t think anyone got upset. The other dealer accepted my first offer, which was lower than the asking price. It is how the game is played in my experience. My father, who was a machinery dealer once told me, “Customers have the book. They can tell how much we are making on a deal. A reputation for excessive profit can do a lot of damage to a business. It’s OK to make money, just be reasonable about it.”

So we may find a house that we like but that isn’t for sale to us on our terms. We like to take time to make our decisions and we like fair negotiation. We just aren’t candidates for a bidding war. I’m not worried. At lest, I’m not very worried.

So rather than spend a lot of time in the next couple of months looking at houses, I think we’ll invest our time and energy in building relationships in the church. They are likely to be the best way for us to find the right place to live on the right terms. People make all the difference in the world and we have the opportunity to meet and work with some very good people. Maybe the woman who keeps thinking “that might be a good place fo them to live,” will find just the right place.

The bell

I’m not practiced at remembering my dreams. I know that for those who pay attention, the skill of remembering dreams can increase. Throughout the history of modern psychology, researchers have learned to interpret many meanings from dreams and there is much that can be learned from them. Long before such notions were a part of the practice of medicine, long before modern scientific medicine existed, dreams were important in the lives of people. The Bible tells of Joseph’s capacity to interpret dreams and how it saved his life and later the lives of his brothers when they went to Egypt to escape starvation during a drought and famine. For millennia, we have believed that the voice of God can be heard in dreams.

Somehow, however, I haven’t been very interested in dreams. The dreams that I do remember are occasionally mildly entertaining, with silly bits of story. My dreams are nearly always incomplete, due, I suspect to my lack of practice at remembering them. Somehow, the notion of developing a discipline of remembering dreams, such as keeping a dream journal, seems to me to risk interrupting the free flow of dream ideas that allows my brain to relax and process memories. I don’t need to remember my dreams in order for my brain to do its work of processing memory.

Occasionally, however, a dream comes to my mind with a kind of freshness that makes me notice.

I’ve been dreaming of the church bell for a couple of nights in a row. I awoke a little while ago practically convinced that I had been hearing the bell from the tower of 1st Congregational United Church of Christ in Rapid City, South Dakota. I know that is impossible. And I don’t think that any of the churches in our neighborhood have a bell. If they do, they certainly don’t ring them regularly as was the case back in our church in South Dakota. In my dream, however, the bell was ringing as clearly as it does from that steeple. The sound in my dream, however, wasn’t the clear ringing that echoes off of the black hills and is heard by the neighbors. It included the thumping of the clapper mechanism that you could hear from inside the building. For a quarter of a century, I mostly heard the bell from inside the building.

The bell was a treasure that was obtained through a lot of hard work and effort. I can’t remember the whole history of the bell, but obtaining it was part of the process of building the current church building in 1959. The bell was imported and it was heavy. Getting it into the tower was quite a process in a time before modern truck-mounted cranes were readily available. Installed along with the bell was a mechanism that provided two ways of ringing the bell. A ringing clapper hangs inside of the bell and strikes the side of the bell when the bell is rocked back and forth by an electric motor. A tolling clapper strikes the bell in a static position and is also driven by a separate electric motor. The clappers are controlled by a clock that is installed in the sacristy of the church. The clock, also dating back to 1959 is an electric-mechanical device that has multiple settings for automatic ringing of the bell. It is a seven day, 24 hour clock that can be set only by moving the hands forward. That means that in the spring, when Daylight Savings Time comes, you move the hand exactly one hour forward. When setting the clock was my responsibility, I used an external clock to make sure that I set it accurately. In the fall, however, it would take a long time to rotate those hands around the clock for 24 hours for six days and 23 hours for the seventh to get it set “back.” The hands cannot be moved backwards. Instead, the practice is to turn off the breaker for the clock at the main distribution panel in the church basement, wait a little more than an hour, turn back on the power and set the clock. If you forget, the bell is going to ring at the wrong time.

During my time at the church, the clock was set to ring the bell at 6 pm on Saturday and at 9:00 am and 9:30 am on Sunday. We also rang it at midnight on Christmas Eve to greet the Christmas morn. It was occasionally tolled at funerals as well. It usually worked, but sometimes there would be a glitch. Sometimes the bell would fail to ring. Other times it would ring for a longer than usual time. Several times, when the representative of the bell company would be in town, I asked them to evaluate the problem. Because the problem was inconsistent, I believed that it probably had to do with a lack of lubrication and regular maintenance of the mechanism in the steeple that actually rang the bell. The company representatives, however, usually thought the clock was to blame. They offered a new digital clock that was easy to set, had a battery back-up for power failures, and gave more precise control of the bell. Unconvinced that this would solve the problem, and seeing no issues with the existing clock, I never felt it was a good investment of the church’s funds to replace the clock. I know, from conversations with church members that some problems with the bell clock remain.

As problematic as it was, I miss the bell. After so many years of working in an office beneath that steeple, there is no bell in my life these days. But I don’t know why it is ringing in my dreams. Maybe it is part of my brain processing the grief of the end of a career that I loved and enjoyed. Maybe it is connected to my missing the people of that church, whose lives inspired and challenged my faith. Maybe it is just missing a routine.

I don’t think I need to figure it out. I like the bell. Having it appear in my dreams is pleasant. I’m just going to sleep on this one.

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