Wednesday, December 24, 2014

The Having a baby in October has been a significant part of my Advent practice this year. 

YHWH brought peace through a baby. For those of us who are close enough to little babies and have not yet repressed our memories, this is entirely unexpected…ridiculous even. 

But we do repress these memories. 

Aside from cuteness, this, I think, is because babies bring with them a new normal. For such small people they wield much power. They completely alter any kind of normal and impose a new normal. But here we find ourselves (I use the plural pronoun loosely!): spending eight hours each day feeding the kid, getting no more than 5 hours of sleep at any time, learning how to care for a 5 and 2 year old while caring for the small one. 

This year the Coxen5 are trying to celebrate Christmastide––or the twelve days of Christmas which occur after Christmas. The season of Advent (the time leading up to Christmas) guides us in waiting for the coming of Christ. Christmastide guides us to normalize life with this baby. 

I'm thinking of Christmastide as a kind of maternity/paternity leave. Each year the church calendar gives us 12 days of FMLA . . .  


The baby has come! And now his tiny cries impose a new kind of normal. 

Are we willing to live into his interruptions and welcome the Kingdom where this baby is King?
   Whenever it comes near? Even if at 2 a.m.?
   Wherever it comes near? Even in places where we're busy doing something else?
   In whomever it comes near? Whether the significant or insignificant? 



Joy to the world,
The Lord has come!
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room
And heaven and nature sing

Joy to the world,
The Savior reigns
Let men their songs employ
While fields and floods
Rocks, hills and plains 
Repeat the sounding joy
The Having a baby in October has been a significant part of my Advent practice this year. 

YHWH brought peace through a baby. For those of us who are close enough to little babies and have not yet repressed our memories, this is entirely unexpected…ridiculous even. 

But we do repress these memories. 

Aside from cuteness, this, I think, is because babies bring with them a new normal. For such small people they wield much power. They completely alter any kind of normal and impose a new normal. But here we find ourselves (I use the plural pronoun loosely!): spending eight hours each day feeding the kid, getting no more than 5 hours of sleep at any time, learning how to care for a 5 and 2 year old while caring for the small one. 

This year the Coxen5 are trying to celebrate Christmastide––or the twelve days of Christmas which occur after Christmas. The season of Advent (the time leading up to Christmas) guides us in waiting for the coming of Christ. Christmastide guides us to normalize life with this baby. 

I'm thinking of Christmastide as a kind of maternity/paternity leave. Each year the church calendar gives us 12 days of FMLA . . .  


The baby has come! And now his tiny cries impose a new kind of normal. 

Are we willing to live into his interruptions and welcome the Kingdom where this baby is King?
   Whenever it comes near? Even if at 2 a.m.?
   Wherever it comes near? Even in places where we're busy doing something else?
   In whomever it comes near? Whether the significant or insignificant? 



Joy to the world,
The Lord has come!
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room
And heaven and nature sing

Joy to the world,
The Savior reigns
Let men their songs employ
While fields and floods
Rocks, hills and plains 
Repeat the sounding joy

A New Normal. A Christmastide Reflection.

The Having a baby in October has been a significant part of my Advent practice this year. 

YHWH brought peace through a baby. For those of us who are close enough to little babies and have not yet repressed our memories, this is entirely unexpected…ridiculous even. 

But we do repress these memories. 

Aside from cuteness, this, I think, is because babies bring with them a new normal. For such small people they wield much power. They completely alter any kind of normal and impose a new normal. But here we find ourselves (I use the plural pronoun loosely!): spending eight hours each day feeding the kid, getting no more than 5 hours of sleep at any time, learning how to care for a 5 and 2 year old while caring for the small one. 

This year the Coxen5 are trying to celebrate Christmastide––or the twelve days of Christmas which occur after Christmas. The season of Advent (the time leading up to Christmas) guides us in waiting for the coming of Christ. Christmastide guides us to normalize life with this baby. 

I'm thinking of Christmastide as a kind of maternity/paternity leave. Each year the church calendar gives us 12 days of FMLA . . .  


The baby has come! And now his tiny cries impose a new kind of normal. 

Are we willing to live into his interruptions and welcome the Kingdom where this baby is King?
   Whenever it comes near? Even if at 2 a.m.?
   Wherever it comes near? Even in places where we're busy doing something else?
   In whomever it comes near? Whether the significant or insignificant? 



Joy to the world,
The Lord has come!
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room
And heaven and nature sing

Joy to the world,
The Savior reigns
Let men their songs employ
While fields and floods
Rocks, hills and plains 
Repeat the sounding joy

Ridiculous. An Advent Reflection.

Having a baby in October has been a significant part of my Advent practice this year. 

We sing a lot about how peaceful the baby Jesus was. This I doubt. 

We sing a lot about how the night was silent. Seriously? Childbirth is a lot of things, but silent is not one of them.

It would be difficult to say that babies bring peace. There's so much crying. So many late nights. So much crying late at night. Some may have you believe that babies are peaceful while they're sleeping. That's true, but it's not true for very long. They only sleep a couple of hours at at time. Then they start screaming again. 

Peace? My toe.

Yet, YHWH brought peace through a baby. For those of us who are close enough to little babies and have not yet repressed our memories, this is entirely unexpected…ridiculous even. 

Are we ready for the unexpected? Have we prepared the way for the ridiculous? 

The little cries of this little one bring peace. 


Ridiculous.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Interruptions. Ain't No Interruption like a . . .

I’ve reflected already about interruptions here.


Last Tuesday I shared with my small group that the Lord has been calling me to welcome interruptions. Later that week I would have my chance. 

Ain't no interruption like the norovirus interruption
cause the norovirus interruption don't stop

The five year old woke up puking each night from Friday-Monday. He puked a good chunk *pun* of the time during the day, too. 

We spent most of these days bleaching anything and everything. 
   We did laundry. (20+ loads. At $2/load, we counted.) 
   We made several trips to the store for some sick stuff. (bleach, gloves, soup, crackers . . . ) 
   We set a timer to remind the boy to drink every 10 minutes. 
   We started and restarted Curious George, Thomas and Friends, Charlie Brown's Christmas, etc. etc. etc. 
   We washed our hands raw. 
   We slept off the norovirus which had incubated in our own tummies. 


Oh yeah, and we have a really busy 2 year old who felt great. He really wanted to play with his sick best-friend. (The bug finally caught him, too. He's sleeping it off as I write.)


Oh yeah, we have a nursing baby. 


- - - - - - -


The Kingdom interrupts our normal lives and guides us into a new normal. 
   This new normal is the space where we tend to the presence of God among us. 
   This new normal is where we tend to one another … in our vomit––whether literal or not. 
   Because when our filth is on our faces and clothes is when the good news is most profound. 

But we have to prepare a way. We must be ready to welcome the Kingdom as it breaks through our normal. 

It is yet to be seen whether the norovirus-interruption will also interrupt our Christmas travel; we leave Chicagoland in five days. If so, we'll have another opportunity to welcome the interruption as a chance for the Kingdom to draw near. 


Friday, December 19, 2014

Interruptions. An Advent Reflection.

We recently welcomed a third boy to our family. In the six weeks since, I've given myself a paternity leave. I've not been studying for my tests. I've not been "productive." But what should have been a peaceful time with the family has been speckled with anxiety. 

Last Tuesday I shared with my small group that I had been anxious. The Lord was calling me to welcome interruptions––from large to small: large, like welcoming a baby into the world. Small, like putting down my book for five minutes to read another book. 

We had been talking about the Sunday's sermon where we heard good news: The Kingdom of God comes in interruptions. We were challenged to ask the question: Have we prepared a way for the Lord to interrupt our lives? How so?

I had to answer "No!" 

My answer is emphatic because the question so literally applies to my life. 

Have I prepared a way for the Lord? 
No. I'm anxious about little interruptions of little people. They're getting in my way. (I confess that while this it looks terrible on the screen, it looks worse in real-life.)

I need to hear: "the Kingdom belongs to such as these." 
   And "Whenever you welcome one of these little ones, you welcome me." 
   And "Whatever you do for the least of these, you have done for me." 

Into interruptions I hear the voice in the wilderness: "Prepare the way of the Lord!" He's coming! 

Or will I be too anxious to welcome his advent? Too busy to put my work down?

Have I prepared a way for the Lord? 
No. I've got this baby who has royally interrupted my life. 
   I'm not studying. 
      I'm not reading. 
         I'm not progressing. 

But there's nothing like a baby to interrupt life, to shake up what's normal so that we can be re-oriented to a new normal.


My question: 
Am I ready to be royally interrupted? Will I hear the angels, celebrating in the fields: "born this day, in the City of David, is a baby, who is Messiah King." 

That's a royal interruption if there ever was one. 

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born a child and yet a king



This post has been simmering for a while. It has taken back-burner because of a significant interruption: Norovirus. I'll post about this tomorrow. Update: You can find this post here.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Learning to See Christ in the Poor

I recently read a disturbing article about poverty. Bring Back the Welfare the Stigma

In my opinion, this is an unacceptable perspective for Christians. Here's why:

First, all people are made in the image of God. As a result, the whole witness of Scripture expects that God's people treat all people with dignity. Any stigma that fails to live up to this ideal falls short of what God expects. I'll just say it: It's sinful.

I could stop the post right there. But let's explore this a little more.

Christopher Wright says  that one of the worst things about poverty is that it is dehumanizing. How so?

First, it's dehumanizing because it limits one's means of providing for oneself and one's family. That includes those who cannot (or will not) work and those who work really hard and still can't provide enough. Theologically, God created humans for work. When there’s no work or not enough comes from hard work, it is less than God’s ideal for humans. This is dehumanizing in the profoundest theological sense.

Second, Wright suggests that it's dehumanizing because stigma converts persons into a political topic. This article suggests that we bring the stigma back. Read it. It’s full of convincing points. But notice what the author doesn’t do: he doesn’t talk about the poor as poor men or poor women. He comes close when he talks about children. But even here it’s a category, a label that fails to recognize the little one who needs to eat––three times today. In other words, the author puts a whole group of people in a category. But this isn’t his greatest dehumanizing sin: he then uses the category for his own political gain. He’s writing to win the reader to his position.

Wright discusses this removal of personhood as he explores Deuteronomy 15. Here Israelites are forced to sell themselves into debt-servitude. They can’t make ends meet, and so they have to sell themselves to another Israelite. Wright explains that the point here is that these people should always be treated not just as persons but as one of the people of God. After working for six years, the Israelite is to be released from his debt. But this isn’t all. He is to be supplied liberally from what the lender/master has. This is the Israelite welfare program and it’s an intensely personal welfare program. There’s no stigma here––only caring for the poor among you. (Notice, too the language that expects the Israelites to care also for the non-Israelites living in their towns throughout Deuteronomy.)

It’s clear that, as Christians, the only stigma that we should have for people is: this is a person who God made and loves enough to die for.

So, what is the alternative to this article’s diatribe that advocates for stigma? I have three thoughts:

FIRST:
If you think that the poor should be shamed, then I challenge you to spend a couple of afternoons this week at your local DHS office. Just take a book and hang out for a few hours. Here’s what I’ve seen at mine:


  • I’ve seen some of what I expect. You know, the guy who’s freeloading on ‘Mer’ca. But …
  • I’ve seen scores of elderly women––doubtless too old to compete in a tight job market––or just too old to work.
  • I’ve seen scores of moms with young children. I suspect that they probably don’t have skills to get a high paying job. But even my stigmatizing friends must give them credit for their arithmetic: If she goes to work at McD’s for $9/hr and then pays someone $10/hr/child for child-care… Isn’t it better for her to stay home and raise her own kids than to go into debt so she can work at McD’s? (It seems to me that we should rejoice in the fact that she kept her children in eutero instead of condemning her for standing in line at DHS.)
  • There are also men. I don’t know their stories. But their faces tell a different story than the freeloaders. And when you listen to them go to the window, you can overhear their stories. Maybe they’ve been laid off. Maybe they made a dumb mistake like wrecking the company truck or failing a drug-test. But, again, in a tight job-market, who’s going to hire a guy like that when they have other options?

What are these folks supposed to do? For a moment let us (perfect-people) forget the fact that they may have made mistakes (getting pregnant––if you’re of the sort that thinks this can be a “mistake,” wrecking the company truck). Right now they find themselves stuck. How should the mom feed her children this evening? How should the young man care for his family if he can’t get work? How should the elderly woman feed herself?

SECOND:
I know many people who work hard––really hard––yet find themselves just unable to make the payments. These aren’t people who have squandered their money or made poor decisions like driving new cars. They’re people who are trying their best to put food on the table, a roof over their head, and care really well for their children by spending time with them rather than excessive time at work. (When you work ¾ of your week so you can send your kiddos to daycare, it’s hardly worth the money.) These are people who are doing what they can to make ends meet––at the expense of doing stuff like saving for college or retirement.

I know many of these people who are ministers to the body of Christ.

I know many seminarians like this. They feel God’s call on their life and they make the financial sacrifices to follow in faithfulness. These folks can stretch a dollar as far as anyone. These folks go into debt. (Seminary isn’t cheap.) But these folks also feel guilty about “taking the handout.” Many of them choose an unhealthy amount of debt instead of the handout.

I don’t think I can judge them either way––handout or no. But it’s hard for me to not pass judgment on the communities of Christians that sent them to seminary, fail to support them while they’re at seminary, and then pay too little for them to pay their school loans and care sufficiently for their families when they graduate from seminary. The story is that the low-paying youth-ministry gig is “entry level job.” And other seminarians feel called to non-lucrative ministries like church-planting or missions. Yet, sadly, I find that these conservative Christian communities are the same ones who shout the loudest about shaming the poor.

Over their shouts I hear Moses’ admonition, picked up later by Paul, ringing: care for the Levite, who serves YHWH and doesn’t have an inheritance of land. In other words, his vocation is the ministry; make sure he has enough. I hear Moses, picked up later by Paul, who admonishes the people of God to not muzzle an ox while it treads the grain.

THIRD:
If
   1.) you’re a Christian and
   2.) you don’t know people in this kind of poverty and
   3.) insist that we should stigmatize “the poor,”
then you should be quiet and listen. You can speak up after you’ve had some time to listen to people. It's not that we can't understand the issues without entering into poverty. But that's just the point. We don't need to understand issues, we need to know people.

By “know a poor person” I mean: come alongside that person financially, emotionally, professionally.

  • The financial piece is obvious.
  • But I add “emotionally” because poverty is a dehumanizing experience. It is the result of work corrupted: whether the work is long and hard and doesn’t provide enough or whether the a person doesn’t work (one’s choice doesn’t matter––there’s emotional damage either way). Not participating in meaningful work is dehumanizing. We were created for work.
  • And I say “professionally” because we should be advocating for and teaching and training and offering meaningful work to (if we have the means) those who are impoverished.


I’m not talking to Republicans and Democrats here––both commit the stigma sin. No, I’m speaking to my brothers and sisters in Christ––those of us who say, along with our King, “My Kingdom is not of this world.” To my brothers and sisters: If you don’t know someone who’s poor, then be quiet. Spend some time listening. And––it’s important that we do this AFTER listening––walk enough miles with a person to own their poverty for yourself.

- - - - - - -

The political answer is complicated and easy. But the Christian answer is simple and difficult: We are called to treat people as … well, people.

And we certainly know what that means.

Each poor person is a person made in the image of God, a person for whom Christ died. A person who is standing in a food line must be known––not stigmatized. Political parties don't have time for knowing; they have time for votes.

But followers of Jesus must take time to know people. After all, we know something truly amazing about poor people already. We know that whenever we take the time to shut our mouths, open our ears, and fulfill the needs of food, drink, clothes, work, … to the least––we do these things for Christ himself.

It seems, then, that our task isn’t to stigmatize the poor, but to train ourselves to see stigmata in the poor, to see the wounds of Jesus in the pain of the other. The King and his Kingdom is close to us in these places.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Yesterday we shared a meal ...

Yesterday our family shared a meal with a house-church pastor and his family. 

Their family is moving this week, so there were boxes around and only a little furniture left. But there was a table. And on that table was amazing, homemade food. And there we were, two families, gathered around the table. 

In many meals there’s a special moment. You know, the moment when everyone is awestruck by the beauty of the food and grieves that we have to dig in and mess it up? That moment before the smell fills the room with anticipation and overcomes the grief? In that moment it struck me: this is a precious meal. 

I knew it was precious because I knew that our friends will soon be hidden from us. They’ll find their way back to a space behind the (non-existent) fire-wall and under the watchful eye of big-brother. It was precious because we were present in a way that the internet can’t bridge. It was precious because we were present together around a table. 

I told myself that, though it didn’t feel like it, this would not be our last meal. There is another meal in our future––a feast, actually. So even though this would be our final meal in this season, we ate with joy because we knew that this wasn’t our last meal.

And sharing the table with our friends reminded me that each time that we gather around the Remembering-Table we are also sharing that table with them. Though half a world separate us, though big-brother’s eye may necessitate that our relationship end, though a (non-existent) fire-wall prevent communication, our Host is One. He transcends distance and time and any big-brother foolish enough to think they hold the power. And our Host sets one table––an extension of which we were blessed to share yesterday evening. 


As an aside, Trinity is an amazing place to have these kinds of experiences! After dinner our families went outside to play on the campus playground. Ours was the only English-only family. So good.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Lent: Good Grief.

This is a post about Lent. I’m only a few years into living by the church calendar. I realize that many of my readers aren’t there, and that’s fine. But I also want to shed a little light on the season of Lent and share a little of what I’m learning through it. 

–––––––

A few days back I made a statement that I’ve been thinking about. 

“We are dust, but our return to dust is evidence of a major problem.”

I’ve been thinking about this because it’s Lent, the time where we settle into the idea of our mortality. Lent, after all kicks off with an ashen, cross-shaped tattoo on our forehead. The tattoo comes with the words: “You are dust. To dust you shall return.”

A good friend has been saying that “Lent is a time where we learn to grieve.” It’s a time between two statements: 
“You are dust. You’ll be dust again” 
and 
“He is risen.”

This is the perspective of Christian grief. Loved ones die. It ought not be this way and so we wait. And, just as we wait for Easter during Lent, so we wait for the resurrection of the dead on the last day. 


Lent trains us in grief and waiting…

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Losing Focus

In Dr. Younger's History of Israel course today, he shared this pastoral note.

Solomon undertakes the building of YHWH's temple. This is a big deal. David wanted to, but YHWH prohibited him.

In addition to building a temple, Solomon built a palace for himself. This makes sense as his father established Jerusalem as the capital only several years below.

In 1 Kings 6-8 we have the narrative of Solomon's building projects.

Here are the details as recorded in the text.


 Measurement
YHWH’s Temple
Solomon’s Palace
length
60
100
width
20
50
height
30
30
time
7 years
13 years

Obviously, the palace is much larger than the temple. But what's not quite so obvious is the time difference. The palace took 6 years longer to "build" than the temple. But the size difference between temple and palace doesn't warrant nearly doubling the amount of time. So what took so long? Interior decorating.

Both of these not-so-subtly indict Solomon as a man who is more concerned with his own name than YHWH's.



On top of these indicting numbers, we also have the structure of the text itself. It also reflects Solomon's shortcomings.

1 Kings 6 and 8 tell the story of the building of the temple. Chapter 7 tells the story of the palace. So, here we have a temple building narrative that gets interrupted by the narrative of building the palace.

Or, to quote Dr. Younger, "In the middle of the building of the temple, we have a narrative of Solomon losing his focus."

–––––––


And, in keeping with a Solomonic theme: There's nothing new under the sun.

We, too, build for ourselves,
   bigger
      newest
         nicer

when we should be building for the Kingdom.

Monday, March 24, 2014

Death: Not the Way It's Supposed to Be

Dad’s been dead for almost three months now. It was only a few days ago that I had my first good cry about it. This is the first of a series of entries that I wrote in the days following dad’s death. 

–––––––
–––––––
–––––––

Three weeks ago now, my dad died. As it goes with deaths, Ive had moments where it’s been difficult to get used to a new kind of life. 

Moments like yesterday when I built a really cool train track for the boys. What made it cool was all of the bridges. The piers for these bridges were granddad’s Christmas present to the boys. It was less than a month ago that dad and I were in the shop cutting and sanding the piers. I really wanted to FaceTime him so he could see the boys enjoying them. 

On Tuesdays and Fridays I hang out with the boys all day. Before he died, I would give dad a call after the boys woke from their naps. Now I’ve got to find something to do after naps and before dinner.

“It’s the little things,” a buddy told me. And he’s right. It’s normal life without dad that’s the hardest. 

–––––––

Death.
Dead. 
Die.



–––––––

Even seeing these words on the screen is hard. 

And so we insulate ourselves even from the words. 

Just tonight we had some girls from T’s dorm over for dinner. K is a Yooper. (That’s a resident of the U. P., which, for my southern friends, is the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.) K grew up deer hunting. Her roommate, M, grew up in the suburbs. During our post-dinner conversation, M realized that the deer in their freezer was killed by K. (Or one of K’s kin––they killed so many last season that K couldn’t remember.) M was shocked. She repeated––loud enough for our neighbors to hear: “You killed the deer in our freezer?!” 

The irony is that M had a pile of chicken bones on her plate. 

The problem wasn’t meat, but killing an animal. 

Aren't we all a little like this? The disconnect in M’s mind between the pile of bones on her plate and the meat in their freezer highlights how we insulate ourselves from death and dead bodies. And this insulation is thickest when dealing with the death of the people who are closest to us. 

Perhaps it’s obvious (and an obvious understatement): We are uncomfortable with death. We are uncomfortable and so we hide, repress, and avoid it. 

As I’ve been living in this uneasy space, I’ve been encouraged to hold two things in tension. 

The first is that I shouldn’t hide. I cant build a track without a tinge of grief. Each Tuesday afternoon (so far) has  brought a cloud of loss and loneliness. But no matter how uncomfortable I am, I have to be sure that I’m not hiding. (As an aside, I'm so grateful that, on Tuesday evenings, we meet with our house-group from church––a place where I’m drawn out of hiding and into the life of community.

The second is that I’ve actually come to appreciate the fact that death should make us uncomfortable. It would have been easy to point to the bones on M’s plate and say “Seriously!? Don’t you see the irony? Death is the way its supposed to be.” Or, more close to home, to touch the cold hands in the coffin or point to the fresh pile of dirt and say: “You knew it was coming. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” 

After all, “You are dust and to dust you shall return.”

Christians believe that this is a lie––or at least only part of the truth. Death should make us uncomfortable because death is not the way it’s supposed to be. We are dust, but our return to dust is evidence of a major problem. 


I’ll explore this problem more in the days to come. But this is a good place to sit for a while: faced with our own mortality and with the sin that causes it. And now, as we remember Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, it’s good for us to be faced with the sin that caused his death, too. It is there, after all, that the problem meets its solution.

Monday, March 17, 2014

My First Tears

I have a confession: Saturday I shed my first tears about dad’s death. Those close to me have been so supportive. They’ve encouraged me to be wherever I am whenever I’m there. They’ve given me space to grieve in whatever emotional state I’ve been in. I’m thankful that I’ve been able to be present with my emotions. Even so, I was somewhat surprised that it took the tears so long to come. Here is my confession. 

Saturday was beautifully sunny day. Though it was only 30 degrees, it looked like it should be 75. So there I was, plugging away, learning the Hebrew of Psalms 73-89. (I hope to make at least one post about this soon.) As I often do, I was listening to a Pandora station that I’ve tweaked for well over 5 years––crafting it through thumbs up and thumbs down. Needless to say, the station plays a large smattering of music. (Right now it’s playing “I’ll Fly Away" by Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch.) 

Then it happened: Pandora played “Stand By Me” by Ben E. King. This is not a song that’s especially close to my heart (or to dad’s), but the psalms of lament, the day, the sunshine, and finally the song stirred something within me––a deep and beloved memory:

When I was a kid, Saturdays would roll around and we’d often load up in the pickup and drive to OKC for Taco Bell. Now this was back in the day before every small town had a Taco Bell / KFC combo so it was quite a treat. Oh how dad, Matthew, and I loved that hot sauce :). Seriously, we’d drive 70 miles for Taco Bell. Then I’d fall asleep in the back seat as the Oklahoma plains passed in the window. And for most of those miles, we’d be listening to oldies. 

And so I wept. I grieved dad’s death. I grieved the loss of my childhood (a really great childhood). I missed my mom and brother. But mostly I missed dad. And so I wept.



–––––––––––



In the days following dad’s death, I wrote quite a lot. Most of it I wrote hoping to publish it here. But, in keeping with my theme of being present with my emotions, I don’t know how much of this will actually make publication. I haven't yet felt right. But there are some things I’d like to share. Maybe soon.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Thanks from the Cox Family

Here's a thank you that I wrote on behalf of our family for the Weatherford Daily News:

From the Byron Cox family:

A few weeks ago our family lost a husband, dad, granddad, brother, and uncle. And our community lost its Chief of Police. 

As a family, we would like to express our gratitude to the community of Weatherford. The countless encouraging words and prayers, cards and phone calls, many plants, seemingly endless supplies of food, and donations to Multi-County Youth Services have brought us comfort and joy in our grief. Thanks you.

We would also like to express our thanks to the Weatherford Police Department. Through the years you have become like family to us. We know better than most that your service too often goes unappreciated. Thank you. 


As Byron’s health steadily deteriorated, he steadily rose to the challenge. He did so because he loved his work. He loved serving this community and spent his life seeking to improve it. As a community, your love and support of us in these days is a reflection of what Byron loved about Weatherford. We are truly grateful to call Weatherford “home.”

Monday, January 27, 2014

The Destructive Flood: The Crash of the HD

This is another geek-post about how I do my work as a PhD student . . .

In order to farm in the arid world of ancient Mesopotamia, the Tigris and Euphrates rivers were used for irrigation. When the rivers overflowed, crops (and, by extension, lives) were destroyed. I've been thinking a lot about the work that goes into farming (thanks to Jayber Crow).

I'm a PhD student, which means that my work doesn't go into maintaining the life-sustaining farm, but it goes into bits and bytes. (A buddy and I have explored this metaphor: if we treat our "work" like farming, we find that we are more faithful to "work hard"––up before the sun, stopping for meals, but then getting right back to it . . . )

My destructive flood? The hard drive crash.

I'm careful that the most important stuff makes it into my dropbox folder, but I still can't afford put everything there.

But what about everything else? As a Mac user, I've always wanted to use Time Machine but I wasn't sure the best way to do it. My external HD isn't big enough for everything that I need it for––especially when Time Machine is included in "everything."

So, I decided to add a second, 1 TB hard drive to my MacBook.
(Other options: replace the stock HD with a SDD which are better. Or, if really pressed for virtual space, one could replace the stock HD (mine is 320GB) with another 1 TB or bigger . . . but who has that much stuff?)

So, I gutted the SuperDrive (MacBook's DVD drive, mine only sporadically worked, anyway) and replaced it with the 1TB HD.

Supplies:
-An external DVD drive at $30 (which I bought a while back because SuperDrive wasn't so super and we NEEDED to play Thomas the Train DVDs in a bad way)
-A holder for a HD at $8 (It even comes with a little screwdriver!)
-An external HD (I bought this one because of it's size to price ratio; at that time it was on sale for $60.)
-Grand total = $100 for 1,000 gigs. Not too shabby.

Then, I watched a few YouTube videos (like here) about the process, which is really simple.

Install according to the videos.

Set up the HD. (I partitioned mine at 600GB and 400GB; my iPhoto library is on one partition.)

Set up Time Machine.

Then, voila. Time Machine backs up on the hour. Every hour. No matter where I am.


- - - - -
In addition, I use my external HD as another Time Machine backup. Pretty cool.

Also, I've noticed that the second HD does decrease the battery at a faster rate.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Using Mellel's Tables with Hebrew Text

Though I know many who have tried and found it wanting, I love Mellel. I declare it THE word processor for mac––and almost necessary if you're doing language work that is RTL (right-to-left), like biblical Hebrew.

Some friends don't like Mellel because it's quite a bit simpler than what they might be used to with Microsoft Word. But the simplicity is the thing that I like most about THE word processor: You're in control.

But there is one area where the simplicity is somewhat limiting: tables. Mellel doesn't offer as many controls with tables as does Microsoft Word, but the ease of use with RTL and the fact that I need to use tables from time to time when using Mellel for my academic work means that I've learned a thing or three about how to make it work.

And, because @ps_byrd recently asked if I had any tips on how I use Mellel to work with Hebrew text, I thought I'd provide a brief step-by-step.


How I use Mellel for doing Hebrew work:

1.) Grab my passage from Logos. ("Copy"or "Export" functions.)

2.) Copy that passage into a spreadsheet program. (I use Excel, but I think that OpenOffice and maybe even Google Docs will do the necessary tasks with right-to-left Hebrew text.) I do this because this copy/paste puts all of the verses of biblical text into their own cell. A simple copy/paste into Mellel puts all of the verses into one cell. (See Figure 1.)
Figure 1

3.) Manipulate the cells so that I have a column for chapter and a column for verse. This manipulation is much easier in the spreadsheet program with the drag/autofill feature. I also like for my chapter and verse to be on the RIGHT side of the text, so I move them there. (See Figure 2.)
Figure 2

4.) Copy and paste the cells from the spreadsheet into Mellel. Don't paste them into a table, just directly into the document. Also, you'll probably want to change the page properties to landscape, lose any header/footer/page #s. (Use the "Page" palette for this.)

5.) I add two columns to the right and change their sizes. I use these columns to keep track of parsing, vocabulary, or translations and notes. I change the font of the whole table in Mellel to a custom made style set where Times New Roman is the main font and SBLBibLit is the secondary font for the secondary language input, Hebrew. Then I'm ready to roll. You could use footnotes (or endnotes) to make these sorts of notes, too. (See Figure 3.)
Figure 3

Questions? I'd love to hear them.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

A Person Who Makes Excuses

“Dad, I’m tired.” 

Over the last few days, this phrase has been muttered in the most pitiful voice Than can muster. It always follows correction. 

“Dad, I’m tired.” 

Bill Cosby, that insightful philosopher of parenting, tells a story about how his mother used to tell him that she’d knock his brains out. He says, “I always wanted to get some calves brains and have them in my hand. When she whopped me aside the head, I’d throw them on the ground. But knowing my mother it wouldn’t work. She would have said, ‘Pick up your brains. Have you lost your mind?’”

Bill had to have been an exasperating child––he certainly wants us to think so. But I think his mother’s experience is a fairly universal parenting experience. As a parent I often stumble into truth because of exasperation and exhaustion. For me this show of clumsy mental footwork usually falls out of my mouth and I wish that I hadn’t incriminated myself. 

But in life there is no fifth amendment right. We can try to hide our guilt and sweep it under rugs. We can lie to ourselves and pretend that something didn’t happen. But sin is sin. Even if we believe the lie, at some point exasperation will set in and we’ll stumble into the truth. The self-incriminating truth will fall out right out of our own mouths. 

“Dad, I’m tired.” 

This morning, following this whine, I stumbled into such a truth. My own words convicted me. I just stumbled into it. “Son, we don’t make excuses. We ask for forgiveness.” 

As people who know and experience the grace of God, we are people who don’t make excuses. Rather than hide, sweep the mess under the rug, or believe the lies that we tell ourselves, we come clean. Sin is sin. 

The reason that we can come clean is the truth of God’s grace. We can come clean because we’re not clean. When we understand God’s love for us, we can do nothing except face our sins. We don’t make excuses because we know that the only way that we can become clean is to come clean. “There is a fountain filled with blood …”

“Dad, I’m tired.”

As I’ve become more and more aware of Than’s whiny-excuses, I’ve also become aware of my own. I pray that I might receive the grace to make confessions instead of excuses.