Of Dogs and Theology

I perused Andrew Perriman's Open Source Theology site today. I don't understand half of what Andrew talks about but I like him. He's a lovely guy. But that's not what I've set out to comment about. I want to comment on his opening sentence in which he compares emerging church theology to reformed theology by catagorizing them as certain types of dogs.

"The doctrine of penal substitutionary atonement remains a major bone of contention between the yapping, excitable Jack Russell of the emerging church and the snarling pit bull of reformed theology."

We are a family that loves dogs. We've had MANY. Why many? Because shocking numbers of nice dogs met untimely deaths during their adventurous lives in Africa. Those stories are for some other time.

I like this comparison between the emerging church (Jack Russell) and reformed theology (the pit bull.) I like it because I understand it really, really well. We had two Jack Russells and a pit bull in Portugal. OK, the pit bull was technically owned by my landlady's family, but he shared our garden and believed that he was a part of our family.

The Jack Russells we've had through the years share these traits: very intelligent, very fast, very sensitive, very brave. The pit bull, as well as the numerous Ridgebacks and other big, strong dogs we've had through the years, share these traits: very strong, very loyal, very dependable, and (believe it or not) very safe.

However, the Jack Russells were also frequently braver than they should be, charging leopards and cobras and baboons without back-up. They were often so obsessed by what they were onto, be it a mouse under the sofa or a monkey in a tree, that they could not stop and listen to anyone around them. Calling them off something they had set their mind to was tough going, nigh on impossible.

The big dogs had some problems too. They were (comparativelyly) slow to notice what was going on and slow to respond to the clues. They could miss early danger signs. They were slow to reach the site where their strength was needed.

The Jack Russells had incredibly powerful senses and they picked up on what was going on around them before anyone else had a clue. This was an invaluable asset. We depended on their keen senses and courage to investigate. But sometimes this meant they went charging off without support to face that which was threatening our safety. How many times has Byron come around a corner to find his Jack Russell firmly attached to the wrist of a baboon?

Baboons aren't a personal threat to adult humans, but they regularly raid the precious family gardens of struggling African farmers who are desperately trying to raise food. The baboons feast on the maze as if it was planted for them and they are bold and haughty to small children who try to guard it. They are strong and fierce and not to be messed with. So a Jack Russell, flying through the air, attached by jaws to the flailing wrist of a big male baboon is not a good thing. Baboons kill dogs regularly.

But with Byron, as he rounded that corner, arrived The Big Dogs. The big dogs, now fully attuneded to what was going on, tore into the situation with awesome strength and determination. Now that they were aware of the danger at hand and had caught up to the site that the Jack Russells had been screaming from, they were fully engaged. With the early warning signs of the Jack Russell and her courage to go after what's out there, the strength matched with experience that the big dogs possessed came into full use.

Together, the Jack Russells and The Big Dogs were the most amazing team. But only together. Without each other, they were lacking in serious ways.

One was quick to recognize what was going on in the world around her and brave enough to go there. But she couldn't last there alone. The other was slow to respond to the environment and slow to reach the place where she was needed. But once there, she was strong and experienced in a doggy-wisdom kind of way. She had power to compliment the speed and courage of the Jack Russell.

Hhhhhmmmm. As I said, I like Andrew's metaphor. In his one sentence, I've learned a lot.

Recently on our Screens

Last night we watched "Akeelah and the Bee." It's about an 11 year old girl in south central LA competing in a spelling competition.

Very sweet! Predictable as all get-out but so cute and happy-making! It's one of those rare ones that engaged everyone in our family ages 46 down to 7. You should have seen Trevor, (17 soon) yelling and cheering and nervously waiting during the championship.

On the plane over I watched "The Wind That Shakes the Barley." It's about Ireland's struggle against England. Super intense and grief-producing. Not recommended for little kids! Heather was watching something else. It was amazing and horrible. Yes, I recommend it.

I really don't like TV

Last night we were all so grumpy. It was related to what I was just talking about, being a little out of sorts from being in transition.

But it was also the television. The stuff on TV is garbage! We were all in the living room with this vague idea that maybe something nice would engage us together, but it was all just so stupid. And every other minute there is a long commercial break!

We don't really watch television. Not because we are so righteous, but because we have lived our years as family in foreign countries where we either were too far away from anywhere to receive TV signals, or we were too lazy to listen through the language barrier. It's pretty nearly impossible to find something that will suit our whole family anyway, given the fact that we spread our children out over many years. But we're not all that conservative. We watch lots of films and some of them have been amazingly stupid and/or inappropriate.

So last night, as we got more and more cranky, I realized I was thankful for one more thing. I'm thankful we have been spared the stupidity of TV. We shut it off.

Heather and I read a story. Then I made her a bed on the floor in our room. She needed to camp-out near us to help her discombobulated feelings. I rejoined the boys in the sitting room and found that they had put on a really cool DVD documentary about Africa that a friend had recently dropped by.

It was amazing how much more peaceful we felt by the time we went to bed.

Done Yet?

Three and a half weeks into our time in the States and I think we're all looking around like, "Well, this was nice! Are we done yet?"

I know it's just a phase but this week I can feel my whole little family kind of pulling their hair out. Heather keeps starting to cry about little things. She is missing my folks, who are away this week. She is missing Jesse. She is missing Portugal, Barbara, Jenelle.

When Colin came in from school yesterday, hungry and in need of a snack, I offered him some lovely yoghurt from Trader Joe's. He was a little disappointed in it. "Doesn't taste like Portuguese yoghurt," he said.

It's normal that we're all feeling a little displaced. The first three weeks have been full of getting ourselves up and running here but we're far enough along in that now that we're not consumed by that task. We suddenly have time to feel homesick.

We may not have a home of our own just now, but we have SO MUCH to be thankful for...

I'm thankful for such a nice place to be displaced in. I'm thankful for my parents' comfortable home and comfortable selves. I thankful for Sue who smiles and laughs and throws her life open to me. I'm thankful for Rachel, my sister-in-law, who has the kettle on when I walk in. I'm thankful for Dan and Kathi who drive 200 miles in one evening just so we can have dinner together. I'm thankful for the people at Genesis who make us feel that we are a blessing. I'm thankful for credit cards and TARGET stores :-) I'm thankful for the oldies radio station that plays fun tunes that make me smile.

Yes, there is much to be thankful for. God, the wild and journey-leading God, pushes, prods and leads us on....

But He doesn't just go out before us. I feel him alongside of us as well.

Embarrassed to Be Me

So today I needed to fill the tank in the little white van for the first time.

(By the way, the little white van is a very nice Toyota and we are eternally thankful to John and Deanne who win extra points in heaven by loaning their vehicle to missionaries who loiter around LA looking helpless!)

Anyway, I had to fill it up today because the little light that looks like a petrol pump was glowing at me.

First of all, the petrol station that I used to go to is no longer there. So I meandered here and there, tired after-school-kids in tow, until I found pumps. I pulled in part of the way and, after craning to see which side of the car the tank is on and then getting out to look, finally noticed that there is a clever note right on the dash that says Fuel Tank with a left pointing arrow next to it. So handy! The Toyota people were thinking of me when they included that. Only they must have been thinking of someone more clever than I am because I didn't actually see their nice note until after I had climbed out of the car and located the tank myself.

Anyway, I was then fully stopped in my tracks by the mysterious missing lever that opens before-mentioned tank door. That's not the right name. What do you call that little door that covers the opening to the tank? We call the lid a gas cap. But what is the door called? And what is the name of the thing the gas cap is covering? It's not really the tank. The tank is under the car...

Oh never mind.

Anyway, I spent a full 4 minutes searching all over the dash and in the immediate area for the lever. I got Colin to come help me look. He's the one who spotted it. It was in a very different location that the one in my old Mitsubishi and my older still Peugeot didn't have one at all. So he spotted something with a petrol pump on it and we were saved.

Or so I thought. Now I stood staring at the actual pump. I knew I was supposed to do something with my credit card. I finally worked out to swipe it through, enter my postal code, and begin. But I was still moving slowly. The note inside the un-named door to place where you fill the tank said "Unleaded only." That's fine except none of the options on the pump stated whether they were leaded or unleaded. The last of the four options said Diesel and I wished I was in Portugal where I know diesel is what I want.

There was a slightly odd looking woman standing not far away and I wasn't altogether sure she was in possession of all her faculties, but I asked her if she happened to know which pump was unleaded. She walked over and read the labels to me and announced what I already knew, that there was Regular, Plus and Premium. But no, she didn't know anything about unleaded. I had a sneaking suspicion by now that they are all unleaded, but I was afraid of making a mistake. I have been with Byron when we got the wrong fuel in Kenya, or maybe it was fuel that was mixed with water, and I remember it was a terrible pain in the rump draining the tank and getting things cleared out.

Sigh. I swallowed my badly diminished pride and walked over to a nice looking man who was pretty cute and pretty close to my age, and just let myself look like a complete idiot. "Which one is unleaded?" I asked, resisting the urge to explain that I'm not always this stupid but I have just come in from Europe and I haven't been at a fuel station in the U.S. for a long time. He told me they were all unleaded but as I walked away he said "Don't use the diesel!" Oh pain in my heart! He really must have thought I was unbelievably incompetent.

So finally, victory! We got the tank filled and even remembered to push the little button on the pump that said "Yes" so that I could get a receipt. Heaven help me if I show up to Byron without my receipts!

I made it home, deeply shamed by my inability to look cool at the pump and longing for a cup of tea to soothe my pride. Sue was just leaving as I pulled up. She was dropping off an email that she had not been able to work out how to forward on to me.

Well! At least I know how to do THAT!

50 Years Ago Today

Look at my parents! Aren't they just about the cutest couple you've ever seen in your life??

Today is their 50th anniversary!

Woah Nelly!!

Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for loving each other for all these years!

To Know and to Be Known

All is going well as we begin navigating this season in the States. But last night I cried when I got into bed. I miss my community. A lot. I miss seeing people that I know (really know) and who know (really know) me.

I kept picturing Dane just back home in Malveira de Serra after a week in Cascais Hospital. Dane! I love him so much. My whole family loves him and his whole family. Dane the dancing pilgrim, the poet, the dreamer, the surfer, the singer, the smiler. Dane who sits in the back seat with Trevor and makes me laugh till great big tears roll down my cheeks and I can hardly see the road. He's been hurting! He's had a tube poked into his chest. And we didn't get to go see him in the hospital and squeeze his hand and make him laugh and pray and give him kisses on his forehead.

He didn't need us to be there. He had lots of people in and out of his hospital room. But he is very important to our family and it just felt sucky to be so far away.

But it's more than just feeling sad that someone we love was in pain. It's the whole thing of knowing others and being known. The way Carey knows I hate confrontation and would rather do almost anything else. They way Marty knows I'll sing with him if he gets out the guitar. The way Nelly knows when I'm tired even when I think I'm covering for it pretty well. The way Jasmin rings to catch us up on what's happening in her life. The way Ben comes down the stairs like he's always lived in our house. They way the world seems more beautiful when Barbara is around. The increased sense of wonder that Jesse brings. And the way we're all joined by an ache to see hope come into people's lives.

It's such a basic need, this need for community.

It's like food, water, air.

Our Dog

This is Charlotte, our dog, snoozing beside Heather last winter in Lisbon.

Charlotte arrived here in LA on Tuesday night. Couldn't make our flight last week due to complications.

It feels better to have Char around. She makes the garden look more friendly. (Though she wanted to kill my brother, Greg, when he arrived last night late on his very big motorcycle.)

I could write a long post about all the dogs we've ever owned entitled "Idols and Security Blankets" but I'll let it go with this simple admission... We feel better now that Small White Dog has caught up with the rest of the fam.

Blog Answer Man

People have been having trouble posting comments as Blogger makes some changes.

My Blog Master says:

"I think it has to do with the new "beta" version of Blogger.
Some bloggers like myself have signed up for the beta version. I don't know how many have.
Maybe half? Anyway, I think they're having problems with communication
between bloggers using the "old" version and the "beta" version.

Here's the workaround. If you want to leave a comment on my
blog, go through the usual routine: find the page, open the comments
section, write your comment, THEN where it says "choose an identity,"
don't choose your blogger account, instead choose "Other." Enter
your name and website manually, and publish the comment as you
normally would."

Thanks, Kelly!

Weirdos

No matter how many times we return to the States, we never stop feeling like weirdos when we get here. I swear, we feel so odd!

It's particularly bad during the first week. We are jet-lagged and cultured-shocked. Culture-choked, as Barbara says. God bless her use of the English language! Her English is so good! But tiny mistakes make things come to light in great ways. So yea, we get culture-choked.

Byron and I ventured into Trader Joe's the other day. OK, it was on our first full day back. But anyway, we needed some food.

I LOVE TRADER JOE'S! Everything is beautiful! The food, the lay out, the choices, the friendly people who work there. I used to tell Byron, when we lived in the wilderness of East Africa, that I could stay there forever if there was just a Trader Joe's.

But it's SO overwhelming! The place just seems so perfect and amazing!

Well, we thought we were covering for our freaked-out-ness. Thought we looked like the other people in the shop, casually making choices and dropping the items into our baskets.

But when we got to the cash register, the friendly man looked more kind and concerned then I would take to be normal.

"Have you guys been on a long trip this summer?" he asked

We started laughing. "It's that obvious, isn't it?"

A long trip! Um.... yea.

Changing Worlds

It's 4am and Heather and I are up watching the Disney version of Annie. Today's jet lag schedule is a big improvement over yesterday's when Heather awoke at 1:30am and stayed awake for the rest of the night and then all day as well. She finally collapsed about 9pm last night.

But the odd hours of jet lag are just inconvenient. It's the heart lag that gets me. This whole thing of changing worlds is huge. Maybe not for everyone. Maybe there are those who move from one place to another without much of a tremor. But that's not how I'm wired.

I should be dehydrated after all the tears I've cried in the last six weeks. The goodbyes have felt endless.

But through the years I have learned to be thankful for the pain of parting. I'd be worried if we breezed casually in and out of the communities we've been immersed in.

On Tuesday afternoon the Triplet boys (www.tripletrock.com ) stopped by to say goodbye before our Wednesday morning flight. We had loaded the container all morning and watched the truck pull off down the road. Carey, the Final Packing Day Angel, brought us lunch and, after pausing to fill up on her good cooking, we were now closing up our suitcases.

On any other day, if the boys had shown up around 4pm, we would have sat around a pot of tea and a packet of biscuits. But as there wasn't a kettle or cup anywhere in the house, they had driven all the way into Belem to collect fresh pastries from the famous pastry shop that has stood there baking unbelivably tasty Pastel de Nata since 1837. They had plastic cups and cartons of ice tea with them so we had our goodbye tea party with style. When the gate banged shut behind them, our little family stood on the porch and cried.

When our bags were finally closed, we walked though the empty house and then stopped in the living room for a thank you prayer. We thanked God for the good years we'd had there, the people who had filled our rooms and our hearts, and for the blessing of His presence that we had enjoyed in this place. Then we headed over to the Uhler house where we ate more good food. More tears when Jasmin, who had joined us there for dinner, left. Ug.

The next morning brought the natural amount of stress that getting five Bordens and their ten suitcases plus one dog to the airport by 6am should produce. After what we thought was careful preparing of all the arrangements to get our wee doggy to California with us, we were pretty annoyed that the supervisor told us Heathrow would not allow her to travel on to LA from London because they would feel her specially purchased crate was too small. Major frustration and hassles! God bless Marty and Carey for taking Charlotte home with them and promising to go get her a still larger travel kennel and ship her off to us ASAP.

More tears again as we clutched this precious family. Six years of teaming with the Uhlers has left us deeply bonded and extremely fond of each other. It's almost impossible to imagine daily life without them.

The flight to London was uneventful. The five hour lay-over, long and boring. The flight to LA was more of the same.

And with that bit of air travel, our world changed.

We were collected into the arms of family and safely delivered to clean, comfy beds. Still, the U.S. is familiar and foreign to us. It is confusing and comforting, attractive and not so attractive, easy and very difficult all at once.

On the continuing adventure, we are thankful for the shelter of my parents home. We seem to always need this half-way house before we dive into the United States. It is, for us I believe, something very like Lewis' Wood Between the Worlds.