My Year in Books

My Year in Books (Aug 2010 - August 2011)

Bridge to Terebithia

Peace Like a River

So Brave Young and Handsome

Harry Potter 1-7

Bread and Jam for Frances

Saint George and the Dragon

The Silmarillion

The Hobbit

From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya

The Fellowship of the Ring

The Two Towers

The Return of the King

Blue Like Jazz

The Children of Hurin

Can I?

Can I paint the plants with the colors I choose?

Can I raise trees to their full height?

If strawberries came to fruit by my hands, would they be so sweet?

Can I stretch out my hands and tell the tide to cease?

Can I make the waves slow down or speed up?

If I commanded them not to crash, would they obey my booming voice?

Can I catch a fish with my bare hands?

Can I soar over the sea with keen eyes and an open mouth?

If I reached for a fish, could I be successful enough to provide for my kids?

When the clouds glide in, can I blow them away?

When the sun breaks out, can I send it back?

If I tried to stop the rain, how many drops could I keep from hitting the ground?

When the earth rumbles, can I speak peace to it?
When the ground opens, can I cast a covering over it?
If the winds combine, can I deflect the twister from its path?


Who can do any of these things?
Who can speak "Do" and it does?
The Lord has the power! The Lord is his name!


When he speaks his love for me every day, can I stop up my ears?
When he throws his love at me, can I move aside and avoid it?
If the God of the world declares an infinite intimacy for me,
             could I ignore it?


Not I, but he.
Only he.
And I cannot ignore it.

Circular Thinking

After three flights of stairs we entered Timothy's office. The five of us sat down in his small seating area and gladly gave him the respect he was due. As a gentle, experienced missionary in a very hard place, it was a privilege to spend time with him.

We each sat with slight smiles and focused faces and asked questions. "How long have you been here?" "Is it hard having an HIV/AIDS ministry?" "What is it like living here?" He quietly answered our questions with exceptional English and revealed that he had a partner who began the ministry with him, and this man had passed away.

Quietly, I asked a direct question: "When did he pass away?"

"We started working together 14 years ago," he began. "After we met..." The story continued for a quarter of an hour, as Timothy shared their history as partners, how they served God together, and how the man eventually became very sick. He ended the story, "He died seven years ago."

Leaving Timothy in his office, I had forgotten I asked the question that spurred that narrative. But when the meeting was over and we descended the stairs, one of the girls excitedly pointed out what we'd learned about Circular Thinking - a mindset prevalent in Asia where an indirect answer can be given out of respect or other reasons - and how our host used that when I asked about his partner's death.

I was strongly impacted on how important it was for Timothy to tell the whole story of his partner. Because of how much he meant to him, he had to give the big picture; to list his partner's service and sacrifice for the gospel, even to death. My blunt question was gently answered in an inspiring missionary biography that left me surprisingly refreshed.

"I'm Rich!" (A short story)

"9 bucks? What can I do with this?"  He checked his pocket again. Nothing more. He checked his other pockets... No miracles in there, either.

His hats weren't hot on the market - he had no hits. His persistent peddling wasn't providing pennies and his caps couldn't collect coins. It was killing him.

"God, if you wanna drop some cash from the sky, now's a good time. I could really use it." He pushed his cart uphill, wondering how on earth he could pay his rent in a couple weeks with what he was making.

212 steps to the brown apartments, 403 to the nicer, beige apartments, and 694 steps to the residential neighborhood where some older folks occasionally bought a hat or two for their grandchildren. The salesman was glad he never saw those kids' disappointed faces, for his products were in adequate shape at best. After a swing by the convenience store, it was back around again, walking his routes, rarely leaving those blocks.

"You know, God... I believe you provide. I believe you're with me now. But come on. I need money! I dropped my problems on you and you dealt with them. It's been 5 years since I took that plunge underwater, guided by the preacher, when you spoke to me that day, 'You're mine, now and forever.' I've only been in jail once in 5 years, but the whole time I've been freer than I've felt since I was a kid."

A nice car drove by, driven by a normal looking guy. In the passenger seat sat a beautiful blonde with a silent grin on her face. For some unknown reason, he was filled with frustration and anger. He scowled at the car, "It sucks being poor. It sucks being alone. No one gives a shit about me, here on the street, trying to get by, honestly." He knew that selling hats was honest, but sometimes he had to convince himself.

It was just then he saw Joe's house and the car in front of it. Something about the car was the nudge over the edge. "If I'm gonna make it this month, I need some cash," he thought. "It's time to start collecting what's mine." He left his route, approached a duplex, left his cart by some lawn chairs and knocked on the scratchy door. "Joe? Come on out!" Joe, a shirtless man with a big, round nose, emerged. "Hey man, I don't want impose or anything, but you remember that twenty bucks?" Joe remembered. "Well I need that back, and soon. Can you do that?" He could. "Hey Joe... are those new rims?" They were. "Figured. I'll come by for a visit in a few days, if that's alright." It was.

It was time for bed. After a forgettable sleep, the peddler did his morning routine and set back on the road with his wheeled burden. He felt a little bad about approaching Joe like he had, but sometimes you need to take matters into your own hands.  He thought about praying. Mornings were a bit sunnier when he prayed, it seemed. He saw some nicely dressed people walking down the street, and then some more. Church. They were going to church. It was Sunday. A thought struck him and after a momentary battle, he surprisingly made up his mind. He parked his cart behind the church by their dumpster and a fence.

Inside, he was confronted with bright faces that smiled at him. He didn't recognize a single song, but everybody seemed so happy it didn't bother him. "What are they gonna play that I know, anyway? A Pearl Jam song?" He sat in the back and soaked it in. Words rang through his ears, "Saved," "Heaven," "Jesus," "Resurrection." It felt like his gas tank was filling up. It got even stranger and stronger. His eyes and nose got wet. His chest was tight. "More than emotions," he thought in the back of his head. He'd felt this before - he felt touched... and happy! Trying to put words to this experience, all that came out was, "I feel so rich!"

A quick second later a rock-slide of convicting thought crashed into his mind; "I felt so poor, but I didn't need to! I've got no money, but I'm no pauper. I'm rich! I have so much, so much... Thank you."

On his way home, past the convenience store, he crossed paths with Kathy. He smiled and nodded at her, and she skipped towards him. "Hey there, I've got that money for ya. You don't remember? You lent me 30 bucks for my rent. It was like, 3 months ago. Well here ya go; I'm a man of my word. Ha!" Not two minutes later George clapped his hands and ran towards the cart. "Hey baldy, I've got your cash! Thanks for those hats, man, I was in a real pinch. But my girl loved 'em! Take it easy." Further up the block, he was speechless and now without a smile; lips slightly parted and eyes blank. Of all people, Joe showed up.

"Hey Jim! Here's that 20. Sorry it was late. I'll buy a couple hats as interest, huh? Alright, see ya man. You're gonna make it - we're all in this together. Peace."