Dear Russell

Dear Russell,

I’ve wanted to write this since the day I learned what your name would be; Russell Stone McBurney. Now you are a year old already and I feel somewhat foolish about having let my everyday life delay me in writing to an extraordinary person.

You are named after my dad, a man your dad called Papa. You would call him GPapa because he is your great-grandfather. He passed away five years ago now. Lord, how I miss him. I am going to tell you some of what I know about my dad. Your dad, his brothers and sisters, and your Grandma Amma and Grandpa Glen can tell you more about him through their eyes and heart.

A little more about this letter – this is the second edition, or my second try at getting it right. You see, I first used Russell Strong as your name and boy, did that embarrass me. Your dad says I can blame your Amma for this because she is an advocate of the ‘Strong’ nickname. Fear not, for I am determined to make this right and tie strong and stone together.

First let me lay the foundation with what my friend Webster (that’s what I call my dictionary) says about “stone”: “a piece of rock for a specified function: such as a building block, a paving block, a precious stone (gem), whetstone…”

Russell Stone is an apt name. Stones are hard, and big ones are heavy. GPapa could be very hard, firm in the way he handled me. Much of the way I am now is due to the way GPapa raised me. Stones are strong and we can build with them, make beautiful things with them, and skip smooth ones across the lake. He was all those things, a builder, beautiful, smooth on one side, rough on the other. I love him.

You will be a wonderful combination of your mother and father, just as I am a wonderful combination of GG and GPapa. I look forward to seeing how the mix works out in you.

Something I didn’t include in my first try at this letter and didn’t think of until I was sitting here writing about stones and how you can make beautiful things with them is that your GPapa was very creative, he was an artist. He played the clarinet as a boy and young man, he sang in the church choir with a wonderful bass voice. After he and GG moved to Oregon, he set up a woodworking shop and got into the art of intarsia which is the art of making a mosaic or picture out of wood. He used different types of wood for the various colors, no stains or paints.

He had all his children, grandchildren, and older great-grandchildren pick patterns out of catalog and make it for them. Except me. For me he knew exactly which one to use, a Red-tailed Hawk, my favorite bird. It was the perfect choice. One of my all-time favorite pieces is the elephant he made for GG, who had a collection of little elephants. I have it hanging on the wall of my office. He signed it on the back, “For B.J. (Betty Jean) By R.J. (Russel Jay) and Russell J. White, 11-21-2005”. I think I know where its next home should be.

For B.J. By R.J, Russell J. White, 11-21-05

Much like a stone, your GPapa was a very strong man. As a teenager, he bench-pressed 350lbs. He played football as a defensive lineman. He wrestled and competed in the California State Championships. GPapa was a bodybuilder, and I hope to send you photos most of us hadn’t seen until I found them in all his ‘stuff’ after he and GG (Great-Gramsy), your great grandmother passed away.

GPapa in a one-
handed handstand

GPapa's High School
football photo

GPapa was also agile, and he was a gymnast in high school. He was also a bit of a daredevil and did handstands on the edges of tall buildings in Manhattan Beach. He was quick, which is about the most athletic thing I inherited from him, me being a tall skinny kid while he was shorter and more powerful.

We played a lot of catch together, footballs, baseballs, frisbees…you name it, if we could throw it, we played catch with it. When I was a teenager, we played on the church men’s softball team together, he pitched and I played the outfield. We got into racquetball and played in tournaments. Toward the end of GPapa’s phone company career, he fell in love with golf, and both he and GG played for many years, taking great golf trips. I learned to play while I was in college and played with them both, though I stopped playing shortly after they moved to Oregon. It wasn’t as much fun for me playing without them.

All those physical things were fine, but he was much more than that. He was a smart man. In high school, he was a member of the honor society and was the Gardena High School president during his senior year.

From GPapa's H.S. Senior Yearbook

GPapa went to El Camino Junior College (now we call them Community Colleges), and he played a year of football there. He enlisted in the United States Navy after that first year of college so that he could help the country during the Korean War. He met GG (Your Great Grandmother) while they were both in the navy at the Seatle Naval Base.

They got married while they were up there and then GPapa got sent to sea on an aircraft carrier. There were over 1,000 men on that big ship and he became the U.S.S. Point Cruz boxing champion. When I was a young boy of about five or six, he started teaching me to box and talked about getting me into the Golden Gloves to compete with other boys my age.

GG and GPapa on Naval Base
Seattle

GPapa's Navy Portrait

GPapa was in the Sea of Japan between Japan and Korea on the day I was born. The story is that he was so excited that he went running through the ship to tell all his buddies. So excited that he slammed his thumb in one of the big iron doors. He never let me forget that one.

When he got back and we were united as a family, we lived in Torrence after he became a telephone man and started getting paid regularly. Torrence is only a short way from where he grew up in Gardena. GPapa had a very good career with Pacific Telephone and Telegraph (part of the old AT&T network) as a technician, then as a supervisor of technicians, and finally as a manager of supervisors. He was smart in how he dealt with people and could figure out how to put them to work on projects and in the field and get along as a team.

GPapa holding Jerry in one
hand, duplicated by Uncle Brad
with Mattingly

GG and GPapa rented a little house just after he was discharged from the US Navy until they found a house to buy on 175^th Street in Torrence, California. GPapa loved doing projects around the house. He built a cinderblock barbecue in the backyard, and he built a red brick planter and lantern in the front yard that is still there and working as of the time I wrote this letter to you. Your Amma was born in 1955, and we all had our own bedrooms. We lived there until 1962 when we were going to need another bedroom for your Great Aunt Denise.

We moved to La Crescenta into a new four-bedroom house in La Crescenta and GPapa continued to do his thing building things and working on DIY projects like a concrete slab next to the house where we roller skated, skateboarded, and after he put up a basketball backboard on the side of the house, played basketball. After a couple of years, we added a pool in the backyard. All three of the kids, Amma, Great Aunt Denise, and I, lived there until we left for our adult lives. It was a fantastic place to grow up with neighborhood friends for all of us.

Around ten years after he finished his career with Pacific Bell Telephone and then working for John Wells Golf shop, GPapa wanted to make a big change. They bought ten acres (a big piece of land) and built a beautiful house on it in Merlin, Oregon. That’s where they lived until they passed away in 2020. Denise had already been living there and that’s when they fell in love with the place. The McBurney family and my family took vacation trips there every year. During our summer visits, we rafted on the Rouge River. I would love to have taken you on a rafting trip. Maybe we can do that someday on some river. They had a cool pool table in the basement, and we played eightball and had a lot of fun at their house. We called it The Oregon White House.

Young GPapa w/ his
mom and dad

GPapa was an only child, no brothers or sisters. That is so unlike how you will be growing up. With a big sister to look after you and share the load when your mom and dad might be upset. GPapa faced it all alone. You will have Addie to listen to you when you are sad, share your happiness when things are bright, and maybe, just maybe, boss you around a little, though I believe she’ll be sweet about it. Love her well and enjoy having her around. Before you know it, she will be heading off to college or pursuing some great career.

And now that I’ve waited so long to write to you, you are already a big brother. Ezekiel Roy is lucky to have you as a big brother; you will be great at the job. GPapa didn’t have big sisters or little brothers, but he did have a younger cousin named James who was like a little brother to him. GPapa looked after James, and they were close enough in age that they played everything together, just like you and Ezekiel will be doing. Look out for Ezekiel and tell him things he needs to know and share with him the stuff you learn about GPapa and GG, and just life as it comes to you guys.

GPapa grew up in a Christian home, and they went to the Gardena Presbyterian Church. He was a Presbyterian for the rest of his life. He loved Jesus, served the church well, and loved people with that strong heart of his. GG and GPapa were two of my adult advisors when I was in Junior High (now they call it Middle School). You will probably learn about Batman and all sorts of superheroes. There was a Batman TV show back in the 1960s that was funny and exciting at the same time, very much like the comic books that Batman starred in in 1939. At one of our Junior High snow camps, GPapa came out during a skit the adult leaders put on. He was in a full-on Batman costume and the whole camp broke out cheering and laughing. GPapa was my Batman, and my church friends all called him that for years afterwards.

You don’t need to be like GPapa. Be your own person, as a little boy, a growing boy, a teenager, and a man. I am going to love watching you grow up. You will be a special blend of your mom and dad, Addie, some things you’ll learn from Ezekiel, and then those amazing things about yourself and the world around you that you’ll learn all by yourself. You are an amazing boy.

I tell you this, so you know that GPapa was strong in all things, his heart, mind, and body. His heart was huge, and he hung onto people when they needed it most. He and GG took in people who needed a place to stay and food to eat. My friends felt like they had a bonus set of parents. It is easy for me to imagine that your mom and dad will be the same. Your friends will find a safe place to play and be comfortable in. Your house will be warm with love and light, and those things will outweigh the hard times.

And so, my young great-nephew, live well, love deeply, and be strong in your heart, mind, and body.

In His grip,

Your great-uncle Jerry

PS: maybe when you get a little order, I can share what ‘In His grip’ means to me. Peace.

GPapa had a nickname for everyone, mine was ‘Stick’. His inscription on my red-tail reads, “For Stick. Together in His grip. Dad 10-24-2005.

More Photos:

Great-great Grandpa and Great-great Aunt Katherine's wedding day.
Great Uncle Jerry, GPapa, GGG White, GGA Katherine, Amma, Great-aunt Denise, and GG

GPapa's First Five with Amma, Great Aunt Denise
GG, GPapa, Great Uncle Jerry

McBurney Family at the Oregon White House with
Cousin Ann and her husband Rich, Uncle Brad, Amma, 
your dad in the middle, Uncle Jeff, Great Aunt Denise, GPapa, and GG

Beloved, You've Got Mail

 

Beloved, You’ve Got Mail

I have a confession to make. I’ve read your mail, and what’s more, I don’t feel sorry, not in the least. My mom told me that it’s wrong to read mail addressed to others, and that’s why I feel the need to confess. Though I think by the end of this post, she may give me some heavenly forgiveness. She’s pretty good like that.

Paul, once known as Saul of Tarsus, wrote most of the letters to you that I read. When I think about it, though, all the epistles, and by extension, the Gospels and Revelation, were addressed to you as well. Aw, let’s face it, the entire Old Testament linked up with the New Testament is one big love letter from God, penned by others, driven by the Holy Spirit, and sent to you.

I know these writings are yours because, somewhere in many of them, there are salutations where you are named:

Romans 12:19, “Beloved, never avenge yourselves…”

I Corinthians 10:14, “Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.”

Philippians 4:12, “Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed…

II Corinthians 7:1, “Since we have these promises, beloved…”

Hebrews 6:9, “Though we speak in this way, yet in your case, beloved, we feel sure of better things…”

James 1:19, “Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers.”

I Peter 2:11, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners, and exiles…”

1 John 3:2, “Beloved, we are God’s children now…”

You are God’s beloved; these and more are addressed specifically to you. They are yours to open.

This part might get a little dicey, and you should convince yourselves not to use this information for personal gain of a lowbrow nature, especially teenagers who might be reading this post.

My friend Webster tells me that beloved means “dearly loved: dear to the heart”. Trust me on this, that ‘dearly’ part is no little thing. Jesus dearly paid the price for us to be in a condition to be beloved.

The Song of Solomon, considered by many as erotic poetry, is full of beloveds exchanging compliments and entreaties.

Married couples, think about the effect you would have on your spouse if you addressed them as ‘beloved’ when you started an apology with the assurance that the apology was genuine and that your path for atonement is true. Instant forgiveness. Need a hug? Making the apology with "beloved" and hugs wouldn’t be enough.

To dating couples who are about to propose marriage, address the object of your affection with ‘beloved’ if you want a near guarantee of a yes in response. The ring will be icing and the wedding planning will flow with a unity rarely seen on reality TV. Go for it.

God used the term beloved regarding His own Son, Jesus Christ, when he said in the Gospel of Mark 1:11, “And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my beloved Son, with you I am well pleased.’” For the authors of the Bible to use beloved while addressing us is to place us in the most-loved-people category.

I am certain these letters, neatly packed into a big book, are addressed to you. Open them. Read them. Be beloved.

As for me? I believe Mom will be okay with me opening your mail as often as I like and every day that I can. And, I will.

In His grip,

jjwhite

Dear Chrissy

Dear Chrissy,

How can the sun be shining? That is what I asked myself this morning as I hiked up the mountain with Todd. It seems to me that the day should have been overcast, drizzling, and dreary, and more befitting of my feelings since getting the news of your going home. Once I got over my indignity at the sun for such an outrage and disgust at the gentle breeze that cleared the way for me to see the ocean, I could see that this was the perfect day for your homecoming. I know that you were greeted by Jesus with, "Welcome home, good and faithful servant. Well done."

I have missed you these past weeks. There will be an empty spot that, thankfully, Jesus will need to fill and most assuredly will. At your darkest hours, you can make me feel blessed and warmly received. I felt like a rock star whenever we saw each other, all because I had the good fortune of spending a little extra time with your kids, which was a huge blessing to me.

Austin and Nicole have been at the center of your world, they were two of your reasons to hold on as long as you could. I don't believe you feared death but instead were possessed by a fierce desire to live, to see your kids well on their way in life, to hold on to Todd for as long as possible, and to be there for your friends while you were about the business of the Kingdom of God. After all, we have only a short time here with our loved ones and an eternity with Jesus. You thirsted for life; indeed, you thirsted for The Life, and I know you found it and shared it unabashedly.

Grief will visit us. It will be sharp and poignant for your family and the closest of your friends. It will come to them in waves. Some waves will lap at their feet and be gentle reminders of all you are to them: your kindness and love and your ability to make them the center of your universe. Some waves will try to overwhelm them, and we'll need to stand with them to ensure they are not swept out to sea. God's grace is sufficient, and He will provide.

I know that for myself, I asked, "Why Christine? Why was there no miracle healing?" Honestly, I've been a bit miffed. Others will feel the same. I went down that deep dark path years ago with a friend when I held on to my anger far too long, so long that it turned to bitterness and that bitterness separated me from my Lord. I caution folks to let the anger go, hold on to the love with their big hearts, and let God be God. We may never know his purpose in our losses. He must be enough for us.

I will continue to be sad for myself, sad for that marvelous core group of friends of yours, and sadder still for Todd, Nicole, and Austin. But I will also spend a lot of time marveling at nature and the lush green pastures and the valleys you now have with their lakes and streams, and I will praise the name of Jesus that I have the good fortune to call you my friend.

In His grip,

Jerry

PS – I have taken the liberty of scanning some of the comments from your friends and family and have listed some that ring particularly true to me here. Some of these are only a piece of what they wrote, some are all. At last count, there were 180 comments on the family post at this writing and these are but a few:

From Phil Van Horn, "Brokenhearted and inspired…all at the same time."

From Alfred Berumen, "I share your grief for someone with such a beautiful soul. Chrissy was always a gem of delight and personality and she had fabulous "Hair Pirate" hair. We all loved her so much. Peace and strength sent to your family."

Sarah Rush: "I'm sending you all my most heartfelt love and will be praying for you. I was heartbroken to hear the news of precious Chrissy's passing last night. I've prayed so fervently for her the last 5 years. I know she's with Jesus, but my heart is so heavy. God bless you dear ones."

Karen Gee McAuley, "We are so blessed to have known and loved her. We will remember her, full of love, light and baked goods to rival a pastry chef, her sense of humor and humanity. God called her home and while we miss her so much, we are grateful that she is finally at peace."

Lisa Li: "What a loss, such a ray of sunshine no matter the clouds. May she fly high as know she would."

Jennifer Horn: "Such an amazing woman filled with so much sparkle…"

Alice Hill: "My heart breaks while her soul finds peace. I know she is in the loving arms of our Lord, with no more pain and no more fear, only love. She will be missed by everyone left behind, because she was truly one of the special ones. Her loving spirit lit up a room as soon as she walked in and I am sure heaven felt that amazing spirit when she arrived."

Sue Volz Peters: "I'm so very sorry to read this news! Chrissy was a bright beacon of light!"

Sharon Marks Boudreaux-Stam: "I'm so sorry for your loss. She was such a beautiful person inside and out."

Michele Hetherington Fernandez: "We love you all so much & our lives have been forever changed from having Christine & your family in them."

Greg Stoney: "I'm so gutted. Such a sweet human taken from us much too early. I feel honored to know her…"

Amanda Minkey Granier: "Gonna miss my sweet friend so much  but so blessed to have had her in my life for so many years. I will cherish our times together, our laughs, our cries, our talks and everything in between."

She was truly one of a kind and touched so many hearts! She loved loved her family and was so proud of all of you!

Terry Kappen: "OMG!!! I am shocked to hear this news! My heart is breaking! I am so sorry Todd, Nichole, and Austin. Chrissy fought the long fight. She trusted God to see her through this for 5 years and never gave up. She now can have the peace she and everyone that loves her have been praying for. She was the kindest, God-fearing person I knew, she had helped me through many of trials in my life."

180 and counting…

Descent of a Comfortable Silence

 

Photo Credit: Jim McClelland

Jim McClelland and I are cruising along Highway 95 in Nevada, after our trip over Interstate 80 out of California, as we work our way to Eagle, Idaho. We are in his new-to-him truck pulling a 24-foot enclosed trailer as he and Shirley begin a new chapter in their lives, not a chapter they would have necessarily written for themselves, at least not with all the plot twists it’s taken to get them this far. 

During our 12-hour trek through the high desert, there is plenty of windshield time with snowcapped mounts surrounding us. While we have plenty of talking to do to catch up on our lives as we trundle along, we allow ourselves some periods of silence, a silence as rich in solitude as two people can have sitting next to each other.

There is comfort in the occasional silence that suffuses the cab of Jim’s truck that only comes in our being the best of friends. I am assured of Jim’s acceptance, I don’t need to fill the time with talk just to delight him, make him like me more, or prompt him to make a statement of undying devotion to our friendship. It is there, not taken for granted, but present in the silence, even as I type the draft for this post.

I want this sort of comfortable silence with Jesus Christ, my Lord. Many people talk about Jesus being their friend or ‘being a friend of Jesus’. I admit to having a problem with that terminology for myself. I am too busy working on having Him be my Lord and my King to seek friendship. It’s all semantics, I know, but semantics are important to me. I would like to sit with Jesus in a comfortable silence even as He is my Lord and assured of His acceptance with no need for me to say things to him to delight Him, make Him love me more, or to elicit a statement from Him so that I know He cares for me. A silence where I don’t ask of Him anything; no pleas for forgiveness (as much as I continue to need it), no appeals on behalf of friends or family (as much as they need it), and no adoring words of praise from me (as much as He deserves them all the time).

There is a hierarchy of assurance, a depth to certitude from thinking, to feeling, to believing, and finally to knowing.

To sit with Jesus in a comfortable silence is to be known by Him and to know Him. I would love to have that day descend on me. I dare say, if it happened, I would not likely recognize myself the next time I looked in the mirror.

In His grip and as always, on the Potter’s Wheel,

jerry

Photo credit: Jim McClelland

 

An Idaho writer's nook courtesy of Grandma Virgie, Jim's grandmother

Holm is Where the Heart Is

 

Isaiah 43:2 - “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.”

In my last Calvary’s Thread post, ‘Adrift’, I wrote about drifting along the current of a river without tiller or oar and speculated that I might be able to lean over and hand paddle my along. Jim McClelland suggested in a comment that by hopping in I could “enjoy the truths of the discoveries along this particular journey.” Part of my reply to Jim was that I am more effective as a swimmer than a drifter, or something along those lines. As effective as I can be while propelling myself along the river of life, I need respite from the currents and chills of the water. I need rest and a place to do it. I believe I found such a place and I know of a handful of others. Holm.

Holm, as Webster describes it, is a small island or inshore island. It’s a British term and those folks seem to have cornered the market for alternate words for an island such as: ait as in ‘a little island’ or eyot a variation on ait. I prefer ‘holm’ to the alternatives, it feels warmer and more inviting to me.

When my sister Denise moved to Merlin, Oregon and shortly thereafter my parents, we took summer trips to visit them nearly every year and with few exceptions, rafted down the Rogue River. For twenty-five years we took these floats using inflatable kayaks, paddle rafts, and drift boats. We encountered small islands, or holms, along the way downstream. They provide sanctuary for birds to nest to be safer for their eggs and young. Canada Geese, Mergansers, Teals, Mallards, and other waterfowl use the island to pull up on and sun to restore body heat and to nest. Songbirds and waders (Green and Great Blue Herons, and various Egrets) wade off the holms to hunt for fish and frogs. The islets are not Edens as there is predation from the sky from eagles and hawks. Otters, playful as they are, eat pretty much what they can catch. Still, there is a measure of sanctuary and peace, the birds can breathe and relax a bit.

Bass Lake, the ancestral home of my mom, has a couple of islands – one toward the upper third of the lake where the Madera County Sheriffs operate from. The other island is down near the dam. Both islands are submerged when the lake is full with the only evidence as either the Sheriff’s tower or the vegetation sticking up above the water. Likewise, both islands are accessible by walking when the lake is at its lowest point. The island near the dam is bisected by a boom, in the old days of true log construction but nowadays made of rubber coated tubes filled with floatation materials. Nearly from the day we could walk we would see how far we could get before falling off the boom and into the lake. It became a rite of passage when we could swim along the boom out to the island or take our inflatable rafts to it. These were our Huck Finn moments.

My dad and I sometimes rowed out and fished around the island. I miss those times of quiet conversation as we tried to lure trout and bass to our hooks. Whenever I see the island, I remember those times and I am warmed by the memories of them. It is a holm to me.

A week ago, as I wrote this, I was at holm with Jim and Shirley McClelland, free of the river’s currents, rapids, and rocks. A place of peace and sanctuary. I feel at home at their place, always. I rode my motorcycle up to see them, hang out with Jim with his various errands, and take in a Giants’ game at Oracle Park. As arduous as my ride up was (I’ll need to write that story for Iron Side Up) I needed a place to catch my breath. The ride provided me space to think and pray about things and then push them away to pay attention to the road. With Jim and Shirley, it is as though no time has passed and we pick up where we left off. I love them for it.

Mike and Van Schermerhorn’s place is another holm, and island of respite. The last time I was with them I had rented a trailer to help Mike move a patio set to a friend of theirs in need. As with Jim, it seemed that no time had passed and we picked up where we last saw each other. Mike and Van bought lunch for me which we had shared with friends of theirs. They needn’t have, the warmth in sharing in their kindness was more than enough payment. I love them for it.

My sisters’ places and kids’ homes are places we stay that offer the same sort of comforts of love, joy, and peace – they are places to rehab my soul. Holms in the river, though with the grandkids the times are more otterlike than completely restful.

My prayer for you, my encouragement to you, is that you find your holms. And those that you already know, pay them a visit and heal a bit from the rush and keep a weather eye out for new holms.

In His grip,

jerry

Biblical river references:

Psalms 46:4 - "There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High."

Revelation 22:1-2 - "Then the angel showed the river of the water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb."

Genisis 2: 20 - “A river flowed from the land of Eden, watering the garden and then dividing into four branches.”

Adrift

 

Living waters have a current, an ebb and flow to them, sometimes unseen, as from a hidden wellspring, a source beyond the ken of human senses. Living waters are not distilled nor sterile. The currents bringing them to the ponds and headwaters contain nutrients, the outgoing currents take the waste of the living organisms downstream to be consumed by still other creatures or cast of in the effervescence of the streams.

The waters I seem to be on are not some stagnant pond, putrid with waste and polluted by mankind. And so, adrift as I am, I have at least this one thing left, that my oft used sign off, ‘in His grip’, is still true and that whatever landfall my drift takes me, I will have my feet on firm soil.

Adrift appears an apt turn for this stage of life I find myself. Meriam (we are on a first name basis now) talks about adrift as being without motive power and having no anchor or mooring, ties, guidance or security. I am uneasy with these things. I’m an old man, for God’s sake! Shouldn’t I have the power to direct my life, activities, and interests?

By what mechanism have I become adrift, without sail and subject to every current and vagrant wind? By my own devices? Have others cast me into this drift? Let me be honest with myself – I have no one to blame but myself. I pushed off into the stream without proper provisions.

I shouldn’t be rudderless, without oars or a motor these days. I’m a Christian. But I am in the water’s power and subject the vagaries of the stream with its rocky outcroppings, rapids, and glassy stretches. I am consumed with sadness, not as acute as Jesus’ sadness in the garden of Gethsemane, but at times it feels akin to that.

I have a distinct memory from my childhood when my mom and a friend of hers took my sisters, the friend’s son, Dennis Broberg, and me up to Switzer’s Creek in the Angeles National Forest. Dennis and I took our army men and equipment. You know, like those great characters from the Toy Story movies? We set up roads and fortifications. We collected twigs and fashioned rafts for water-born assaults. The prone machine gunners were particularly good for the rafts. We set them adrift in the creek in the hopes they could get behind enemy lines. Adrift and without rudders, they invariably ran afoul of some driftwood collected between the rocks. My own drift sometimes feels like the ill-fated infantryman’s.

Still, I am in His grip and when it comes to it and I am caught by the eddies that thwart my progress, I can risk it and reach over the side and hand-paddle my way out. Firmer ground awaits and who knows what stranded wayfarer I might bring into my raft and take to safety along the way.

To borrow a phrase from Ellis Boyd "Red" Redding, “I hope”.

In His grip,

Jerry White

Finish Well

 

Whatever your event, finish well.

Hebrews 12: 1-2a: ¹Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. ^2aLet us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith (an alternative fuel source if ever there was one).

In track and field, a bell-lap is the last lap of a race during which a bell is rung to signify the start of the final lap. Bell-laps are typically used on longer races on oval tracks, 1500 meters or 1 mile and longer. Gun-lap is another term and method and is defined by my friend Webster as, “the final lap of a race in track signaled by the firing of a gun as the leader begins the lap.” In auto racing, a white flag is waved at each racer as they cross the start/finish line for their final lap. At Golden Gate Porsche Club driver education weekends, the track Starter (or the preferred King God Flag Guy) points at each driver with the index finger and then down to the track as they enter the last lap of their run.

Using some crude math and a 1-Mile race in my analogy, I am in the Gun Lap. My parents passed away just shy of 90-years old, I’m just shy of 70 which is .77777 percent of their ages which puts me in lap four of a four-lap race. The gun has sounded, the bell has wrung, and the King God Flag Guy has pointed to me and the track letting me know I need to finish strong. The whisperings of the Holy Spirit confirm it.

If life is a marathon, and mine has been anything but a sprint, I have either come through the wall or am about to. ‘The Wall’ in long distance running is a point where the body’s glycogen stores have been depleted and the body no longer has the fuel to continue running. One source puts the wall at about 18.64 miles and another simply says, ‘around the 20-mile mark’. Using my .77777 percent figure, I would be at 20.3574 miles in my marathon. There are days I slog through and others are over before I’ve done a lick. I need to find an alternative fuel source if I want to finish my marathon well.

Years ago, maybe a lifetime gone by, my dad gave me a copy of the book, Finishing Well by Bob Buford. The men’s group Dad met with in Grants Pass, Oregon was going through the book and he wanted me to keep pace with them. If I was there on a Thursday during a visit, I would go with him. Good men all around the table. I’ve regretted not keeping pace and engaging with him through this study and have begun reading it on my own to get myself back in the race.

What do I mean when I say, “finish well”? Ken Blanchard, Coauthor of The Servant Leader and The One Minute Manager, wrote the forward to Buford’s book. In his forward, he talks about asking people, “Would you like the world to be a better place for your having been here?” “What’s your plan?” Goodness yes. As a Christian, oh God yes but what does this mean? I imagine that a large portion of finishing well is finding and doing the Will of the Father. On September 6, 2022, I published a post entitled Off the Bench. That was the start of me finding my answer to what finishing well means.

Oval Track Layout

There is a problem with all my math and analogies – I don’t know and can’t know where I am is this last lap. Look at the diagram above. Have I just entered the Clubhouse Turn? Am I coming out at the ¾ Pole? Am I cruising the backstretch, diving into the Far Turn, or making my last sprint down the Homestretch? How do I know if I have even one stride left?

James 4: 13-15: ¹³Now Listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” ¹⁴Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. ¹⁵Intead, you ought to say, “if it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”

My first step in finishing well is to determine to do so. This is followed closely by figuring out what it will look like for me. Have I hit the wall? If so, I must find the supernatural source of energy to replace everything I’ve exhausted. I must fix my eyes on Jesus who is not only the author and perfector of my faith but is the tape at the finish line. To finish well I need to exhaust everything that is me, there is no need for it once the finish line is crossed.

One of the greatest depictions of finishing well is a scene from Chariots of Fire. Eric Liddell, played by Ian Charleson, is running “to the Glory of God” and has trained for the 100-meter sprint but must withdraw because of the race is being held on a Sunday, the Lord’s Day. He was given a spot in the 400-meter race, a much longer race by far and demands pacing. In the Clubhouse Turn he is knocked to the ground but gets up to finish and win the race. Upon hitting the tape, he collapses and eventually must be carried off the field by friends. This is finishing well. If you’ve a mind to, catch the YouTube clip from the link below.

Get up and finish the race from Chariots of Fire : get up and finish the race.avi - YouTube

Can I get up when knocked down and how then can I truly finish well? By doing my very best to make every stride glorify God, take every breath in the knowledge that Jesus has authored the finish.

Go now, train for your race, practice finishing well each day.

In His grip,

jerry

Gun Lap

 

In track and field, a bell-lap is the last lap of a race during which a bell is rung to signify the start of the final lap. Bell-laps are typically used on longer races on oval tracks, 1500 meters or 1 mile and longer. Gun-lap is another term and method and is defined by my friend Webster as, “the final lap of a race in track signaled by the firing of a gun as the leader begins the lap.” In auto racing, a white flag is waved at each racer as they cross the start/finish line for their final lap. At Golden Gate Porsche Club driver education weekends, the track Starter (or the preferred King God Flag Guy) points at each driver with the index finger and then down to the track as they enter the last lap of their run.

Using some crude math and a 1-Mile race in my analogy, I am in the Gun Lap. My parents passed away just shy of 90-years old, I’m just shy of 70 which is .77777 percent of their ages which puts me in lap four of a four-lap race. The gun has sounded, the bell has wrung, and the King God Flag Guy has pointed to me and the track letting me know I need to finish strong. The whisperings of the Holy Spirit confirm it.

If life is a marathon, and mine has been anything but a sprint, I have either come through the wall or am about to. ‘The Wall’ in long distance running is a point where the body’s glycogen stores have been depleted and the body no longer has the fuel to continue running. One source puts the wall at about 18.64 miles and another simply says, ‘around the 20-mile mark’. Using my .77777 percent figure, I would be at 20.3574 miles in my marathon. There are days I slog through and others are over before I’ve done a lick. I need to find an alternative fuel source if I want to finish my marathon well.

Hebrews 12: 1-2a: ¹Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. ^2aLet us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith (an alternative fuel source if ever there was one).

Years ago, maybe a lifetime gone by, my dad gave me a copy of the book, Finishing Well by Bob Buford. The men’s group Dad met with in Grants Pass, Oregon was going through the book and he wanted me to keep pace with them. If I was there on a Thursday during a visit, I would go with him. Good men all around the table. I’ve regretted not keeping pace and engaging with him through this study and have begun reading it on my own to get myself back in the race.

What do I mean when I say, “finish well”? Ken Blanchard, Coauthor of The Servant Leader and The One Minute Manager, wrote the forward to Buford’s book. In his forward, he talks about asking people, “Would you like the world to be a better place for your having been here?” “What’s your plan?” Goodness yes. As a Christian, oh God yes but what does this mean? I imagine that a large portion of finishing well is finding and doing the Will of the Father. On September 6, 2022, I published a post entitled Off the Bench. That was the start of me finding my answer to what finishing well means.

1/4 Mile Track Layout

There is a problem with all my math and analogies – I don’t know and can’t know where I am is this last lap. Look at the diagram above. Have I just entered the Clubhouse Turn? Am I coming out at the ¾ Pole? Am I cruising the backstretch, diving into the Far Turn, or making my last sprint down the Homestretch? How do I know if I have even one stride left?

James 4: 13-15: ¹³Now Listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” ¹⁴Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. ¹⁵Intead, you ought to say, “if it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”

My first step in finishing well is to determine to do so. This is followed closely by figuring out what it will look like for me. Have I hit the wall? If so, I must find the supernatural source of energy to replace everything I’ve exhausted. I must fix my eyes on Jesus who is not only the author and perfector of my faith but is the tape at the finish line. To finish well I need to exhaust everything that is me, there is no need for it once the finish line is crossed.

One of the greatest depictions of finishing well is a scene from Chariots of Fire. Eric Liddell, played by Ian Charleson, is running “to the Glory of God” and has trained for the 100-meter sprint but must withdraw because of the race is being held on a Sunday, the Lord’s Day. He was given a spot in the 400-meter race, a much longer race by far and demands pacing. In the Clubhouse Turn he is knocked to the ground but gets up to finish and win the race. Upon hitting the tape, he collapses and eventually must be carried off the field by friends. This is finishing well. If you’ve a mind to, catch the YouTube clip from the link below.

Get up and finish the race from Chariots of Fire: Get up and finish the race 

Can I get up when knocked down and how then can I truly finish well? By doing my very best to make every stride glorify God, take every breath in the knowledge that Jesus has authored the finish.

Go now, train for your race, practice finishing well each day.

In His grip,

jerry

Psst...Trust Me

  

She'll run like a charm, trust me.

Psst…Trust Me

Early in 2021, I was one of nine individuals who were asked and accepted a nomination to be elected to a select committee of the La Crescenta Presbyterian Church, our home church. We were elected unanimously by the congregation without receiving nominations from the floor, volunteers from those present, and without debate. Apparently, no one else was clamoring to be on the Pastor Nominating Committee (PNC) charged with finding the replacement for our longtime and beloved pastor who had announced his and his wife’s intention to move on to a new call, this one in the missionary field, a place where their hearts lay as well as the heart of the congregation.

NCAA Basketball fans will get this analogy without blinking and most will understand it. Imagine taking over for Coach John Wooden (Wizard of Westwood) upon his retirement as the UCLA Men’s Basketball coach. It took Coach Wooden several years to build his program to the point where they won 10 NCAA championships over a 12-year period, with a string of seven in a row. Only one other college program has more than seven in their history - Kentucky has eight over a 64-year period. How do you follow an act like that? How do you find a person to establish a culture of excellence of their own when expectations run so high? No wonder we didn’t have a line out the door of smiling people eager for the task of finding the next pastor.

I should not have said yes. My parents had passed away ten weeks apart only two or three months previous, I was steeped in managing their estate based in Oregon, and due to the pandemic, hadn’t been able to mourn properly or celebrate their life with family and friends, and I was a wreck. I had no right to nod my head and accept this blessing but God was at work and I desperately needed to see His hand in action, to be met by Him in ways as he so often has over my life. I cannot say that I did not look back once I put my hand to the plow (see Luke 9:62). I was days away from bowing out but knew one of us needed to exit the task more than I as her husband was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. Even though I knew I was not fit for this service, I knew this – that God’s Grace is sufficient.

In somewhat typical fashion for our church, we didn’t go strictly by the book for this process. If you know much about Presbyterians, you should know we have a book for anything we do. Our outgoing pastor stayed on in an interim capacity while the search went on and our committee was tasked to complete our Mission Information Form (MIF) which is typically done by a separate and specific committee before handing the work over to the PNC.

I struggled here to find the right word for our task, to call it a journey is to belittle what we went through. Journeys are simply defined as ‘A going from one place to another usually of some distance’. I had to scroll down the list of related words my friend Webster was giving me and rejected hop, jaunt, cruise, walkabout to settle on quest, closely followed by odyssey, hike, slog and tramp. We did all those things in our search for the person called by God from time immemorial to be our next pastor.

Make no mistake about this, we knew what we were called to and what was placed in our hands – a Sacred Trust. To a person, we approached our job as a Sacred Trust, entrusted by our congregation to find someone to lead us, guide us deeper into discipleship, closer to Jesus and we were trusted by Jesus to find his Will. We opened every meeting (at least weekly for two years plus interviews and special weekends) with scripture and prayer. Each of us committed ourselves to prayer and fasting in our own fashion. We slogged, trodged (sic), and waded our way through close to 100 Pastor Information Forms (PIFs), dozens of interviews, four neutral pulpit weekends, two, yes two invitations to the call, and one Candidating Weekend that culminated in the vote of the congregation with the landslide ‘Yes’ result. Praise God!

As an aside, let me ask you a quick rhetorical question here, would you have clicked on the link if I correctly named this post A Sacred Trust? Or would you have read this far? Rhetoric aside, we all have a sacred trust to complete.

We laughed, cried, cajoled, rolled our eyes, and wondered at God’s wisdom to put us in such a place. We were humbled by the enormity of the task, heartened by the quality of men and women we interviewed, and amazed at the wisdom of each of the other people on our committee. We were likely sacrilegious from time to time. My suggestion to use my ‘Daily Decision’ app to make the choice from our short list comes to mind. Hey, the 11 Apostles cast lots to find Judas’ replacement, didn’t they? And they’d been in Jesus’ presence for three and half years. Fortunately, nobody took me seriously.

Even with all that going on, the Sacred Trust and Task proceeded as God willed. My choice of the photo I used to draw you in is apt. We were not looking for a shiny new pastor right off the Seminary showroom floor. We knew, or at least trusted, that the used model wouldn’t be a clunker nobody else wanted. The reality is, we didn’t know what make or model we would find or how many miles they had traveled. We placed our own sacred trust in God chiming our spiritual bells and letting us know which one to call.

Our congregation showed us grace, patience, and unwavering support. We would not have succeeded without it. Our Presbytery’s Committee on Ministry (COM) assigned us a pastor to support and guide us on our quest, a man who we could easily have picked to pastor the church. This man and his wife, also an ordained pastor, then came alongside the congregation to take over as interim pastor and have brought us through a period of healing and focused intention to prepare the way for our new pastor. As our interim pastor, his own Sacred Trust, he has made big asks of our PNC, the individuals on the committee and in the congregation, and the entire congregation. We needed the wake-up call to be intentional in our desire for God’s Will with this new direction.

Our trust was rewarded. The trust of the congregation was rewarded. The Sacred Trust has been fulfilled and our new pastor will be in our pulpit on July 2.

Thank you for reading and sharing a little bit of what our quest was like, our Sacred Trust. Now, go out and find a spiritual walkabout of your own, a Sacred Trust you can undertake. Our Lord will be by your side and the value is measureless.

In His grip,

jerry

My Heart Held Hostage

 

My Heart Held Hostage

I am rarely without my friend Webster except for those rare occasions when I am off the grid or phoneless, like when I take a shower. Webster doesn’t go there with me. He and I were discussing something that has been on my heart now for weeks and he says this regarding the word ‘Hostage’:

1a - person held by one party in a conflict as a pledge pending the fulfillment of an agreement. 1b – a person taken by force to secure the taker’s demands. (Merriam-Webster smartphone ap)

I must confess. The reason ‘hostage’ has been on my heart is because I am holding my heart hostage, as I frequently do. It looks sort of like this: ‘If the Dodgers win, I’ll do this; if they lose, I get to do that.’, ‘If they call, I’ll do this for them.’, ‘If that guy signals to get into my lane, I’ll let him in with a smile; if they don’t signal, to darn bad for them!’, ‘If this happens, then I’ll serve God today.’ – and so on.

When I am in that mode of operation, even if the outcome is what I want, I won’t really get all the benefits that I could have. In fact, my heart will be marred and not truly free. Just like hostages in a bank takeover need therapy for PTSD when they are released, so will my heart therapy. It is a no-win situation. The minute I chain up my heart, I’ve lost.

Rather than go to God and put demands on him for the Dodgers to win for him to get what he wants from me, I need to enjoy the game for what it is and give in to the Lord and be his servant. Except for maybe today when they lose 0-13, there is no joy in a game like that, so I should just turn it off and write something that might touch someone and meet them where they need to be met or when on the road I need to be gracious and not be surly and even if they don’t call, I need to be there for them.

It gets more serious when my heart is held hostage over my walk of faith. If I hold back because our worship isn’t the way I like it or even go so far as to think I’ll change churches if it’s not my favorite way and at the time I want it to be, then I have lost and however I worship will not be all that pleasing to the Lord. I cannot say to myself that I will reject my church if the church does not take a particular stand, then I have lost and even the service I do give the church will gain me little and my effectiveness will be limited.

It is not until I raise my hands in surrender that raising my hands in worship hits the mark.

1 Corinthians 12: 17b – “But now God has set the members, each one of them, in the body just as He pleased.”

I confess that over the years, and there have been many for me, I have on occasion been flummoxed enough to pray about moving on. Thankfully, that verse in 1 Corinthians is etched on my heart and I’ve sought the Lord rather than let my emotions get the best of me and ride out of town. I’m too simple a person to understand the whole purpose of God for me, I must listen.

It is not until I take a knee and swear fealty to God that my heart will be unchained.

The writer in me thinks of it like this – when I go through life writing my story and working to fit God into it, the plot ultimately falls apart and the story makes no sense. What I need to do is figure out how to chronical God’s story and my place it. Then the plot works itself out and makes sense.

As I am encouraging myself to unchain my heart from being a hostage against my own desires, I encourage you to do so as well.

In His grip,

jj white