Willsea About That

Birthday to Me

2011-07-29T23:49:00.000-07:00

Happy Love Love Song

Dad, you loved a woman.

Mom, you loved a man.

In that ecstasy of moment,

you thought it was about you

(and it was)

though you did not know in the quickening,

God's design also was me.

He turned your passions

into my person

and love, happy love love,

plied the airwaves with joy.

Just Another Day

2011-07-25T16:39:00.000-07:00

July 25th, 2011
Willsea household stirs and awakens to a roughly sung O Little Town Of Bethlehem. First verse is semi-strong, the second verse stumbling and then ended.

Merry Christmas in July!

We had some gifts left over from Christmas last that have been waiting for an appropriate time to gather with some elderly friends to open. No dates on the calendar have worked out for us. So we finally agreed with them to snap some photos and send them their way.

Almost True Story

2011-02-04T14:00:00.000-08:00

Recent read - a good one. Thanks for the Christmas gift Keely!

The Almost True Story of Ryan Fisher: A Novel by Rob Stennett

"Redemption happens even when we aren't looking for
it."

Start Freedom

2009-10-03T20:53:00.000-07:00

Get involved.
Start by learning more.
Start Freedom

Check this out from Crown Financial Ministries

2009-09-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

God Provides

Faithfully live with trust in God,
... the ultimate Provider

Crown's brand new God Provides™ Film Learning Experience takes a fresh look at timeless illustrations found in Scripture and demonstrates how we can faithfully live with trust and hope in God, the ultimate Provider, no matter what we are facing. You won't want to miss these powerful films.

Includes everything you need for individual study or for groups such as a church small group, a neighborhood Bible study, or even family night:

■Discussion questions, reflection opportunities, and application experiences for each film
■A Family Guide containing unique questions for family study
■A Facilitator's Guide to help when leading a group (no training required!)
■Special Features - Director's Cut, trailers, and behind-the-scenes footage

Crown Financial Ministries

Twit

2009-02-22T23:38:00.000-08:00

Just joined Twitter. Not sure what I've done.
http://twitter.com/johnwillsea

All The Days

2008-07-03T23:24:00.001-07:00

All the days God planned for me
are written in his book
in fine flourish and detailed script
that tells the story of my name,
my form, design, and look.
I hardly believe the volume of words
that speak his love of me!
They far outweigh my measure.
They ring his joy of laughter.
They fold me in the tender
most intimate mementoes
of his grace in blessing—
and blessing through—me.
The number of my days,
though fleeting few or many,
live to sing, and singing, praise
my Maker and His ways.

Frances Rose Willsea
18 May 2008—23 June 2008
(Miscarried in her 5th week of life)

Stretch the Imagination

2008-07-03T18:58:00.000-07:00

Time not only flies, it stretches skyward! When did Wesley head-top Holly? And Eli is close behind! I'm not too secure in my tallest-of-the-family slot.

Isn't it a good thing that we don't continue to grow in height? We would all look pretty funny if we did.

Aren't these three handsome? I think so!

Mark Weinstein - Awesome Presenter!

2008-06-25T14:13:00.000-07:00

I just returned from an ASPE class on SharePoint 2007 Administration. The class was so-so, but I have to tell you - the presenter was AWESOME!!

If you've never heard of Mark WeinStein, you are missing out on life. Check him out @ www.burnedoutgeek.com.

Watchmen on the Walls of the World

2008-01-11T21:29:00.001-08:00

Or am I just watching?

Ezekiel as Israel's Watchman

33 Once again a message came to me from the Lord: ²"Son of man, give your people this message: 'When I bring an army against a country, the people of that land choose one of their own to be a watchman. ³When the watchman sees the enemy coming, he sounds the alarm to warn the people. ⁴Then if those who hear the alarm refuse to take action, it is their own fault if they die. ⁵They heard the alarm but ignored it, so the responsibility is theirs. If they had listened to the warning, they could have saved their lives. ⁶But if the watchman sees the enemy coming and doesn't sound the alarm to warn the people, he is responsible for their captivity. They will die in their sins, but I will hold the watchman responsible for their deaths.'

⁷"Now, son of man, I am making you a watchman for the people of Israel. Therefore, listen to what I say and warn them for me. ⁸If I announce that some wicked people are sure to die and you fail to tell them to change their ways, then they will die in their sins, and I will hold you responsible for their deaths. ⁹But if you warn them to repent and they don't repent, they will die in their sins, but you will have saved yourself.

The Watchman's Message

¹⁰"Son of man, give the people of Israel this message: You are saying, 'Our sins are heavy upon us; we are wasting away! How can we survive?' ¹¹As surely as I live, says the Sovereign Lord, I take no pleasure in the death of wicked people. I only want them to turn from their wicked ways so they can live. Turn! Turn from your wickedness, O people of Israel! Why should you die?

¹²"Son of man, give your people this message: The righteous behavior of righteous people will not save them if they turn to sin, nor will the wicked behavior of wicked people destroy them if they repent and turn from their sins. ¹³When I tell righteous people that they will live, but then they sin, expecting their past righteousness to save them, then none of their righteous acts will be remembered. I will destroy them for their sins. ¹⁴And suppose I tell some wicked people that they will surely die, but then they turn from their sins and do what is just and right. ¹⁵For instance, they might give back a debtor's security, return what they have stolen, and obey my life-giving laws, no longer doing what is evil. If they do this, then they will surely live and not die. ¹⁶None of their past sins will be brought up again, for they have done what is just and right, and they will surely live.

¹⁷"Your people are saying, 'The Lord isn't doing what's right,' but it is they who are not doing what's right. ¹⁸For again I say, when righteous people turn away from their righteous behavior and turn to evil, they will die. ¹⁹But if wicked people turn from their wickedness and do what is just and right, they will live. ²⁰O people of Israel, you are saying, 'The Lord isn't doing what's right.' But I judge each of you according to your deeds."

Tyndale House Publishers: Holy Bible : New Living Translation. 2nd ed. Wheaton, Ill. : Tyndale House Publishers, 2004, S. Eze 33:1-20

Sin

2008-01-10T21:26:00.001-08:00

"Sin seems to be evenly distributed in the sense that some of us sin more than others, but all of us sin a lot more than we think we do."

Ray Pritchard, sermon: I Am A Sinner Too

keepbelieving.com

Original Sin" by Sally Rogers

Courage

2007-09-18T23:44:00.000-07:00

I had a phone call at work the other day from our eldest child (11). He was doing a report for school and needed some help.

"Do you know a good quote from someone about courage?"

"Hmmm. Not off the top of my head," I replied. "Let me take a quick look on Google."

Within seconds I had a bunch of hits and gave him this one from the famous 19th and 20th Century poet Robert Frost:

“The best way out is always through.”

He thanked me and hung up. A few minutes later he called back. "What do you think courage is, Dad?"

First of all, assignment or not, I can't begin to tell you how good I felt being asked that question by my son. It was wonderful. I didn't have an answer. I told him to give me a few minutes to think about it and that I would call him back. That's what I did. And this is what I came up with:

Courage is the willingness to face what you don't want to face, to press into the difficulty, both because it is right and because you know the outcome is worth it.

What I found especially meaningful was that my son challenged me to think beyond the moment. He challenged me to enter a dialogue with him. It's part of the Great Conversation. With his permission, I'll post his work when he's done.

Image from the American Cancer Society website to help raise awareness regarding the fight against ovarian cancer.

New Favorite Album

2007-09-14T02:01:00.000-07:00

My new favorite album was a gift to me from my Dad. I didn't know it was a gift I had been given. I unwrapped it's beauty this evening while I sat computing and Holly sat studying the book of Matthew in the Bible. Sweet words and strains of contemplation that my Dad never knew he gave me, yet bear the hallmark of his wisdom through the voices of others: faithfulness and peace, grounded in an upward trust and rest.

City On A Hill: Songs of Worship and Praise

There it sat on the console of Jolly Green. I didn't remember seeing it before. I picked it up and saw a simple Christmas return address label stuck on the CD case, bearing these familiar lines:

Mr. Maurice Willsea
27959 27 1/2 St.
Gobles, MI 49055-9231

All of the songs are a balm. Even the liner notes dedication reminds me of Dad:

In Loving Memory of our friend, Gene Eugene

What a great gift from beyond the grave, however inadvertent, from M. Eugene Willsea, to his son.

Dear To My Heart

2007-09-06T23:36:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite collages of Annika's earliest days in the world!

Baseball

2007-08-03T00:53:00.000-07:00

Free burgers. That's what got me to the game.

Free admission, too -- for the whole family.

The Big Empty in the left field stands.

Not much happening.

Kids run up and down the aisles.

My 2 year old gets folded up and stuck in her chair.

Her cries rise with Queen's Rock You anthem.

Lots of inactivity punctuated by moments of game.

Crack! Flyball to center field. Broken bat goes spinning down 3rd baseline.

Why am I here?

To rest.

To be.

To embrace life.

The summer evening cools past sunset.

We make our way out of the ballpark

under the stadium lights

to the car, through the city

home.

Portland AAA Ball

2007-08-03T00:22:00.000-07:00

Went to a ball game last night for the first time with the family. Good fun. TEKsystems (my contracting agency/employer) provided the food, a kids play area, plus game tickets as an employee appreciation event.

It's been a long time since I went to a baseball game.

Saw a bat break.

Kids didn't want to leave until they got a baseball like some of the other kids in the stands.

We left in the 9th inning with the score at 3-3.

I loved the public singing of the Star Spangled Banner and the honoring of the flag.

It was amazing to sit for 2+ hours, together with a bunch of other people and just . . . rest. It was kind of like church, only better. The "worship service" was interactive and full-orbed, with many sub-sermons happening concurrently within the main sermon. Lots of noise and activity, coordinated and spontaneous, that ended with everyone leaving with the point driven home:

Qohelet's summation (in Ecclesiastes in the Bible) is true:

Love God - Embrace Life - Live a better tomorrow than today

Reconnecting A Shared Marriage Vision-Purpose-Pursuit

2007-04-01T18:32:00.000-07:00

Re-Imaging Oneness

Love together, for a lifetime.
Dream together where we want to go,
What we want to do,
How we want to be.
You and me, together for a lifetime
When all around us (and sometimes even in us)
Is against us,
Is for separation by increments, if not outright abandonments.
Weather all onslaughts with passion.
Embrace this adventure in hope.
Dance the future bright with me
Through valleys and heights
On our shining city journey.

Swimming

2007-02-01T00:13:00.000-08:00

I had the best time swimming with my family the other day.

I am not really big on swimming. I’m not sure when or why I changed, but I did. I used to really enjoy swimming. Most days now I would just as soon avoid it.

I remember the great times of swimming I used to have with my sister and brother at North Lake. My brother and I had this game we would play. It was called the sit-on-you-in-the-water-until-you-can’t-breathe-and-you-think-you’re-going-to-die-so-you-return-the-“favor”-but-Dad-sees-you-and-thinks-you’re-being-mean-to-your-little-brother-so-yells-at-you-to-play-with-him-nicely-and-you-end-up-under-water-again-with-your-brother-laughing-while-you-struggle-and-gasp game.

I think it has something to do with that water-in-the-nose burning sensation that you get when you almost breathe water. It’s not the choking, but it is definitely a wrong move to ingest water through your nose. I remember one time having that happen with milk only backwards. The milk took a wrong turn at the back of my throat and drained into my nasal cavity. In the middle of that, or maybe because of it, I started laughing. The burning started, my nose immediately began to drain, I was still trying to swallow but the laugh was seeking release, and in an incredible paroxysm of varied systems colliding, I spewed milk almost the length of our house trailer kitchen.

Anyway, I got that water burning deal when I was with the kids and remembered some of these things. But I had the best time with them.

It wasn’t so much that I was swimming, because I wasn’t. I was just in the water. With them. Laughing and splashing. Splashing and laughing. They don’t care whether I’m swimming or not. They just want to be with me. Sharing the moment.

I know that sounds obvious. It is obvious. But we so often miss the obvious and need it pointed out to us.

Swimming is still not my game. But I’m going to swim anyway.

Fog

2007-01-26T06:01:00.000-08:00

Purchase print at www.kevinbauman.com
One of the books I remember reading as a kid was called Fog Magic. As you would expect from such a title, it told the story of some pretty strange adventures that a girl experienced on foggy days.

The other day was a foggy day. It wrapped the landscape in its cottony blanket that narrowed the world to a small bubble of space around me. I like the fog because it seems to slow the pace of life. I just have to deal with what's in front of me, not with what is way off in the distance.

Quiet came with the fog, too. That's another thing I like about it. It's a sense of imposed peace, conveying a quality that lets me think my own thoughts rather than the marketing messages of others.

How odd to think that the more foggy it is, the more clearly I see.

Plus I like that Evian mist-in-the-face refreshing spritz that fog gives. And it's all free.

Eternity

2007-01-22T16:39:00.000-08:00

Eternity came into our home last night. It came to stay. There was a knock at the door and a little boy named Garrett answered and invited Eternity in. The first thing he said to his new friend was that he was sorry for offending him and asked his forgiveness. The next thing he did was give Eternity a place to stay for always. And Garrett's heart was full of Joy.

Random

2007-01-19T22:42:00.000-08:00

Today I feel random. Like I’m floating in the air being pushed by the wind to seemingly disconnected destinations. My thoughts feel scattered. My focus is out of whack (whatever “whack” is; I’ve never heard of being “in whack,” only out of). Composing this piece I went from Tea to Work to Poetry and left it all hanging.

Tea
There’s nothing like a nice hot cup of tea in the evening with my wife. It’s a nice wind down time together.

Work
I leave for work at about 7:20 or so on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday. Wednesday and Thursday I meet with friends at 6:00 (okay, I’m usually late) and then go on to work. I leave work between 5:00 and 5:30 and get home about 6:00 or shortly after.

Poem 1
Words are hard on certain days.
It seems there’s not much left to say.

Poem 2
Dream awhile.
Dream a life, full and free.

Sometimes I feel like that’s the story of my life, that I’m left hanging. Always starting, never finishing. Pushed along variously by either a gale or a gentle breeze.

It occurs to me that the common connection is the air itself. And the places I alight are not destinations at all. They are part of the journey.

Crowds

2007-01-18T21:11:00.000-08:00

I don't like crowds much. I've been taking the MAX train into work the past few days because of the snow. It saves me a lot of hassle driving in crappy weather on dangerous roads with other drivers. There are trade-offs, though.

Like the press of people.

I just stepped off the train going home, to sit in a coffee shop, write this, and get away from the jam packed train car I was in. The peace I feel is real. The pace is slow and relaxing. The coffee isn't the greatest, but it's hot, and the place has ambiance to spare. If you ever get to Beaverton, Oregon, check out Urban Rhythms - At The Round coffee shop.

What drives us at times to want aloneness, yet at others to avoid it? Is it a desire to know ourselves or escape ourselves? Is it neither, or both?

Igloo

2007-01-18T20:59:00.000-08:00

Early every Thursday morning I meet with a friend at Starbucks for a mid-week church service. It is one of the precious times in my week. Our conversations run up and down the musical scales of our lives, alternately going deep and low, then high and light.

Today we talked about igloos. He had just built one. It was his way of playing in the snow that came our way (Portland rarely gets any that lasts). He and his son and dog slept in it when it was done. But, as is so typical of my friend, while he was building, he managed to draw in many of his neighbors to help. He's a master at turning the mundane into connective opportunities.

He encourages me that I can, too.

Profound

2007-01-16T22:51:00.000-08:00

When I was in college my friends and I had a word game we played called Deep But Not Profound. The first person begins with: "It's deep, but it's not profound." The second person takes the final letter of the second word (the "d" in profound, in this case) and creates another pairing. No. That's not it. Stupid, but not dumb. Time to Google.

. . . . I'm back. Nope. I didn't find the rules. In fact, I've forgotten the rules. I found some posting threads that demonstrate the game, but I can't break the code yet. So, never mind.

The point being, I have a desire to always write something meaningful. Or at least something witty. Or at least least something interesting.

Obviously, that doesn't always happen. It's a hole but it's not empty. It's a mind, but it's not a brain. It's a blog, but it's not always interesting.

I'm out, but I'm not down.

Avon Lady

2007-01-15T22:34:00.000-08:00

Remember the Avon Lady? She was kind of like Mary Poppins to me. She showed up at odd times bringing a fascinating array of esoteric stuff that you could only get through her. My Mom somehow knew her a little bit, though it was never clear how. Mom seemed to reckon her as a semi-salvific miracle worker.

A near cousin to the Avon Lady was the Tupperware Lady. She didn't come around as often, but there always seemed to be an entourage that came with her. When I got married, I discovered that my wife was on close terms with the Tupperware Lady and her friends. She didn't know the Avon Lady, but that Tupperware Lady almost became a live-in relative.

Seems like some generational mutation has occurred in the past 15 to 20 years. In that time I've been introduced to the Pampered Chef Lady, the Longaberger Basket Lady (she was my sister for a while), the DeMarle Lady (only heard of her, not yet met her), the Alouette Lady (only heard of her, too), the Creative Memories Lady, Mary Kay Lady, Lingerie Lady (my wife does not know this person, nor do I, nor do I expect to), Rubber Stamp Lady, and the most famous in our household, the Party Lite Candle Lady.

I think Tupperware Lady got moved to the mall, and Avon Lady got moved to a digest-sized catalog. It's a mystery how Lingerie Lady moved into the home party business. I don't even want to know. Something has changed, however, with the new crop of Ladies. They are very marketing savvy within the social networking environment. Group think helps the sales, and the products seem to fulfill the specialized wants of the targeted buyers. And it all gets accomplished in the context of shared hospitality experiences with friends and neighbors. It's all very slick and nice, but it's not the same.

I mourn the loss of the Avon Lady. She was the last of the honest peddlers. Yes, she brought her wares for sale. But she also brought news from distant neighbors and a sense of wonders from foreign lands. She was an ambassador and a confidante. She gave a woman a break in the middle of her day to sit and gab for an hour over coffee or tea with a globe-trotting friend. When she left, you always knew she would be back. And she'd bring her bag of miracles with her.

Let The Light In

2007-01-14T23:24:00.000-08:00

I've gone to quite a few churches over the past 25 years and something struck me today that hasn't risen to the surface before. When did windows start disappearing? The church we went to in college was a new construction church and had narrow windows high in the walls surrounding the auditorium. You had to look up to see the outside light. You couldn't look outside (or inside for that matter) through them.

The church we regularly attend, in an older historic church building, has some windows in the balcony, some of them with cool stained glass artwork. But mostly the focus forward is away from them, the backdrop on stage being a dark fabric. Some of the other churches we have attended in Portland don't have any windows at all.

We visited a church today that made me think of this. Don't get me wrong. It was a welcoming church with spiritually connective worship and teaching. The auditorium was big enough to be accommodating, yet small enough to be inclusive. Across the front, behind the stage, hung what appeared to be rich draperies, variously lighted. There were no windows.

I got to thinking: "I wonder what's behind the curtains? Did the Israelites think about that when they went into the temple? Did church architects pattern their worship centers after the descriptions of the way that Israel's temple was described in the Bible? Wait a minute! Most Israelites wouldn't have seen the curtain in front of the Holy of Holies because only the priests were allowed in the part of the temple where that was. And only the High Priest got to go behind the curtain once a year. Anyway, the veil of the temple was torn in two when Christ had finished his work of atonement on the cross. That opened the way for everyone to freely come before God through Jesus. The light inside got blown outward so that the light outside could come in. Why aren't there windows in here, anyway?"

I would like to see more windows in our churches. They don't just let the light in. They let me see out. They also let others see in. Most people are drawn to light-filled places, to what's happening behind light-filled windows. We like to see what life is like in there. It is inviting.

Maybe I need more windows in me.

Gadget

2007-01-13T22:47:00.000-08:00

This is the iPhone. It is cool. Sometime I would like one. I'm a gadget guy. In fact, my confession is that I would like to get a MacBook Pro.

It's because that's what I am: Cool and a Pro.

And creative.

And I like books.

Reconcilliation

2007-01-12T23:24:00.000-08:00

Then:
Esau held a grudge against Jacob. . .[and] said to himself, "The days of mourning my father are near; then I will kill by brother Jacob." Genesis 27:41

20 years later:
Then Esau ran to meet him and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept. Genesis 33:10

The last glimpse in the rearview mirror that Jacob had of his twin brother Esau was of him nursing a grudge and plotting his murder. Jacob had been gone for twenty years and is now returning home. They've had no contact in all that time. No wonder he was fearful of what might happen. What did happen was nothing less than miraculous.

When did Esau exchange his rage and vengance for love and forgiveness? How did he? Why did he?

It's been almost three years now after a friend and I had a falling out. A lot has happened in both our lives since then. But the view in my rearview mirror is still fresh with me. Based on that view, I really prefer to avoid contact. Because like Jacob, I am afraid.

Does time heal all wounds? How much time if it does? And what does the proverb mean that the wounds of a friend are faithful?

Magical

2007-01-11T22:48:00.000-08:00

It snowed today. Some news, huh? After all, it is January. But it doesn't snow everywhere in January. Indeed, there are many places that rarely, if ever, experience snow. Portland is a real low snow place, or at least has been for the 12+ years we've lived here. Having come from Michigan, which is a very high snow place, I've gotten used to very mild winters. Snow is where you go to if you are so inclined. In Portland it rarely comes to you.

Yesterday I left the house early to meet a friend for breakfast. I had heard reports of possible snowfall, but there was none when I got up. As I walked outdoors my first thought was that the temperature didn't feel too cold. My second thought, as I inhaled the fresh early morning air, was a flashback to a long dormant memory from my Michigan years: It smells like snow in the air.

At that moment, I felt a bit of cold wet on the back of my neck. I glanced into the sky, up past the streetlight, and saw gently falling flakes, floating mesmerizingly down. It didn't last. But that brief moment of olfactory memory showed how deeply etched are the fondnesses of the past from a place once called home.

Unlikely Choices

2007-01-10T22:28:00.000-08:00

I was reading the Bible in chapter 10 of Matthew's account of Jesus' life and about how Jesus chose the twelve apostles. A few things strike me as a little odd. First, he chose several sets of brothers. Maybe it seems just natural because nothing is ever made about it, but the last thing you want are family members bringing sibling rivalries or private jokes or whatever into a new circle of friends. I mean, look at what Jesus' brothers tried to do to him. They tried to have him committed because they thought he was crazy.

Then there's Matthew himself. He's a tax collector for crying out loud! Way to ruin a party, let alone a band of close friends. Just move the IRS in and tell everyone to act like normal. All I can say is he didn't do such a great job if he couldn't finger Judas for skimming from the money bag.

But the choice of Judas as an apostle is most perplexing of all. Whenever his name is mentioned in the Bible it is always in the context of his betrayal of Jesus. So you can't read about him without thinking about the rest of the story, both the betrayal and his subsequent suicide. If anyone in the world is damned, certainly Judas is chief. And Jesus knew it from the beginning. Yet Jesus chose him. To be an apostle. Judas preached the arrival of the Kingdom of God along with the other apostles. Along with them, Judas worked miracles. Judas received the same commission as the rest of the apostles. But Judas threw it all over. He abandoned it all. And Jesus knew it from the beginning. Still Jesus chose him.

I believe Jesus chose me to walk with him. Should I be grateful? Or should I be afraid?

Yesterday

2007-01-09T21:30:00.000-08:00

January 8th, 2007 is an anniversary for me. It's the ninth anniversary of my mother's death. How can it already have been so long? Pretty much any memories of her for my children come from pictures and stories, since our oldest was only 2 and our second born only 2 months old. Sometimes, even the memories for me are helped most by pictures and stories. When I wrote a few days ago about taking out the trash, I re-captured a nice cache of them.

I'm not really certain why memories of Mom come harder to me than memories of Dad. Possibly because of the stroke that so changed her last 2 years. What I am grateful for is that they get stronger and more numerous as time passes. She is indelibly imprinted on my life. I move a certain way, clear my throat just so, laugh or smile, and she is there. My particular bents and quirks with regard to "how things are done--the right way" (silverware placement, TP over the top, a place for everything and everything has its place, etc., etc.) owe their genesis to her.

Ann Elizabeth Solomon Willsea. I look forward to catching up with her over a nice tea, someday, and thanking her for all she poured into me, all she sacrificed for me, all that she loved me and loved me and loved me.

Gotta Get It Out The Door

2007-01-08T23:52:00.000-08:00

Short post. Call it a stub. I only have a few minutes to make my unbroken string of blogs, not counting the first one. Sometimes that's how our family operates -- just trying to get out the door. Of course, then there is the need to close the door, please shut the door behind you. Oh, and lock the door. Don't leave the door wide open. Stop slamming the door! Don't open that door! Knock first, please. Who left the door open? Could you get the door? Let me get the door for you.

My mom used to have a sign taped to the back of the door out to the garage: "Please shut me quietly, as I have feelings, too." Theoretically, it was supposed to be a better reminder to us kids than Dad's loud reprimand.

Holiday Letters

2007-01-07T23:02:00.000-08:00

It happened again this year. We even started early and had the rough draft completed. Got the very pretty paper to use for the hardcopies we send. The family photo that we plan to include almost put us off schedule, but we even were able to squeeze that in just before Christmas (like, on Eve, but it still counts as before and still time to get it all put together and sent by New Year's day or a few days after).We have the stack of cards and letters from so many that do such a better job at this than we do. They sit there in the pile on the piano, waiting to be read or re-read, seeming to sneer in smug judgement on our procrastinating selves, smiling glibly that they were completed in the proper year. Guilt mongers all!

Can't we just sign our names this year? Can't we just send a blast email greeting? Do we have to do the obligatory every-family-member-blow-by-blow update? What does everyone want from us anyway? If we write a good letter one year, does that mean we have to one-up ourselves next year? And how about the year after that? Why do so many people live without this problem, and can't we be one of them?

Maybe we should let the kids write it (that's a good way to pass the buck). I think it would turn out like this:
Wesley (11): "Well, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone! We're glad to know you and maybe you can have us over sometime. And maybe us kids can play the Nintendo Gamecube!"
Eli (9): "Huh? What? Me? It's my turn?"
Celeste (6-almost 7): "Has anyone seen my pink cowboy boots?"
Garrett (4): "I really like fire trucks. I like garbage trucks, too. But I really like fire trucks. Some day I'm going to be a fireman, or maybe a garbage man. Probably I'll be a fireman, though. I really like fire trucks. But maybe I'll be bald like Daddy."
Annika (2): "I pray! 'Dear Jeee, Mommy, Ceeeste, Warrett, (pause) Mommy, Daddy, Eeeii, (longer pause) Eeeii, Warrett, Boy (for Wesley), me, Amen!"

Then Holly and I can sign it:

Friends

2007-01-06T23:48:00.000-08:00

Our friends had their date night tonight and came over with dessert and spent their time with us. We had a very enjoyable time together. It's nice to have friends that feel comfortable enough with you to just drop in and hang out together.

The whole idea of friends is such a gift to humanity. It's an affirmation that we are not alone; that we are known and accepted for who we are. We are challenged to live outside ourselves by being friends and having friends.

Something to drink. Something to eat. Share some laughs. Look to the future together. (What do you mean your daughter is starting to be interested in a boy? What's that all about? I'm not ready for that stage yet. I'm glad you're there before we are.) Look to the past together.

Together. Community. Sharing the burdens of life. Give thanks for your friends.

Garbage

2007-01-05T22:57:00.000-08:00

Tonight was take-out-the-garbage night. I hate take-out-the-garbage night. Usually because I'm whip-dog tired from the day and it's the last way I want to spend my time. Okay, it's pretty much a selfish thing and a lazy thing. A whining childish don't-want-to-be-responsible thing.

Without fail, however, I think about my father-in-law. I know that's one of his jobs and he faithfully does it. I've never heard him complain about it. I haven't heard him grumble about how tired he is. He just does it. Maybe in his private moments he, too, hates take-out-the-garbage night. But no one would know it.

And in thinking about him doing it, I feel connected to a reality that is bigger than me. It's the reality that this mundane task has a significance far out of proportion to the miniscule energy expended on it once a week. After all, take-out-the-garbage night is a chaos-buster activity. Everyone everywhere that performs this function brings a little order to their corner of the world.

I'm also reminded of my Mom and the example she set for me. I can see her 5' 3" frame at twilight, bundled into an old grayish-brown coat, maybe with Dad's gray winter cap with the flaps pulled over her ears, trudging throught the snow in his army-issue Mickey Mouse boots taking out our trash to the burning barrel. As a little kid, I watched her from the window and wanted like anything to be out there with her.

Now's my chance to make her proud.

Rain and Sun

2007-01-04T15:55:00.000-08:00

It rains in Portland. I guess it rains just about everywhere sometime. Some places more than most. Portland is probably pretty average as far as the volume of rain goes. But it sure seems like a lot lately, and it hasn't been a particularly long stretch of time.

The sun broke through the clouds this afternoon and I saw it briefly out the window as I was going about my work. I smiled and felt better about pretty much everything.

National Mourning

2007-01-03T13:21:00.000-08:00

Collective grief and remembrance is powerful. For the past week I have read multiple media pieces about our 38th president, Gerald R. Ford, who was buried today at his presidential museum in Grand Rapids, MI. Without fail they have all been positive. All speak of the man in glowing terms. They say, in so many words, that he was the nation's healer, the compassionate physician who mended a battered nation after the scandal that was called Watergate. That he did it by means of his everyman character, his goodman nature, his commoner approach to leadership based on his unassuming sense of responsibility guided by his commonsense convictions. They call him great.

And so he was.

To me, his death marks the end of an era--mostly, that of my awakening to broader world realities around me. His is the first Presidential Inauguration that made an impact on me, and I remember the sense of relief that came with knowing our system for transfer of power worked, even in the face of unprecedented historical events (the impeachment and resignation of President Nixon). His gaffes on the ski slopes and the golf links served to endear the man to all, especially in the face of surreal assassination attempts. He seemed truly a man between worlds, a gap bridger, a uniter. A President Washington of sorts, a kind of Lincoln, with hints of Roosevelt. A family man. A man committed to his wife and his community. Humble. Dutiful. Appropriately private. Appropriately public. A servant.

Much to be emulated.

Star Wars Rite of Passage

2007-01-02T11:59:00.000-08:00

We had a rite of passage in our home this past holiday season. We introduced our 11 and 9 year-old boys to Star Wars (the originals). Truth be told, they probably knew more about it than we realized. Lego marketing helped out a lot in that regard. We had fun watching together and talking about the characters and their choices and our favorite parts. It helped them appreciate even more the OMSI exhibits that they recently went to. Of course, at the end of each one they wanted to launch right into the next one. They didn't quite grasp what we meant when we told them that we had to wait years before we saw the "next" one, sometimes not even knowing if there would be a next one.

One of them received the Lego Star Wars Gameboy Advance game from Papa and Grandma. I'm looking forward to when it's my turn to play.

Oaths and Resolutions

2007-01-02T11:40:00.000-08:00

I'm usually not big on making formal resolutions for the new year. Maybe I'm just a slacker. This year isn't much different, except that I thought briefly that if I was to make a resolution, it would be fun to resolve to post a blog-a-day for the year. So I'm going to try that. The other thing that is a resolution of sorts is to read the Bible through as a family. That amounts to roughly 3 chapters in the Old Testament and 1 chapter in the New Testament each day. We'll see how it goes. So far I'm at 50% on the blog and 100% on the read through.

Happy Birthday!

2006-11-07T12:43:00.000-08:00

Today is my Dad's birthday! He would have been 75. Here's to you, Dad! I love you and miss you. Save a place at the table and a burger for me. Looking forward to our long reunion celebration!

Love, John

Can God Save America? Does He Want To?

2006-10-23T16:32:00.000-07:00

Election day is coming. Lots of rhetoric and posturing. Bottom line quote for just about everyone involved ends up being:

"Believe what I'm telling you! Have faith in me! I'll do right by you and our country!"

To be honest about it, if I heard that line from candidates I would probably vote for them. At least it's a positive message. Instead, much of the airplay is saved for the most creative "critiques" of opponents, along with "totally believable" assurances that "I'm not like that!" It's often more about what doesn't define a candidate than what does.

Much of the time, the seemingly obligatory addendum to much speechifying is the statement/request/prayer(ish) for God's blessing on America. I think it has been used so much that it has largely become empty of meaning.

What if God did bless America - according to God's idea of what blessing is? What if blessing constitutes correction so we can be set on a right (by God's standard) path? What if blessing includes forms of judgment against our collective willfulnesses? What if part of God's blessing to us is our own self-exposure to do away with hypocrisy? Do I want that kind of blessing?

I think God can save America. Part of the saving comes in our acceptance of responsibility for our own actions. Part of the saving comes in our embrace of the consequences of our own actions - even if that is inaction. I just don't know if he wants to. He's not so much in the nation-saving business as he is in the individual salvage industry. I think he's more concerned about people as people than he is about our programs, parties, persuasions.

I know God saves sinners, because I am one who has been. And what I need most is to keep on being saved from myself. I'm sure I'm not alone.

Diversity

2006-10-11T23:31:00.000-07:00

The other day at work we had a Diversity Luncheon. It was free. I went. I didn't really know what a Diversity Luncheon was supposed to be. My trailerpark-side-of-the-tracks thought processes mainly wondered if that was a fancy way of saying potluck. More to the point, little sausages and little meatballs. All of the posters for the event trumpeted that French Canadian cuisine would be enjoyed by all. I wasn't so sure about the promise. To be honest, I had no clue what French Canadian was in the food arena. But, whatever. It was free.

I got to thinking about diversity.

My knee-jerk reaction was to associate it with homosexual something or other. I really didn't want to have anything to do with even seeming like I was endorsing something I don't, so I almost didn't go. But free. . . . Temptation comes in many forms, aroma not the least. But I was stumped as to how French Canadian fit into that paradigm. French, maybe. But French Canadian sounded too Northwoodsy lumberjacky to me to go there. Besides, homogeneity and diversity don't mix.

I wondered what the big deal is about diversity anyway, to the point that we have special luncheons to highlight it. The corporate website has a whole section of pages devoted to illuminating the virtures of diversity and the importance of valuing diversity. I found there the corporate diversity policy with attendant diversity training sessions, as well as the annual diversity events calendar. Why is there a seeming fixation on the celebration of diversity? It's not like it's something new.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not down on diversity. I'm certainly not down on celebrating it--especially where free food is involved. What has me stymied is the depth and the vehemence of focus that it receives. After all, diversity is . . . well, basic. It's all around us all the time in everything. We live and breathe diversity. Diversity is undeniable in its ubiquitousness. Maybe the term has been weighed down with more freighted meaning than it was ever capable of holding.

Whatever happened to Unity? Is there a Unity Luncheon on the calendar? That's what I want to celebrate. I want to raise a meatball to that which brings us together, to shared convictions and passions, to common decency, to agreeing to disagree, to feeling each others hurts because life just hurts sometimes, to our humanity with all its foibles as we seek the greenful pasturage rest.

For Ross and Matt Because You'll Know Why to Laugh

2006-09-13T22:44:00.000-07:00

For you guys: The only ones in the world I don't have to explain this to and who will get it immediately. For everyone else: You don't get the explanation, and you wouldn't understand it or laugh if you did. All I can say is, you had to be there for the context, and even then it was a dicey prospect.

So, this is in the caffeteria where I work. There's a monthly drawing. And you thought the coliseum events all ended when Rome fell!

Can you say: EDAC ??

Cubicle 2 - Another for Mary

2006-09-04T01:58:00.000-07:00

OK. I'm on a roll with my obesession with the zen of the work environment. I only recently was made aware of Hallmark's Hoops and YoYo e-greetings - (Thanks, Mary!). I love them. Not everyone will. Bear with the click-thru to go along with me on my latest quest for sanity in the Dilbert world:

Another Song I Like

2006-08-08T23:42:00.000-07:00

Okay. This is too funny not to share. Especially given my piece on the cube life (see Cubist Agronomy post).

Some many months ago I caught a stray few minutes of Smallville and one of the songs playing at that moment was "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt (Back to Bedlam). One of the reasons it struck my fancy was its theme of alternate realities: the what-if scenario building we do to somehow escape into some other life where the grass is greener, the love is sweeter, and all is idyll and fulfillment. The song gives me the same kind of reaction that the Nicolas Cage movie "Family Man" gave me. Without getting into it too far, I think this taps into a universal human longing for peace, for hope, for rest that goes soulishly deep. If you listen to the song, you'll hear the protagonist "wake" from his dream and embrace the reality of life in this world and the inevitable feeling of loss when the dream dissipates to reveal the seeming mundane.

Then I got this email from my comrade in cubicle craziness. And what a hoot to me, since it tells the story of how I feel. Thanks for the laughs and fun, Renee! [If any one from work is reading this and listens to the song, a few caveats: 1) the song is tongue-in-cheek; I'm not surfing the internet all day 2) the last line is never true of me.]

Click the pic --------------------->

Earthquake!

2006-08-04T01:32:00.000-07:00

I was in an earthquake yesterday. No, really. I was.

I had just gone to bed at about 1:30 (yes, late night; yes, up too late; no, not watching TV; no, not useless surfing--at least mostly not totally useless) when the house shook for a few moments. Longer than a slammed door, and all over, like it had been hit by something. I jumped out of bed and went to check things out. Totally quiet out on the street. No sirens. No neighbors coming out like me to check things out. Just peaceful middle-of-the-night mid-summer quiet. I went to check on my older two sons who were camping out with our rabbits, one of which just had babies. They were sound asleep (though Eli said he woke up briefly because he heard the rabbit cages rattling). Like what I should be doing. I went back to bed thinking it must be just me. Too late. Too little sleep. Too much coffee. Overactive imagination.

Then in the morning, Holly called me at work to tell me there had been an earthquake in Battle Ground, just over the Columbia from us in Washington. A 3.8 earthquake. And I felt it. Not my imagination after all.

We live right on the west side of Mt. Tabor--an extinct volcanic cinder cone in the Portland city limits.

Did I mention anything about 'overactive'? See any smoke yet? How about a re-fill on that Starbucks.

Car Talk

2006-07-26T00:10:00.000-07:00

Had the car battery die on me today. Not that it's the fault of the battery. That privilege lies with me. How many years since I've done that? I remember always feeling ashamed that I had gotten a flat, ran out of gas, or whatever, that somehow I had let my dad down by not being more careful. He didn't make me feel ashamed. That's what I put on myself--because I wanted him to be proud of me, and letting your battery run down because you forgot to turn off the lights wasn't the way to make it happen.

Somehow, somewhy, there was always this tension in me to want my dad's approval, his "That's my boy!" He didn't withhold it; he just expressed it differently than I wanted. I wanted the words and he wasn't long on words. Dad was also more "be" than "do", if you know what I mean. He could just sit and . . . just sit . . . and that counted as his affirmation. If he slept or watched TV and you were there, that counted, too. When he visited our family we were always dragging him to "do" something with us--the zoo, the coast, Multnomah Falls, the Rhododendron Gardens--but he was always most content . . . just sitting, just "be"-ing.

I give my kids the words, because the words are important to me--and I think words are powerful. But I wonder: Are "doing" and "being" what speaks to my kids? It's all important, but how do they hear love best?

Willsea Recommends iTunes

2006-07-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

Every now and then a song hits me and speaks into my soul. It happened most recently with a new Jars of Clay song that came on Air1 while I was making my daily commute home from Beaverton. It's called - Dead Man (Carry Me) from their upcoming album "Good Monsters" which is set for a September 5th release. It has a rollicking, foot-tapping beat with a lyric that brings Terry Taylor and Daniel Amos to mind. This takes me back to my late 70s early 80s days when I was being heavily influenced by key Jesus music artists like Larry Norman, Randy Stonehill, and Keith Green. Jars has hit it - I am just a dead man; I want to be a new man. I need someone to carry me. I need someone to make me breathe. The song is sung in present tense first person. The big deal (in case you're snidely wondering) is that it's what I need now, every day. I can't do it on my own.

I hit on Peter Gabriel's I Grieve from his album "Up" when I caught a segment of Smallville one night. It is a haunting foray into the embrace of grief after loss. I found it incredibly healing after the recent death of my dad. My best friend from my hometown had also just had his dad die when I discovered the song. How well I remember cruising the by-ways of West Michigan listening to the latest Chicago, REO Speedwagon, and Pat Benatar. Gabriel gently leads me into the permission to feel the agony of what has been ripped from my heart, and in the pain begin to discover the undying memories that live in that hidden place. (It's in first person, too, in case you didn't get that from the title.)

It's funny that much of the time the songs I listen to merely provide a background sound to life at the moment. Then come the ones that stop me, look me in the eyes, and reveal reality staring out of the mirror at me. I'm never the same afterward.

Something to Read

2006-06-23T00:07:00.000-07:00

You know how the saying goes from the Reagan era, "This one's for the Gipper!", or something like that. Anyway, this entry is for Mary.

Mary was over the other night on one of her weekly visits with my wife and somehow the blog came up. She said that every now and then she checks it to see if I have anything new to say.

Obviously from the dates of my posts it is easy to ascertain that all of my thoughts are gone, nothing left to say, all the words kaput! I must have a leak somewhere.

Look where my brain function gets sucked away: Its from my cube (see Cubist Agronomy post). It must be melting. And I'm in it, so I must be melting. I'M MELTING, MELTing, MElting, meltingggggggggggggg!

Cubist Agronomy

2006-05-03T14:50:00.000-07:00

Incredible.

After a 10 minute interview, I was hired. Why? Because I said I didn't have any formal training in the job duties. They said no one had ever admitted to that fact in any interview they had ever conducted.

So now I'm a cube farmer. I cultivate the cube economy. Lots of fresh fertilizer helps the cubes to grow.

Grow. Grow. Grow.
So. So. So.

Help me!

Honor and Farewell

2006-02-19T21:47:00.000-08:00

WILLSEA, Maurice Eugene
Gobles

Devoted husband and father, who gave of himself to so many through encouraging words, prayers and kindnesses, passed away Friday, February 10th, 2006. He was 74. Mr. Willsea was born November 7, 1931 in Gobles and resided in the area all his life. He is survived by his three children and their families, Lori (Dan) Miller, Josh, Katie, Ben, Becca, David of Churubusco, IN, John (Holly) Willsea, Wesley, Eli, Celeste, Garrett, Annika of Portland, OR, Bill (Marcie) Willsea, Matt, Beth, Amber of Kalamazoo, MI; his brother and sisters, Louie Willsea, Freida Amos of Gobles, Laurel Sherburn of Paw Paw. He was preceded in death by Ann, his wife of 44 years, and his brothers, Wes Strong, Wendell, Claude and Jim Willsea. He will be missed in this life, but the family is planning a grand reunion with him and his Saviour Jesus in the next. The family will greet friends and relatives Monday 2 - 4 and 6 - 8 p.m. at the

GOBLES CHAPEL
D.L. MILLER FUNERAL HOME
www.dlmillerfuneralhome.com

Funeral services will be held Tuesday, 11 a.m. at the Covey Hill Baptist Church, of which he was an active member, with Pastor Buz Cliffe, a dear friend, officiating. Interment will follow at Alamo cemetery. The family suggests memorials to either Covey Hill Baptist Church or West Michigan Cancer Center, Kalamazoo.

Published in the Kalamazoo Gazette on 2/12/2006.
http://www.legacy.com/kalamazoo/LegacySubPage2.asp?Page=LifeStory&PersonId=16725104

She Dances For Joy

2005-11-23T23:05:00.000-08:00

She dances for joy
And for fun
And for beauty.
She dances because
She must
For this is her chorus
And her voice shouts
From her leaps and her limbs.
For her, everything else
Is silence.

Peaceful Chaos

2005-11-06T21:54:00.000-08:00

Here's the crazy deal. I’m out at Champoeg (pronounced Shampooey) State Park in November. It's Oregon November so you can guess the weather. Wet. But I’m sitting in front of my campfire staring up into the most beautiful starry night sky. The deluge of the day has given way to awesome calm. I’ve got four boys gaming it up in a cabin behind me, celebrating my second son's eighth birthday. The air has a washed clean smell and the wood smoke from the fire has scented me with it's fragrance. There's an overall peace I feel at being here. My challenge, though, is to retain it in a few moments when l enter the testosterone den and try to calm the boys to bed. I think Newton's first law of motion came from observing 7 and 8 year old boys. They may actually be perpetual motion when gathered in packs. I'll take a last deep breath. Okay. Here I go.

For more Newton: http://teachertech.rice.edu/Participants/louviere/Newton/law1.html

H.G. Wells and Spencer Gifts

2005-11-03T12:08:00.000-08:00

Growing up I used to have this saying on the wall of my room: "If you knew now what you knew then, you wouldn't know that you knew it." I thought it was profound and that by quoting it I would somehow sound sage and wise. I also thought it was one of those profound aphorisms that could be a life-guide of sorts. Incredible how Spencer Gift Catalog could dispense such treasure for a mere $5.99! Of course it's not profound, wise, or sage. It's a flippin' $5.99 toss-off to try to take a kid's hard-earned allowance. But the rub is this: I know now what I didn't know then. Spencer Gift sold me a time machine. Just saying the words takes me smack in the middle of that peach colored bedroom with the burnt orange shag carpeting that I shared with my brother. There's the Tweety poster on the closet door on his side of the room, and the way-cool Lord of the Rings poster (see: http://www.allposters.com/-sp/The-Lord-of-the-Rings_i96874_.htm ) on mine. Our matching southwestern style patchwork quilts made by Grandma on the beds. Dartboard on the back of the door. I can hear Mom putting the meatloaf on the table and Dad putting the finishing touches on whipping his famous creamy mashed potatoes. There's Barney barking his fool head off like normal and I stick my head out the window for old times' sake and bawl to him, "QuiteDown!" in the slurring way that makes it all one word. Life is good, and $5.99 nothings often do turn into something they weren't or ever intended to be, and the knowing we know is perhaps little stacked against the remembering that will be.