by jphilo | Oct 10, 2011 | Family
Saturday, I went to Cedar Falls with my brother and his wife to watch the University of Northern Iowa marching band perform at the Uni-Dome. For some reason, two halves of a football game were scheduled on either side of their performance. Must have been a scheduling snafu somewhere.
Wasn’t it nice of the band to share their afternoon with the football team?
Not just share it, but agree to perform when the football players needed a little rest. Of course, that meant the team didn’t get to watch the main event. In fact, the marching band felt so sorry for the football players, they went onto the field and treated the team members to a song when they entered the stadium. Then, they lugged their instruments into the stands played some nifty ditties whenever there was a lull in the action. In my opinion, they could have played more often.
But what do I know about football games?
The halftime show was magnificent. We could see really well because, the people in front of us went to the concession stand or the bathrooms when halftime began. I guess nobody told them the band was the main attraction of the afternoon. Too bad, ‘cause they were the big losers. They missed a really unique show – half Star Wars, half Cabana music. Sounds strange, but it worked. Probably because my niece – she’s the blond right in front with the silver trumpet – was always in the right place at the right time. She was so good, they brought out a baton twirler and a precision flag and drum team to honor her efforts.
I am not making this up.
After wowing the crowd, the band considerately sat in the stands and watched the football game. They once again entertained the crowd when the opportunity arose. And, they played more songs after the game, not quitting until the crowd was out of the stadium. Unfortunately, the football players weren’t anywhere to be found. It made me feel kind of sorry for the football team. All afternoon at the Uni-Dome, and they weren’t allowed to enjoy the main event. Maybe that’s why everyone cheered when they won their little game.
The poor fellas need to feel good about something.
by jphilo | Mar 31, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
But Jesus called to them saying,
“Permit the children to come unto Me, and do not hinder them,
for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
Matthew 19:14
Camp season is coming soon. When I picture kids racing to their cabins, bags and towels and pillows in tow, my heart skips a beat. Their joy brings back memories of church camp at Riverside Camp in Cedar Falls, the highlight of my childhood summers. The four hour drive was interminable. Dad smoked his pipe and sang wacky songs while the sibs and I fought in the back seat. Mom drove while riding herd on us, ignoring our desperate pleas for ice cream and potty breaks.
Once we arrived at Riverside, us yahoos, now quivering with excitement, tumbled out of the car, and raced headlong into a week of kid magic. Tumbledown cabins packed to the gills with campers. New friends and glamorous counselors. A swimming pool with no admission fee. Crafts in the church basement and chapel in the tabernacle. Songs in the mess hall. Bible studies around a bonfire each night. Around that bonfire one night, the Christ who I’d known was real for many years, became my conscious decision, the eternal Magic I would follow the rest of my life.
Many years later, our kids became Hidden Acres campers, attending summer after summer. A mere thirty miles away, the drive was too short for ice cream withdrawal or potty breaks. But it was long enough for quivering excitement to take hold. When their feet hit camp soil, they were off, running full tilt toward a week of kid magic – the swimming hole, riding horses, chapel, and their ultimate favorite: playing capture the flag IN THE DARK.
At the end of each week, we brought them home, tired, grubby, and full of stories. One year I asked Allen why his soap, washcloth, and towel were pristine and unused. “They sent us in for showers, but didn’t check to see if we got wet,” he said, and then launched a spirited discussion about the book of Revelation, which his counselor explained during their daily Bible studies.
One rainy year, we found Anne in a mud puddle searching for sticks and leaves and stones. After we got her home and hosed her down, she described how her counselor kept them safe when a summer storm hit. “She showed us what to do in bad weather.”
“Were you scared?” I inquired.
“Why would I be scared?” she asked. “God was listening to us pray.”
Christ was listening and waiting for me to come to Him at church camp when I was ten. He waited for Allen and Anne at Hidden Acres, too. How different our lives would be if a lack of funds had kept us from meeting Him there.
The lives of GCC kids will also be different if a lack of funds keeps them from camp this summer. But by eating tacos and bidding on desserts, or by contributing to the camp scholarship fund later, we are permitting our kids to encounter Christ at Hidden Acres. What an opportunity to guide our kids toward the eternal Magic of the soul!
by jphilo | Jun 11, 2009 | Out and About
Tonight is a lovely June evening at Riverview Camp. The sun is slowly sinking, coloring the leaves a luscious shade of gold and green and glinting off the Cedar River’s calm surface. One year ago, things weren’t nearly so serene around here. Volunteers were sandbagging the river in downtown Cedar Falls. Further downstream, the city of Cedar Rapids was flooding.
One year ago my son was in the monastery feeding goats and contemplating making his final vows. My daughter was home, lonely for her college friends and terrified by the specter of spinsterhood haunting her future. My mother was living in her own home, mowing her own yard. And I was organizing the notes for my first contracted book, wondering if I could shape the manuscript into something people would want to read.
Tonight my son, who left the monastery six months ago and just completed his third month on the job at the organic farm, called to say his work evaluation went well, he’s being promoted. Could we help him move into his apartment the weekend after July 4? My daughter’s boyfriend will spend the night at our house Saturday. A family of four now lives in Mom’s old house, Mom lives with my brother’s family and she refuses to mow their yard. And this afternoon, one of the authors endorsing my book and attending this writing conference, held up my book galleys for everyone to see.
One year ago, if a crystal ball had offered me a glimpse of today, I would have said it was cracked, crazy, cruel to entice me with such hope, such happiness, such sadness, and the possibility of a dream-come-true. There was no way, I would have said, for all those things to happen and for me to be alive to tell about it. No way, crystal ball. Quit teasing me.
One year ago, I would have scoffed. But today, I turn my face to the green leaves washed gold, to the sun sinking sun beyond the river and into into the next year, and I wonder what lies beyond this present world’s horizon. I take a deep breath and steady myself before I open my eyes.
It could be anything.
by jphilo | Jun 15, 2008 | Current Events
I’m back from four days in Cedar Falls. Floods threatened the city the day before the writers’ conference began. But our meeting was headquartered at a campground high above the rain-swollen river. By the time I arrived Wednesday morning, electrical service had been restored and most of the fallen trees were cleaned up. After rain on Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning, the days were sunny and the nights were cool.
During a break on Friday, I grabbed my camera and walked over to the cliff above the river. Through a break in the trees, the high water surrounded summer cabins on the other bank. The Cedar River had crested a few days earlier, and I couldn’t imagine how high the water must have been then.
The conference ended Saturday at noon. Another ugly storm gathered in the south as I sped home. Later, it dumped more rain on Cedar Falls, and the tornado sirens went on several times in the night. By then, I was safe in my bed. Why, I wonder, did my life proceed normally while floods destroyed and disrupted the lives of others? Why was I granted such grace?
I can’t answer that question. But when I wake up tomorrow and face the month’s worth of writing I need to finish this week, I’ll be grateful for such a small problem in a dry house. And I’ll get busy.
