I've Moved

This blog has been moved to evendays.org. Please click on the link to read the latest post.

You'll want to bookmark the new site, and for those of you who have generously put a link to this blog on yours, you'll want to update that address to www.evendays.org.

See you on the other side!

Brady

First impressions

The last time I tread on USA soil was in May, 2005, so the changes are not as remarkable as other years where 34 months would separate visits. Even though born and raised here, you have to get used to stuff. Example: Sales tax is not included.

Don't stare at people who are speaking English in the store. They are not visiting. They live here. And they don't need your help.

Example: When someone asks you, "How you doing today?," they don't necessarily know you. They are being nice. Don't try to figure out where you've met them before.

Example: Some people eat tacos for breakfast. No, not just tacos... Tacos with chicken and guacamole and cheese and...

Example: It's okay to talk out loud in the metro. You can even look at people. Sometimes even make eye-contact.

Example: The Tour de France is finished just after you get up in the morning.

Thanks for stopping by.

Someone waiting

We got to the airport, went through the customs line, got checked out and okayed by those friendly folks protecting our borders, went to the mystery carousel that spit out our luggage after the mandatory waiting period, met two people from Abilene before we even got out the doors...

I am one of the world's worst travellers. My mind tends to turn to mush about 48 hours before take-off. I have been known to forget passports in a drawer, airline tickets on the dining room table and, the worst sin of all, to actually believe the man at the airline counter who assured me that my visa would be waiting when I arrived in a certain, un-named, Latin-american country.

I tend to get more and more irritable as the packing process grows longer. 38% of the stuff I bring I never use, for my pre-voyage mind is filled with thoughts like: This pocket widget will really come in handy if ever...

The night before the trip is nearly always a losing battle to fall asleep.

But then you go through those doors out into the arrival area, you search those faces for just one you can recognize... And there it is.

That makes the trip worth it.

LST's last week

Our LST project is winding down. Bryn and Blake have met some wonderful people and we should be able to continue some sort of a relationship with 5 or 6 of their new friends. It’s always an exciting time when you get to work with people from all different levels of faith. Some are from other religions and just want to go a bit deeper while using their English. Others are experiencing a thirst of things spiritual, centered on Jesus, that grows in intensity and can also invigorate the “teacher’s” faith. Thank God for those people.

Several of the new Christians at the Lausanne church are from past LST efforts. So please keep our new friends in your prayers.

And thanks to all of you who have supported different LST projects. Hugs to all of you who financed this team!

Numbers

It’s Saturday evening and we are back. Here are the three days, two nights in Ardèche (in numbers):

57 pies.

28 cakes.

160 brownies.

17 trout caught and released.

0 kept.

Switzerland 2, South Korea 0.

2 kids, found safe at home.

1 house, still intact.

Happy campers, all of us.

May God bless your Sunday around his Son’s table.

Gone fishing

I’m checking out for a few days, heading to the Ardèche region of France. Wife is going to bake and freeze desserts for the summer kid’s camp. She figures she can save the camp some money this way and also be a big help, even if we’re not there to take on our regular responsibilities later on in the summer (when we’ll be eating other people’s food).

Me? I’m taking some light tackle and spending some time on some of the small rivers, seeing if I can scare up a few trout. Then I might take a nap in the afternoon. And if it rains, I can always wash dishes.

See you on Sunday.

Crossing paths

Today is my 150th post. Wife suggested I break the rules and post the following TRUE story. I wrote it up a couple of years ago. Some of our ministry partners have seen it. I think it’s worth a read. Thanks.
--
Often times we do things expecting immediate results. And if the results aren't immediately visible, we may feel discouragement, or even think that our efforts were worthless.
It's always best just to do the right thing because it's the right thing. I was speaking to the church about their commitment to worship the Lord and their desire to build strong relationships with their brothers and sisters. I reminded them that these relationships are not only important for them today, but also for 10, 20 or 30 years from now. These relationships will allow them to grow in joy and God will use their "now" commitment to bless them in the future.

I received this unexpected blessing on Wednesday night, November 17, 1999. I'd jumped on the first train that was going to Geneva. My final destination was Marseilles and I'd left the house early, which would give me over an hour in Geneva to change trains. So I stored back-pack on the luggage rack and sat down. Two college-age girls were speaking English in the seats next to me and talking about their churches. So I interrupted and asked them if they were Christians. They said yes, so I asked them what they were doing in Europe. "We're students at Harding University and we go to the extension campus in Florence, Italy. We're on our way to Nice, France."

Well, we've had lots of students visit us from Harding—students who've come to distribute Bible course information in mailboxes—so I told them I was a minister for the church of Christ in Lausanne. What a coincidence to meet on the train, in the same wagon, going to the same place!

One of the girls was from San Francisco, one from Nashville. 6 other heads popped up from elsewhere in the same compartment. There were actually 8 girls traveling together. As we introduced ourselves, one of the girls said, "Hey, my brother's name is Brady too." (There aren't too many Bradys in this world, for a given name, anyway.) We talked about Europe and about the churches, where the girls could worship when they got to Barcelona on Sunday, etc.
While talking, I found out that the Harding student with the brother named Brady knew one of the girls in the Christian internship in Marseilles, where I was going to teach. She wrote a message for me to give to the intern, signing her name "Erin R____."

Halfway to Geneva, I asked Erin where here brother had got his name. She said her parents had known someone a long time ago and had liked the name and the person. That's how they'd found it.

Now my own name came from a wonderful man my parents love very much. I was hoping that Erin's parents knew the same person. "So you don't remember who this person was?"

"No. It was a long time ago. Just someone they knew before I was born."

"How old are your parents?" "52."

"And your brother?" "22."

It was evident that we weren't named after the same person. I learned that they'd lived around Sacramento for nearly 20 years and her dad was a preacher in a small town called Rescue. Her parents had gone to Fresno State University, but they'd never mentioned anything to Erin about the church there.

"And what's your dad's name?" "Phil."

"And your mom?" "Cathy."

Somewhere inside my brain, a bell, or at least a very dull thud, had gone off. When I asked if she had a picture, she said no. But then her friends reminded her of the ones in her Bible. They could tell that something really neat was happening.

Erin came back with the pictures… from 1971. (Can you believe she was carrying a 30 year old picture of her parents in her Bible? She let me know they didn't look anything like that anymore…) When I looked at the picture, I was staring into the face of my sixth grade Wednesday night Bible school teacher from the College church of Christ.

"Erin, I know how your parents got your brother's name. Before leaving Fresno, your dad told me that if they ever had a boy, they'd name him Brady. Their first child was a girl, and then they moved away. And that was the last I heard from them."

Erin kept repeating, "This cannot be true! This is incredible. This is NOT happening." (Well, she IS from California…)

So, at a Geneva pay phone, I called Phil R_____. "Phil, this is Brady S____. I'm calling from Switzerland."

No answer.

"Phil, this is Brady S_____. Do you remember me?"

"Brady, I've got the other Brady on the line. Can you hold just a minute?"

I held.

"Brady, how are you?" (It was the first time since the birth of his son that he'd ever called anyone else "Brady".)

"How did you get the name Brady for you son?," I asked.

"Well, we liked the name, and you've got to name the child after someone you admire. And he's a good kid…"

We talked for a couple minutes—he in California. I in Geneva. Then I told him there was someone he needed to talk to. I handed the phone to his daughter, Erin.

"Dad! Can you believe…?"

The right train.
The right car.
The right train compartment.
The right conversation.
The right question.
The right picture.

Boy! Was it hard to get to sleep that night.