When I grow up, I hope I’m like BB King. Not in being a blues musician (which would be a hopeless dream), but in being someone who has honed his gift into excellence. Which King has done, and which is proved on his latest release, One Kind Favor, produced by T Bone Burnett.

Well there's one kind favor I'll ask of you…

Did you ever hear them church bells toll

Did you ever hear them church bells toll

Did you ever hear them church bells toll

Means another poor boy is dead and gone

And there's one last favor I'll ask for you

And there's one last favor I'll ask for you

And just one last favor I'll ask for you

You can see that my grave is kept clean

You can hear it on this CD: a lifetime spent doing something from the heart, which in BB King’s case means 83 years living the blues, writing songs, singing and playing his beloved Gibson guitar, Lucille. His voice is older, an authentic witness to a broken world where love disappoints but hope will not die.

I get so weary in the evening

when the suns goin’ down.

I get so lonesome when my baby's not around.

When I go to bed at night,

And the birds begin to call.

I feel so sad and lonely,

For my baby that ain’t all.

Well I get up in the mornin',

Just before the break of day.

Thinking about my baby,

But I know she’s going to stay.

“King's guitar playing was never about ‘shock and awe,’” Jeff Hahne says, correctly, in an online review. “The man can make one note have more emotion than any lyric or complete solo. His riffs and guitar work aim straight for the heart like good blues should. His voice is weathered and aged, but it only gives more credence to the lyrics that he sings.”

Few people can sing and play the blues as well as BB King. But we can listen, and find we are somehow more fully alive when we do.

Going from the gently rolling farmland of southern Minnesota to the rugged mountains of Colorado is always a feast for the soul. In both, for those with eyes to see, are glimpses of the glory of God, traces of his riotously creative grace left as a witness to his presence and love. Taking unhurried time to rest in such settings is deeply refreshing, a good reminder that though our lives have been granted significance by virtue of being God’s image bearers, we are not the center of the universe. In both as well, are evidences of the fall, of ruin that mars the image and distorts the beauty the Creator called into being.

Wherever we looked in the Rockies we saw massive dull red expanses of dead trees like smears across the sides of the mountains. A tiny bug called the mountain pine beetle, Latin name Dendroctonus ponderosae, have infested—and killed—some types of pine trees, particularly Ponderosa Pine, Lodgepole Pine, Scots Pine and Limber Pine.

The beetles bore through the bark, carry a fungi which inhibits the pine’s natural defenses, and destroy the water and nutrient carrying layers of cells that keep the trees alive. Dead trees on which the bark is removed reveal a mass of tunnels that, like an autopsy on CSI, tells a tale of its demise in which it essentially was starved to death.

The infestation has been massive, and the effects will ripple through the forests for years to come. Effects like increased fire danger, erosion of hillsides denuded of trees, and the silting of otherwise clear mountain streams. It is not enough to say that this is a “natural” event and therefore of little concern. How is this “natural” in a clearly abnormal world? It is a proper occasion for grief, a recognition that this is not what was intended, and a renewing of hope for a new earth in which even the tiny mountain pine beetle will be restored to its proper place and role in a Creation that once again, unimpeded, shouts out the glory of its Maker.

The Root of the Problem

September 26, 2008

Hank Paulson, secretary of the Treasury, argued last weekend that the new bailout plan he was proposing would finally go to the root of the problem. That problem, he said, is the “illiquid mortgage assets that have lost value as the housing correction has proceeded.” He wants Congress to approve a $700 billion package that would give him, on behalf of the federal government, almost unlimited authority to buy up the bad (“toxic”) assets so banks can feel confident to lend again.

But why have so many mortgage assets lost their value and become illiquid? The primary reason is that banks and investment companies irresponsibly encouraged people to take out mortgages not adequately backed by the value of the homes they were buying. Perhaps, then, that is the deeper root of the problem.

Well, not quite. Why were these sub-prime mortgages offered and accepted so irresponsibly? Because both the financial institutions and the homebuyers were betting--gambling--that home values would continue to rise and thus “produce” in the future the asset security that did not exist at the time of purchase. That, in turn, would give the financiers more time to try to make more money by means of more leveraging of more money.

Martin Wolf explains that the “aggregate stock of US debt rose from a mere 163 per cent of gross domestic product in 1980 to 346 per cent in 2007. Just two sectors of the economy were responsible for this massive rise in leverage: households, whose indebtedness jumped from 50 per cent of GDP in 1980 to 71 per cent in 2007; and the financial sector, whose indebtedness jumped from just 21 per cent of GDP in 1980 to 83 per cent in 2000 and 116 per cent in 2007” (Financial Times, 8/24/08).

Yet, why were so many families and financial institutions taking on and trying to leverage so much debt? What was the root of that dangerous gamble? In part, government itself was encouraging individuals and companies to buy (or borrow) now and pay later. Government-sponsored mortgage companies Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac led the way or backed up those who were leading the way in this direction. Homebuyers trusted the banks. The banks trusted Fannie and Freddie as well as the investment companies that leveraged the mortgages. Investors trusted the market and those who rated the investments. And this circle of trust depended finally on trust in the government, whose laws and policies backed up or overlooked all this debt-mounting leveraging.

Now, however, the circle of trust has been broken--all around. As a consequence, Paulson’s narrow focus on the “liquidity problem” doesn’t begin to go to the root of the problem. Over the past few months, and particularly the last two weeks, Paulson and Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke have tried one expensive fix after another that has failed to overcome the liquidity crisis. And they, along with President Bush, now want us (and investors, and Congress) to put our trust in their last-minute bailout plan that requires additional massive public indebtedness? Why should any of us now assume that this program will work?

Clearly, the root of the problem is a lack of trust, including lack of trust in government. For after all, Congress as well as the executive branch has been complicit in the entire system that is now collapsing around us. It is a little late, then, for them to cry “emergency,” abrogate the so-called principles of free-market capitalism that the president says he still believes in, and ask the country to trust them now. This is simply the next--and an even bigger--gamble, made in the hope that prosperity can somehow be recovered without requiring any fundamental change in our habits, desires, and mind-set.

But it won’t work. Trust will not be restored until real responsibility and genuine accountability are reestablished at every point around the circle.

-- James W. Skillen, President

    Center for Public Justice

The Capital Commentary may be photocopied or retransmitted in its entirety but not otherwise reprinted or transmitted without permission. Commentaries do not necessarily represent an official position of the Center’s but are intended to help advance discussion.

Copyright Center for Public Justice 2008. 

To learn more about the Center for Public Justice, visit the Center’s new website.

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James Skillen is a keen observer of the political sphere of life, committed to seeing it through the clarifying lens of the gospel. This brief essay arrived via email as part of The Center for Public Justice’s thoughtful Capital Commentary series. I recommend the work of the Center to you, and would encourage you to sign up to receive the Capital Commentary emails.

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If you are like me, what is happening in the financial markets is difficult to comprehend. So, when thoughtful scholars who have expertise in such matters write about it in a way that sheds some light, I am grateful.

Russell Moore makes an interesting observation in Touchstone (September 2008; p. 16-18). He notes that though in the past churches used to have graveyards associated with them, they seldom do anymore. The old arrangement required believers to be reminded of their mortality as they gathered for worship. Today, he notes, churches tend to be surrounded by asphalt. Rather than being reminded of their mortality, 21^st century worshippers gather in a setting that is designed to suggest youth, vitality, and in mega-churches, the bustling activity common to a shopping mall.

I’ve never been part of a church that had a graveyard. On a visit to London, however, I attended St Helen’s Bishopsgate, a vibrant, evangelical Anglican church in the heart of the financial district. There was no graveyard, but the dead were all around us. In the walls of the sanctuary (the building dates back to the 13^th century) were crypts, each marked with the name of the Christian buried therein. We worshipped in the presence of the dead. I remember thinking I had seldom experienced a better demonstration of the unity of the Church than that morning.

There are lots of reasons—complex sociological, economic, political, even theological reasons—that churches today do not have graveyards associated with them, as Moore recognizes. Still Moore asks, is it possible we’ve lost something in the process? He suggests we might have lost the sense that all will perish apart from the gospel. “Maybe a cemetery,” Moore says, “would serve as a icon that all our Babels will collapse.” Perhaps the perverse seduction of pride and the tendency to allow the important to be pushed aside by the merely urgent would be lessened with a weekly reminder that we too will soon die. “Find an old graveyard,” Moore suggests, “and walk through it. Walk about and see the headstones weathered and ground down by the elements. Contemplate the fact that beneath your feet are men and women who once had youthful skin and quick steps and hectic calendars.” Perhaps walking past a graveyard would remind us that worship, though properly joyous, is also a serious matter touching on the deepest mysteries of life—and death. “Maybe,” Moore says, “we’d be able to speak more honestly to a people scared to death of death if we offered them and ourselves a visible sign that we, too, know what death is, and that we hate it, too.”

I find these reflections interesting. Interesting for what they tell us about how our world has changed. Interesting for what the changes reveal about life, and about us. And interesting for reminding us that nothing in life is so small as to be without meaning in the world God created.

Moore concludes that, “the graveyard is not just a sign that we haven’t forgotten our dead. It’s a sign that we're just waiting for them—and for ourselves—to hear one last invitation hymn. And when those quiet little mounds begin bursting, with headstones flying about, and a clap of thunder resounds across the sky, then at last it can truly be said, ‘Man, this church is alive.’”

To be Christian means to live in the hope of the resurrection. We don’t have graveyards around our churches anymore to remind us of that. So be it. So, let’s find other reminders and hold on to them for dear life.

(Dr. Moore is Dean of the School of Theology at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. Image courtesy of stock.xchng)

Our wedding anniversary actually came in June, but it was a busy time and a special enough milestone that we decided to wait to celebrate it until we took some time off in the fall. No big party, but the chance to be together for 2 weeks in a special place, in this case a beautiful townhouse loaned to us (more on that later) just outside the Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado.

We even enjoyed the 2-day drive in Pearl Blue from Rochester. It was a chance for quiet, looking at the changing landscape (from gently rolling farmland to open ranch land to mountains), listening to music, and talking.

We’ve gone on several hikes, each memorable. One took us through woods, through two lovely meadows, to a cold stream so clear we could see trout, if we looked hard enough, hovering motionless just off the bottom. The air was full of grasshoppers, so we caught several and tossed them in the water. They would float in the current, then move, and in a flash a trout would rise to the surface and the grasshopper disappeared in a splash.

As we began walking along the trail a little butterfly appeared like a whisper of grace. It fluttered ahead of us and landed on the trail. As we approached it took off, fluttered further down the trail and alighted again. Over and over it flew ahead of us, as if a guide had been arranged for us. For a moment I felt like we had been brought into the enchanted world of Pan’s Labyrinth. Finally we approached slowly and I took the butterfly’s picture. As if content with that, it fluttered off into the trees.

We celebrated our anniversary meal at Devil’s Thumb Restaurant, situated in a gorgeous valley surrounded by mountains.

The chef is extraordinary; the restaurant is the sort of place where in between courses a server appears with something we didn’t order, “complements of the chef.” I suspect Margie will be blogging about the meal too, so I’ll just mention 3 (!) of the courses I had. For a starter I had Warm Heirloom Tomato & Goat Cheese Tart (with peppery greens and caramel vinaigrette). It was presented so beautifully I forgot to take a picture. To die for. My entree was Pan Seared Millbrook Farm Venison (with sweet corn flan & ragout of summer vegetables). To die for.

And for dessert I had Rhubarb Custard Tart & Freshly Churned Cinnamon Ice Cream (on a bed of lightly caramelized walnuts) with a cup of espresso. Also to die for.

We’ve spent lots of time talking. Talking about our lives and ministry and the shape they need to take in the next stage of our lives. We’ve reviewed sections of the 40 years we’ve been together, laughing over many memories and naming highlights and regrets. We’ve thought about how we can be better friends to our 3 children and their spouses, and the sort of grandparents that leave such sweet memories with their grandchildren that as time passes they want to spend time with us. We’ve given thanks—for amazing landscapes, ospreys that fish in a pond as we eat breakfast, for the glory of good food, and time to rest and be refreshed. We’ve asked the Spirit to keep us ever growing, so that our lives would perhaps be a quiet demonstration of the power of grace.

The last 6 months have been difficult financially, and for a time we did not know if we could make this trip. Income to Ransom has been very low, though opportunities to write and speak have been expanding. We are here, and were able to celebrate so royally at Devil’s Thumb due the generosity of dear friends. You are a grace to us, Henry and Peggy, and we are more grateful than we can possibly express. Thank you.

1. It’s where my beloved Margie was born and raised.

2. Jesse Ventura.

3. Prairie Home Companion, where Garrison Keillor, one of America’s best storytellers, brings the grace of humor, faith, and hope each week on NPR.

4. The University of Minnesota, where I met my beloved.

5. Each spring, enjoying a piece of homemade fresh strawberry rhubarb pie, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

6. The thistle feeder hanging in the pine tree outside my office window in Toad Hall where gold finches gather each day to squabble and feed.

7. Firebrick Ale brewed at Schell Brewery, New Ulm, MN.

8. Brilliant fall colors on the trees—maple, birch, oak, mountain ash, poplar—reflected in the water of the Mississippi River.

9. Winter snowstorms after which people cross-country ski down the middle of city streets.

10. Northern lights.

11. Each autumn, enjoying a dish of homemade apple crisp, with a dollop of freshly whipped sweet cream.

12. Seeing “The Christmas Carol” performed at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis.

13. Bitterly cold evenings in winter when we light candles, brew Jasmine tea, turn on music, and read in the living room.

14. Being ordained a ruling elder in the Presbyterian Church in America.

15. Having the Minnesota Twins win the World Series without having fans riot. One sign was broken, true, when a fan head-butted it, but that’s about it. When a journalist asked the police chief why things were different than other large cities after winning the Series, he said simply, “Well, this is Minnesota.”

16. Winter nights so cold that the hot water circulating through the radiators in Toad Hall occasionally makes snapping sounds in the pipes.

17. Kirby Puckett.

18. The succession of Rochester L’Abri Fellowship Workers—Lloyd & Libby Davies, Ann Brown Ingraham, Greg & MaryJane Grooms, and Larry & Nancy Snyder—who have been dear friends, kindred spirits, and partners in the gospel.

19. Fishing with Greg Grooms in the lovely trout stream just outside Chatfield, MN.

20. Hearing Greg Brown perform live at Oak Center.

21. Toad Hall.

22. Family farms where we’re able to get to know the people who raise the organic, free range chickens, turkeys, beef, and pork which grace our table and fill our freezer.

23. Resting, hiking, and reading at a cabin on the north shore of Lake Superior.

24. Watching the lights of ore boats creep across the horizon at night from the cabin on Lake Superior.

25. The Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

26. Every Christmas is white.

27. It’s where I proposed to my beloved—and wonder of wonders, she said yes.

28. The rich black soil of southern MN farmland.

29. Three months spent studying with Francis Schaeffer in 1981 in Rochester.

30. Taking Community Ed classes with Margie to learn to waltz in preparation of my oldest daughter’s wedding reception.

31. Hearing wolves howl in the woods around our tents while camping as a family on a remote island in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

32. The gently rolling farmland—pasture land and fields of corn, soybeans, wheat, alfalfa, oats, barley—which stretches out as far as the eye can see.

33. Deer hunting on the Canadian border with my son.

34. Smoked Lake Superior whitefish from Russ Kendall’s Smokehouse on Scenic Highway 61 in Knife River, MN eaten with a dab of cream cheese on a cracker.

35. The wedding of my youngest daughter held in the home of a friend, the room transformed by flowers, candles, and friends.

36. The screened-in Toad Hall back porch.

37. Our Toad Hall back yard, enclosed by hedges, complete with flowers, bird feeders, and birdbath.

38. Bob Dylan’s birthplace.

39. Fireflies punctuating the dark with flashes on summer evenings.

40. The purple house finches who nest each year in the hanging plants on Toad Hall’s front porch.

41. Award winning maple syrup purchased from Wild Country Maple Syrup deep in the Superior National Forest outside Lutsen, MN.

42. Stopping to watch a huge bull moose look at us, and then slowly move through the brush as we drive out of Wild Country Maple Syrup.

43. Driving through the countryside so we can watch the changing seasons in the annual cycle of farming (plowed soil, growing crops, harvest, and the winter rest under frost and snow).

44. Football fans (Minnesota Vikings) are guaranteed to learn humility.

45. Freshly fallen snow glistening like a myriad diamonds in bright sunlight.

46. Pipestone National Monument with all its rich cultural, historical, and spiritual importance for Native American peoples.

47. Living in Toad Hall for long enough (since 1981) that I finally know what it meant to have roots.

48. Being from a part of the country where the Scandinavian heritage means that “Could have been worse,” or “Not too bad” are considered compliments.

49. Ransom Fellowship.

50. Having enough snow some winters years ago that our children could build a snow ramp from the tip of the garage roof down into the back yard.

51. Each spring civil defense sirens warn of possible tornados so we can dash out onto the front porch with a camera.

52. It’s the place where my beloved and I have grown older, hopefully wiser, becoming closer, dearer friends.

In a post (9/2/08) on her blog, Toads Drink Coffee, Margie told how on a recent trip the TSA agent at the airport confiscated the Swiss army knife she had in her purse. She had forgotten it was there, and though he was polite, he was firm—the knife couldn’t be allowed through. He had to dig for it, which may have suggested to him it was hidden there, but the truth is it was simply buried under all the stuff she carries. In any case, apparently even being a white haired grandmother from Minnesota was not enough to convince the authorities she would not use the wee blade in some nefarious manner.

She also told how a sweet family in Birmingham, on our last night there, kindly presented her with a new Swiss army knife. What she failed to mention, however—I’m not certain why—was that the same agent confiscated from me a 50” plasma flat screen TV.

I received a note on my Wall on Facebook, which I thought would be worth answering here. (I received permission from Bethany.)

Subject: Discernment

Hello,

I'm an avid reader of Critique and Toad Hall, and I met you once at a L'Abri conference in MN, though it was several years ago, and sufficiently brief enough that I would be shocked if you remembered.

At any rate, I've been mulling a question over in my mind, and revisiting some of the articles on Ransom Fellowship's website about discernment, but I don't see anything that really answers my question directly. So here goes...lately a lot of people in my church small group have read The Shack and loved it. I have not yet read it, but I have read about it—I plan on reading it soon. From what I understand, there are significant theological issues with the book, including deeply flawed understanding of Scripture and the nature of the Trinity. From interviews with the author, he has said himself he intends the book as a theodicy, and the whole thing is written as a Socratic dialogue, where the God characters impart knowledge to the human character.

The people from my church who love the book, when asked about its flaws, say they are rampant and if you read it analytically then you will probably throw it away, but that one shouldn't analyze it; one should simply read it for the great story it is.

While I am sympathetic to this line of reasoning, and I agree that if the story itself is truly great, if the writing style is lovely, then that is something to appreciate and praise. However, I am alarmed when the consistent response I am given from fellow believers is to “shut off” the analytical part of your mind that would throw up red flags at the portrayal of God, and simply go for an emotional ride while reading the book.

I guess my question is, how do you respond to this sort of reasoning from brothers and sisters in Christ? My other thought/question is, it seems that when someone purporting to be a Christian writes a book that is full of claims about God, we have even more cause to be discerning, to weigh its contents against Scripture, because unlike a novel written by a nonbeliever which may not make any particular claims about God, this author is putting forth theology and asking the reader to accept it.

Peace,

Bethany

My response:

Dear Bethany,

I checked your photo on Facebook, and do remember you (the wonders of technology!). Good questions. Questions worth considering, and that I don’t think I’ve addressed very sufficiently before now. So, I’m glad for the chance.

Like you, I have not read The Shack, but unlike you, I have no plans to do so at this point. My reason is simply that I have not heard sufficiently compelling reasons to add it to the huge pile of books I intend/need/want to read. I mention this not to suggest you not read it, but to emphasize that what I want to address here is not the book, but your friends’ badly mistaken impression of the process and purpose of Christian discernment.

The process of discernment allows us to engage a book more fully. The purpose is not to throw out books that are flawed, but to more deeply appreciate what is true and beautiful while more deeply understanding how what is less true or untrue can be made so attractive and plausible.

When I read, for example, Life of Pi, I was entranced by the story. Engaging the book critically deepened my appreciation for the craftsmanship author Yann Martel demonstrated in his prose, wit, and ability as a storyteller. The trajectory of the plot is utter fantasy—the adventure of a shipwrecked boy stranded in a lifeboat with a wild tiger—but Martel drew me in for the ride. It was delightful, and I found myself amazed that someone could tell such an unbelievable story in a way that made it deliciously plausible. This was the image of God breaking forth in brilliant creativity. Engaging Life of Pi critically also helped me unpack the two central themes of the story, namely that God exists and that the three major world religions (Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism) can be believed simultaneously. Though I agree with the first theme, I would challenge the second. This didn’t cause me to throw the book away; in fact, it did the opposite: I tried to get all my friends to read it. The novel helped me understand how this notion could be made so attractive, even though it is both untrue and dangerous.

This is not a word from the Lord, merely my opinion, but if I were you, I’d forget about The Shack, and try to find winsome ways to help your friends think about what being discerning is really about. The Shack is merely the latest cultural artifact they are consuming without being discerning, and they will soon pass on to other things. Finding ways to help them grow in discernment is more important than counteracting anything in The Shack that might need challenging. Some specific pieces on Ransom’s web site that might prove helpful in your case are “Discernment 101” (an introduction to the process); “Discernment 102” (how to disagree agreeably); “Discernment 201” (a guide to reading fiction Christianly); “Where Least Expected” (how God warned the exiled believers in Babylon to be discerning about their own spiritual leaders); and my review of Life of Pi.

Yes, we should be discerning when we read a book by a Christian, just as we should when we read one by a non-Christian. The danger is not that the second will contain more nontruth, since the opposite might be the case, but that it is easy to get lazy, assuming that if the author is a believer all is fine. (The same danger exists for students in Christian schools, but that’s another topic.)

One of the ways we have found to teach discernment skills to Christians is to lead discussions on something (a book or short story or film) in which they will be certain to find things with which to disagree. But then mention in your invitation and begin the discussion by saying the goal is not just to address the book or film, but to also deepen our skill in being discerning (rather than being reactionary). So, we will answer the discernment questions in order—no exceptions. Begin with “What is said?” (emphasizing that objectivity is required, so much so that no opinion of ours is even hinted at, and if the author was present they would say our answer to this question is correct and fair). Then ask, “With what do we agree?” and after that, “What is made attractive?” Only when those things are fully explored, can anyone address, “What might we challenge?” (and then do so in the form of creative questions we might address to a friend, Christian or non-Christian, in order to keep a winsome conversation going).

Approaching the discussion this way helps people begin to see the real process and purpose of discernment. Which is not to throw books out, but engage them with the gospel of Christ.

I hope this helps, Bethany. If I’ve missed something, or if this raises further questions, please feel free to ask away.

Blessings,

Denis

Though I am a convinced Presbyterian, I have long had deep respect for the Anglican tradition. Two men who have had a profound role in shaping my deepest theological convictions are Anglican priests: John Stott and J. I. Packer. Stott’s The Cross of Christ and Packer’s Knowing God are brilliant, living explorations of historic Christian doctrine. Worshipping at St Helen’s Bishopsgate in London and Falls Church in Virginia were rich experiences of meaningful liturgy and careful biblical exposition. Two of our closest friends, Steven Garber and Bonnie Liefer, who serve so faithfully on Ransom’s Board of Directors, are Anglicans. I have often prayed that the American Episcopal Church would be called back to biblical fidelity by the majority of Anglicans who retain a vibrant commitment to Scripture in the rest of the world wide Communion.

Several years ago two dear friends who live in Albuquerque, Bryan and Linda Charleton, decided to join the Anglican Church. Today I drove to the Post Office to pick up ten days of accumulated mail, and in the pile was a package from Bryan. Inside, nestled in little velvet bags were two Anglican Prayer Beads, hand-crafted for us by him, one for Margie and the other for me. (The one in the picture is mine.)

Unlike the Catholic Rosary, which involves the repetition of a set series of prayers, the Anglican version is designed differently. Each bead needs to be assigned some meaning by me—some aspect of prayer I want to be sure to include (confession, thanksgiving, etc.), or some category of request or praise, or some topic on which to meditate, or a reminder to be silent for a while. The Beads thus are meant to help provide structure, order, and regularity in the spiritual discipline of personal prayer and reflection, not to restrict the prayers that I say.

I was not aware of this aspect of the Anglican tradition, and want to learn more. Like all aids to the spiritual life, I am sure this one can be misused. But if anyone could use some help in bringing structure, order, and regularity to his prayer life, it is I.

The craftsmanship is delicate and lovely. The thoughtfulness is a deep grace. And the gift you have sent me, Bryan, is a sweet reminder of the grace we have experienced together as friends over many years. Thank you, good friend.

Oh, and Bryan—I also love the box of Nihilist Chewing Gum (We don't believe in flavor) you included. Very nice touch.

I like to eat. It's a matter of conviction: God called into being a very good creation, providing for our nutrition not with a tasteless gray sludge but in a riot of textures, flavors, smells, and combinations. What's not to like?

Whenever I travel anywhere and am asked what I’d like to eat while there, I always ask for something that’s considered typical for that region. As a result, over the years I’ve tried some things—most were delicious—that aren’t found on many menus in the upper Midwest where we live. I’ve had BBQ dry-rubbed ribs in Memphis, TN; frog legs in Murfreesboro, TN; lobster on Nantucket Island; Smazeny Syr (fried cheese) in Prague; bangers, mash, and a pint of ale in a pub in London; roast wild boar in Bratislava, Slovakia; a delicate venison stew in Budapest; fried mush in Lexington, KY; cheese grits and boiled peanuts in Jackson, MS; soft shell crab in Annapolis, MD; a Plowman’s lunch in Greatham, England; and the finest tiramisu we’ve ever eaten purchased off the back of a pizza truck in Vence, France.

This past week, as we drove around Chattanooga, TN while visiting our five above average grandchildren, we kept passing a place called Memo’s. We never had time to stop, so am wondering what we’ve missed. What, exactly, is the relation of the chopped wieners to the pit BBQ—and what are they? Would love to know what they’re like.