You Are Viewing Homestead Happenings

My family winged their way to parts west ten days ago. It’s part of their annual pilgrimage to New Mexico and west Texas. Some years I go; some years I don’t. It usually hinges on the activity level of August. This August has shaped up to be phenomenally phrenetic.

The week before they left, we enjoyed having Carolyn’s mom and our twin nephews and 5 year-old niece. With Sam and Adelyn and those three kiddoes in the house, I’m confident that one can contract ADHD if you had never had it. It was a fun, crazy, wild week. Caro and her mom were amazing as they towed the five cousins all over Virginia. We guys went mini-golfing one afternoon together. We happened to pick the hottest day of the year, and so I dripped while they putted. Funny how young’uns don’t care how hot it is.

This past weekend was Blackburg’s annual Steppin Out festival. It’s an excuse to rope off downtown and enjoy the company of your neighbors. It was packed. Our church had a booth and handed out almost 1500 Pop-Ices for free. That went over extremely well. It was fun to meet, greet and extend a smile and a cold treat as we attempted to show God’s love in a practical way.

Whenever my family leaves on trips like these, the first couple of days are nice. Quiet. It’s almost like a retreat. Then the quietness turns on you, and you realize the vacuum. I filled the void with three boxes: Redbox, Xbox and the cereal box.

Carolyn was horrified when I told her proudly on the phone the other night, “I’ve only eaten something besides cereal for dinner twice since you’ve been gone.” (I LOVE cereal.) It’s amazing how fast one person can go through a gallon of milk when all you’re eating is cereal.

Today is the day they fly in, and I’m excited to have my family reunited. There’s only two more weeks before school, and we’re hoping to sneak away to the beach before it starts – in between church activities and outreach.

Note: I’m in Roanoke as I write this, and I’m back at Panera. I came by earlier today to read, but now the fam’s flight is delayed for two hours, so it’s a Pick 2 and blogging. (They didn’t have Frosted Flakes on the menu.)

On July 15, 2009, we pulled out of our driveway at 320 W. Jefferson in Monticello, Arkansas for the last time as its owners. The last two months before our move to Virginia last year were a whirlwind of goodbyes, a mission trip to Poland, floating the Buffalo River, lunches with long-time friends, and garage sales. When we finally hit I-40¹, our hearts were full of gratitude and eager expectation for what our God had in store for us in our new home.

We took our time, spending the night in Jackson, TN and again in Knoxville while we timed our arrival with our movers. We stopped in Nashville and showed the kids Opryland and the hotel. Little did we know that a monster flood would hit in the past year requiring the closings of both for a long time to renovate and repair.

We arrived in VA on July 17 and spend the next 24 hours unpacking before our first experience with Northstar Church in worship on July 19. It seems like such a long time ago because this past year has been so momentous. As I reflect, I am still overwhelmed with gratitude and awe for the friendships we made over 14 years in Monticello, Arkansas. Small town. Big heart. Don’t just ask us. Ask any of the evacuees from Hurricanes Katrina and Rita that made it their extended home. Ask those who still live there. While Steve Jobs touts the magic of the iPad, there is relational magic in that southeast Arkansas community.

Because we genuinely and deeply felt that our move was orchestrated by the grace of God, it wasn’t a transition of convenience. Rather, it was obedience. We had prayed so hard for so long that the Lord would guide us in our path, and we’d offered our lives into His sure hands over and over – through health crises, church issues, financial stress and more. When the body of Christ known as Northstar Church began to talk with me about the possibility of becoming their next pastor, we were unsure at first.

When it became apparent through two visits, multiple conversatiosn, and dozens of emails that God seemed to uniting our lives with those of a new church family, we were overjoyed and heartbroken at the same time. We wrestled hard with whether we could leave Journey Church as a still-growing church start. We wondered if we could move further away from family. We interceded on behalf of Sam and Adelyn and how the transition would impact them. We questioned whether leaving the extended relational network and favor that God had given us in Arkansas was wise. It just seemed like things were really happening.

In the end, though, it became as simple as a “yes.” We had committed our lives a long time ago to put our “yes” on the table with the Lord. If He should ever call, ask, guide or command, our response was prepared. It was “yes.”

“For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God.” (2 Corinthians 1.20)

Since arriving in Virginia, we’ve been amazed at God’s continued favor as we’ve built new friendships, discovered wonderful blessings, and experienced the joy of a loving church family that, like Journey, wants to model the love of Jesus Christ to its community through authentic relationships and selfless service.

As I watched some of the kids from church today paint metal yard furniture that we’d recovered from the trash, I marveled at how God loves to turn trash into treasure in all our lives. I can certainly identify with King David’s stunned gratitude in 2 Samuel 7.18:

Then King David went in and sat before the LORD, and he said: “Who am I, O Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far?

We don’t deserve any goodness from God whatsoever. The question should never be “Why does God allow so much evil in the world?” but “Why does God allow so much good?” We didn’t deserve Arkansas. We don’t deserve Virginia. It’s all grace and kindness from God. The apostle John swam in the sea of God’s love (he was called the beloved disciple), and toward the end of his life, he wrote (I imagine with joyful tears):

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! (1 John 3.1)

I feel this same awestruck wondrous relief this evening as I reflect over the past year. We’ve moved twice in 12 months. We’ve been blessed with new friendships – both in the church and outside of it. We love our neighbors (a very biblical thing to do!), and the challenges of leading and growing in this new community are joyfully significant.

So hello, Virginia. We’re here. We’re glad, and we’re eager to experience the realities of a loving God among you. Thanks for helping us feel at home so quickly. It’s all been a delight – the “short corn,” the cool nights, the snow, the morning mists, the fireworks display, the friendliness, and the two cars we’ve bought since arriving.

If so much can happen in a year, we better buckle down. There’s no telling what the Lord has for us around the corner.

*You can read about our trek to Virginia here:

• A turn on the trail
• Busy, busy
• Increasing gratitude
• Yard sale of the week
• Jet lag, packing and after glow
• Going dark
• Settling into Blacksburg
• Ode to Monticello

Many moons ago, my in-laws gave me a tent for Christmas. Those many moons almost surpass the birth of Adelyn. When we decided last week to “go camping,” it was not with the confident declaration of a family that “camps.” Rather, it was the over zealous determination to have a family outing after a softball tournament threw out our beach vacation.

As we were packing for the trip, I noticed on the tent box (still sealed) the address it had been delivered to: 162 Tanglewood, Monticello, AR. That was 4 houses ago. Many moons/4 houses/same thing.

We picked a site on the New River because it was relatively close, and with the heat wave of the last few weeks (mid 90s! Gasp!), we wanted to be able to do some tubing, swimming and fishing. We discovered quickly a lost benefit of our Sequoia – space. By the time we had finished packing, our two cars headed for New River Junction campground.

Carolyn and Adelyn made a Wal-Mart and Big Lots run on the way and ended up making the best purchase of our trip: air mattresses. Sam and I beat them to the camp and had the tent set up like we were old pros. Our only hitch was some kind of white, vomit-like gel on the ground -left by the previous campers. Sam and I almost added our own after close examination. We solved the dilemma primally by dumping ashes from the fire pit on top of the mass and then stomping it dry. Our testosterone surged.

The next 24 hours were perfect for three of us, but a Johnny Cash experience for one. I was delighted to find that the campground had WIFI. It was sketchy, but there. Actually, the portapotty had a better signal than our tent site – at least, I heard that it did. Ahem.

We roasted hot dogs, had smores and thereby branded ourselves as obeying the Great American Camping Meal Requirement. I told a ghost story around the campfire that had two profound reactions from the kids:

1) Sam said, “That was stupid.”

2) Adelyn crawled into Carolyn’s lawn chair with her. (It was the infamous “Drip, Drip” story for those ghost tale connoisseurs out there.

You’ll have to read the Johnny-Cash-linked tale above for an idea from a tenderfoot about how the night went. There were no bumps in the night, however.. only whistles.

By waking alive, we won. We’d camped! Yeehaw! After conquering the wilds of Virginia by not losing anything or hammering a tent peg through my foot, we declared our initial camping experience a success. We packed up and returned home shortly before lunch the following day with a commitment to venture out again soon.

What was your first camping experience like? Any recommendations on must-have investments for campers?

Within the last week, we’ve sold our 2002 Toyota Sequoia, and we’ve bought a 2001 Toyota Prius. We are decelerating in our desire to save on gas and have no car payments. It’s become pretty apparent in the last months that it’s doable but difficult to be a one-car family in Blacksburg/Christiansburg – especially with kids that have softball and baseball games in different towns on the same day.

The Prius is pretty remarkable in that it has gotten 45+ mpg in just the few days we’ve driven it. We’re in process of replacing a fender on it since it was in a wreck previously, but overall, we’re extremely happy with it. The purchase has made me rather venturesome as we begin shopping for another car.  My new car litmus test is that it needs to be in the $3000 neighborhood, have good consumer reviews, and, well, drive.

After our recent purchase, I’ve even found myself looking at salvage cars on Ebay. Do any of you have experience with cars like that?

Tonight, our neighbor across the street informed Carolyn that she thinks her boys have forgiven Adelyn. When Carolyn asked why, here’s the story that unraveled.

This morning, Adelyn and the other kids in the neighborhood were waiting on the school bus (very Rockwellian). That’s when Billy and DJ began to brag that they had gotten out of the house without having to wear their school picture clothes. Apparently their mom had set them out the night before, but the two siblings had managed to get out in what Adelyn has since described as “just Michael Jordan shorts.”

Adelyn and her friend Michelle were horrified that these two boys were not excited about school pictures and that they had done this to their mom.

They promptly marched to the front door of the boys’ house. The boys anxiously dashed in ahead of them, trying to prevent their mom from coming to the door. It was too late. Adelyn proudly ratted out her neighborhood buddies. The result?

The boys missed the bus while they were forced to change, and their mom brought them to school a while later. The two stool pigeonettes rode smugly to school on the bus, confident that they’d done a good deed.

I have a friend who left a comment that seemed to question my intelligence about the incident that took place here. I want to explain myself. To borrow from Paul Harvey, here’s the rest of the story…

Our friends, Ralph and Christy Ramsey with their daughter Hannah, came to visit us in Virginia. It was a week after our last big snow, and there was more than 16″ on the ground in some places. After they arrived on Thursday, we all were planning a great sledding extravaganza on Friday. Being from the Dallas area, it was a little surreal that they got 9″ of snow there on the day they were flying out.

Ralph and I have been great friends since Carolyn and I got married in 1992. They were a young couple at First Baptist Church Garland, Texas where I served first as a lowly youth intern and then as a lowly Singles & Young Adult Minister. After I discovered that Ralph was rather gullible, he became one of our circle of friends primary targets for practical jokes. That is, until we realized that there’s not much point in playing jokes on Ralph since he so often does it to himself.

Ralph seems to always get hurt whenever we’re up to something. If you could amputate your leg with a ballpoint pen and a feather, Ralph would manage to do it. In fact, I’m convinced that many of the inane warning labels we see on products these days are simply because of accident prone folks like Ralph. He’s also exceptionally good at putting his foot in his mouth – a talent that I love to exploit.

However, it did seem like a good idea at the time on Friday when he suggested we video our daughters and wives sledding down the hill. Then he threw in a twist. Let’s (that would be me, Sam and Ralph) lock arms at the base of the hill and play “sled chicken.”

We were sledding near Lark Lane where there was a huge, snow-packed hill, and you could achieve near Space Shuttle launch speeds coming down the hill with a mere piece of plastic under you. So Ralph set up the video camera behind us, and the three of us locked arms to face the sledding missiles.

My rationale went something like this:

• Humor Ralph and don’t shoot down one of his “ideas.”
• Take some great close ups of  the girls coming down the hill with Carolyn’s fancy Canon which she had asked me to hold.
• The odds of us getting hit were minute. Most of us were falling off the sleds before we reached the point we were standing.
• Ralph’s ideas never work.

So there we stood. I’ve included the video again for your study of the event.

There are few observations I’d like to make about the incident above now that you’ve witnessed it:

• It is impossibly difficult to tell how fast someone is going on a sled heading towards you when you are zoomed in taking pictures of them.
• The response time of pulling the camera from your eyes, calculating the proximity of a rocketing sled, telling your body which way to go to avoid impact and then moving is almost negligible.
• If you should attempt to escape injury by leaping to the right where your son and friend are pushing you into the sled’s path, you will most likely fail.
• One’s feet are not meant to occupy the same space where one’s head was previously in a 2 second span.
• A Canon D40 with zoom lens does not make an adequate cushion for your ribs but in fact can survive such an impact with no adverse affects.
• A 42 year-old man’s ribs are able to absorb a Canon D40 mass impression without breaking.
• It’s disconcerting to hear one’s daughter more concerned about the aforementioned camera than she is her father who is lying a quivering mass of wounded flesh.

Now, watch this version of the video in order for me to point out a few more observations that are only intelligible in slow motion:

• My wife’s and Christy ear-to-ear evil grins.
• How high my feet got.
• The sudden realization after I bring the camera down from my eyes that I am in trouble.
• Ralph’s bracing himself to push me into the path of the sled.
• How narrowly Sam missed being plowed over as well.

Ralph was supremely proud of himself. Heck, I would have been too. It was a flawless plan and execution. The odds of that happening are astronomical – especially with the two of us involved.

Now that you know “the rest of the story,” I hope you agree with me that I am in no way to be second-guessed for my participation in the incident. It was all a fluke. You would do the same thing if you were in my shoes. Right?

It’s a long story that I’ll supply later this week when I get to it, but without any further ado, here’s “The Fall 2010.”

The Fall – Real time from Jeff Noble on Vimeo.

And in slow motion:

The Fall 2010 from Jeff Noble on Vimeo.

I guess I’ve got sweet blood.

I’ve known I was an easy target for stinging creatures for a long time now. I still haven’t quite figured out why they like me. Yet because I am well aware that flying insects are truly WMDs (Wasps of Mighty Destruction), I am pretty sensitive to their presence.

That hypersensitivity is probably the reason that when I am caught unaware by one buzzing by my ear or face, I tend to lose all composure and simply run away yelling. My neighbor in Monticello witnessed this headlong flight from what looked like nothing from his side of the street one day. That red wasp chased me from the front yard to the back driveway before I lost him.

Why me?

On two different occasions in the past couple of years, they dive-bombed me from wasp nests tucked under the eaves of our carport. My neck was the target one day. My scalp received their ire on another.

I was doing absolutely nothing to them. Tossing kitchen trashbags into a green can shouldn’t provoke a wasp’s wrath. Neither should power blowing a dirty driveway. However, on both occasions, I earned a welt from wasps. Red wasps, in particular, graciously leave you with a throbbing reminder of their attack.

I had hoped our move to Virginia made peace with the pests. I assumed that whatever contract was out on me in Arkansas was nullified across state lines. Surely their sting had no jurisdiction so far from home.

Yet blood is thicker than wings, and Wednesday night at 2:00 a.m., I was stealth stung.

It’s the middle of January here. Cold. Wasps, bees, etc. – supposed to be out of commission; people should be none of their buzzness during this time of year.

Yet, the agony struck suddenly. Because of my familiarity with sting pain over the years, I grasped the reality of what happened in a nanosecond. My wife was more skeptical… and mad. You see, my revelation happened like this:

Zzzzzz… (from both sides of the bed)

Sting.

A liquidly fluid moment of me leaping from the bed, screaming, throwing back covers and landing on my feet. Yes, it was all in one smooth motion. I was quite proud of my dexterity – in spite of the pain. A dash across the room to the light switch flooded the bedroom with illumination.

Carolyn was unimpressed. Even wrathful.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!!!”

“I JUST GOT STUNG!”

“No, you didn’t. The cat probably clawed you through the bedspread.”

Sure enough, there sat the dazed kitten – having been flung over the end of the bed in my liquid fluid motion referred to above.

Enter a moment of self-doubt.

Yet, the throb on my leg – and after inspection, the wound, ushered in a surge of confidence.

“NO, I WAS STUNG!”

My powers of deduction and observation now fully functional – in spite of the hour – I began to separate the bed coverings like the layers of an onion. And what did Sherlock Noble find? Between the bedspread and the electric blanket – both above the sheet – a crafty critter with a little walkie talkie whispering, “My position has been compromised. I repeat; my position has been compro… SMACK.”

Yes. Without regard to our present culture of sustainability, I slaughtered the wasp with my houseshoe. Unceremoniously, I then flushed him.

My next liquid smooth fluid motion was slipping back into bed, dragging the covers back over me, and casting a smug look of supreme stinging insect knowledge at my now-incredulous spouse.

Unfortunately, she fell asleep rather quickly – oblivous to the fact that she was supposed to lay awake in self-recriminating guilt for hours for having doubted me. It was I who lay there checking Twitter, Facebook and playing Paper Toss until my leg quit throbbing.

POSTLUDE

I was relating this tale to VT BCM Director Darrell Cook at Panera this morning when a revelation struck me about my wasp curse.

Years ago, I remember vividly one beautiful day in Little Rock watching bees buzz among the clover in our yard when a wonderfully siblingish idea came to mind. After coaxing my sister Amy outside, I then began to demonstrate my liquid fluid reflexes by showing her that “I was so fast” that I could catch a bee and throw it without harm.

I demonstrated this throw a few times so quickly that I knew she was unable to determine that it was an air bee I was throwing. Then came the challenge.

“Let’s see if you’re that fast.”

I do remember having to encourage her and with brotherly love assure her that she was, indeed, a very fast girl for her age.

After a few moments of watching them – I’m assuming getting the timing in her mind right – she bent, scooped and threw. But intermingled with her smooth motion was also a loud scream. And a look of furious awareness.

I don’t even remember her saying anything to me. She ran past me into the house, crying loudly.

I stood there uncomfortably. In doubt. I had not thought past the fun of the moment. Sounds like a great sermon, doesn’t it?

I was still standing there among the clovers when the front door opened again. Amy came out. Behind my dad.

The rest is thankfully fuzzy. I do remember him saying something like, “Did you tell your sister she could throw a bee?”

That incident, I realized this morning at Panera with painful clarity, may be the source of my wasp curse.

So… neighbors and friends… if you see me running with panic about my yard this summer from what appears to be nothing, you know now. Wasps have jurisdiction from state to state, and they know where I am.

Thank you, Google, first of all, for providing free airport WIFI in Baltimore. I despise airport WIFI charges, and Boingo is one of the worst offenders, but when we arrived for a layover enroute to New Mexico, we were delighted to find the message that Google has partnered with Boingo to provide free WIFI in the airport for the holidays through January 15. That’s today. We snuck onto the worldwide web at the 9th hour on Google’s good grace and dime. Thanks, Google!

Last Christmas

This is the first time in 17 years of marriage that we’ve not been in New Mexico for New Year’s. Due to our move to Virginia, our annual holiday schedules/traditions have had to be adjusted. We’ll get there later today and spend a few days in Hobbs with Carolyn’s family for our last Christmas of 2009 (or is it our first one of 2010?).

We are super grateful to Carolyn’s folks for their generosity and grace which consistently make trips like this possible. I guess we should also thank Southwest Airlines for partnering with the credit card company that her folks use that results in free tickets. Either way, we’re very, deeply thankful.

Laughing all the way

If you’ve been following our journey so far on Twitter (mine or Carolyn’s), you’ll notice that our kids have been assaulting our funny bones with one-liners. Just in the last 30 minutes, Adelyn has observed that the reason airline tickets are expensive is because of the moving walkways in the airport. She also noticed a very youthful army guy decked out in fatigues. Whether it was his boyish appearance or his height (not much taller than she), we don’t know, but she busted out with, “What? Is he like the drummer boy or something?”

Sam’s humor has been more slapstick. And annoying. But he manages quite well to keep me smiling through my grimaces. With effortless ease, he consistently manages to stick his elbows in my side, include my bald spot in every conversation, and roll his eyes at my humor (thus suggesting that it isn’t funny which we all know is not true). I just don’t know how Carolyn’s family managed with her all those years, because it’s so obvious that Sam is just like her…

Over the river and through the woods

We’ve got quite a journey to get to grandma’s house today. I’ll keep you updated as I’m able through layovers and Google’s goodness. After driving to Raleigh-Durham last night, we’ll stop in Baltimore – Little Rock – Dallas – Midland. We don’t get off the plane in Little Rock, but if you’re there today and reading my blog (which amounts to my mom), wave and we’ll wave back.

On a curious note, it was one year ago today that Captain Sullenberger safely landed  his U.S. Airways flight in the Hudson River after it was crippled by a flock of birds hitting one of the jet engines. I would rather keep it “over the river and through the woods” rather than vice versa.

My best friend was born 39 years ago today.

It’s amazing to think we’ve been married for 17 years, but we’ve been friends since her freshman year in college. I was a senior when I first met her. I was working at Third Street Baptist Church in Arkadelphia, Arkansas as their youth minister.

I needed someone to help me teach the youth girls on Sunday nights for discipleship while I focused on the guys. That impulse to divide the youth group by gender was one I’ve forever thanked the Lord for.

It was then that Carolyn agreed to help me – albeit with the warning that she would “never” date me. Apparently, she suspected my motivations were less than holy.

However, I had come to know that Caro was as beautiful spiritually as she was physically, and I was grateful when she agreed to help disciple and teach those young girls at our church.

Each Sunday evening after church we would wind up at the Wendy’s in Caddo Valley, discussing where our youth were spiritually and how we could encourage them in their growth. Those long conversations inevitably would meander to laughter and to deep discussions about life, dreams, and the heart.

Over the course of months, our hearts and common vision for life connected in a way that neither of us was prepared to acknowledge. Carolyn went home (New Mexico) after that spring semester, and it was in her absence that I realized (with some friends’ help) that I was genuinely melancholy.

It’s a long story from there (you can pick it up here if you’re bored), but the “rest of the story” as Paul Harvey used to say is that 17 years later, we are still laughing and having heart-to-hearts.

Her beauty is more alluring to me today than ever before. She has two ways of laughing – one is a charming and disarming giggle. The other is a raucous cackle that rattles the china. Her love for Christ and her simple way of serving others with hospitality, phone calls and gifts has been felt by so many. And our kids… wow. They are the direct beneficiaries of a mother who loves them without reservation.

So on this Christmas Eve, I wish my best friend a genuinely happy birthday. I love her.

It’s nice to have a sled run, with jumps, in our own backyard…

It was one of those weekends as a leader that you anticipate/dread with equal measures of enthusiasm and uncertainty. Our church had an opportunity to host the Glory in the Highest concert tour here in Blacksburg. After deliberation and an email survey, we jumped at it.

There were more than 900 folks at the concert Friday night, and we surpassed the break-even point. While it was never a financial-only perspective for me, I knew that there might be those in our church who would look at it that way, and I was grateful that those results might assuage any concern they had.

One person told me at the concert, “Congratulations on the success of this event.” The comment was made in reference, I perceived, to the amount of people in attendance. And the comment broke my heart in a way. Success at such an event is never measured in terms of numbers and attendance. Biblically, we can only view success as to whether God was glorified and honored in the context and whether we are faithful and obedient.

Jesus Christ was clearly painted as glorious, majestic and worthy of worship and honor from the stage by the artists, and because of that, I was deeply grateful to have been a part of the event. My prayer is that folks who attended, helped and prayed for the event were encouraged to discover that life’s ultimate joy rests in an authentic love relationship with the Father.

Snowy Saturday

We awoke Saturday a.m. to a thickening layer of snow on the ground. It snowed steadily most of the day, finally clearing up around 4-ish. It was simply beautiful, and my kids leapt out of bed, dressed with no sense of grogginess, and were outside in a few moments. If only they treated school days like that…

It was surreal and beautiful. Most of the snows we experienced in Arkansas came after December. One of our church members related that this snow “really didn’t count” as a significant snow. It was more of a dusting. (It was 3-4 inches!!). Man, are we unprepared! My toes have been icicles since last week when the temps started staying stubbornly in the 20s at night. I wore two pairs of socks to our worship service last night.

I had planned to avoid the snow play. However, after helplessly watching two different fathers on our street laboriously build Frostys, I was eventually guilted into creating our own version of a frozen snow human. Sam and I pelted one another with snowballs for a while before my one hand was frozen solid (I had on a nice mitten but couldn’t find its match so on the other hand, I was wearing a cotton glove I use for subzero scooter rides).

Carolyn was out shopping for most of the day, and when I learned she was returning, I told her to look for our snow creation. When she pulled up, she said, “It’s dead.” It had fallen over. Bummer.

Finally… December Nights

Now you see why this was a “Big Weekend.” Our church moved its worship services to the evenings during the month of December. We have creatively called this “December Nights.” It’s…

a wonderful, warm and inviting December of worship and celebration of Christ’s birth! There will be NO MORNING WORSHIP SERVICES during December; instead, we’ll be meeting each Sunday at 5:00 p.m. at the BCM at VT for “December Nights.” This is a superb opportunity to invite friends, neighbors and coworkers for 1 hour of contagious joy involving worship and teaching! Come celebrate Christ with us in December!

We experimented with December Nights last year at Journey Church, and our congregation there loved the break in schedule and the ambience. This past Sunday evening was our first DN here. We met at 5:00, enjoyed some hot chocolate and cookies, and then we sent out a large group into the neighborhoods around Virginia Tech to sing Christmas carols.

They returned, frozen, but cheerful, and then we enjoyed a time of worship and teaching centered around the Advent theme of Hope. As folks exited back into the frigid night air, and we cleaned up the BCM, I was thankful for all that happened in a few days.

It was a big weekend.

Here’s our annual ElfYourself video. We’ve been practicing for months:

We woke early today to go eat Thanksgiving breakfast with the Cook family. That itself was wonderful, but in the grand perspective of things, it’s rather surreal.

Darrell and Laura have been great friends for a long time – since 1995 when Carolyn and I first arrived back in Arkansas for me to serve as a campus minister. Darrell was then at Arkansas State’s BCM, but he had served at the BCM at UAM before me. He has served the last 11+ years as the BCM Director at Virginia Tech, and he continues to love and disciple college students in a fantastic way.

Last year, having Thanksgiving breakfast with the Cooks would have been a non sequitur. While we have corresponded over the past 11 years, it’s only been occasional. But 2009 finds us in Virginia too, and breakfast with the Cooks is not far-fetched; rather, it’s convenient and comfortable. They live just down the street.

But the time between November 2008 and 2009 has been a long journey. It’s amazing the difference a year can make in our lives.

Last year, we were smack in the middle of health issues with Carolyn. If you’re a new reader, you can catch up on that in this series of entries. This year, we’re significantly outside our comfort and support zone, but we are experiencing God’s generous favor and goodness through renewed friendships, new friendships and the blessing of Christ through our new church in a new state.

We started Christmas decoration last night, and our day of Thanksgiving has included our time with the Cooks, a lovely lazy afternoon of football, napping, and the smell of turkey cooking. We’re also babysitting some friends’ cat, named Duke. His purring makes me a little jealous. That soft, steady noise is exactly what my soul would be doing if it could.

While we’re not without struggles and issues here, I am supremely grateful for my family, friends, and especially for the salvation offered through Jesus Christ. It’s a wonderful and humbling reality as a parent to know that your children have both given their hearts to Christ. It’s joyful as a husband to love and live with a wife who also loves the Lord and whose heart is devoted to Him.

I miss our Monticello friends and church family today. I miss my mom and dad and Little Rock family today. I wish you all well and pray for your gratitude in God to be overflowing. Eat a bunch and love the Lord hard today. He is good.

And for our new Virginia church family and friends… thank you for your gracious kindness and love. We are thankful and excited about the days ahead. But let’s take it one day at a time. This day is for Thanksgiving! We never know where we’ll be in a year.