It's been quite awhile since my last post, but it's not because I haven't had anything to say. Quite the contrary, actually! My brain is full to over-flowing after four days of participation in the European Church Planters Network's (ECPN) Learning Community in Villamoura, Portugal. But with sessions from dawn to dusk each day, I didn't have much time for blogging this week.

The ECPN draws a sharp distinction its "Learning Community," which emphasizes dialogue and interaction with multiple sources of information, and the more traditional "conference," which is geared toward passive accumulation of information. And let me tell you, ECPN's Learning Community is definitely an active process! I don't normally consider myself to be an extreme introvert or internal processor -- but by the end of the week, I wanted to find some kind of cave I could crawl into, so I could have some time to let myself process and catch up on all the input that had come in throughout the week!

My favorite part of this week's Learning Community was listening to the wisdom of the two men pictured above. Victor John (left) has helped to pioneer a network of house churches in India (though he is now living in Sweden), and Sandy Millar (right) is a bishop in the Church of England. They both have a tremendous amount of life and ministry experience, and it was a great honor to soak up their wisdom and interact with them throughout the week.

I'm glad that I was there.

Of course, it was an extra bonus that the Learning Community was held on the southern shores of sunny Portugal. We had brilliant sunshine and mild temperatures for the entire week -- which is, perhaps, as great an encouragement for all of us North Sea rim participants as anything. And even though I would have liked to have gotten more free time to get out and enjoy the environment on my own -- I still can't complain if we get to have our coffee breaks, break-out sessions, and team tie-downs in such settings.

Can you identify the famous person lying in the poolside lounge chair in the photograph on the left?

Elliot's best friend Tobias is moving away from Amsterdam in about a month. They were both born in Ohio, within six months of each other: both the first-born children in their families. They both moved to Amsterdam within three weeks of each other. Together, they formed the backbone of Zolder50's kids group. I can't remember for sure, but I think they have celebrated all ten of their birthdays together (and they'll get to squeeze in an eleventh yet, when Elliot turns six, just before Tobias leaves). They've definitely shared quite a bit of history. But unfortunately, their paths will soon be diverging. Understandably, Elliot has been sad about saying good-bye to Tobias. But he's processing everything quite well, and I'm hopeful that we can make it an emotionally healthy experience.

Part of Elliot's emotional processing is drawing pictures and writing songs about his friend Tobias. Recently, he completed the above piece (complete with a tune to the song and everything!). In case your understanding of six-year-old phonetic spelling (he did the project completely by himself, during an afternoon rest time) is not the keenest, the words of the song are as follows:

All the good times we had

But we have to move on

I know I really know that we

Don't want to go and

Then we went away

From each other.

At the bottom of the page, Elliot added some beautiful collage work. The figures on the left side represent him and Tobias together (in Amsterdam). The figures on the right side represent the two of them separated. The shorter figure (in the middle) holds a flag representing England (you can see a dog eating a tomato, with the word "tomato" is written on the flag understood to be pronounced "to-mah-to" -- which, Elliot explains, is the best thing that he could think of to represent the British way of life); and the figure on the far right holds a flag representing the United States of America (with an American eagle has been emblazoned on this flag).

Sad and sweet, isn't it?

The emotional development of a child is a wonder to behold. Now, I'm no child psychologist, so I certainly cannot claim to understand things from the most scientific perspective. But as a parent and an intimate acquaintance of three small children, I am amazed by the process of emotional development.

As infants (again this is my untrained, non-scientific perspective here), children seem to respond to life circumstances with an emotional toggle switch: either happy / comfortable or sad / uncomfortable.

As they grow older, the toggle switch is eventually replaced by a dial, representing a range of emotional possibilities and subtle in-between emotions as well -- though still generally along a consistent spectrum ranging from an angry / uncomfortable / unhappy tantrum to a comfortable / flirtatious / happy fit of giggling euphoria. As a point of reference, our youngest son, Cor (almost six months old) has already graduated from the toggle switch to the dial.

Then, as children grow still older, the single-channel dial is replaced by a multi-channeled mixing board of intricate emotional responses: a wide array of independent variables that can be amplified, adjusted, and combined in an infinite matrix of emotions. Our oldest two children, Elliot and Oliva, are both in the multi-channeled mixing board stage of emotional development (though, naturally, not exactly in the same ways). Again, I have no scientific research to back me up on this one -- but I would venture a guess that the emotional responses of children (at least of children at the ages of Elliot and Olivia) are more complex, more varied, and more intertwined than those of adults. It's almost like we, as human beings, get to a point in our emotional development when we have to start categorizing and clumping together various emotional responses in order to cope with our day-to-day existence. And as a result, there must be some period in childhood (which my own children have not yet summitted) when the unpacking of emotional possibilities stops and more practical conventions for emotion are created and relied upon. Perhaps my pie-in-the-sky theories are ludicrous. But I have to wonder if there might be something to this...

Recently, I've been particularly intrigued by the expression of anger in my children.

I totally believe that angry is a normal, healthy human emotion -- so I'm not the least bit concerned that my children have been experiementing with their angry emotions in recent weeks and recent months. But it's a completely fascinating process to witness. Olivia, in particular, is at a place where she has just realized her ability to use anger as a tool for manipulating the behavior of others. Thus, she will use her anger (or often a facetious, theatrical sort of anger) to try and extend her bedtime, to register her dissatisfaction with our choices in meal planning, to make it clear that she wanted to be the one to help put on baby Cor's shirt. When she slips into this mode of manipulation, her eyes become tiny slits, her lips pout, her arms cross -- she's flexing her angry muscles. Often, her visual demonstrations of anger are accompanied by verbal explanations: "I'm ang-a-ree. I'm fa-rust-a-rated. That makes me ang-a-ree!" I try not to -- but sometimes I can hardly keep myself from laughing out loud.

Concurrently, it seems that Elliot has picked up on his sister's heightened anger awareness -- realizing that he can drive her to hysterics simply by raising and lowering his eyebrows: suprised - angry - surprised - angry - surprised - angry. Whenever he shows his "angry face" Olivia falls into hysterics, responding with her own anger or with feelings of panic and discomfort.  No matter how many times he pulls the maneuver, Olivia takes the bait every time.  Again, I know that a parent isn't supposed to laugh at his children's antagonism toward each other. But again, I can hardly help it. It's quite the theatrical performance.

We're all still learning, aren't we?  Anger, especially, is one of those emotions that takes a lifetime to master. 

You may or may not have seen my post from a couple of weeks ago about some of our family's adventures in cross-cultural existence, specifically regarding our application for Elliot's leave-of-absence from the last few weeks of the school year (for a three-month "home service leave" required by our employer).  Believe it or not, that first conversation with the local Compulsory Education Bureaucrat (leerplichtambtenaar) was just the beginning of the insanity.

Since that initial conversation, I estimate that we've spent over ten hours and over €200 (almost $300 U.S. dollars), bending backwards to meet the demands and requests of the Compulsory Education Bureaucrat.  Just today, I had another thirty-minute conversation with the gentleman, talking through the intricacies of our (what he has described as being a) "highly complex case."  I honestly don't see what's so complex about everything, but I know that the guy is just doing his best to do his job.

According to tentative indications from today's conversation,  unfortunately, it sounds like the Compulsory Education Bureaucrat is somewhat inclined to deny our application.  We talked about it at length, and I'm hoping that our conversation today may have helped to tip the scales back a bit more in our direction, but the whole thing is still very much up in the air.  Thus, I would like to ask if you would seriously pray with us for a favorable resolution to this situation.  It may seem like a silly, trivial, insignificant thing to pray for -- and it may seem like a process that's largely out of the hands of God (and firmly in the inescapable hands of the Dutch Bureaucracy) -- but a negative decision from the Compulsory Education Bureaucrat could have significant ramifications for our family's emotional and financial well-being.  Even if there is a negative decision, we could still appeal the matter to a higher-up "Board of Compulsory Education Bureaucrats" -- and then even if they rule against us we could appeal to the Dutch legal system (i.e. a real court case)... But we really hope it doesn't go that far.

So could you please pray for us in this matter?  We would really appreciate it. 

A few dozen police officers in full riot gear, 15 armored vehicles, a crowd of bystanders -- and all of this just around the corner from our house this afternoon! Never a dull moment in Amsterdam Oost...

The action was centered around the clearing out of a squat-house on the Steve Bikoplein. I never knew much about squatting before I moved to Amsterdam (I suppose I still really don't know that much about it), but it's an interesting phenomenon to consider and observe. According to Wikipedia, "squatting is the act of occupying an abandoned or unoccupied space or building that the squatter does not own, rent or otherwise have permission to use." In the Netherlands, the societal treatment of the squatting movement is somewhat schizophrenic. On the one hand, it's basically illegal behavior; but on the other hand squatters are offered a number of legal protections. On the one hand, squatters are viewed as dangerous, anarchist revolutionaries; but on the other hand, they hold a certain degree of public support and admiration for their cause. Again, quoting Wikipedia, "In the Netherlands, if a building is not in use for twelve months and the owner has no pressing need to use it (such as a rental contract starting in the next month), then it can be legally squatted. The only illegal aspect would be forcing an entry, if that was necessary. When a building is squatted it is normal to send the owner a letter and to invite the police to inspect the squat. The police check whether the place is indeed lived in by the squatter -- in legal terms this means there must be a bed, a chair, a table and a working lock in the door which the squatter can open and close."

Interesting, huh?

I used to think that squatters were just counter-cultural for the sake of being counter-cultural. I thought they simply didn't want to go to the trouble of paying rent or maintaining their own place -- so they squat someone else's building. If I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I guess I thought they were a lawless crowd just looking for an excuse to not work and just sit around using drugs all day. But as I've gotten to know some squatters personally, and as I've learned more about their subculture (and there is indeed a very defined and highly refined subculture among squatters -- it's not merely a reactionary counter-culture), I've seen that many squatters are highly principled idealists. They are political activists. They see themselves as social engineers. They are philosophically motivated by Marxist ideologies to make the world a better place -- a place where everyone is valued, where everyone is granted access to the basic elements of life, where society is not motivated by unadulterated materialism.

I don't know if I could ever see myself "joining" the squatting movement for myself. But I have come to respect the philosophy behind squatting. They actually embody a number of Christian principles to an extent that many Christians do not. Of all the people with whom I've interacted in our neighborhood, the squatters have been some of the most neighborly.

Today, though, the police came to clear out one of the neighborhood squat houses. Apparently, the owner of the building in which a colony of squatters had taken up residence decided that he wanted to use the space again, and he jumped through the many hoops needed to circumnavigate the government's red tape so that the ontruiming (clearing out) was legally sanctioned and supported by the city police force. And they seriously supported the ontruiming. It was incredible. They had water canons mounted on trucks (which you can see in the photographs above and below). They had a small remote-controlled helicopter, about the diamter of a hula hoop, with a camera hovering around the scene (which you can see in the picture above), presumably gathering information on the whereabouts of the squatters within the house. There were perhaps 50 or 60 police officers in riot gear formed the perimeter (with their backs to the action), supposedly watching out for any raiding bands of sympathetic squatters from other colonies in the city. Another two-dozen motorcycle cops watched from outside the circle. Another dozen or so formed the crew that actually stormed the building. It was quite the effort.

No wonder the event generated a crowd from the neighborhood.

In the end, the ontruiming ended up being somewhat anticlimactic. After the police force stormed the squat house, it was only a minute or two before they came out with perhaps 10 to 15 squatters chanting protest slogans as they were escorted to the paddy wagons that would take them away.

Even so, it was an interesting afternoon in Amsterdam Oost.

Over the last five years, I've really grown to appreciate my neighborhood on the East side of the Amstel. Such diversity. Such color. Such character. The last week has been exceptionally sunny here in Amsterdam, and (as you may have already noticed from other posts over the last week) I've been enjoying the opportunity to get out with my camera a bit. Among other projects, I thought it might be interesting to visually catalogue a variety of the different storefronts throughout Amsterdam Oost and the Watergraafsmeer... like the above Morroccan market, specializing in halal (the Muslim equivalent of Kosher) meat products and imported Morroccan products.

Just across the street from the Morroccan butcher shop is the Turkish market, specializing in fruits and vegatables, as well as assorted Turkish products, imported from Turkey.  Helal et Gida is something of a local institution. 

The Linnaeus Boekhandel (Bookshop) is about as Dutch of a bookstore as you could hope to find in Amsterdam.  Its foreign language section is about three shelves worth of books. 

Across the street and down a little bit from the bookstore is one of Amsterdam's many Coffee Company franchises.  It's about as American as you can get in the city of Amsterdam (basically a Dutch knock-off of Starbucks or Caribou Coffee). 

Another 20 meters down the sidewalk is the Vishandel (Seafood Store) J. Braan.  I love the specialized nature of Amsterdam shops.  Within view of the seafood store is a shop totally dedicated to lighting, a shop solely for the selling of wines and fine liquors, and a shop specializing in dried fruits and nuts. 

Around the corner and down the street a little bit, there is another specialty shop:  Het Kaasboertje (The Little Cheese Farmer).  In addition to its wide selection of international cheeses, it does sell a few other items like crackers and sausages and wines. 

This antique shop advertises itself as dealing in the buying and selling of "old things" (oude dingen).  I think it's kind of a funny way of phrasing things.

I pass almost all of these shops almost every day.  Three of them I patronize regularly.  One of them I visit fairly infrequently.  And, oddly enough, with the remaining three, I have yet to set foot within them even once.  Can you guess which ones are which?

Is anyone else weirded out by these clown images from the Flevopark in
Amsterdam's Indische Buurt? Even without the graffiti, these clowns
seem kind of disturbing to me.

Take a look at the picture up above. Can you tell what it is? (The title, of course, is a pretty significant hint.) It's a bizarre image in its own right -- but especially so, considering that the photograph was taken within 100 meters of my house, in urban Amsterdam Oost!

I've been meaning to take just such a picture, ever since the 9th of February, 2005. That was the first time I noticed the neighborhood chickens' roosting position. And I can pinpoint it that exactly because that discovery was the subject of just my sixth blog post of all time. For those of you who haven't been following this blog since way back when, I thought I'd do a re-post. I hope you enjoy it...

I finally discovered where the chickens go to roost at night. I've been wondering for quite some time...

So many chickens -- probably twenty or thirty of them in the neighborhood -- but no coops, or whatever it is that chickens are typically supposed to sleep in... They just kind of seem to be there during the day, hens pecking around on the roadsides, chicks resting in the grass, roosters crowing atop concrete pylons... but they always seem to magically disappear as the day wears on. I never knew where. Like subconscious habits or deep wounds from childhood, the chickens just seem to be there on the Tuglaweg at some times and not there at other times.

But of course, it's only logical and natural that there would be a point of continuity. The mystery has only been made clear to me through outside intervention. The construction crews started cleaning things up about a week ago. Big yellow vehicles, men in hard harts, digging up the grass, ripping out the brush, thinning out two-thirds of the trees on the embankment... I still have no idea what the gemeente is trying to do with all this dirt, vegetation, and concrete. Presumably I'll find out someday. But in the meantime, one result of the construction crews has been a new ability to more closely observe the daily habits of the neighborhood chickens.

They seem to be most active in the mornings. The roosters love to crow from pre-dawn to noon. There aren't really any new chicks at this time of the year, but the hens keep themselves busy hunting for food along the street. They take advantage of the bread crumbs and grain thrown out by the Morrocans -- although they have to contend with the pigeons (and probably the rats). As the afternoon wears on, they rest. Stray birds can be seen here at there on the street, but most of them relaxing at the bottom of the embankment, wiling away the afternoon without doing much of anything.

But the real discovery comes with evening. I had pretty much guessed that the chickens just lounged around in the second half of the day; the trees and brush that covered the scene didn't really keep me from anything interesting. In fact, the reality of the situation which had been so suddenly unmasked by the construction crews merely reinforced the picture that had been in my mind's eye. But riding home from work the other day, around twilight, I was surprised by the flap of wings that crossed my peripheral vision off to the left. The rusty flash of feathers was typical enough for our neighborhood chickens... except it was ten meters up from the ground.

So it turns out that the chickens roost each evening in a tree by the railroad tracks. I'm not sure how they get up there. In spite of their feathers and wings, I've never seen them fly. It doesn't strike me that chickens would be adept climbers. But there they were, plain to see: a couple-dozen plump orange chickens stacked from branch to branch, filling the tree like a strange sort of holiday decoration. They were quiet -- no crowing, clucking, or cooing -- in fact, they were barely moving. Most of them had their heads tucked into their wings, excepting an occasional rustle to settle more comfortably.

There was a peace and a beauty to the scene and to the realization. As my bicycle clattered over the cobblestone street, I marveled at their bizarre majesty. It's amazing what you can see and learn when the view is cleared.

If I do say so myself, this picture beautifully captures an otherwise unglamorous section of my neighborhood in Amsterdam Oost.  It's taken on the Vrolikstraat, which I always think of as "Happy Street" -- even though the real Dutch word for "happy" is "vrolijk" (with a "j") instead of "vrolik."

As a side note, does anyone know what the unusual green tracers in the lower right portion of the picture might be?

Over the weekend, I got my absentee ballot in the mail: my ticket to participation in the Great American Democracy. I had thought that my participation in the Ohio primaries -- scheduled in the month of March, some time after the majority of the states have already held their primaries -- would be a formality more than anything. Which wouldn't actually have bothered me all that much. I've come to take pride in these "formalities," especially now, as an American citizen living abroad. But after significant gains over the past weekend for Barack Obama and Mike Huckabee, it seems like the race for the White House is still far from finished. Perhaps my participation in the Ohio primary is not so meaningless after all...

So does anyone have any great advice for me, as I consider my options in completing my absentee ballot?

In particular, if there's anyone else reading this blog from Richland County, Ohio, I would be much obliged for any information for me for Member of State Central Committee, Mansfield (19th District) -- between Jeff Wilkinson and Richard A. Cochran.  That particular race isn't getting much coverage here in Amsterdam.  :-)  And believe it or not, aside from a couple of other tax levies (which are pretty self-explanatory), this is the only other  real choice on the ballot, outside of the presidential primary.

Smoked almonds are a grandpa food if ever there was one. Grandmas may have their apple pie; maybe Mom has that great chicken recipe, and Dad might be king of the grill. But it seems to me that smoked almonds are unique in their grandfatherly associations. I recently discovered that smoked almonds can be acquired on the Albert Cuypmarkt, in the heart of Amsterdam: "Smokey amandels! Echte U.S.A.!" So last Friday, I sought them out for myself and reveled in the sharp cruch, the salty-smokey flavor, the sepia-gritted goodness until the entire bag was gone. And then again on Monday, on my way home from work, I found my bicycle route mysteriously pulled southward, so as to "coincidentally" cause a crossing of the Cuypmarkt. Right around the nut stand selling my favorite grandpa food. Resulting in another pleasantly plump sack of smoked almonds finding their way into my left coat pocket.

Perhaps this sounds sappy and sentimental, but I can't help but think about my Grandpa Liechty as I crunch through a mouthful of smoked almonds.  He used to keep a can of them in his Oldsmobile.  Still does, for all I know.  The happy blue circle would be peeled off the can as we settled into a cruising posture on the highways cutting through the infinite Dakota prairies.  In the summer of my 17th year, Grandpa and I would drive together through fields of corn, wheat, and dazzling yellow sunflowers, reverently enjoying our smoked almonds and surveying the Liechty Empire:  apartment complexes in Bismark, farms around Jamestown, and time shares in exotic faraway places like Arizona and Florida.  Grandpa would try to inspire me toward a sense of ownership and pride in the family real estate and land development business -- and I suppose he succeeded to a certain extent -- but I was more of an observer than a participant.

We'd stop for lunch in a little truck stop along the highway which Grandpa had been targeting -- an obscure place with excellent lemon meringue pie (or was it banana creme?).  We'd eat and talk.  About the business.  About the Twins.  About the weather.  And then we'd get back in the Oldsmobile and drive some more.  And talk some more.  And eat some more smoked almonds, casually culled from the can in the center console.

One time, Grandpa told me about his recollections of the Great Depression.  The Dust Bowl.  Such grandfatherly storytelling was actually an anomaly with my grandfather, so I was extra-enraptured by his stories.  He told me about a black cloud of locusts swarming the Brinsmaid homestead, miles and miles in every direction.  They destroyed everything.  Everything.  And the dust stacked up in great drifts around and over the fence posts.  It sounded to me like the Book of Revelations, come to life.  It sounded terrifying.  "But don't let anyone tell you that Prohibition was a bad thing, Eric," he told me -- seemingly switching topics, according to my 11th Grade understanding of American History, though apparently not so much in Grandpa's mind.  "We had great times during Prohibition," said Grandpa Liechty.  "We made just a little bit of our own beer -- just enough for our family -- and we worked hard, and we made a good life.  Don't let anyone tell you that Prohibition was a bad thing."

I remember staring out the window over an ocean of yellow grasslands, punctuated only by the flick-flicker-flick of telephone poles, and trying to imagine myself living through the Great Depression, Prohibition, the Second World War.  I tried to imagine Grandpa Liechty as a young man.  But I found that I couldn't do it.  He would have been wearing the same glasses (the style which had suited him at least since my parents' wedding, as well as in any other photograph of him that I had ever seen).  He would have been keeping his hair the same style -- half-gray, half-bald.  He would have spoken with the same Upper-Midwestern accent, employing the same dry, flat, direct sense of with and mannerisms which so appropriately corresponded with the prairies around him.  Because that's who he is and has been for as long as I've known him:  Ezra H Liechty.  Ez for short.  Joe for the restaurant hostesses who routinely could not comprehend the name Ez or Ezra.  Ezra H Liechty.  The H for hard-working.  H for honest.  H for whatever you want it to be -- because it stands for no other name, officially (a fact that I find amusing about many men born in the United States in the decades immediately surrounding the Turn of the 20th Century).  Ezra H Liechty.  Liechty for Liechty Associates -- the family business, the prairie empire, the sound investment in solid success.  Liechty for understated Swiss heritage.  Liechty for a genetic predisposition towards big feet and an affinity for assoorted nut products.  Like smoked almonds.

Oh, the wealth of life and meaning and history and sentimentality contained in a single smoked almond!  It's funny how memory association works like this.  But I'm glad that it's like this.  Life is all the richer, more flavorful, for it. 

At Zolder50, we've recently been studying Jesus' Sermon on the Mount (Matthew, chapters 5-7) -- and in particular, over the last month, we've been studying Jesus' directives on sexuality, marriage, and divorce. If that wasn't enough information on the topic, our home group has been studying -- in a separate study -- the book of 1 Corinthians, and it just so happened that yesterday evening was a discussion about marriage and sexuality, from the 7th chapter of the book. Earlier this year, on this blog, I also spent some time studying out the issue of Sexuality and Spirituality... and I've definitely been challenged to closely consider some of the complex issues relating to sexuality and relationships in our culture today. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been chewing on one question in particular:

Is there room in the community of Christ for (non-sexual) same-sex covenant relationships?

I still haven't completely settled my own mind on these issues, but I guess I'm just asking: Do we as Christians need to be opposed to same-sex civil unions -- perhaps as a means of protecting ourselves from treading into dangerous regions of the slippery slope leading to unabashed worldliness? Or do we need to get creative when it comes to making allowances for our Christian brothers and sisters desiring to strive for lives of celibacy? I've been wondering about this a lot lately...

Now, I'm not naive. I realize that the vast majority (if not the entirety) of those choosing for civil unions in the Netherlands (or advocating for acceptance of civil unions or "gay marriage" in the USA or other parts of the world) are (homo-)sexually active. And I honestly don't know how successfully we could ever divorce the idea of sex from covenant relationships (particularly those originally instituted to mimic marriage). But could it be worthwhile to try to walk this fine line?

The rise of homosexuality in Western culture is truly remarkable. And while I believe that this certainly has something to do with our culture's idolization of Eros -- I also happen to believe that it's about much more than sex (I might even dare to say that the sexual aspect of homosexuality is a relatively small part of the equation). From my experience, it seems like some of the biggest felt needs of the homosexual community are belonging, acceptance, companionship, and family (I should also note that this likely holds true for all people who don't fit into the "standard" mold of the "married-with-children" crowd)... I suspect that a lot of it comes down to questions like, "Who will I spend Christmas with? Or New Year's Eve? Or Valentine's Day?" "Who will take care of me in my old age?" "How am I ever going to travel to see the Great Wall of China or the grasslands of Africa or the quays of Paris -- if I don't have a traveling companion?" Or perhaps a bit more macabre: "Who will organize my funeral?" "To whom will I pass along my family heirlooms?" Maybe it's offensive for me (one of the "married-with-children" crowd) to speculate so broadly about this, but I genuinely wonder...

And while I certainly believe that we need to encourage each other to cast down our idols and find hope from its True Source, I wonder if we could still benefit from considering ways to care for the practical needs of people within our community who choose to embrace a life of singleness.

My thinking here is not so dissimilar to the way that the Catholic church has historically taken care of those who have taken vows of celibacy (i.e. priests and nuns). Certain orders of sisters or brothers have had group living arrangements, group activities, group missions (i.e. taking care of orphans, feeding the poor)... Perhaps such a concept needs to be revisited for post-"Church-Era," post-modern, Western society... Yes, maybe establishing new "orders" of brothers and/or sisters is, in fact, the way to go. Adapt the antiquated, not-so-cool ways of dressing, naming, and stereotyping these groups of people (the idea of "becoming a nun" or "becoming a priest" may just have too much accumulated cultural baggage)... And voila! A lot of those most urgent felt needs and most pressing questions about life as a single person have answers! But then again, maybe -- in a more post-modern, decentralized, "organic," anti-institutional, missional ministry- (and life-) context -- maybe it makes sense to think about covenant friendships and civil unions...

There is some biblical precedent for this. 1 Samuel 18 and 20 talk about the covenant friendship between David and Jonathan, which was solemnly and repeatedly sworn in the presence of God and each other. (Some have suggested that David and Jonathan were, in fact, homosexual -- though the Hebrew verbs chosen for their "love" and other factors surrounding their relationship make this highly unlikely, in my mind). The closest biblical parallel to David and Jonathan's relationship (at least, etymologically-speaking, according to the commentaries I've referenced) would be the relationship between Jacob and his son Benjamin (Genesis 44:30 uses some of the same terminology to describe how Jacob's "life is closely bound up with (Benjamin's) life") -- but my mind also wanders to relationships like Ruth and Naomi (Ruth 1:15-22) and Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego's less formal partnership to support each other through times of testing (Daniel 1:6-20). Even so, I'll admit that the idea of covenant friendships / "life partnerships" for celibate believers is a bit of a leap for contemporary contexts. Especially considering the fact that we don't want to set up stumbling blocks for people who may struggle with feelings of attraction toward people of the same sex, I realize that we need to be sensitive and perhaps build in some protections for people in these situations (like choosing to establish a covenant between a group of three people, instead of just two). In any event, this idea of a covenant friendship is an interesting point of consideration...

Now, I'm going a little bit further out on a limb here (again, remember that I'm still more or less thinking out loud) -- but coupled with the current cultural allowances for (or aims toward allowances for) same-sex civil unions, doesn't it seem that such an idea could have some extra practicability? Why not take advantage of the opportunities presented by the current political system and allow those individuals who are committed to God and to lives of purity and celibacy to have the same tax benefits, immigration benefits, health benefits, and death-and-disability benefits that married couples enjoy?

Now, I have long been (and will long continue to be) an ardent supporter of God's definitions for marriage, family, and sexuality -- but I see a clear distinction between these things and the concept of "civil unions." God joins man and woman together in marriage and blesses their physical, emotional, and spiritual union; the government chooses how it will recognize this union and work out the economic and political implications for society. The Dutch system of marriage and civil unions has helped me to understand this. In the Netherlands, any two people wishing to formally join their lives together (Christians, Hindus, secular humanists, homosexual couples, heterosexual couples) must first report to City Hall and make their solemn pledges and process their paperwork for the government. Then, after the civil ceremonies are completed, the spiritual significance may (or may not) be independently observed. A Christian couple, then, will typically get all dressed up, go to City Hall and do the civil thing, then go get some pictures in the park, then go to the church and say their wedding vows betfore God and each other, then have a big party (or a series of parties) with their friends and family, and then consummate the marriage in the privacy of their bedroom that night. A secular couple, though, will get dressed up, go to City Hall and do the civil thing (if they're the sentimental / romantic / traditional type, they may even do this with the long white dress and pick the script that calls it all a "marriage"), then go get some pictures in the park and follow it all up with a big party (or series of parties) with their friends and family (the "consumation" part of their relationship has probably already happened much earlier -- though, again, if they're the sentimental / romantic / traditional type of couple, they may maintain all the trappings of a special wedding night and a honeymoon... on a more "optional" basis, of course). So you see how it works? The spiritual part of things is skipped or substituted based on the desires of the couple. From the secular government's point of view, it doesn't matter! They just want to have it on file that "Person A" and "Person B" now apply for exclusive status as a recognized couple -- and that's it. It actually makes a lot of sense to me (though it's certainly different from the traditional American way of doing things, which also makes sense to me).

So if we have Christian brothers and sisters who want to formally commit themselves to a life of celibacy and sexual purity -- but who would be aided and supported by having someone else (or a couple of other friends) in the same situation to do life together with them -- then why wouldn't we want to consider the advantages of covenant friendships (on the spiritual level) and civil unions (on the societal level)? Think about it: How cool would it be to celebrate a day with two spiritual siblings (I suppose it could be a brother and sister, just as much as a brother/brother and sister/sister) as they formally commit to a life of serving God wholeheartedly, without the distractions of marriage (like Paul talks about in 1 Corinthians 7)?!? I mean, we could do the big party and the special pictures and special clothes and all that -- with all the practical benefits besides -- and it could be a cultural statement to deepen the respect for love and marriage and sexuality and family...

I don't know... Am I talking crazy here?!?! Have I become too influenced by the liberal Amsterdam way of thinking? Would something like this compromise the image of the church or the sanctity of marriage and family? Would anyone actually choose to make such a statement with his or her life? I guess I'm externally processing more than anything... but it is interesting to wonder...

I honestly can't figure out if I'm impressed or revolted by the intricacies of Dutch bureaucracy. Today I was freshly reminded of the government's incredible depth and complexity. I had a meeting at 10:00 this morning with a city official to process our family's request for our son to miss the last seven weeks of kindergarten, in order to accommodate for an employer-required three-month "home service leave" (a.k.a. furlough) that cannot but result in some school being missed, since the Dutch summer vacation is only six weeks long. The job title of the man with whom I met was leerplichtambtenaar, which -- I am not making this up -- can be very literally translated as "compulsory education bureaucrat." Truthfully, I was expecting a fifteen-minute "rubber stamp" type meeting -- more or less automatically approving our request (since the teachers and administrators at Elliot's school haven't expressed any concern about our plans, and since -- seriously -- we're talking about a six-year-old missing a seven-week stretch of kindergarten!). But I really should have known better.

The Compulsory Education Bureaucrat had really done his homework heading into our meeting. He had apparently already spoken, voice-to-voice, with the administration at Elliot's school (and I can't remember for sure, but I think he even said that he had talked with Elliot's kindergarten teacher herself) and gotten a full report of Elliot's educational development and even our family's general involvement in the school. He had researched the website for Great Commission Ministries (my employer) and printed out mission statements and descriptions of the organization's world-wide activity. And as he fetched cappuchinos for us to enjoy while we talked, I realized that our meeting was to be no fifteen-minute rubber stamping. In fact, it was an hour-and-a-half of discussion. The tone of the discussion was very pleasant, even neighborly, but the questions were deep, sincere, and probing:

What exactly is your function within the organization?

Tell me more about your "home groups." What is the purpose of "home groups" and your function in them?

How did you become a Christian?

So would you say that you feel "called" to work in the Netherlands?

Why does GCM require a three-month "home service leave?" Don't they realize that it conflicts with Dutch educational law?

What exactly will you be doing while you're on your "home service leave?"

How is it exactly that your work in the Netherlands is financially supported?

Is it really necessary that your wife and children come along with you for your home service leave? Couldn't they just join you for the six weeks of the Dutch summer vacation in July and August?

I got the sense that the Compulsory Education Bureaucrat was genuinely trying to understand and not simply antagonize me. At certain moments, I even felt a sense of personal interest in who I am and what I do (he confessed that he was brought up in a Christian home). I could completely understand that the Compulsory Education Bureaucrat had been commissioned by the government to do a certain job, to enforce a certain set of laws, and to conscientiously evaluate each case that came across his desk. Yet I was simultaneously astonished by the amount of time, energy, and money that the Dutch government puts into the investigation of a single family's request for seven weeks of absence from school. I was frustrated that the Dutch philosophy of education stresses the importance of paid professionals so much more than the importance of parents. And I was shocked to leave the office of the Compulsory Education Bureaucrat with a considerable stack of homework to be completed before the application for an extended leave of absence will be further processed.

I have to arrange for professional translation of GCM employment policies (as they relate to home service leave). I have to fill out a detailed schedule of my travel plans for the summer (preferably with visual aids, i.e. maps, to help contextualize and inform the necessity of an extended period of leave). I have to write out a detailed Education Plan for Elliot, explaining how we will continue to prioritize our son's education while missing school in the Netherlands. I have to provide extra employment documents (my work contract, the mission statement of GCM, a letter from GCM headquarters explaining the intent of a home service leave and the necessity of including the entire family for the entire duration of the home service leave) -- all professionally translated into Dutch by an government-sanctioned translation business. It's crazy!

But I'm working on it. I thought it was interesting today, to map out our travel plans for this summer and compare the scope of American geography to that of the Netherlands (I've displayed the results of this work here on the right, for your amusement). I don't even bother to mark out the differences between Peoria and Chicago, Minneapolis and Alexandria, because the scope of American geography is so much greater than that of the Netherlands (even though the journey between cities like these, even within the same state, would be equal to the distance between two cities in the Netherlands that would be considered "very far apart"). You gotta love the culture clashes, don't you?

I'm definitely able to see the humor in all of this and enjoy the experience for what it is. But all the same, any prayer support that you might want to provide would be greatly appreciated.

Since the updating of blogging software which occurred over the weekend, you may or may not have noticed that I've done some editing of the "Links" section on the lower-right side of this page. I've removed a number of the "dead blogs" (which I defined as any blog which hasn't had a new post within the last year), added a few new blogs that I've started reading along the way, and reorganized the Links in general -- such that the links are now alphabetized per category and there are now separate sections for "Blogs to Which I Contribute," "Other Amsterdam Blogs," "Other European Blogs," and "Other International Blogs."

Please do let me know if I have made any glaring omissions in my reconstruction of this section of the site. And if your blog has been axed from the list -- please don't be offended. Just post something new and then let me know so I can add you back to the listing!

Have you ever been riding on your bicycle on the approach to a turn and subconsciously reached for the turn signal with your left hand, as if you were riding in a car?

Have you ever been riding in your car on the approach to a turn and subconsciously lifted your arm (or a hand or a finger) out to the side, as if you were riding on a bicycle?

Have you ever been writing a note with paper and pen, trying to spell a particularly difficult word, and then subconsciously stopped after finishing the word -- waiting to see if some magical spell-checker would underline the word with a squiggly red line to indicate its misspelling?

We were laughing about some of these quirks at our staff meeting today (the above examples are all actual occurences in the lives of Zolder50 staff members!). These are the signs of people who live between cultures.

Most of you will probably not notice anything at all -- but this weekend, we are updating the blogging software that runs this site.  You may notice a few minor changes.  It is also possible that you may need to refresh your RSS feeds, if that is your preferred method of accessing this website.

Please feel free to let me know if you have any suggestions, questions, observations or complaints that come about as a result of this transition.

My Dutch and international readers may not have realized this, but today is Groundhog Day.  It's a very special day.  It's the day on which we honor one of the world's great rodents:  the groundhog -- that wonderful woodland creature also known as the woodchuck, the land beaver, the whistle-pig.  Its geographic range may be limited to specific sections of the North American continent, but its world-wide impact in the hearts and minds of millions of people cannot be overlooked.  Nor should it be overlooked.  Of course, that's why we celebrate Groundhog Day.

This is that one day of the year that we remember groundhogs' valuable and varied contribution to our civilization.  And indeed, where would our world be without the groundhog?  Just think of all the inventions, the discoveries, the works of art, the political movements, the heroic battles waged by groundhogs... Just - think - about - it.  Golly, I'm glad we have Groundhog Day to stop and reflect upon the meaning of it all...

Seriously though (follow this link to read the more standard explanation of Groundhog Day), isn't it strange that there are certain occasions which, when you really think about it, are absolutely ridiculous to observe -- and yet everyone from a particular culture knows that a certain date on the calendar represents that certain event?  Ask any American what holiday is celebrated on the 2nd of February, and chances are that they'll respond immediately and casually:  "Groundhog Day."  It's kind of similar with the Dutch celebration of Dierendag (Animal Day) on the 4th of October.  Our understanding of these dates is automatic -- even if it's ludicrous.  It must be some simple combination of a very tangible image (like a fuzzy groundhog, or whatever animal people think of on Dierendag), together with an empty stretch on the calendar that doesn't require any other memory recall.

At any rate, I wish you a very happy Groundhog Day.  And many happy returns of the day.