Today, on the 30th of November, my brother Jay celebrates his 30th birthday.  Somehow, it's almost weirder to have my younger brother turning 30 than it was for me to turn 30 myself... I guess the accelerating passage of time just really gets to you, in situations like this -- like a skydiver who may seem to be floating more than falling in the immediate moments after jumping out of the airplane, but then as the landscape rushes ever closer, and as one passes the level of mountains in the distance, and drops through flocks of birds flying in formation, the urge to pull the rip cord on the parachute gets stronger and stronger... though we still try to hang on and enjoy the ride for as long as possible.

But I digress.  This post is about Jay.  My beloved best-friend/brother.

If ever there was a "Joy of November," Jay would certainly be it.   His first name means "lively and quick" -- and it's a very appropriate moniker.  Whereas I've always been the typical first-born -- careful, reasoned, responsible, eager-to-please... Jay has always been the yin to my yang (the classic second-born):  adventurous, ambitious, unafraid, social, and independent.  I've often envied his unique personality and wished that I could be a bit more like him (and ironically, his feelings toward me have been reciprocal, if perhaps also inverse)... But as Jay and I have gotten older, we've had these moments of realization where we've understood just how much time we've spent envying each other instead of simply admiring each other!

And when I really break it down, I realize that I truly have a lot to admire in my "little" brother.

I've always admired Jay's ability to command an audience, to stick up for what he believes in, to fearlessly lead.  I learned a lot from him, along the way -- and the lessons have continued over the last decade of continental drift (moving toward different callings, different cities, different women, and -- yes -- even different actual continents).  Over the years, I’m glad to say that I’ve learned some degree of confidence:  as a man, as a father, as a church leader.  I can lead (though, ironically, I still prefer to play support roles).  I can entertain a crowd (though, inevitably, I’m still naturally introverted).  I can even catch myself being a “show-off” at times.  In a lot of ways, I suppose I’ve become more like Jay (or at least the icon I've subconsciously made of him) -- and I definitely consider this to be progress in my life...

Even so, I’ve still got a lot to learn.  I’m still a weak person in many ways.  And yes, Jay has taught me a lot in this regard as well.  I still don't understand how God could have made someone so proud and yet so humble as my brother Jay.  When I think of Jay, I think of a true pilgrim, a warrior, a sojourner -- a bit like the Don Quixote figure he's always admired.  He has aspirations (along with a great deal of actual potential) for greatness... and yet he has tremendous transparency and a willingness to share his heart which is so true, and vulnerable, and sincere.  I know without a doubt that this is a work which God has done in Jay's life... but it is a beautiful work indeed.

These days, I'd have to say that Jay and I are still trying to figure on the brotherhood-from-two-sides-of-the-Atlantic thing.  We don't get to connect nearly as often as we would like.  And yet, it's amazing to see the ways that our lives have maintained parallel headings -- even in completely unconscious ways.  You can see it in the little things -- like the way that we've both acquired a taste for coffee (which is a significant development among we Asp men, who were brought up listening to our father's classic reply to someone asking if he drank coffee:  “I don’t even drink whiskey”)... Like the way that we can still get fired up about a good basketball game... And like the way we enjoy sampling different products and savoring the absolute bests of cinnamon rolls and ciders and songs... But it's in the bigger things, too:  like raising families... Like pursuing artistic passions (him in painting and me in writing)... Like church planting... Like growing into maturity -- even now, into our <gulp> thirties.

These days, when I talk to Jay, he still sounds like Jay -- perhaps just a bit older and wiser.  But really, this is the best that any of us can hope for.  I love my brother dearly, and I'm so grateful for the role that he's played in my life throughout the years.

Here's to the next 30, Bird.  Happy Birthday!  And thanks for making November such a meaningful month...

I have to admit that it's been an exhausting month. I feel very tired, very stretched -- very wiped out and washed up... But believe it or not, I'm quite encouraged by this! Feeling exhausted and stretched is, in my opinion, a considerable improvement from feeling dark and depressed. I've been consciously and consistently fighting to overcome my "November blues" for the last four weeks or so -- and by and large, I'd have to say that it's been a successful campaign. I really have discovered genuine joy in this season, and I can sincerely claim gratitude for things God has given me in the month of November. It's much bigger and deeper than oliebollen and documentaries. It's an abiding sense of joy and fulfillment -- a sense of God's goodness and His active involvement in my life. More than just "putting lipstick on a pig" or "making the most of a bad situation" -- I feel that I have discovered a true revelation of the true Joys of November.

But it hasn't just dropped in my lap.

I've had to work hard to overcome the negative patterns of thought and keep my focus on the joys instead. And in the process, I've worn myself out. Over this last week or so, especially, I've felt completely drained, nothing left in the tank. At times, I've worried that my November blues have caught up with me (and who knows -- they still might!). Every now and then, I've felt that familiar feeling of dread and darkness coming over me again. But then, time and time again, I've refocused my attention on God and the beautiful parts of His Creation, and I've found my hope renewed. As silly as it might sound to some people, this month of seeking the Joys of November has been a very spiritual experience for me. As the month has progressed, I've experienced profound joy (though not always happiness -- as I believe these two oft-presumed synonyms are actually quite distinct). It has not been a month without times of sadness and heaviness (if I claimed this, you could be quite certain that my November was merely a month of denial)... But I have not allowed the month to be characterized by these heavier emotions. And when all of the human emotions can be given their proper place on the spectrum, a sense of joy and deep contentment can be savored, like a fine wine, in the overview.

This morning, I was riding my bike and listening to some of Sufjan Stevens' Christmas songs (now that it's post-Thanksgiving) on my headphones. When the old, old song "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" came on, I found myself deeply moved -- even choked up -- by its old, familiar tune and its profound lyrics (the first and third verses, particularly):

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love...

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

This is, in essence, been my experience over the last month (with still two more days to go in the month of November). It's felt like back-breaking mine-shaft tunneling at times, but I've struck a vein of rich, precious joy-ore -- and I intend to mine it for all its worth.

Today is a national holiday in my homeland.  It's not celebrated officially as such here in the Netherlands (though we will be organizing aspecial feast with some American friends this Saturday)... But certainly, the concept of giving thanks is not limited to any one nation or culture.  The poem below, for example, was originally written by a Jewish king in the 10th Century BC...

Psalm 100 (A Thanksgiving Psalm)

On your feet now -- applaud God! Bring a gift of laughter,
      sing yourselves into his presence.
Know this: God is God, and God, God.
      He made us; we didn't make him.
      We're his people, his well-tended sheep.
Enter with the password: "Thank you!"
      Make yourselves at home, talking praise.
      Thank him. Worship him.
For God is sheer beauty,
      all-generous in love,
      loyal always and ever. 

And then, the other day, Marci came across another poem from the Book of Psalms which offers a unique message for our times -- a time in which we are all pilgrims.

Psalm 126 (A Pilgrim Song)

It seemed like a dream, too good to be true,
      when God returned Zion's exiles.
   We laughed, we sang,
      we couldn't believe our good fortune.
   We were the talk of the nations—
      "God was wonderful to them!"
   God was wonderful to us;
      we are one happy people.
And now, God, do it again—
      bring rains to our drought-stricken lives
   So those who planted their crops in despair
      will shout hurrahs at the harvest,
   So those who went off with heavy hearts
      will come home laughing, with armloads of blessing.

At any rate, for those of you in America -- I wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving holiday.  And for the rest of us,  all around the world, I encourage you to give thanks, too.

They say that having children offers one a chance to enjoy a "second childhood"...  And I have to say: it's completely true.

Yesterday, after picking the kids up from school, we decided to go feed the ducks on the canal in our neighborhood.  Except we couldn't just go with a bag of stale bread crumbs and feed the ducks all casual-like.  Oh no.  We had to make a mission out of it -- something like a military operation.  To be specific, we had to charter ourselves with a mission to successfully deploy our stale bread crumbs to the ducks without allowing the seagulls to swoop in and steal any of the spoils.

This mission is trickier than you might think.  The seagulls in our neighborhood are quite agile and quite aggressive.  We often have to sacrifice a certain percentage of our "duck food" to the seagulls.  But this time, we decided that we had to take action and devise a special strategy to keep the seagulls away while allowing for successful engagement with the ducks.  One plan that we considered would have involved one of the kids using a baseball bat to threaten the seagulls while the other one fed the ducks... but in the end, we decided on a plan (originally suggested by Elliot) to create a seagull decoy that could be used to play with the minds of the seagulls and trick them into ignoring the bread -- either by scaring the other seagulls away (if they would react to the decoy as a threatening competitor) or by drawing away their interest from where the true action was happening (if they would react to the decoy as a role model and potential leader).

So we trash-picked an old metal drying rack from the curbside in front of our house, and we twisted its metal into the shape of a seagull (more or less).  We lashed the various pieces of the metal together with duct tape.  Then, we used white (and mostly-white) plastic bags to fill out the "flesh" around our metal "skeleton" and create a realistic seagull effect.  An orange "beak" was formed out of a cone of construction paper.  Then the whole seagull decoy was taped into its final form with clear packing tape.  Two eyes were added with a permanent marker.

And if I do say so myself, we did a pretty decent job.

And what's most astonishing of all is that our plan actually worked!  We managed to keep the seagulls from getting all but a couple of scattered bread crumbs, and we fed the ducks (and some swans who happened to come along as well) a royal feast (Elliot and Olivia said that it was their Thanksgiving feast).  You might be tempted to suspect that the seagull decoy didn't have a lot to do with this success -- but the four of us would beg to differ.  There was, in fact, one moment during the ducks' and swans' Thanksgiving feast when the seagulls started timing their swoops more precisely and started terrorizing the guests... But then, we picked up the seagull decoy (which Olivia named "Eee") and made a threatening gesture toward the other seagulls -- at which point they actually did scatter (along with a number of the ducks in closest proximity!) and then stayed away for the rest of our time by the side of the canal (though the ducks did eventually come back).

It was a proud and playful moment with me and the kids... The seagull decoy, by the way, is for hire if anyone else wants to utilize his services some day as you're feeding the ducks in your neighborhood.

How could my "Joys of November" be complete without a mention of the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam (IDFA)?!?!  This is, seriously, one of the coolest things to happen in Amsterdam every year -- and it happens in November!

Believe it or not, there was once a day when I wanted to be a documentary producer "when I grew up" (this was, by the way, way back before it was cool, or prestigious, or lucrative to do so).  I studied video production at the university level and regularly tinkered with a number of my own (small-scale) projects for several years... But then, with moving to Amsterdam, that part of me kind of died...

But every November, it gets somewhat resurrected with the onset of IDFA.

I never get to be as involved with IDFA as I would like to be.  But I love the fact that whenever I do have avabilability, there's pretty much always something showing (from 10:00 in the morning to 12:00 midnight) -- and even if I get "stuck" watching a less-than-preferred showing of something more marginal and obscure, it still ends up to be a stimulating and enjoyable experience.  So today, when our staff meeting ended up being cancelled (because of the long hours put in at the Church Planting Movements Seminar last week), I checked out the schedule and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to sit in on a documentary entitled "I.O.U.S.A." (which fit nicely into the typical staff meeting time slot).   The trailer for the film is here below:

And in case you're interested in this particular film (which really was quite complex, though also very fascinating and somewhat horrifying), here is the brief description from the IDFA site:

According to one American newspaper, the documentary I.O.U.S.A. is An Inconvenient Truth about the national debt. The question is only if reality hasn't already caught up with this film, now that the credit crisis has been dominating the news for months. The filmmakers argue that ever since its foundation in 1776, the United States has been stuck with a constantly increasing national debt. A little debt isn't always a call for alarm, but during the Reagan administration, thinks really got out of control. For the first time in history, the national debt reached disastrous heights in peacetime. When Bush Sr. proclaimed "No new taxes!" in 1988, the situation didn't get any better. As attempts are being made to deal with the credit crisis, the United States is still saddled with a debt in excess of 10 trillion dollars. The filmmakers follow a number of people, including the country's head accountant, who has been touring the US for years to inform the people about what this debt means. It's now clear that only drastic measures can offer a solution. I.O.U.S.A. explains the financial disaster scenario and shows without panic or apocalyptic rhetoric which strategies can provide a way out. Burying one's head in the sand is no longer an option.

But really -- more than any particular film, I'm just filled with joy by the general idea and experience of IDFA. If you've got a space of a couple free hours this week, I'd highly encourage you to check out IDFA's awesome website which allows you to see all of the trailers and navigate easily between schedules and film descriptions.  Pick a film that looks interesting to you -- and then experience the Joy of IDFA for yourself...

See the first snowfall

See the first snowfall

Cool white butterflies dancing.

See the first snowfall

I still remember these lyrics from a song entitled "Winter Haiku," which I learned as a twelve-year-old boy singing in the Mansfield YMCA Youth Choir.  They still feel like some of the most elegant, most eloquent words that could be used to describe the simple joy of the season's first snowfall.

Amsterdam received its first snowfall of the year this weekend.  It hasn't been much, and definitely not enough to accumlate for any length of time.  But it's been beautiful and awe-inspiring nonetheless -- just a little dusting on my jacket, a little magic to the cold air.  Cool white butterflies dancing.

I was on my way to a meeting when the first flakes touched down, so I wasn't able to immediately participate in my favorite "first snowfall tradition."  But when I got home later that afternoon, I put on Andy Williams' Christmas album -- an old, time-honored tradition in the Asp family -- and sang along to the opening strains of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."

These traditions, these songs, these images, are definitely one of the unmistakable joys of November.

It took me a long time to figure out the meaning of the little triangles at intersections here in the Netherlands.  I thought they might have something to do with determining who had the right-of-way in a given situation... but for the first few years I was hear I had it all backwards in my mind.

For some reason, I had developed this mental image of a wall.  The flat sides of the triangles all arranged with a very small amount of space in between them seemed to represent some kind of "wall" that was supposed to stop oncoming traffic and alllow safe passage for those on the other side of the wall, where the spaces between the triangles were wider.  Thus in the image on the left, I would have assumed that traffic flowing from the right side of the picture would have to stop for a pedestrian or bicyclist passing through the intersection from the foreground to the background.  It all made sense in my mind.

Unfortunately, it was completely incorrect.

It's kind of funny (or scary) to realize how clueless I was.  When I learned that my perception had been incorrect, I tried to concoct new visual images to help me remember the correct interpretation for these signs.  I tried thinking of the "wall" in reverse (i.e. the "wall of impassability" becoming the "wall of safe passage") -- but that didn't really work too well.  Then I tried to think of the triangles as tiny spikes that threatened to puncture the wheels of anyone who did not stop to allow for the other traffic to have its right-of-way (this image helped a little bit more, and I went with this memory device for perhaps six months to a year).  But only some time later -- after a good three or four years of living in the Netherlands -- did I finally make the connection that the little triangles were, in fact, little yield signs.

Perhaps you knew this all along, and you're thinking, "You dummy, Eric, of course they're yield signs. Everybody can see they're clearly yield signs."  But that's just the thing.  It's not so clear to everybody.  Some people have major mental blocks that only allow them to interpret a given situation in a certain way.  And that's the way it's been for all-time... and probably will be for all-time to come.

It just gives me hope to realize that so many of the things we don't understand -- about God, about each other, about different cultures, and everything -- may not be a matter of complete incomprehensibility or foolish people selfishly clinging to their lies... It may just be that someone needs to shift their perspective to see things in the way they should have been seen all along.

Today is Day Three of the Church Planting Movements Seminar being hosted here in Amsterdam by our church.  There's been a lot of great dialogue, and it seems like everyone has been stimulated by the experience.  But we've still got a day and a half left... and I'm interested to see what will come of it all.

Out of all the material that we've covered so far, honestly, I've gotten the most out of a simple Bible study on Luke chapter 10, which we did together yesterday (Thursday) morning.  During the session yesterday morning, we were given 20 minutes to study the chapter on our own, and then we had about 40 minutes of sharing our findings with each other.  In particular, we were supposed to look for principles about who is recruited for the task of "gathering the harvest," how these harvest workers are to be supplied and sustained, and what kind of implications might there be for spiritual battle in the midst of gathering this harvest.

And for me, as I read, I was struck by the "qualifications" (or lack thereof) for God's work.  As you read through Luke 10, it's amazing to see that it's not the responsible, grown-up, "qualified," properly-trained, officially-appointed people who seem most ideally suited for God's harvest work.  On the contrary, it's the young, inexperienced, ill-equipped outsiders who Jesus uses.  If you read at the beginning of Luke 10, you can see that the workers are drawn from a rather extensive (and not at all selective) sampling of Jesus's followers:  namely 72 people (not including the 12 disciples) who had been following Jesus for a maximum of three years.  And in fact, throughout the chapter (including not just the story of Jesus sending out the 72 but also the story of the Good Neighbor and the story of Mary and Martha), the terms used to describe the admirable ones -- the ones Jesus praises and selects for his service -- are things like lambs... dependents... little children... Samaritans (the modern equivalent in the West might be "illegal immigrants")... and slackers.  God can -- and wants to -- use the most ordinary people to accomplish the most extraordinary things.

Ultimately, I simply felt challenged that I need to expect more of -- and entrust more to -- those who are fresh in the faith and young.  Or another way of thinking about this is to realize that these workers may be lambs -- but incredibly, they have power and authority over the wolves in their midst... They're something like Ninja Lambs (at least, this was the joke yesterday morning).  And while it's intimidating and illogical for me to think in these ways, it's also incredibly encouraging, and it brings me great joy to think about the implications for life and ministry here in Amsterdam.

Sometimes I forget that I'm living in Europe.  I'm overwhelmed by the buzz of daily activity.  I'm pushing my way through the rain and fog.  I'm navigating crowds of people, people everywhere... And in the process, I forget that I live in a place that actually represents something of a "dream vacation destination" for a lot of the people back where I come from.  I live in the "enchanted land of bicycles, cozy cafes, and 17th century architecture."  I speak its languages.  I know my way around.  I call this place home.

Perhaps it sounds ludicrous -- and in fact, it is a bit silly and certainly idealized -- to think about Amsterdam in these terms... but it is significant to remember that one man's daily commute is another man's postcard.

For me, this point is driven home clearly each day when I ride my bicycle between my house in Amsterdam Oost and the place where I work in the city center.  On the way, almost every day of the week, I pedal past (and sometimes over) the famous Magere Brug ("Skinny Bridge") spanning the Amstel River.  This same bridge can be seen on numerous postcards sold throughout the city.  Many of the canal boat tours make a deliberate swing past this historic drawbridge, to allow their passengers to snap pictures of the bridge.  At least 50 percent of the time that I'm crossing the bridge, there is a young couple posing close together with a camera at arm's length to capture their special moment on the Magere Brug.

Yet to me, it's basically just a bridge -- a way across the river.

When I really think about it, though, I realize what a special joy and privilege it is to be able to call the Magere Brug a part of my daily commute. This time of the year -- when darkness is creeping further and further into the beginning and end of each day -- it seems especially magical to pedal my bicycle up, up, and over the crest of the Magere Brug, lit up like a Christmas tree, the old center of the city on one side of me and the Amstel business district on the other side.  With the lights of the city sparkling off the gentle waters of the Amstel and the stars sparkling in the deep blue sky overhead (at least when clouds aren't covereing it up), it really is beautiful.  Breathtaking, even.

Indeed, I am blessed.  I can't promise that I'll always feel joyful and encouraged when I'm on my way to a meeting or busting my butt to get home in time for dinner -- but every now and then, I hope I'll be able to remember to stop and enjoy the view.

This week, Zolder50 is hosting a conference on Church Planting Movements, led by Victor John.  We wanted it to be something of an intimate gathering, with lots of opportunity for interaction -- so we limited the invitation to mostly home group leaders from Zolder50 and a few random church leaders from around the city and across Europe.  In total, approximately 40 of us will be gathering together for the next 4 days to talk about church planting, church growth, and principles for developing a culture of multiplication and "movement" thinking.

I first met Victor John at an conference hosted by the European Church Planters Network in Portugal.  The following was written in a blog post at the time, offering a brief summary of that initial experience (and also likely an effective summary of what we might expect over the coming few days here in Amsterdam):

Victor John was a full-time pastor in an Indian congregation that had been established by Swedish missionaries during the first half of the 20th Century.  But as the European missionaries were gradually phased out of responsibility for the work of the Church in India (according to government policy), Victor found himself facing a crossroads in his ministry about 15 years ago.  Ultimately, he decided to step out of his role as a full-time pastor for his congregation (which is a very unusual thing to do in India, where the pastor is highly honored), and he helped to establish a rapidly-multiplying network of house-churches which has led to an estimated 3 million people coming to Christ among the Bohjpurri people of northern India.  Among these followers of Christ, approximately 50 former Muslim clerics are now helping to catalyze over 200 house churches among the culturally-Muslim popluations of the region!  Now, they're hoping and praying for another 30 million people to come to Christ in the coming ten years!  It seems crazy!  And yet, it's all accomplished through a very simple (though radical) commitment to prayer, studying the Bible, and empowering others to pass on the things they learn from God throughout their social networks.

After that initial encounter, we kept up some communication with Victor John (I honestly don't know if this is a first-and-last name, a first-and-middle name, or perhaps even a pseudonym -- so I never know if I should shorten his name to be familiar, or if I should just use both names at all times)... and eventually, he offered to come to Amsterdam and help to teach some of our people about his experiences in developing Church Planting Movements.

I'm hoping and praying that it will be a really great experience for our church (and other churches with whom we're networked).  In any event, it should be fun hanging out with all these great friends who represent a sort of extended European family... Perhaps you'll hear more about the conference over the coming few days.

There've been posters around town recently for the Dutch release of Toni Morrison's new novel -- here entitled, "Een Daad van Barmhartigheid."  In my own mind, I would try to translate the title as I'd ride past the posters on my bicycle, trying to guess what the book's original title might have been in English (the American author's native language).  "An Act of Mercy?"  "An Act of Compassion?"  I figured it would be something like that...

But then I was reading in the newspaper the other day, and I saw the book's actual (original) tite:  "A Mercy."

In learning this, I was struck by the absolute mess that can be created by translation -- a mess in which it takes 27 Dutch characters (including spaces) to approximate what the American/English title can do in 7 characters.  This is because in the Dutch language, there is no way of referring to the concept of mercy with a definite article.  Mercy is always something bigger, something broad and conceptual (maybe kind of like the English word "compassion," where it would sound weird to say "a compassion").  So aside from having to use the much more clunky Dutch word "barmhartigheid" (14 letters) instead of "mercy" (5 letters) -- the translators also have to include the extra words to indicate that it's a single, simple expression of that quality instead of the broad conceptual thing.

Isn't that crazy?  I am, perhaps, a bit of a nerd for taking delight in these simple observations of linguistic irregularities... but hey -- it brings me joy.

You want to know something else strange, though?  If I were browsing in a bookstore, considering the titles and the cover art and everything -- I would much more readily pick up a copy of the Dutch "Een Daad van Barmhartigheid" before I'd pick up a copy of the American "A Mercy."  For some reason, it looks and sounds like a much more compelling novel to me (even though it's actually the same story!).  Which one would you prefer (assuming you could read both languages)?

So I've posted my November Joy for today... But now I've got another question (not related to the whole "Joys of November" thing) I'd like to address:

What is the correct understanding of the Apostle Paul's marital status?

Was he single and celibate for his whole life (which has been the more traditional understanding)?  Or was he perhaps divorced instead (which seems to be a theory that's been gaining ground recently)?  What has been the historical understanding of this question through the years?  And what does it matter for our lives today and our study of the Bible (particularly Paul's teachings on Singleness and Divorce)?

I'd be very interested to hear from others on this -- especially any people who may have studied theology and/or Biblical history in previous decades.

Of course, in preparing for my teaching on Singleness, I was confronted with these various ideas a little bit.  And in the end, I did choose to go ahead and cite Paul as an example of a godly single role model -- drawing from his own writings on the subject in 1 Corinthians 7 and from the more traditional biographical sketch of the Apostle Paul which has been developed and maintained throughout the centuries.  However, I've also discovered that there are some Biblical scholars and teachers (Mark Driscoll, for one), whom I respect (but not revere), who have now started to favor a view in which Paul was actually not a single but rather a divorcé.  Presumably, because Paul was a rabbi (or at least training to be a rabbi) and a member of the Sanhedrin, it can (or should?) be inferred that he was also married -- since this was supposedly a requirement for all rabbis and members of the Sanhedrin.  So, the theory goes, Paul was married (or at least engaged) to a Jewish woman who then basically left him after he left the Jewish tradition and became a Christian.  Thus, it would supposedly be more correct to talk about Paul as being "divorced-and-single" instead of simply being "single."

So I'm curious:  Does anyone know if these theories existed five years ago?  Or twenty-five years ago?  Has this "debate" about Paul's marital status been going back and forth for decades and centuries, or is it more recent scholarship that has led some to this conclusion?  I'm not saying that "recent scholarship" means "lesser scholarship" -- but it would seem to be a more tentative consideration, if it's slipped past 2000 years of other scholars' consideration of the text.

In any event, it seems like we have to depend on extra-biblical sources to establish a view outside of the traditional understanding of Paul's singleness (which is a less-than-perfect method, if you ask me).  But I think it would be interesting to know if Paul was "single" or "divorced?"  It might color some of his teachings on marriage, divorce, and singleness.  In the end, I don't think it would change the Bible texts -- or the application of these texts -- substantially... but it would perhaps add some nuance.

What have you heard?  What are your convictions?

One of the things that I appreciate (and have always appreciated) about November is its great sleeping weather.  When the night is cold and heavy, it feels heavenly to crawl into bed, pull up the covers, and settle down for a "long winter's nap."  I'm a pretty solid sleeper year-round, I guess -- but especially in November, I love my bed.

The only problem is that I sometimes have to leave my bed!

The last two mornings, I have totally slept through my morning alarm.  It happened yesterday, and I figured that maybe Cor had messed with the buttons on the alarm clock (which does happen periodically)... But I know for sure that when I went to bed last night (after Cor was already in bed for the night) everything with the alarm clock was in good working order.  And yet, this morning my eyes fluttered open at 7:30 -- an hour and fifteen minutes later than my planned wake-up time -- and I had absolutely no recollection of any alarm activity.

So I had to scramble a bit this morning, to get the week off to a good start.  But all's well that ends well.  And in the end, the whole experience helped me to rediscover one of the most central Joys of November -- the Joy of a soft, warm bed.  I'm looking forward to bed tonight already...

Today was a full day.  In the morning, our family went to a birthday party.  Immediately following the party, we enjoyed our family's annual tradition of welcoming Sinterklaas to Amsterdam (though this time we watched the parade, with Sinterklaas astride his dappled horse -- instead of our more typical viewing of the boat voyage, with Sinterklaas aboard his steamboat).  After the Sinterklaas parade had passed us, I spent the rest of the afternoon at church (I also did the teaching today:  about Singleness).  And after church, I came home to enjoy a dinner with our home group (ten of our closest friends in the city).

There's plenty of material from such a day to blog about... but there's not so much energy to spend on blogging.  So I'll simply post a couple of pictures from the Sinterklaas parade (even though I got some great, colorful panoramas of the parade, some of my favorites were the close-ups) -- and then leave it at that.

It was a very full day.  But also a fulfilling day.

It is one of the great comforts of life to enjoy a bowl of steaming hot soup on a cold November day.  The Dutch have an entire class of foods that they call their "winter foods" -- stampot, erwtensoep, and the like... which are considered heavenly delights during this time of the year, especially if made just like Ma's and consumed while watching speed-skating on television.

Unfortunately, I don't know how to make stampot or erwtensoep.  But I do know how to make potato soup.  I learned the recipe from Marci's mom -- whom I remember first serving the delicious dish to me on a cold and snowy Saturday in the dining room of their old farmhouse in Crawford County.  Most of Louise's recipes have been passed directly mother-to-daughter -- but since Marci has never been the greatest potato afficionado, I took it upon myself to learn how to make this perfect potato soup (it's really not that hard, actually) so the enjoyment could be preserved for future generations.

And I just made a big pot of it this afternoon and had two delicious bowlfuls for lunch.  It was a wonderful, warming, satisfying, nostalgic experience.

Take a look above to see what I'm doing tonight.  I'm really looking forward to it.

I think it's interesting to note how many of my "Joys of November" posts have been related to the arts (4 to 6 of the 14, depending on how you count).  Apparently, November is an especially good month for celebrating the arts (which kind of makes sense, considering that it's not a good month for picknicking or sunbathing or that sort of stuff).

If there are any slots open this evening, I think I may do a reading of a new-and-improved, twice-revised version of my story entitled "The Hideous Gargoyle of Hoover and Wall" -- which I'd choose because it's short, plot-driven, and especially timely (I may not have done a very effective job at embedding enough clues the first time around, but it's basically an allegory about the current "world financial crisis").

Anyway, if you're in Amsterdam and not doing anything else this
evening, you're most welcome to come and join us at the OpenMic50 event
at the H88.   Maybe I'll see you there...

Oh, the joy of an oil ball!  "Oil ball" is a literal translation of the Dutch word "Oliebol" -- a special treat served at this time of the year.  As the name of the delicacy might suggest, it is a light, healthy snack made from fruits, nuts, and whole grains delicately glazed with sunflower oil and toasted to perfection before being served with a side of raw carrots [In case you didn't catch my subtle sarcasm, I'm joking here]...  No, actually, an "oil ball" is bleached white flour whipped into a heavy batter and deep-fried to a crisp, then served with a dusting of powdered sugar.  After consuming an oliebol, your face is smeared with powdered sugar, your fingers are greasy, and your stomach feels like a pound of concrete has been poured into it intravenously.

But golly, an oliebol sure does taste good.

Actually, to be completely honest, I could live without oliebollen.  I think they're pretty nice... but not sublime.  The true joy of an oliebol is its seasonal quality.  Like a glass of rosé in the Vondelpark on a sunny summer evening... like a piece of pumpkin pie with whipped cream following Thanksgiving dinner... an oliebol is a classic symbol of late-fall in the Netherlands.  I think that the oliebol tradition is supposed to be more attached to New Year's celebrations -- but the little trailer concession stands typically start popping up in October, at major intersections throughout the city, and they remain there throughout October, November, and December.  They're all set up with rows of gleaming white ball lights, and they cast a friendly glow all around, along with the happy smell of fried dough.  Oliebollen stands are, without a doubt, one of the true bright spots (speaking both literally and figuratively) in this otherwise darker time of the year.

So today, I had my first oliebol of the season.  A krentebol (oliebol with raisins) actually.  I took the kids there after school, and we shared the after-school snack that is a mother's worst nightmare.  Except it's OK -- because you only get to do it once or twice a year... That's the joy of an oliebol.

"Elf november is de dag dat mijn lichtje branden mag" ("The eleventh of November is the day on which I may let my light shine").  This is one of the more traditional songs sung door-to-door on the occasion of the feast day of Sint Maarten (as opposed to the more modern, more unconventional versions about mice lying in the hospital screaming, with their backsides exposed to the world).

Similar to the American celebration of Halloween, Sint Maarten is primarily an occasion for soliciting candy from neighbors.  The kids troop from one door to the next, ring the bell, and then sing a little song when the host opens the door -- which hopefully results in a tray of candies and mandarine oranges being produced, from which each child may choose an item or two to put in the bag that their parent typically holds for them (since their hands are full with their lampionetjes, little self-made paper lanterns, which are supposedly lighting the way).  Because of all the sugary treats gathered in the bags, parents also like to joke:  "Twaalf november is de dag dat de tandarts boren mag" ("The twelfth of November is the day on which the dentist may begin drilling").

This year, we went out for Sint Maarten with a group of other kids from Elliot and Olivia's school.  It was fun to be with other kids, and it was also fun to center our circuit around another nearby neighborhood (the Watergraafsmeer) which is a bit more Dutch and more upper-middle class.  I like our lower class immigrant neighborhood just fine, actually -- but you do tend to miss some of the more typische Nederlands (typical Dutch) character of holidays like Sint Maarten when the typical experience from previous years has been a group of 10 Moroccan boys showing up at your door without lampionetjes or parental accompaniment and singing a quick song before holding out their grocery sacks to quickly collect whatever candy might be offered.

I guess I'm just trying to say that it was a special joy to be able to experience a Sint Maarten celebration as it is more likely meant to be celebrated:  a fun and beautiful little holiday in the middle of November.

Then, as fate would have it (the calendar does not always align quite so favorably), the day after Sint Maarten -- i.e. today -- happens this year to be the day that the daily broadcast of the Sinterklaas Journaal starts... which means that Sinterklaas arrives in the Netherlands on his steam ship this weekend... which means that it's just three more weeks until the most beloved of all Dutch holidays!

The advent of the Sinterklaas season is a little bit like the American idea of Santa Claus riding in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade... except it's so much more hyped here.  Sinterklaas' arrival is covered like a real news event (for the children, of course).  It's a smoothly coordinated story in which the television station, the school systems, the municipal governments, and parents all collaborate together to make the illusion of Sinterklaas complete.  You really have no idea if you've never experienced it for yourself (with small children in the house to really accentuate the experience).

Our children have shown themselves to be quite in tune with Dutch culture on this point.  For the past several days, they've been excitedly asking each morning:  "Daddy -- is today the day that Sinterklaas Journaal starts?!?!"

And today was finally the day that I could say yes.

I really don't understand the deep love of Sinterklaas and his Zwarte Pieten.  It just seems so foreign to me.  Even now, after six years of living in the Netherlands, I'm still initially shocked each year by the first image of a bumbling black-faced Zwarte Piet in colorful velvet clothing (it seems so crude, so offensive, and so racist to someone raised in late-20th Century America, like me).  And yet, my kids love the Pieten.  They want to dress up like them.  They love to laugh at their ludicrous antics.  They see them as heroes and friends -- not at all as buffoons and objects of mockery (note:  this is, from my experience, the way that Dutch people genuinely process the whole Zwarte Piet tradition; it really is all in good fun and not intended to be at the expense of anyone!).  They appreciate Sinterklaas in a way that I never can... kind of like the ontbijtkoek (ginger-flavored sponge cake) which Elliot and Olivia love to devour, but which I can hardly eat without gagging.  It's kind of weird to see my kids growing up differently than myself... But then again, it's kind of fun, too.

I'm actually really glad that our family gets to join in the fun of these unique holidays of the Netherlands.  Each year I'm growing to appreciate it (and even anticipate it) more and more, myself.  I'm growing to accept and embrace this Joy of November.

Did you know that today is Veterans Day (also known as Armistice Day, originally designated to celebratie the end of the First World War, when the German armies surrendered in the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1915)?  Perhaps you didn't know that.  Perhaps you don't care anyway.  However, I would suggest that whether you consider yourself a dove or a hawk -- a "conscientious objector" or perhaps even a veteran yourself -- I would suggest that Veterans Day is a worthy occasion to pause and remember the significance of veterans' sacrifices throughout the world.

I've recently reignited an old interest in the history of the Second World War.  I've been slowly watching through the "Band of Brothers" film series (whenever Marci is out of the house for an evening, since she's not so big on war movies), and I was also particularly impacted by a recent reading of Stephen Ambrose's "D-Day."  The stories from D-Day, in particular, are horrific, almost-unimaginable stuff.  The carnage and sheer destruction of so much manpower and material on June 6th, 1944 was totally unprecedented and practically unimaginable.  The people who were involved (hundreds of thousands of them) responded to the events of that day in so many different ways -- and yet each story is compelling.  Each account is unique.

And while my primary feelings in reflecting on the sacrifices made these veterans have been awe, incredulity, sadness, and patriotic gratitude -- I've also been somewhat plagued by feelings of guilt, as some scattered, fuzzy memories have been triggered, relating to interactions during my high school years with an old man whom I knew as "Doc Dowds."

I honestly don't remember all that much about Doc Dowds.  In fact, I'm not even sure that he was an officially-licensed doctor at all.  That's just what everyone on the Shelby High School varsity football team called him.  He would show up in the locker room every Friday evening before the "big game" under the stadium lights to help with taping up ankles, splinting fingers, and tending to whatever other minor athletic injuries which might need to to be shored up.  He was an "old guy" -- though I honestly couldn't tell you if that meant he was in his mid-40s or mid-70s (the difference is somewhat inconsequential to a 17-year-old kid).  He taped slowly, and he liked to chatter with the players and the coaches while he worked.  He talked kind of funny (some sort of speech impediment), and one of his distinguishing physical characteristics was some kind of facial scar, only partially buried by a white scruffy beard.  Again, my memories of Doc Dowds are very scattered and vague.  He was more or less a benign presence in the locker room.

However, I do recall that some of the guys on the team would occasionally tease Doc Dowds behind his back.  His speech impediment and facial scar made him something of an easy target for insecure adolescent boys.  One of the guys who played wide receiver on the team did a particularly accurate impression of Doc Dowds that could send the locker room into instant hysterics.  Thinking about my passive laughter of Doc Dowds is something that mildly bothers me to recall now in my adult life... But the thing that really bothers me -- even to this day -- is my memory of our locker room jokes about "Fire in the hole!"  Allegedly, if anyone were to ever shout "Fire in the hole!" at any time in the presence of Doc Dowds, he would automatically hit the floor and cover his head with his hands.  I don't believe I ever saw it for myself, but there was something incredibly amusing about the idea of ol' Doc Dowds -- usually so slow and deliberate -- instantaneously dropping to the floor and curling himself up in a tight little ball against the "terrors" of a high school kid yelling "Fire in the hole!"

I'm not sure if any of us really understood at the time what "Fire in the hole!" meant.

But now that I've read a few books and watched a few films about warfare and explosives, I know the way that soldiers program themselves to instinctively respond to the threat of "Fire (explosives) in the hole (any confined space in combat situations)!"  It's not a joking matter.  Quite to the contrary, to a soldier who has seen the worst of warfare, a warning of "Fire in the hole!" is a matter of life or death.  Of course, I still can't understand it on the personal level -- having never experienced combat for myself (and no, New Years in Amsterdam does not count, as much as I try to convince myself otherwise).  But it seems pretty safe to understand that Doc Dowds did understand that in a very personal and meaningful way.  And to think that we skinny high school football players would ever dare to make light of that is a deep and dark stain on my conscience.  I am incredibly ashamed to think that I ever participated -- even passively -- in any such humor at the expense of someone who had been through what Doc Dowds must have been through.

Maybe you're asking yourself:  "Where is the 'Joy' in this memory?"

The joy is in the fact that Doc Dowds kept coming back and taping ankles every week.  Presumably, some jerk kid had tried the "Fire in the hole!" trick on him one time (if not multiple times), and yet Doc Dowds decided to keep coming back and serving us ignorant kids -- overcoming the shame that must have accompanied such locker room humiliation -- volunteering his time and expertise (it's not too far-fetched to think that he may have once been a medic in the armed services) to participate in our mock "battles" between football teams in the Northern Ohio League and be an active part of the way-of-life that he had once fought to preserve.

It's so easy for us to sit back and take pot-shots at the ideologies and systems of the mid-20th Century, in which murder and warfare were systematized and honed to maximum efficiency.  It's easy to talk about pacifism and isolationism.  But I was deeply impressed to read about the young men who participated in D-Day -- having themselves grown up in the aftermath of the "Great War" and the Great Depression and having been taught to tend towards pacifism and isolationism.  They were not so different from us, and yet they answered the "call of duty" and put their lives on the line to allow for things like free speech, democratic government... and high school football games.

So today I'm thinking about Doc Dowds and everyone else who has served in a role like him (maybe some of whom may chance upon this post).  Please forgive us for our arrogances and ignorances, and please accept our heartfelt gratitude for your service to the world.  You have allowed for much joy in the world -- at a cost of much personal pain and torment -- and we're all doing our best to live in the aftermath.

Today has been the most challenging test to my "Joys of November" project.  It was a Monday.  It was a rainy day with strong winds, and I spent a significant amount of time riding my bicycle out in it (note:  I'm being careful not to complain here -- just state facts).  I found it harder to focus on the Joys of November... perhaps not so much because there are no more joys to speak of, but more because I'm starting feel the "barrel of ideas" drying up already -- just 10 days into the month.  A couple of times today, I caught myself worrying and wondering how I was ever going to make it to the end of the month.

But pausing to write this post has, fortunately, had just the effect for which I was hoping when I decided to participate in the NaBloPoMo with a goal towards focusing my attention on the the small, significant moments of joy in an otherwise dreary time of year.  In reflecting back over the last 24 hours or so, I've been able to think of not just one little joy to celebrate -- but several!

...like the e-mail exchange with my old friend Matt O. from Bowling Green, talking about the joys of our families and the "Joys of November" project -- in which Matt O., in typical Matt O. style challenges me directly (with a tone that seems confrontational but which is actually just his way of having fun):  "Are you still joyful today?  If not, get joyful right now!!"  Thanks, Matt O., for your reminder to joy which actually brought me a small dose of joy...

...like remembering the sound of the cajon.  Have you ever heard of this musical instrument (percussion)?  Or have you ever heard it played?  It's awesome!  It sounds kind of like a whole drum set without the cymbals -- toms, snares, and bass -- though it's just a small wooden box about the size of a trumpet case.  It really is an impressive instrument that I'd have to say has brought me joy in the last day since I heard it.  The great Marijn (who is truly a gifted percussionist) played the cajon yesterday afternoon at our church's worship gathering -- and I'm still bopping to the beat which has remained in my head ever since.  

...and like the cross-cultural humor unavoidable in songs like this simple Sint Maartens song which Elliot learned at his school today:

Sinte Maarten had een muis
die lag in het ziekenhuis.
Met zijn blote billen
daar lag hij te gillen

For those of you who don't speak Dutch, the translation for this song is as follows:

Saint Martin had a mouse
which laid in the hospital.
With his bare butt,
he just laid there screaming.

As far as I can tell, this song was intended to be a fun-and-merry children's song.  Funny, yes -- but apparently not at all "weird-and-creepy."  Again, it's just another one of those things which come along with cross-cultural existence.  The bizarre becomes the beautiful.  The mundane becomes the joyful... Just try to imagine that song sung to the beat of the cajon, and see if you can keep yourself from smiling...

And BAM!  I'm back to celebrating the Joys of November.

For all its downsides, November is a wonderful month to sit inside and read.  Who needs to go outside when one can wrap up in a blanket and enjoy a good book (or, in my case, enjoy pieces of a number of different good books on a kind of unofficial rotation basis)?  Here are my current reads (listed alphabetically):

Delights and Shadows by Ted Kooser

I feel like a lesser person for having to admit this -- but I usually have to work at appreciating poetry.  I like to consider myself all suave and literary and stuff... but I often feel like I just don't "get it" when I'm reading (or listening to) poetry.  But for some reason, Ted Kooser is different.  My friend Eva suggested that I give him a try -- and she loaned me her copy of Delights and Shadows -- and I have to say that I've been very impressed.  He writes poetry like I (want to) write blogs:  simply taking the smallest moments, typically observed in passing, and uncover the deeper significance within.  He comes from the Heartland of America (the "About the Author" section at the back of the book says that "He is a retired life insurance executive who lives on an acreage near the village of Garland, Nebraska") -- writing poetry that is accessible to the Carhartt crowd -- and yet he has been celebrated as the Poet Laureate of the United States and as the winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.  Definitely a worthy recommendation...

*     *     *     *     *

The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland

Coupland is probably one of my favorite authors of all-time.  Whenever I'm at the library, I check to see if there's anything new of his on the shelves.  Last week I was surprised and delighted to find this 2007 offering.  The style of this novel is a bit unusual:  written kind of like a journal, containing the main character's first attempt at his own novel (a novel within a novel), in which the main character's novel contains the story of a university professor who also happens to be a novelist working on another book (thus, a novel within a novel within a novel).  To be honest, this book doesn't seem to be Coupland's best (though I'm still less than half-way through) -- but it's still full of the author's classic wit and brilliant observations about the little things in life that characterize people and cultures so deeply.

*     *     *     *     *

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

Would you believe I've made it all the way to this point in life -- after years of concentrated study in English and American literature -- without ever having read this great classic of American literature?  And this even after having read and thoroughly enjoyed some of Steinbeck's other "lesser" works (i.e. Of Mice and Men and Cannery Row)?  Well, I finally decided to check it out and give it a read -- and I'm very glad I did.  Following a theme that seems to persist throughout my current reads, I am astonished to see how timely this book is -- how accurately it describes our world today -- even though its subject matter is Oklahoman migrant workers in the time of the Dust Bowl in the first half of the 20th Century!  Themes of the earth's resources being mindlessly used up, soulless corporations chewing up people to stave off their own extinction, and "regular" people trying to figure themselves out and determine their place in the world in the aftermath... It's really emarkable to see how relevant it is for our current world situation.  I'm only a quarter of the way through this big boy (and it is a bit slower reading than The Gum Thief) -- but it's a very worthwhile book, from what I've experienced so far.

*     *     *     *     *

Isaiah

I typically struggle through the prophetic sections of the Bible (of which Isaiah is something of a lynchpin).  It's hard for me to understand their rhythms, their meanings, their applications for my life today.  My current reading through Isaiah (and Jeremiah) is no exception to this pattern of struggle -- but I have been encouraged to see how relevant the message of Isaiah can be to our world today.  Substitute Bush, Putin, Chavez, and Ahmadinejad for Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah -- and it's downright scary to see how relevant Isaiah's words can be for our world today!  Yet underneath it all, there's this beautiful glimmer of hope that shines through Isaiah's writings -- hope that's just as relevant, too, as the judgment.  Hope that our world desperately needs.  Isaiah is somehow timeless -- while simultaneously truly timely.  A very worthwhile -- if not always the most easily readable -- book...

*     *     *     *     *

Jeremiah

The thing that's standing out most prominently to me, in this reading of Jeremiah, is the cyclical nature of society and its relation to God.  So little has changed since the days of Jeremiah -- and yet things have completely changed again and again and again in the millenia between Jeremiah and us.  I really appreciate how Jeremiah can't help but concede that society is self-destructing... And yet, the self-destruction is also the very first and most important step to reconstruction and renewed life.  Like with Isaiah, I've been seeing breathtaking parallels with 21st Century Western civilization -- which could be kind of scary, but which actually reassures me and encourages me greatly.  There's some good, good stuff in Jeremiah... And it's also cool to study the life of Jeremiah, as I prepare to teach our church about singleness next week -- since Jeremiah is one of the most notable singles in the Bible...

*     *     *     *     *

On the Banks of Plum Creek by Laura Ingalls Wilder

This is our current bed-time chapter-book that we're reading with Elliot and Olivia.  We've already read through the first two, more well-known books in this series (Little House in the Big Woods and Little House on the Prairie) -- which are classics of American children's literature... but we decided to keep on following the series, since the Amsterdam public library stocks the whole collection.  I've been fascinated to read these stories and learn about the history of European settlement in the Great Plains region of the United States of America (places that our family got to experience first-hand this summer), and Elliot and Olivia really seem to enjoy the stories, too.  It's also interesting to note that the 1980s television series "Little House on the Prairie" is much more heavily based on this book On the Banks of Plum Creek instead of the book by the same title as the series.  In any event, these books are great reads for both children and adults...

Sometimes I like to hunt.  I get geared up and patrol the urban jungle
of Amsterdam, in search of a particular photograph (or series of photographs).  One particular self-imposed "assignment" that I've especially enjoyed over the past few weeks is a follow-up to my "City of 50" project, from a few months ago.  That is to say, I'm currently on a
quest to photograph fifty different dining establishments in the city
of Amsterdam which represent fifty different ethnicities.

One of the most incredible things about Amsterdam is its internationality and ethnic diversity.   Amsterdam is actually, officially, the most international city in the entire world.  So I figured an effective way to capture this theme would be to shoot pictures of all the different eating establishments throughout the city where one can eat the ethnic foods of these various ethnic groups.

So far, I have managed to capture images of the following ethnic restaurants within the city of Amsterdam:  American, Argentinian, Australian, Belgian, Brazilian, Chilean, Chinese, Cuban, Dominican, Dutch, Ecuadorian, Egyptian, English, Eritrean, Ethiopian, French, Greek, Indian, Indonesian, Irish, Italian, Japanese, Jewish, Korean, Kurdish, Lebanese, Malaysian, Mexican, Moroccan, Nepalese, Pakistani, Persian, Peruvian, Polish, Portuguese, Quatari, South African, Spanish, Surinamese, Swedish, Swiss, Syrian, Thai, Tibetan, Trinidad & Tobagan, Tunisian, Turkish, Uruguayan, Vietnamese

If you total that up, it's 49 different restaurants.  Which is pretty cool... Except for the fact that I'm going for 50!  I'm just missing one more restaurant to complete my "assignment."  I figured it would be no problem to find 50 different restaurants representing 50 different ethnicities -- and in fact, the first 40 came pretty easily.  But I've been scratching and searching to complete the list.

Would anyone out there possibly have any suggestions for me to get that critical 50th photograph?

*** Our church's Art Community recently issued a challenge for us to come up with our own personal artistic vision statement.  I decided to do mine in prose form, and I've copied it below for your enjoyment ***

I've decided that my art is decidedly middle-class.  Maybe even lower-middle-class.  I actually take pride in the fact that I did not grow up as a "child of privilege."  It's made me scrappy, practical, and persevering in virtually every element of my existence -- including my writing and photography.  I've come to see that I simply cannot separate my ordinary middle-class self from my ordinary middle-class artwork... nor do I want it to.  It may not be glamorous or lucrative -- but it works for me.

I came to a similar realization about myself during my sophomore year of high school, when I decided to try out for the school tennis team.  My chemistry teacher, Mr. Terman (who was also the coach for the school tennis team) talked me into it -- and I decided to go for it, even though my tennis skills were rudimentary at best, and I didn't even own a proper tennis racket at the time.   Mr. Terman  sold me one of his son's old, second-hand Prince rackets -- which I had to have professionally re-stringed, at a cost which shocked me -- and I was a part of the tennis team.  My skills with the tennis racket  couldn't hold a candle to the other boys on the team with their state-of-the-art equipment and country-club pedigrees, but my athleticism allowed me to remain competitive and in time I developed a style of my own.

I became a Pusher.

In the vernacular of the Midwestern American high-school tennis-playing subculture (or maybe it's a universal tennis term -- I honestly don't know), a Pusher is a player who wins points by effort, not by style.  He doesn't blow away the competition with high-velocity serves or crushing winners stroked down the sidelines.  He just keeps the ball in play.  He tracks down every ball.  He scurries forward, backward, left, right -- just doing whatever it takes to put the ball back over the net "one more time."  In effecct, the Pusher waits for the other player to make a mistake.  His style can be ugly.  It's no fun to watch (and perhaps even less fun to play) a match with a Pusher.  But the style can win points, games, sets, and sometimes even matches.  I'm pretty sure that the label of "Pusher" was intended to be derrogatory -- but I learned to take pride in it.

Indeed, I'm settling into the idea that the best way for me to pursue my ambitions in the fields of writing and photography is to come at it from the vantage point of a Pusher.

So instead of waiting for my "big break" -- sequestering myself to magically produce that timeless classic for our generation or building up a stockpile of photographic equipment and waiting for the day when I can launch into some full-time endeavor -- I'm just going to try and keep the ball in play.  I'm not going to seek some high-and-lofty niche in the global community; instead, I'm going to explore the ways that the "ordinary" and "middle class" display their own extraordinariness and nobility in their everyday ways and their everyday places.  Even in declaring this, I realize that I am not saying anything new or groundbreaking.  I am, by no means, the first person to consider the vast potential of ordinary, everyday, middle-class art.  Other writers and photographers (many of whom are significantly more talented than me) have created -- and will continue to create -- beautiful works of art inspired by the muse of the middle-class.  But if I am to ever earn a place among the greats, it will be simply because I persevered.  Because I pushed.  Maybe it will never amount to anything... but maybe it will.

I'm going to keep on blogging -- which seems to be a good forum for keeping the juices flowing and putting stuff "out there" for others to see and interact with.  I'm going to keep submitting short stories to my fiction critique group here in Amsterdam -- and doing my best to seek publication wherever possible and/or practical.  I'm going to keep taking pictures of my family and friends and church and city -- even inventing special projects for myself every now and then.  I'm going to collaborate with other artists whenever possible and/or practical.  I'm going to keep networking and producing and refining and developing my craft(s) -- and then see what comes of it all.

At the end of my life, I think I'll feel good about myself even if I never achieve any kind of fame or recognition beyond my own circle of relationships... as long as I know that I kept on pushing.

Can you imagine a grown man, looking all rough-and-ready in his Carhartt jacket, walking along the sidewalks and pedaling a bicycle through the streets of Amsterdam -- escorted by a fluffy pink bunny rabbit?  With said fluffy pink bunny rabbit wearing a pink, faux-fur lined coat?  This was my experience earlier this morning.

Olivia loves the little stuffed bunny that Marci and I got for her 4th birthday.  She calls it Pinky -- except when Pinky helps to take Olivia to school (it's happening fairly regularly these days), and then Olivia proudly introduces the bunny to everyone as Roosje (which is actually a pretty good self-conceived translation of the name Pinky into Dutch).  Olivia was especially excited to have Pinky bring her to school today because Pinky had just gotten some new outfits and a new winter coat from Olivia's Oma and Opa in Ohio (Thanks, Oma and Opa, for the great gifts!).  Walking through the halls of the school, Olivia would try to catch the eye of anyone and everyone who might look in her direction -- children or parents, school administrators or teachers -- and when she locked eyes with someone, she'd proudly hold up her little bunny rabbit and say:  "Kijk!" ("Look!").  She is so, so proud of that little bunny rabbit...

When it was time to say good-bye to Olivia, we went through the normal routine of figuring out the window from which I would wave my final farewell before heading back home -- and of course, Olivia made sure to remind me:  "Don't forget to let Pinky wave, too!"  So Pinky and I said good-bye to Olivia, walked out through the halls of the school, across the playground, and around to the window looking into Olivia's class.  Olivia wasn't completely paying attention to the window (which is, I think, a healthy sign that she's enjoying school more and more); instead, she was looking off toward the front of the classroom.  One of the other kids sitting next to her noticed me at the window and tugged on Olivia's shirt sleeve to alert her.  When Olivia saw me, she burst into a big smile and waved warmly.  But the biggest smile of all came when I held up the fluffy pink bunny rabbit, wearing a fuzzy pink coat and helped Pinky to wave good-bye to Olivia.  It was a radiant smile of pure joy, as only a four-year-old girl waving to her bunny can summon.

But it filled me with joy, too.  It warmed me and left me smiling all the way home... and I didn't even care if I looked silly with this idiotic grin on my face and this fluffy pink bunny rabbit securely buckled into the baby seat of our bakfiets as I filtered through the morning rush hour.  I was glad for the joy of Pinky.

It's over.

The American elections are finally finished, and I find myself satisfied -- yes, even joyful -- to be finished with the long race and now able to turn our collective attention to the future, with Barack Obama (for better, for worse) as the 44th President of the United States of America.

For those who were hoping for an Obama victory:  Congratulations.  Now stop gloating.  He's just a man.  He cannot single-handedly fix all the problems in our world.  He needs our support and prayer and respect -- but he does not need to be turned into some kind of Messiah.  Enjoy this moment for what it's worth, and then let's move on.

For those who might be disappointed by an Obama victory:  Sorry.  Now stop sulking.  He's just a man.  He cannot single-handedly "run America (or Western Civilization) into the ground."  He needs our support and prayer and respect -- he does not need to be turned into some kind of Antichrist.  Mourn the losses that you feel you need to mourn, and then let's move on.

Perhaps my words feel harsh and premature here.  But I feel blessed by a certain degree of disconnectedness from the goings-on in America.  The television networks offer a telling demonstration of the world situation.  American-based CNN (actually, CNN-International) has been covering the election non-stop for the last 24 hours -- and I imagine that it will continue to be the major news item for the entire day.  British broadcasteres (BBC-1, BBC-2, BBC-News), who are speaking to a public more historically tied-up in America's destiny and more closely related culturally and linguistically, seem to be more split in their coverage -- with the news channels of course tracking closely with the American election (though from a more emotionally-detached perspective, it seems) but the other channels breaking away when their normal news coverage ends.  But it's especially interesting to me to see how the Dutch broadcasters (NOS, RTL, etc.) definitely covered the American elections, and covered them thoroughly -- but they also covered other local and international news and then concluded their news coverage promptly at their regular times (with one network that I noticed adding on an extra 15 minutes for election coverage).  And now, already, television coverage is back to normal.  The Dutch are busy gettng back to life as usual.

I, for one, plan to do the same.  And I hope that the rest of the world will soon follow suit.

I finally pulled the Carhartt out of the closet today.  I had been waiting to do so for as long as possible (and, let's be honest, specifically long enough to allow for a special "Joys of November" blog post about this cherished item from my winter wardrobe)... but today felt like the right day to break it out.  The spring jacket that I had been wearing seemed to grow thinner and thinner each day.  And this morning, when it came time to take the kids to school, the fog was thick and chilly.  After briefly considering the question of whether today should be the day or not, I put on the Carhartt -- and I was ready to go.

I spent 715 words last fall, declaring the wonder and joy of my Carhartt jacket -- so I won't risk boring my audience with a renumeration of the same old material.  But I will say this:  I like my Carhartt jacket very much.  It felt very warm and familiar.  It was a great joy to suddenly have old clothes (or coats) become new again each year.  And it's a joy that I think I will now reserve for November every year.

Wearing such iconic Midwestern American apparel also felt appropriate considering the fact that the eyes of the world are on America (and once again particularly on "the battleground state of Ohio") this day:  Election Day 2008.  I can imagine hundreds of farmers and factory workers tugging on their own Carhartt jackets and traveling to the polls today in places like Bowling Green, Bucyrus,  Sandusky, Shelby, and Toledo.  The farmers (representing perhaps the most conservative profession in the world), of course, voting for McCain -- and the factory workers (a unionized voting bloc) voting for Obama... It's kind of funny to think in these stereotypes, but it's not too far from the truth.

It's an image that warms me, like the Carhartt wrapped around my chest, and an image that makes me think of home.

While I've decided to keep my cards close to my chest (deliberately not declaring who I voted for in the election for U.S. President) -- I think it's very interesting to note that Europeans are absolutely open and crystal clear about their hopes for America's Election Day:  They want Obama to win.  They yearn for Obama to win.  They are desperate for Obama to win.

I have yet to talk with a single European who would prefer McCain over Obama.

But even more interesting than their political leanings, I'm simply fascinated by how closely Europeans are following the American elections.  It is a huge spectator sport on this side of the globe!  It's the stuff of front-page headlines (not page 5 "International News").  It's on all the TV stations.  And even traveling throughout the city of Amsterdam, one can see posters, postcards, and bumper stickers offering commentary on the U.S. elections (both the picture above and the picture to the right were taken right here in my own neighborhood).  Below, you can see two free postcards (often available around town in these "Boomerang" postcard displays) that I picked up at a Coffee Company -- which clearly show that there is no nuance and no subtlety in the European view of American politics.

To be honest, I don't completely understand the strong emotions on this side of the ocean (though this op-ed by an Australian -- a Christian Australian even -- helps me to understand a little bit better).  But I certainly can't deny that the feelings are there.  For myself, more than anything, I find myself again and again affirmed in my decision to support whoever wins the election.  At least in my situation, there are advantages either way.  But for now, until all the dust settles, I'm enjoying the news, the drama, the intrigue, and serving as a spectator to the spectators of the sport in which I have already participated for 2008... 

Less than 24 hours into November 2008, Marci and I were already brought to appreciation for one of the unique Joys of November in Amsterdam:  the Museumnacht (Museum Night).

Amsterdam is an absolutely world-class museum city -- and one night per year, 41 of the city's museums open their doors from seven o'clock in the evening until two o'clock in the morning, with more than 200 activities (including interactive art, live music, tours, snacks, and so on) and tons of people wandering through the streets of central Amsterdam and packing the various trams and buses (which are free for the night).  Fortunately, Marci and I were able to secure a babysitter for the evening, and we hit the town together in style.

First, we stopped at the Huis Marseille, a photography museum located in an old canal house.  This is actually my favorite museum in Amsterdam, but Marci had never gotten the opportunity to visit it, so we made it our first stop (well, actually, we were originally going to start with the Rijksmuseum, which was celebrating the Dutch debut exhibition of an extravagent and controversial piece of "sculpture" by London artist Damien Hirst -- but the line was 3 or 4 people wide, over 300 meters long, in the rain... so we decided to skip it).  The Museumnacht festivities at the Huis Marseille were less-than-spectacular, and I didn't care so much for the work that was being exhibited...

So we didn't stay there very long before moving onto the Bijbelsmuseum, right around the corner.  Marci and I were both surprised that this museum dedicated to the Bible turned out to be a very "happening" place.  The spiral staircase carved out from the middle of the museum was jam-packed with people listening to the performance of a black gospel choir (which we heard but never got to see because of the crowds).  We checked out the garden and the aroma cabinet (both of which are worth the visit to the Bijbelsmuseum), and then decided to duck out and find someplace less crowded.  Finding a less-crowded museum on Museumnacht, however, is not so easy (it's crazy how much bigger the phenomenon of the Museumnacht has become since our last participation in the event -- which was probably four years ago, when the Museumnacht tradition was only a couple of years old).

We took a crowded tram down to Centraal Station and then walked to the NEMO, a science museum geared primarily toward children (very much like COSI, for those from Ohio who might appreciate the comparison).  There, we participated in a giant chain reaction (you know, where the dominos trip to switch to the fan which propels the sailboat across to prick the balloon which pops and drops a candle into position where its flame burns the rope that holds back the weight, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera) and tooled around for a little while before traveling to our final -- and best -- destination (though I didn't know it at the time).

Amsterdam's Portuguese Synagogue has a lot of history (it was built in the 1600s) and is a rather imposing structure located at a key crossroads in central Amsterdam (close to the Waterlooplein) -- but you'd never know it because no one ever talks about the place or even seems to know it's there.  I myself had never been inside the building and didn't even know that it was still in use as a synagogue.  But man -- it was an amazing experience to visit the Portuguese Synagogue on the Museumnacht.  The pictures on the Synagogue's site give you something of an idea for what it looks like -- but imagine this scene, with the synagogue's 1000 candles gently flickering, with several hundred people slowly cycling through the synagogue's interior, with all the men wearing white silk yarmulkes (which were supplied at the door as we came in), and with an eight-man choir dressed in top hats and tailcoats singing acapella hymns.  It was incredible.

I was definitely glad to be able to experience the Museumnacht (an experience that only happens once a year, in November) again with my beautiful wife.  I was very tired by the end of the night out.  But also very joyful.

Today is the first month of the NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month).  And I have to say that I'm looking forward to November more than I have in a very long time (which is, of course, one of my goals for this project).

I don't want to belabor or bemoan the point too much -- but typically, November is difficult month for me.  Sunlight deprivation, crummy weather, homesickness, and sad memories always seem to get to me at this time of the year.  But instead of just waiting for the sadness and darkness to roll over me this month, I'm running to attack the "dragon" head on -- and hopefully slay the vile lizard of seasonal depression.  Primarily, I'm hoping to do this through blogging (which is a fun hobby for me) -- and specifically blogging with an eye toward the beautiful, bright, hopeful, and joyful parts of this time of the year.  The Joys of November, if you will...

In America, I could tell you that November is fun because of the Ohio State - Michigan football game and celebrating the Thanksgiving holiday and building up to the Christmas season.  But here, they don't play (American) football.  They don't celebrate Thanksgiving.  And gearing up for Christmas before Sinterklaas is strictly verboden (not by law, but definitely by cultural convention).  So... it would seem that I've got to search for my "Joys of November" elsewhere, while I'm living here in the Netherlands.  I'm sure there are some of these things out there, somewhere.  But I realize that I'm going to have to actively go out looking for them.  And since I feel that this forum (blogging) will help me to stay faithful to this pursuit, I'm bringing all of you (the people who are reading this blog) along with me.

Just so you know, all my posting for the month will continue here, on this blog, at this web address -- so you don't have to do anything to follow my progress other than you'd usually do.  The NaBloPoMo thing is just a means of registering for a list of bloggers who are trying to do the same every-day blogging thing and gaining the chance to win some (pretty silly and largely insignificant) prizes in the process.  At any rate, in case you're curious, this is the description that I wrote up for my NaBloPoMo profile:

I'm an American Amsterdammer deliberately searching for the Joys of
November. I've found that November is typically the hardest month of
the year for me, living at 52 degrees and 22 minutes north of the
Equator -- so I'm participating in the NaBloPoMo for the first time, as
a means of hopefully forcing myself to examine the small, significant
moments of joy in an otherwise dreary time of year.

Should be fun, huh?  Thanks for reading and joining the adventure with me!   If any of you have any great ideas about a particular Joy of November that could be found here in Amsterdam, please let me know... And we'll see how things go from here...