This has been a good Queen's Day (Koninginnedag) so far. The weather has cooperated beautifully. We got to enjoy the experience with other close friends. And we managed to find the right mix of adventure and rest (which can be a tricky balancing act on Queen's Day).

It was especially nice to hang around the corner of the Herengracht and the Herenstraat this morning, along with a bunch of other friends from Amsterdam50. In this way, we let Queen's Day come to us -- instead of us having to tromp through the busy city streets with our three small children (though we made one quick swing from our base location to the Noordermarkt and back).

One thing that was especially cool about many of the activities organized by people from Amsterdam50 was that they had an philanthropic function, as well as simply being fun ways to be out in the city, interacting with people. For instance, my friend Arjen set up a classic Koninginnedag contest in which you drop a coin through a tank of water and (hopefully) into one of three shot-glasses on the bottom of the tank, in order to win a prize. But instead of it simply being a money-making endeavor, the proceeds were going towards caring for orphans in Kenya, through an organization with whom our church has been developing a stratetic partnership: Kenya Matters.

In a similar vein, my friends Theo and Eva sold coffee and tea, with proceeds benefiting Kenya Matters. My friends Patricia and Naomi painted faces and fingernails, again with proceeds benefitting Kenya Matters.

I have to say, though, that one of the best ideas for this year's Koninginnedag (and I believe one of the original Queen's Day ideas to raise funds for Kenya Matters) was my friend Kor's initiative: Plassen voor Afrika (Peeing for Africa). Use of the H88's toilets was granted for €1 per person, again with proceeds benefitting Kenya Matters. And what was especially brilliant about this idea was the way that it tapped into a natural need for Queen's Day celebrants. When Amsterdam's city center is overwhelmed with 2 million visitors, toilet access comes at a premium. A lot of area businesses make a decent amount of money on Queen's Day, providing a place for people to relieve themselves (many of whom spend much of the day drinking). But this "Plassen voor Afrika" initiative provided such access in a way that opened conversations, raised funds, and increased awareness (both for Kenya Matters and for Amsterdam50).

Simply put, I thought it was brilliant.

It was pretty cool to see how everything came together to make this year's Queen's Day one of the best that I've yet experienced in Amsterdam. Of course, some of our church's altruistic endeavors were also mixed in with individual projects that were designed to make money and to rid houses of accumulated stuff that needed to be sold off -- but it was just fun to see everyone making the most of Queen's Day together. I'm really glad for such a day, in such a city, with such a group of friends.

In case you might be interested in seeing more pictures from this year's edition of Queen's Day (including Elliot's crazy orange hair), you can also visit the Amsterdam Pictures section of the website.

Leve de koningin (Long live the queen!)!

I've seen enough war films to know that a good soldier is supposed to take care of his feet -- but I don't know if I ever really understood the reasons for this, at least not on a personal level, until this week as I've been struggling to recover from a foot injury that I suffered this past weekend.

It was a silly injury really -- just a three-centimeter cut along the outside and slightly underneath portion of the big toe on my right foot. It didn't really even hurt all that much at the time that it happened (climbing out of a lake after a baptism on Easter Sunday). Even though it's been healing over the last several days, it's continued to bother me in increasingly significant ways. First it was just minor discomfort while walking. But after a couple of days I started to notice more problems with my foot -- joint and muscle pain from the ways that I subconsciously adjusted my foot position to protect my big toe. And now today, I've started to feel more pain in my knee -- again, presumably from over-compensation for my foot problems and toe problems. And honestly, it doesn't take too much imagination to see how these lower leg problems could eventually lead to hip problems, back problems, neck problems, and other kinds of physical problems too!

The feet play an extremely important -- you could say "foundational" -- role in the human body. As go the feet, so go the soldier.

So this all got me to wondering: What might be the spiritual equivalent of taking care of one's feet? I imagine that different people might suggest different answers: perhaps weekly worship with a fellowship of other believers... Or reading the Bible... Or prayer... Or regularly observing Communion... I could see a case for any one of these exercises as a sort of base-line spiritual discipline, akin to a soldier taking care of his feet. But as I thought about it throughout the day today -- while hobbling around on my recovering toe, foot, and knee -- I started to consider more and more the importance of a humble heart and a basic admission of dependence on God. Basically, I'm talking about a readiness to "stay grounded" (if you'll forgive the pun) on the basic truth of who man is and who God is. You might even say that this comes down to a simple understanding of the core message of the Gospel. Possible biblical support for this idea could be found in Proverbs 1:7, Deuteronomy 8:3 (which is also quoted by Jesus in Matthew 4:4), and Ephesians 6:15 (which has the added benefit of actually being a verse about feet!). But I don't know. I freely admit that this idea is half-baked -- still I thought I would put it out there for consideration (and argumentation, if anyone wants to provide some input on this idea).

In any event, let me just close by reminding you to: Please, take care of your feet (both physical and spiritual).

What a week to be a citizen of the American republic, living in the midst of northern Europe's (constitutional) monarchies! On Friday morning, the British royal family will be celebrating its crown prince's wedding; and then from Friday evening through Saturday night, the Dutch royal family will be observing its annual Queen's Day festivities.

It's all utterly foreign -- the hysteria over the royal families and all their comings and goings -- but I have to confess that it's somehow fascinating, at the same time.

There's something charming about the Old World traditions... the story-book imagery... the inborn sense of familial loyalty and its corresponding national symbolism (which seem quite a different breed than the American patriotic ideals with which I grew up). Sometimes I find myself genuinely wistful for the lack of such a royal tradition in the United States of America... And then other times, I think it's just plain silly.

This weekend, though, we're going to join in the revelry.

On Friday morning, Marci is planning to make tea and scones and watching the British royal wedding with Olivia (and possibly some other lady-friends) -- essentially re-enacting the scene from her own childhood when her mother went out of her way to borrow a television (since they didn't have one of their own at the time) and share in the special mother-daughter experience of watching the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana. Marci was six at the time Charles and Diana's royal wedding, and coincidentally Olivia is also six at the time of William and Kate's royal wedding -- so it's pretty cool to see the way things line up in that regard.

Then on Saturday, we'll get to celebrate Queen's Day with a million other Amsterdammers and yet another million out-of-towners. Elliot is already planning to dye his hair orange on one side and striped red-white-and-blue on the other side (prior to a long-established plan for shaving it all off on the following day). We still don't have all our plans worked out for exactly how we'll take part in the festivities this year... But in any event, it's always a spectacle.

How are you planning to celebrate the upcoming "Royal Weekend?"

Greece was lovely: different than I thought it would be -- but still lovely.

Most notably, my unmet expectations of Greece were in regard to the country's weather, which turned out to be mostly cool and overcast during our time there (while Holland was enjoying clear blue skies and significantly warmer temperatures!). But even so, I can't really complain.

We especially enjoyed the opportunity to connect with old, dear friends who are working across Europe with Great Commission Ministries. They're all such warm, wise, welcoming people -- and I almost always come away from my times with them feeling refreshed and encouraged (regardless of the setting or the circumstances). And it was also great to have the opportunity to see this part of the world that is so deeply steeped in history -- and particularly biblical history... Names like Thessaloniki and Macedonia on street signs, not just in the pages of my history books.

Like I said, the time in Greece was lovely. The conference center where we stayed was right on the coast of the Aegean Sea.

And one of the particular highlights for me, personally, was getting to see the ruins of ancient Philippi -- the place that witnessed Europe's first conversions to Christianity, Europe's first baptisms, and Europe's first church plant (see Acts 16).

I was surprised by how accessible the ruins of ancient Philippi actually were. We could walk quite freely among them (and around them and over them). We saw the place that has been traditionally observed as the prison in which Paul was held. We saw the place where the early church met. And we saw the place were Lydia may have been baptized in the river outside the city walls.

We are very grateful that we had the opportunity for such an experience.

Now, of course, we're back in Amsterdam -- just in time to celebrate Easter. In some ways it's hard coming back from such an experience... But in other ways, it's wonderful to get back to the stories that are being written in Europe right now, as we speak -- witnessing the baptisms of three Europeans... worshipping again with our own church family, right in the heart of Old Amsterdam... and waiting to see what God will do in the years to come.

"Oh, so you're not going to be here next week?"

"That's right." I reply. "Unfortunately, I will not be here next week."

"Where will you be, then?"

"I'll be at a conference for my work." I dig my hands in my pockets and avoid eye contact.

"Oh, I see. Where is the conference going to be held?"

"Umm... In Greece," I say, feeling myself start to blush a little bit.

"Greece! Very nice! It's a beautiful place. Have you ever been there before?"

"Well, no actually. But you know, I'm only going to be there for the week -- for that conference. Our organization got some great rates on a hotel and conference center down there, so this year we actually get to have our conference in Greece. It will be nice, but it won't be pure vacation. I'll be bringing some work along with me."

"Wait a second. Are you apologizing and offering excuses for a trip to Greece?!?" My European friend looks genuinely confused. "You know, you don't have to apologize for taking a nice trip to Greece!"

"Ah, but I do. Don't you know that I'm from the American Midwest?" I have to smile at the realization of this clash in cultures -- another one of those classic differences between Americans and Europeans. To Europeans, extended vacations and international travel are normal. In fact, anything less than four weeks of vacation per year is considered to be unhealthy. Europeans just can't understand the Americans' "nose-to-the-grindstone" way of living. Generally speaking, it is assumed that Americans live to work -- while Europeans work to live. And again, looking at things from a European perspective, if a person is going to take vacation, naturally it makes sense to try and get out to see some of the world -- whether that's Greece or Thailand or South Africa or Australia. Apologizing or offering excuses for a week-long get-away seems just silly.

But growing up in the American Midwest, I learned a very different approach to work, vacation, and travel. American Midwesterners are (generally speaking) very conservative, fiscally-frugal, down-to-earth, hard-working people. Two weeks of vacation per year is considered normal -- and even at that, international travel is almost never done, unless there's a darn good reason for doing so. Work trips and missions trips are generally considered OK. Visiting relatives who live in an "exotic" location is borderline. Going somewhere "just for the fun of it" or "just to see it" is considered pretentious, flaunty, and rude. It's like pretending to be someone you're not. I mean, why go to the Aegean Sea when you can just as easily go to Lake Erie? Midwesterners may not challenge each other directly on these points, but a joke will often be used to dispell the tension, "A conference in Greece, huh? Well, I guess it's a rough job -- but somebody's got to do it! Ha!"

I know that each side's perspective seems ridiculous to the other. But it's a tension I've been learning to navigate over the last eight years of living as a Midwesterner in Europe.

As sheepish as I can feel about it sometimes, I have to admit that I'm enthusiastic about the idea of getting to see Greece over the course of the coming week. Our hotel is supposed to be right along the Aegean Sea. On a clear day, we should be able to see Mount Olympus across the bay. Together with the rest of the missionaries from Great Commission Europe, we'll get to visit ancient Philippi, where the Gospel was presumably preached for the first time on European soil and where the Continent's first converts were baptized. We're going to have a good time reconnecting with old friends and associates. It's going to be nice.

But don't forget, it's also going to be a working trip. :-)

I set out on my bicycle, riding south along the eastern bank of the Amstel River. The air is bright and blue, still cool in the shadows but growing more and more warm, with a rich green smell to it. The city falls away behind me, as I push past cafes and schools, tall modern office buildings and squat corrugated warehouses. Soon, I'm shooting under metro lines, train tracks, and highway overpasses -- and finally I break out into the wide expanses of vibrant green meadows and impossibly blue skies. Especially after another long, dark, Dutch winter, a mild spring day such as this feels like a miracle.

About halfway between Amsterdam and Ouderkerk-aan-de-Amstel, I find my destination. Among the various orchards and glens along the way, this one is my favorite because of the enormous oak tree that stands in the middle of a broad clearing. I ditch my bike beside the bicycle path, and I walk out to the tree. I touch its trunk with the tips of my fingers. It is stout and strong, all gnarled and knobby -- but beautiful. A magnificent, awe-inspiring Methuselah of a tree. The oak's branches spread out so far that I would find myself out of breath if I were to run from one end of the oak's shady canopy to the other. But I'm not here to run; I'm here to rest. Finding a spot in the dappled sunlight beneath the old oak tree, I lower myself to the ground and breathe deeply. The gentle spring breeze causes the oak leaves to rustle and sway, like an ocean at low tide.

Surely, there are few things in God's creation that are as beautiful and magnificent as an old oak tree.

As I lie on my back and gaze up into the oak foliage, I find myself wondering exactly how long it might take for just such a tree to grow. Probably dozens, if not hundreds of years. I remember sitting here in early-October, last year, and seeing all the acorns that had fallen down from the old oak canopy. There were thousands of them. Each acorn was a work of art, in and of itself -- so perfectly round and smooth, with all the power and potential of a mighty oak tree latent within. But in all my years of frequenting this meadow, beneath this oak tree, it's odd to notice that I have never seen even the tiniest oak sapling. Out of all those thousands of acorns, not just from last fall but from previous seasons as well, not one of them has established itself as an oak (at least not as far as I'm aware). And even if one were to sprout and take root, it would be many, many years -- perhaps not until the time of my grandchildren or great-grandchildren -- that the experience of that hypothetical oak tree could approach anything like the experience of the Methuselah Oak that stretches into the sky today. Perhaps that's part of what makes it so beautiful. Beautiful, but also a bit lonely or wistful.

In this moment of reflection, my nose is tickled by the wind-borne seeds of a dandelion, and my attention is drawn from the towering oak overhead to the vast expanse of grasses and weeds down on the ground level. Dandelions are everywhere. Yellow dandelions, gray dandelions, open dandelions, closed dandelions, tall dandelions, short dandelions -- they stretch out as far as the eye can see... and then some.

Looking across the field, I realize that the dandelions are beautiful and magnificent in their own way. Sure, they're weeds -- and kind of pesky weeds at that -- but I don't know if I've ever beheld a more cheerful kind of pest. Bright and yellow, with a shaggy mane roaring into the sky. They look happy and healthy. Anything-but-lonely. Insects buzz from flower to flower. Tiny, fluffy seeds are plucked from one dandelion at the end of its life cycle while the earliest sprouts of a new dandelion are popping up right beside it.

They're small. They're humble. They don't last very long. But these dandelions are indomitable.

I stretch out, pick a dandelion, and hold it up to my face. It smells slightly bitter but fresh and verdant. I rub the tiny yellow petals across my cheeks and over my nose. Holding the dandelion at arms length, I use my thumb to make the blossom pop off and float to the ground. It's remarkable to consider how delicate an individual dandelion really is. Yet even if I tried to wipe out the dandelion population for a single square of 10 meters by 10 meters, I don't think I could do it. Trample them. Scorch them. Freeze them. Poison them. Pluck them. They just keep coming back again. Dandelions grow anywhere and everywhere. Generation after generation, they keep growing and spreading and multiplying... and growing... and spreading... and multiplying...

I tilt my head back and admire the oak tree again -- realizing that I always aspire to the oaks in life: writing a great novel... developing a great career... establishing a great church... or at least obediently following the Great Commission and "making disciples of all nations." As my eyes linger upwards, in the branches of the old oak tree, I turn my head back towards the field in front of me again. So often, I forget to appreciate the dandelions that are all around me: writing a simple e-mail of encouragement to a friend... putting in a good, solid day's work... having a meaningful conversation with someone about what God is doing in his life... raising children from day to day. These things, too, are beautiful and noteworthy. Both oaks and dandelions have their place in the meadow -- and in my life.

Quick question for all you weekend theologians out there: In the story of Jesus walking with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35), is there any biblical reason why those two disciples might not be a husband and wife? That is, could it be that those couple of disciples were a couple (of disciples)?

Reading through this passage recently, I was struck by the fact that the gender of the two disciples is never mentioned (at least not in any of the English translations) -- even though I had somehow always thought that they were two men. As a matter of fact, if you can accept a minor variation in spelling, there is some circumstantial evidence that the Cleopas mentioned in Luke 24 is the same as the husband of one of the (several) women named Mary who witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus on Golgotha (see John 19:25). Furthermore, you could piece together further circumstantial evidence to support the idea that this "couple of disciples" may have lived together in Emmaus (note the way that Luke 24 quotes these disciples as saying "stay with us"). So the way I'm reading it right now, it seems like it wouldn't be a significant stretch of the imagination to think that Cleopas and Mary were the two disciples talking together on the road to Emmaus when Jesus joined them.

What do you think? Am I missing something here?

In the grander scheme of things, the gender of these two disciples is probably not all that important of a distinction. For some reason, it just caught me off-guard to consider this post-resurrection encounter in a new light -- so I thought I'd throw it out there to stimulate others' thinking of the Easter season, too...

I'm not single. I'm not a woman. And honestly, I'm not much of a poetry connoissieur...

But I found this poem/performance to be especially beautiful, enjoyable, and insightful. So I thought I would share it here. I hope you find it as meaningful as I did.

I was recently approached with a request to submit an article in Arseh Sevom's new on-line magazine. Although I am not well-versed in political affairs or civil rights issues -- and especially not in the area of Iranian society -- I was honored to be asked for a submission. And when I was told that the topic was to be "Networks and Networking," my thoughts eventually drifted towards an examination of the tension that many Christians experience between the "Gather-and Celebrate" dynamic of ministry (an internal form of networking) and the "Scatter-and-Serve" dynamic of ministry (an external form of networking). This magazine is, of course, not a Christian publication (if anything, the audience would be primarily secular and/or cuturally-Muslim) -- so it was an interesting challenge to write about these Christian networking issues for a relatively uninitiated audience; but I feel like both I and the editors at Arseh Sevom were generally pleased with how things worked out.

The result is an article, just published today, entitled "Killing the Church by Networking." If you get the chance to read it, I'd love to hear your feedback. 

One of those things about the Internet -- as lovely and as useful as it has become for day-to-day life -- is that all that electronic information and ease of publishing makes it nearly impossible to keep down embarrassing secrets from the past... like my brief stint in the 1990s with a show choir named the Keynotes. Apparently, some Hollywood reporter dug up some photographs and newspaper articles from back in the day and started trolling around on the internet to research and update the story of the Keynotes. Consequently, just today I've been informed that Entertainment Weekly is going to be publishing a piece about the history of show choirs in the state of Ohio -- presumably cashing in on the popularity of the current television series, "Glee" (the story of a high school show choir in Lima, Ohio) -- and this particular piece is going to include a side-bar story about the Mansfield Keynotes and (you guessed it) its lead singer, yours truly...

April 20th will be the date of publication, from what I understand, when the story should be getting posted on EW's on-line edition. The timing, of course, is coordinated to highlight the end of Glee's second season and the beginning of the Midwest Regional Show Choir Competition, which happens every year in early May. As outlandish as the TV show can be, it's actually based on reality. Part of me is flattered by this attention to my "fifteen minutes of fame" back in the 1990s -- but honestly, most of me is embarrassed. It feels a bit like being forced to walk through Amsterdam's Centraal Station, wearing nothing but a sequined Speedo swimsuit over my midsection and a coordinated bowtie around my neck. So why am I scooping the story here on my own website? Well, the way I figure it, it's better to be open about it and laugh about it -- rather than trying to hide it -- since these things always find a way to worm themselves to the surface, one way or another. And if I can start by setting the record straight here on my own website, it can help to prevent misinformation and magnification of the embarrassing elements of my background in music and performance. Yes, I was in a number of different youth choirs -- including the Keynotes -- growing up. Yes, we did choreography and "golden oldies" from the previous generation's pop culture ouevre (like Glee's New Directions sings soft rock from the 1980s and 1990s, part of our schtick was that we dressed up in 1950s regalia and sang doo-wop tunes to adoring audiences across the Midwest). But that's seriously about the extent of it.

"Frog in a Kettle," for instance, was not the dark and twisted chapter of "my musical career" that so many make it out to be. I wouldn't be at all surprised if this upcoming story is going to rehash a bunch of the old press garbage which said I was merely an opportunist -- riding the wave of the Keynotes so that I could get my own role in a Broadway musical (short as its run may have been), even though the Keynotes kind of fell apart after that experience. This is perhaps a story for another time, but I'll just start by saying that the producers of "Frog in a Kettle" sought me out, not the other way around -- and I even did my best to lobby for the inclusion of other members of the Keynotes. But anyway, that's neither here nor there... I loved my years with the Keynotes, and I'm also proud that I had the opportunity to star on Broadway for a brief season of my life. But I'm also happy to leave those experiences in the past and not get caught up in reunion tours or anything silly like that. It's not a lack of willingness to associate with the other guys from the Keynotes. It's just moving on.

Up until now, I've kept quiet about this chapter of my life because of the hurt feelings, the conspiracy theories, and -- honestly more than anything -- the general social stigma against show choirs and glee clubs (though I've been happy to see public perceptions changing, through recent phenomena of pop culture like Glee and Clash of the Choirs). I confess that I've tried to keep this dustbunny of a history swept under the rug. But if it's going to come out now, I might as well own it, right?

Your laughter and disbelief are to be expected. I deserve it, even, so bring it on. I've probably had it coming, ever since I blew the cover on my friend Todd's experience as a classically-trained tap-dancer. And I've grown up enough through the years that I can now laugh at myself, as is necessary for getting through embarrassments from the past like this.

But don't forget that you've probably got embarrassing secrets from your past, too. As the news of this stuff from the past starts leaking out, feel free to laugh and smile and even rib me about it a little bit. But be nice, please. And if any of my old friends or family members have any video footage from those early Keynotes performances, please be so kind as to burn them and not allow their transmission into the world of YouTube! :-)