Oh, that my photographic skills were sufficient to the task of capturing the glory of an Indian Summer morning in Amsterdam...

I love the color and direction of the morning light these days. Even if I can't quite capture the full glory of it with a camera, I still appreciate the moment more than my inadequacies in capturing it.

Dear Olivia,

Happy Birthday! A perfect seven! I'm so proud...

Still, it's also kind of crazy to realize how quickly you're growing up. You're now more than half-way to being a teenager! A third of the way to officially being an adult! It sounds dramatic when I say it that way, doesn't it? It's the kind of thing Dads so often say. But what's craziest is that I can see it when I wake you up in the mornings. I slide open the door and look into your room, glowing softly pink. I pad across the shaggy, brown carpet and look down on you lying in bed. If I'm lucky, I catch a glimpse of you while you're still asleep. Your face is so restful, so full of grace and peace. I pull back the fuschia-colored tulle that's draped down from the ceiling, as if lifting a veil -- and I gaze at you for a moment, before bending down to kiss you awake...

Then, when you wake up, it's a magical transformation from sleeping beauty to the lively, little girl that I know and love. Maybe it takes a moment of stretching and rubbing your eyes, but very soon you smile. With your whole face, not just your mouth. You say, "Good morning, Daddy!" And we get to start another day of your childhood, when you sing silly songs about cheese, and you cry about the stains left from a make-up experiment on your little stuffed animal, and you dance with giddy excitement at the prospect of some special event at school. It's a great joy to share life with you, Olivia.

Like I always tell you: you're my little girl. And that makes you very, very special to me.

I'm noticing these days how exceptionally beautiful you are, and how beautiful you are becoming. Your 100,000-watt smile. Your soft, smooth hair, with flashes of copper, bronze, and gold. Your gray-blue eyes, framed by exclamation-point eyelashes. You really are a wonder to behold! It seems to me that you're noticing this, too, and starting to understand the power of your beauty. Like when we were in France on vacation this summer: you were always flaring your hands off to the sides, tilting your head, and curving at the hips to pose for a picture. Your outfits were  carefully considered. Your beauty was on full display. And truth be told: I'm proud to have a girl as beautiful as you.

At the same time, however, I want to remind you how the Bible says that your beauty doesn't just come from the things you wear on the outside, or the way you fix your hair, or the pretty jewelry you put around your neck and on your fingers. It's not about the tiara you wear on your head. "Instead, [your beauty] should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight" (1 Peter 3:3-4). Fortunately, Olivia, I know that you've got plenty of this kind of beauty, too. Your heart can be so magnificently-sensitive sometimes. I've seen it with your interactions with your little brother, with the way you hold a chain of daisies, with a heartfelt conversation about God. Your gentleness is breath-taking. So I desperately hope and pray that you will continue to develop this inner, unfading, beauty, even as you continue to grow and blossom with external beauty.

To be honest, Olivia, I'm actually not all that worried about you. And on this point, I think I differ from most other Dads -- who make worrying-about-their-daughters to be an Olympic sport. I feel that I don't have to worry about you so much because I know that you're a very intelligent girl; you've got a good head on your shoulders. I know that you're a considerate and generous person, who gets along well with others. And I know that the Spirit of God is living inside you

So with all that said, I just want to wish you a very Happy Birthday, again. In the coming year, I wish you much joy, beauty, friendship, and love (though, let's be frank, this is kind of like wishing a leopard a year with a lot of spots). I love you, Olivia. I love you a million times over.

Forever yours,

Daddy

A portion of our ministry space was flooded a couple of Sundays ago, and it was not my finest moment in ministry. Raw, seeping sewage is not usually an ingredient for feeling fruitful and fulfilled.

I was grumbly. I was mad. I didn't want to be "the responsible one."

I didn't want to be the one with the keys to the building, the one who had to make sure that we figured out a plan for replacing the damaged floors that had to be ripped out. I didn't want to be the one with experience in laying laminate floors and organizing teams of volunteers. I argued that I had better things to be doing than measuring, cutting, fitting, and finishing the floors. I complained that there wasn't anyone else who could just take the project and run with it, while I carried on with the rest of my pastoral responsibilities. In short, I bemoaned my lot in life. I was a bitter, bitter man.

But then, thank God, I got some perspective.

Fortunately, with a bit of time and prayer, I started to see the flooring project as an opportunity to serve the church, develop other leaders in the church, and actually have some fun in the process, too! We got a great boost when Nicole and Michel took on some of the work in making plans and coordinating communication about the flooring project. Marc and Marcus helped with gathering the necessary materials. Marci and Sonja stepped in nicely, to help with the initial clean-up and floor preparation. David and Sasha knocked out the entryway in a single evening. Marijn and I got to do half of the Kids Room, and then David and Anthony finished it, while I laid the plints around the edges and Sasha put some of the furniture and plumbing implements back together.

Together, we completed the job with remarkable efficiency, and I actually found myself genuinely enjoying the process. It was fulfilling to do something very practical and tangible with other people from the church -- seeing something through from beginning, to middle, to end. It was refreshing to connect with others from the church, as we worked together and took coffee breaks together. We talked about summer vacations, relationships, careers, and faith. And in the end, we were all enriched by the experience. I hope that we don't have to do it again any time soon, but even if we do, I take comfort from the fact that I'll get to do it together with these people.

I'm really glad to live in a place that values tolerance and personal freedom so highly. Even as a devoted follower of Jesus, my life is genuinely enriched to have Muslim friends, and gay friends, and Communist friends. It's so good and healthy when people get to interact with each other and cut through all the prejudices which can so easily create societal division. I truly appreciate, for instance, that when my children hear the word "Muslim," their first associations are not with "extremism" or "terrorism" -- but more readily with "Suikerfeest" (or Eid ul-Fitr, the end-of-Ramadan celebratory feast) and its really delicious tea, which our school's Muslim families serve at an annual after-school party. Unlike so many Americans brought up in the post-9/11 era, our family is greatly benefited by having individual, personal relationships with real people who practice the Muslim faith, and not just caricatures of Islamic militants. Do you know what I mean? It's nice to build real human relationships without having to wade through propaganda or feel like we're forcing each others' agendas down each others' throats. I also hope that our family might similarly help to improve others' perceptions of "Americans" and "Christians."

Even so, I've been really challenged lately through reading the Book of Philippians. I've been really challenged by the zeal and zest for the Christian cause which the Apostle Paul (the book's author) demonstrated so consistently, despite his difficult circumstances. Even though Paul was beaten within an inch of his life, his freedom was taken away from him, and he probably realized that he would eventually be executed because of his faith in Jesus Christ, at the time of writing his letter to the Philippians -- he was still crazy about advancing the cause of Christ!

Frankly, Paul's passion for proclaiming the Good News about Jesus unsettles me.

Here I am: a Christian living in a society with unprecedented freedoms. I’m a pastor, even -- making my living from advancing the cause of Christ. Yet I don’t think I have anywhere near the level of concern for advancing the cause of Christ as Paul seems to have, here, in writing this letter to the Philippians... I mean, I really like Jesus. I’m glad for the Good News, and I think it’s great when I get to tell other people the story. On the theoretical level, I’m absolutely in favor of advancing the cause of Christ and proclaiming the Good News to the world around us. But how much do I actually live in this way? Or how much do I shrink back from opportunities to proclaim the message about Christ, whenever I hit any little whiff of "persecution" -- even if it's just a funny look, or a critical question, or just a "bad vibe."

As I consider the situation, it occurs to me that many of us Christians have become very good -- and perhaps a bit too good -- at functioning as “Jesus’ Public Relations Department." Do you know what I mean? We can live our lives as some campaign to show the world that Christians can be cool... and intelligent… and socially-minded… and appreciative of fine wines and good art. And I’m not saying that these are bad things at all! In fact, I really do appreciate the ways our church in Amsterdam finds to balance the dorky, dogmatic, self-righteous, and simplistic branches of Evangelical Christanity around the world. Still I worry that we might be sacrificing some proclaiming possibilities, in the process.

Even in our own lives, I wonder if our faith is somehow weakened, when we function as “Jesus’ PR Department,” instead of actively proclaiming and promoting the cause of Christ. Specifically, I wonder what kinds of problems we have to deal with because we don’t even allow ourselves the tiniest exposure to persecution. When there’s no persecution, there are none of the benefits of our motivations being purified; so we end up with a lot of mixed motives. We’re not forced to strip away all the unnecessary and unimportant stuff; so our lives and our faith end up feeling very cluttered and chaotic. We don’t end up with many opportunities to see true faith in action; so we struggle more profoundly with doubt and disillusionment. As I read through Philippians and consider the circumstances around me, I feel like there is a link in these phenomena: the inaction and the angst. But I don't know exactly what to do about it.

I genuinely don’t know if we should thank God for the fact that we’re not persecuted (which certainly has its advantages!), or if we should ask God for more opportunities to experience the joy that comes from being "counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name" (like it talks about in Acts chapter 5). But in any event, it seems to me that we could learn a lot from considering the plight of persecuted believers, like Paul, whose difficult circumstances were actually the very factor that helped the believers in Rome and in Philippi to gain "confidence and boldly speak God’s message without fear" (in this vein, I greatly appreciate the resources published by the Voice of the Martyrs at www.persecution.com). And furthermore, it seems like we could grow in letting ourselves step away from the role of being “Jesus’ PR Department” and more actively proclaiming God’s message to those around us. Maybe we could stop, mid-conversation, and pray for our non-believing friends or family members, when they share some problem or pain in their lives. Maybe we could invite our neighbors in for coffee and trade life stories, including how we chose to follow Christ and what that means for our lives today. Maybe we could invite our colleagues to come along with us to one of our worship gatherings, or to a Bible study with our communities, or to our church's next Alpha Course. Or maybe we could even bring a little crate to the Dam and stand up, next to the living statues and street performers, and shout out God’s love for the city of Amsterdam. It’s true that we might get rejected. People might laugh at us or argue with us. Things might get a little bit awkward among friends and neighbors after making a step to advance the cause of Christ. But I think we could probably live through it. And we might even find ourselves experiencing more life, more joy, and more awareness of God’s work in and around and through us! What do you think?

I've heard that the American media have been overloaded with retrospectives all week, observing the ten-year anniversary of the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington. Here in the Netherlands, however, we're just starting to tune into the collective remembrances.

I'm finding it really interesting to hear the international perspectives on the the September 11th attacks. On television this evening, they're showing clips of Dutch people sharing the memories of where they were and what they were doing at the moment that the news from New York started filtering in. One Dutch man tells that he was just getting ready to start a meeting at which he would be serving as chairman, when he heard the news of the attacks on New York; so he started off their meeting by sharing the news item with the rest of his colleagues, many of whom immediately burst into tears. Another Dutch woman says that she learned about the attacks through a panicked phone call from her hysterical mother.

Of course, everyone has their distinct memories. Still I was surprised to hear the level of emotional impact that September 11th had on Europeans, not just Americans. I honestly don't know if there'd be the same level of sympathy today, if there were similar attacks on the USA. Over the last ten years, the Americans have come to be seen as more of a bully than as a victim (primarily because of the American response to the attacks, eventually leading to the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq). But back then, Europeans were still willing to cry and become hysterical for American tragedy. And this weekend, it seems, perhaps we're all willing to re-live the moment again.

I love the color and clarity of biblical language. It's no wonder to me that the Bible has been an inspiration for so many great works of literature. And besides what's already been woven into the literary community, there are a lot of powerful biblical stories and phrases that are still more or less "unknown" and untapped. I discovered another one this morning, while reading the 24th chapter of Joshua:

Send the hornet. In recapping the conquest of Canaan, Joshua (the great leader and military commander) speaks as an oracle of the LORD, reminding the assembled masses of Israel of the fact that their military victories had been supernaturally set up ahead of time: "I sent the hornet ahead of you, which drove them out before you -- also the two Amorite kings. You did not do it with your own sword and bow" (Joshua 24:12). It's an interesting turn of phrase, isn't it? Something about it sticks with me, that idea of clearing out a room by releasing a hornet through a crack in the door before making one's entrance. It's a very efficient word picture. I genuinely wonder why it hasn't made it into more popular, colloquial usage. That idea of "sending the hornet" could be used in any situation in which the way has been prepared for another's success. It could speak of any situation involving God's Providence and preparation.

I find myself enriched by these little nuggets of language in the pages of the Bible -- as a writer, as a believer, and as a pastor. Just another reason to appreciate the greatest work of literature of all time...

Another summer vacation has come and gone. Today, our kids have their first day of school for the year.

Elliot is now in Groep 6 (4th Grade).

Olivia is now in Groep 4 (2nd Grade).

And Cor is just starting out in Groep 1 (Kindergarten). Crazy to think that this is our last first day of elementary school... But everyone seems really excited for the year ahead!

I feel so blessed to have children that are relatively happy, healthy, intelligent, and socially-skilled. I certainly can't take credit for it, but I think they're mighty special!

Dear Cor,

Happy Birthday! We've been waiting and waiting and waiting for this day to come -- and finally it's here! Hurray! Now you're a "big kid." You get to play a "big guitar." You get to go to "big school" and drink juice from "big kid juice-boxes." You stand so big and tall, with such "big muscles." So we're putting away your stroller and your security blanket, and all that sort of "little kid stuff" -- and we are celebrating the fact that you are now a fearless, fabulous four-year-old!

I'm so proud of the ways that you're growing up. You're just a delightful person, Cor. I love how you bring laughter and music, wherever you go. Whether it's making silly faces at the breakfast table... or leading worship with a ukelele and a wooden microphone, standing on the brown armchair in our dining room... or bubbling up with deep belly-laughs from an episode of "Buurman Buurman"... or air-drumming in the back seat of the car... you're simply full of laughter and music.

But of course there's a lot more to you than that. You can also be sweet and serious: crawling into bed with your mother in the morning to talk and sing... or carefully mimicking the way that I open a cereal box, the way that Elliot passes a basketball... or snuggling up on my lap, all warm and woozy after waking from an afternoon nap... or performing death-defying feats on the monkey-bars, just to show you can hang with the big kids. I really admire this toughness, cut with tenderness. Even back when you were a "little kid" (like, last week), you proved yourself to be tough, keeping up with two talented, older siblings. You run and jump and tackle and play with reckless abandon -- and it makes me proud, to see the way that you can combine all the different parts of your personality.

You really are getting to be a "big kid." I'm glad that you're excited about that. I'm excited about it, too.

Still, I'm guessing that you might still have relapses. That is, you might want to go back to being a three-year-old again sometimes. I can understand that, and even appreciate that; we parents can be reluctant for our little kids to grow up, too (especially when it comes to the littlest ones in our family). We all wish for "the old days" sometimes. So don't worry if you sometimes want to be a "little kid" again. Strollers and sucking on security blankets have their appeal, but it's good to remember that growing up is a good thing. The changes are the way things are meant to be, even if it doesn't always feel like it.

In the Bible it says, "When completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face." This means that the good things that we experience through different phases of life are, indeed, good things. Like riding in a stroller or sucking on a blanket. The good things remind us that God is good, and they give us glimpses of God's glory. But that doesn't mean that these good things are the complete picture of what God has for us. Often, we have to leave some good things behind, in order to embrace even better things ahead. It doesn't just happen when you go from being three to being four. This happens even later in life, too, like when you change from being 33 to 34, or from 73 to 74. This transition from the good, to the painful, to the better will keep happening, over and over, for the rest of our lives -- until we see Jesus face-to-face. And that, my son, will be a truly glorious day, like an endless, unlimited birthday party. As it says in the Bible, "Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

"And now," as we're growing up, "these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." So this is what I'm praying for you, Cor, in the coming year of your life. I'm praying that you will discover faith: simple, pure, childlike faith that will bring you into a life-long walk with Jesus. I'm praying that you will be able to maintain the attitude of hope which you hold today: hope in "getting big," growing up, and advancing to the next thing, all the way until the day of Christ. And I pray that you may always experience and exemplify love.

I really love you a lot, Cor. I love you a million, billion, ka-jillion. I think you're really something special. So please remember that, and remember that I wish you a very Happy Birthday.

With All the Love that My Heart can Hold,

Daddy