I received a rather unusual e-mail this morning, from a television producer in the UK. The communication resulted from a piece that I wrote almost four years ago, specifically a story about digging through my daughter's feces for money. With the permission of the sender, I've copied the original e-mail here below:

On Wed, Nov 30, 2011 at 10:21 AM, Siaron James (Miss) <siaron.james@cwmnida.tv> wrote:

Dear Pastor Asp,
I hope you don't mind me contacting you with a slightly odd question.
I am currently working on a documentary for the UK TV channels BBC & S4C provisionally entitled  ‘The Toilet – An Unspoken History’;  which will be looking at the design, cultural and social history of the toilet, the toilet of today and its future.
Part of our filming will take us to the Netherlands, and I am particularly looking for a shelf-type toilet in Amsterdam for our crew to film.
I came across the picture of your toilet on your blog and would like to ask you if you would be willing to let our crew film it.
The crew will be in Amsterdam on Thursday 8th December, so I wonder if you could tell me if it would be at all possible for them to film the toilet sometime on that day? I cannot give you an exact time yet, but if there is a period of time that is preferable to you, please let me know so that I can work it into the schedule.
Of course we will do our best not to cause too much disruption. The crew is a very small one – only 3 people (cameraman, soundman, and presenter/director) and the filming should only take an hour at the very most.
Please do not hesitate to contact me if you require more information before deciding - if you would like me to phone you for a chat I'd be happy to.
I look forward to hearing from you soon,
Kindest regards,
Siaron

Unfortunately, I had to offer the disappointing news that our shelf toilet was replaced two years ago. But I did mention that I'd be willing to post something here -- always up for cultural curiosities and a long-time fan of documentary production -- in the hope that someone else in the Amsterdam area might be willing to let their shelf-style toilet be documented for posterity's sake. The response was as follows:

If you find you know anyone that has one (and may be up for us filming it) please do put them in touch with me as soon as possible - ideally it needs to be in Amsterdam, although it might also be ok if it’s somewhere en route between Amsterdam and Schiphol airport.

So what do you say, Amsterdam friends? Does anyone know of a good shelf-style toilet in the neighborhood? I'll be curious to see if something might work out...

I've been using my iPad for almost a month now. It's become a standard item in my backpack, just like my pocket-sized Bible and my journal (with a pen hooked onto the spine). Even though the iPad is technically capable of functioning as a "pocket-sized Bible," as a "journal," and as a "pen" -- I haven't given up these most basic, tried-and-trusted tools of my trade. Still, the iPad is becoming more and more integrated with my daily pastoring responsibilities. And I'm becoming more and more appreciative of its capabilities.

This past Sunday, I decided to use the iPad for my message notes, during our church's worship gathering -- and it worked out better than I might have expected. Instead of printing out my notes in 1.5-spaced, 14-point font on a stack of one-sided paper -- I "printed" my notes as a PDF file (using the typical formatting) and accessed them from the iBook application within the iPad. Legibility was totally not an issue (if anything, it was even easier to see my notes than usual). I didn't have any problems "turning pages." The settings were easy enough to adjust so that I didn't have to constantly be tinkering with the thing to keep it awake. And in general, it didn't seem to be a distraction for my listeners (i.e. no strange white glow visible to others, no extra foibles on my part as I tried to adapt to the new technology). I think it could be a very workable scenario. The only real issue that I still have with using the iPad for preaching is not being able to see two pages at one time, which is something that I had gotten used to with my old one-sided paper system. We'll see how this issue works itself out over time... But in any event, it was a worthwhile experiment.

I also really appreciate the iPad's usefulness in counseling situations. It's a really nice way to take notes -- because it has the feel of a simple pad of paper (with no vertical obstacles to communication, like there would be with a laptop screen), yet the output is still digital and thus much more easily archived and integrated into other systems that I have in place. The iPad also works well to take the place of print-outs, saving both time and money. For instance, I can use the iPad to access my own copy of a couple's individualized pre-marital counseling materials, while the couple can look on their own printed copy. Since the iPad is capable of storing thousands of documents without taking up any extra physical space, I rarely have that phenomenon of "Oh, I wish I had a copy of that document with me right now, to show you..." I use a free application called DropBox, so I can keep all my files up-to-date and on-hand. Very convenient.

E-mailing, e-reading, word-processing, and Skyping also work really well with the iPad -- and since I have a desktop computer that I use with my home office, I genuinely think I can get by without ever needing a laptop computer again. Up to this point, my only point of complaint with the iPad is its lack of ability to upload files. It would be so nice if the DropBox application could work both ways: downloading and uploading. But really, the only effective way that I've discovered to get around this design deficiency is to e-mail documents to myself. It's not the most difficult problem in the world to overcome... but it can be annoying.

In general, I'm very pleased with these current experiments in "pastoring with an iPad." In spite of the fact that I'm writing about it here and now, I have no plans to become an evangelist for the Apple Corporation. As a matter of fact, I've grown to really like having the black leather carrying case as a kind of camouflage for the technology itself -- so that I'm not flashing the Apple logo whenever I pick up the machine, and advertising the fact that I'm using a fancy piece of technology. Most of the time it just looks like I'm carrying an extra leather-bound portfolio that could just as easily be filled with paper and pens as with a tablet computer. Still, I appreciate the fact that this iPad is a valuable resource for my day-to-day ministry. And I'm thankful to God that He provided the resources for me to get it.

But now we are all strangers and pilgrims, travelers and Sojourners.

This is the inscription on the plaque which marks the square where "the Pilgrims" (of American Thanksgiving  fame) lived for the twelve years immediately preceding their journey to the New World aboard the Mayflower. Although these Pilgrims were of English descent, several of the younger ones were born here in the Netherlands. Several of the couples were married here in the Netherlands. And a number of their group died and were buried here in the Netherlands.

I didn't always realize the Dutch connections to the American Thanksgiving story -- but it's actually a pretty significant part of the story. After experiencing religious persecution in England for their anti-Anglican, Reformed theology, a community of these "Separatists" decided to move to Leiden, in the Netherlands, under the leadership of their pastor John Robinson. There they were granted religious freedom and opportunities for economic stability (through the booming textile industry of the period), and eventually they established a commune of sorts on this square in the shadow of the big Pieterskerk (Peter's Church) in central Leiden. For twelve years, they lived and worked in the Netherlands -- until they started to fear that their children were getting too assimilated into the surrounding culture, and they ultimately decided to send all of the able-bodied members of their community on to North America, where greater freedom, greater isolation, and greater economic opportunities awaited them.

But the Pilgrims certainly left their mark on Leiden. And Leiden -- it would seem -- left its mark on the Pilgrims, too. Most intriguingly, historical records indicate that the Pilgrims greatly admired the Leidenaars annual religious / civic holiday, along with its traditional feasting, designed specifically for the purpose of thanking God for His deliverance of the Dutch against their Spanish oppressors in the Eighty Years War (celebrated every year in October). Some historians have even theorized that the early Thanksgiving feasts in New England may have been inspired by the Pilgrims' time in Leiden! I honestly don't know how much stock to put in these theories, but they are certainly interesting to consider...

In any event, our family was privileged to visit Leiden on Thanksgiving Day this year (the kids were even granted the day off from school!). We went together with several American friends from Amsterdam, and we all joined in a larger celebration put on by the American Embassy in the Netherlands. The service itself was all right (a kind of typical patriotic / pseudo-religious, ecumenical church service)... But more than anything it was just cool to be in that place, together with a group of other "strangers and pilgrims, travelers and sojourners."

It's ironic that we now live here in the Netherlands, having moved from North America seeking to establish a spiritual community: kind of Pilgrims in reverse (although our goal has always been to engage with the surrounding culture, not to separate from it). But to say the least, we felt a special appreciation this year for the connection between the Netherlands and the United States of America, on Thanksgiving Day.

And after our visit to the Pieterskerk, of course we had to go out to lunch. We had Dutch pancakes instead of a big turkey dinner. But that was OK. When you're strangers and pilgrims, travelers and sojourners, improvisation is always a part of the story. :-)

As you may have noticed from my weekend writing, I recently spent some time in a Benedictine (Roman Catholic) monastery. To the Conservative Baptists among whom I grew up, such a forray into Catholic territory might have been considered a step outside the faith: paying homage to Rome's Evil Institution, allowing a part of the money spent for my accommodations to go towards "statuary, and buying the souls of pagan babies, and buying diamonds for the Pope's shoelaces" (to quote from the ubiquitous Midwestern humorist, Garrison Keillor).

I, however, thought my time at the monastery was a wonderful experience which really brought me closer to God.

Granted: the Catholic monastic experience had both its joys and its difficulties. For instance, I genuinely enjoyed the push back to an appreciation of the simple elements of faith, seeking God, depending upon God, cutting myself off from distractions and focusing purely on God. And because of the monastery's focus on these elements, I ultimately decided to stick with the full cycle of the monastic rhythms (7 prayer services per day). At the same time, however, I noticed (and noticed some irritation at) the cultural differences I experienced.

The morning prayer services got to feel very long and laborious. Their liturgy used a very limited Scriptural pallette (almost entirely chapters from the middle part of the Psalms). And perhaps most notably, I felt bothered by the emphasis on formality and hierarchy, particularly in the daily celebration of Mass. I've never understood the apparently-varying levels of access to God's grace: first to the bishop, then to the father of the monastery, then to the other brothers from the monastery, then to other clerics from the church, then to other Catholic believers, and only then to everyone else (including me). I don't understand why I should be excluded from sharing in the Body and Blood of Christ (though I could have easily faked my way through the line, if I had wanted to). These things don't make sense to me.

Even so, I can appreciate the solemnity and ceremony of the Catholic culture of worship. I admire the way that their traditions tie in so directly with the ways Christians have been worshipping for thousands of years. I enjoy the multi-sensory worship experience, utilizing sight (beautiful robes, a simple-yet-magnificent sanctuary, a white haze of incense smoke), sound (singing, speaking, the clinking chains of the censer), smell (incense), taste (the Eucharist), and touch (standing, kneeling, sitting, holy water, and crossing oneself). Furthermore, I really appreciate the sense of holiness that pervades Catholic worship. At the monastery, all of the monks bowed deeply before the cross on the altar, both upon entering the room and upon leaving the room. The priests all bowed before the Eucharist at (what they believe to be) the moment of transubstantiation. They administer the mass from behind the altar, so that Christ gets top billing. And in this I can see that, for all their issues with formality and hierarchy, they've at least got that much right: Jesus is King. He deserves to be treated with some degree of reverance and respect -- probably more than our church in Amsterdam typically gives Him. So as much as I can be irritated by the cultural differences, I can also appreciate them and let myself be instructed by them.

In the end, I really came to appreciate the monks' rigorous traditionalism: wearing the robes, singing in Latin, maintaining the Benedictine rhythms... I felt glad, actually, that some Christians feel so strongly led to maintain these traditions. I do wonder, though, about the future of these traditions. I reckon that the youngest of the monks at the Benedictusberg was in his 40s, and a couple might even have been in their 80s. With only 12 of them on-site, how will the traditions continue into the future?

Why don't I take personal retreats more often? Such an experience -- like the one I just experienced at the Benedictusberg -- inspires me and renews my love for life and ministry. It provides priceless perspective and spiritual refreshment. And at just €30 a day (for three lavish meals per day, three coffee-and-snack breaks per day, my own private room, plus access to the monastery's sanctuary, library, and grounds!), such extravagance is really quite affordable.

Ever since getting back to Amsterdam, I've been encouraging my friends to consider taking personal retreats of their own. I know it takes some work to set the time aside and break out of our normal routines for such an experience (I, too, regularly feel the resistance -- even knowing how great such experiences can be!). Even so, I cannot more highly recommend a regular discipline of seeking special encounters with God!

Even though a personal retreat is, by definition, somewhat "mystical," I thought it might be useful to demystify the idea of a spiritual retreat (i.e. answering the question, "What exactly am I supposed to be doing with three whole days of being away from regular life, seeking God?"). This is the approach that I mapped out for myself, on this most recent retreat. It can be adapted to fit individual tastes and personalities (in fact, I myself reviewed and refined my own plan on the train ride down from Amsterdam to the borderlands between the Netherlands, Germany, and Belgium). Still, I went into my personal retreat with a handful of general goals in mind:

• To read through all my old journals. My collection goes back to 1999, so there's some significant ground to cover there, but I felt it was important for me to do this. As I read through the old journals, I looked for trends, scriptural inspiration points, and spiritual inkshuks through the years. I tried to get a feel for the overall arc of my life story, with the hope that this might help me to anticipate and follow any upcoming plot twists.
• To take long, meandering walks (international walks, even, in the case of this most recent retreat!). I wanted to soak the styrofoam cup of my soul in the oceans of God's presence.  I wanted to trade my anxieties, arguments, and emotional architecture for God's mind about me, the family, my church, and the world. I wanted to experience God's peace, even in the face of any disturbing, unsettling, unexpected truths that might be revealed in my life. I wanted to sync my spirit with God's Spirit.
• To re-read some of my "core material" from the Bible. For each individual, there seems to be certain sections of the Bible which regularly and repeatedly speak into that person's life through the years. For me, this "core material" includes Joshua, the Proverbs, Matthew, Acts, Romans... and maybe some of the other Old Testament history books. So going into my personal retreat, I determined to spend some time reading these parts of the Bible and letting myself be led down rabbit-trails of cross-references, as God would lead. I wanted to be inspired.
• To experience (however temporarily) the monastic life. Believe it or not, I was actually looking forward to spartan surroundings, early morning prayers, and a general atmosphere of silence and simplicity. I did have some anxieties about being in such a Catholic environment and adhering to such a right schedule (particularly worried that it might get in the way of my opportunities to go on long walks or spend extended time in solitude)... But even so, I wanted to go through the motions of monasticism. I sensed that it might be surprisingly refreshing... and indeed this sense turned out to be accurate.

Of course, in all this I realized that it was much less important to consider what I wanted out of these three days, as opposed to preparing myself for however God might have wanted to use the time. Still I felt that it was helpful to outline some expectations ahead of time -- and then submit them all, respectfully, to God.

I can understand that the monastic experience is probably not for everybody -- and maybe even not always what I would need for my own spiritual refreshment, depending upon the season of life -- but I have to say that it was quite satisfying for me this week. The prayer services provided me with time for reading the Bible and getting fresh input from outside my normal stream of consciousness. The shorter breaks between services provided me with time for personal processing (even while eating) and journaling (including reading old journals). The longer breaks between the services, especially in the late afternoon, provided time for long walks and prayer (I always seem to pray best when I'm walking). And the breaks between sunset and dawn provided time for more extended journaling and analysis of my journal archives, which are a kind of prayer and meditation for me. All of these activities felt like they were infused with a sense of prayer and meditating on God's Word, which is just what I really wanted for my three-day getaway: an extended soak in God's goodness and nearness.

In case you couldn't tell, I came back to Amsterdam with a rich feeling of satisfaction and gratitude -- and a hearfelt recommendation for others to experience the same.

The sun streamed into my room through blue skies and  two glorious sets of double-tall, double-wide windows facing the afternoon sun. The fields and farmlands in the valley below me were partially obscured by a thinning layer of fall foliage, down to the last of its papery leaves.

It took some traveling (bus - train - bus - bus) to get to this Benedictine monastery, situated on a hillside right up against the Dutch - German border. But I didn't mind. After less than half-an-hour at the Abdij Sint Benedictusberg, I felt refreshed already.

The monastery building itself was very simple in its construction: all stone and wood and concrete. Every room in the monastery was equipped with uniformly simple, custom-made wooden furniture -- not a cushion in sight -- still it was comfortable. Elegant, even. I loved the simple color schemes, all white and grays and browns and muted greens. My guest room was quite large and comfortable, and I was especially appreciative of the large desk facing the windows. It would be home for my much-anticipated three-day spiritual retreat.

I arrived at the Benedictusberg a bit later than expected because of some mix-ups about the bus stops. Consequently, upon arrival I had to wait in the front entryway while most of the people on-site were busy with lunch. After fifteen or twenty minutes, however, a bald, bearded, middle-aged monk in a black friar's robe came to meet me. He introduced himself as Brother Marc, the same monk who had confirmed my e-mail registration word with a two-word response ("genoteerd. welkom."). He spoke with a soft Limburgse accent, bidding me welcome, then he immediately started leading me to my guest room in the bottom of the southern tower. As we walked through the monastery he offered friendly indications of where I could find the inner courtyard, the gardens, the toilets, and then my room. Leaving me to unpack, he said he would return in 20 minutes to bring me to the dining hall for a late lunch. Quickly placing my things in the cabinet that stood along the one wall of the room, I took to snapping a bunch of pictures with my camera phone, completely charmed by the setting. Shortly a light drumming of fingers on the door indicated Brother Marc's return to bring me to my lunch.

When I entered the dining hall it was almost completely empty. Two monks with white hair and black robes sat at one end of the long room. The monks at the Benedictusberg are not committed to any sort of vow of silence; however, they ask their guests to respect a general environment of stillness and contemplation. Thus when I first entered the dining hall I could only hear the sounds of their cutlery on their plates. I was shown to a table in the middle of the room where a very impressive lunch awaited me: steaming vegetable-beef soup, meatballs with tomato sauce, asparagus au gratin, three boiled potatoes, a large salad with hard boiled egg on top, a plate with a single piece of wheat bread, and a carafe of water. The food was really good! I ate in silence, but I was somewhat relieved to hear the two older monks occasionally murmuring to each other in low voices (this not completely hard-core about the silence thing). When I finished with my meal, one of the two monks helped me to clean off my place at the table, and then I had about 15 minutes to take a walk through the gardens before the mid-afternoon prayer service.

The grounds were beautiful. The sun warmed me as I drank in the scenery. Both Germany and Belgium were visible from where I stood, in the Netherlands.

The church bells started ringing five minutes before the start of the prayer service. Walking quickly through the monastery corridors, I entered the sanctuary and found a seat just before the monks entered. Their liturgy was done entirely in Latin, Gregorian chant. I could understand almost nothing of it, but glancing down into the Benedictine prayer book I brought with me from my room, I noted that they were going through the Psalms, which I quickly cross-referenced in my own NIV Bible. As the monks read / sang from Psalm 114-117, my attention was captured by Psalm 116:7, which said, "Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you."

The following three days would be a powerful experience of God's presence and peace, on multiple levels (I hope to write more about my experiences sometime soon). Really, though, the essence of the entire experience was boiled down for me right there, in those words from the 116th Psalm. "Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you." Even since returning from the Benedictusberg back to Amsterdam and trying to get caught up in my normal rhythms and routines, these words and this sensation have stuck with me. And for that I am incredibly thankful.

This weekend, we've had the privilege of celebrating both St. Maarten's Day (the 11th of November) and the arrival of Sinterklaas in the Netherlands (usually the third, or in this case the fourth, Sunday before the 5th of December). We've really come to enjoy these uniquely Dutch traditions.

It seemed to me that Sint Maarten's Day this year was more substantial than it usually is. Perhaps it's because it happened to fall on a Friday evening this year... Or perhaps it's because we just had three kids who were all in the right age range for getting into things... Or perhaps it's just because we went out with a bigger group from the kids' school, to mark the occasion. I don't know, but several of the Dutch parents also remarked on the phenomenon which was almost unknown to them in their childhood. In any event, Sint Maarten's Day just seemed like a bigger deal this year.

Not that it's really all that much hoopla. It's like a cross between American Christmas carrolling (in that there's singing involved) and American trick-or-treating (in that there's candy involved). Paper lanterns are thrown in there as a part of the mix, too. I made a little video clip of the occasion, in case you're curious. It's actually a very simple holiday... but a nice one.

Sinterklaas's arrival in the Netherlands, on the other hand, actually seemed to be something of a smaller celebration this year. Perhaps it was government cut-backs in the Sinterklaas budget... Or perhaps it was because of the fact that we've got one kid who's starting to grow out of the Sinterklaas phase (Elliot) plus one kid who's still a bit intimidated by the whole deal (Cor)... Or perhaps it's just that there's no novelty left in Sinterklaas for me, as a cross-cultural observer... In any event, it just felt slightly less significant this year.

Indeed it's interesting to watch the way that the collective cultural consciousness works in matters of Sinterklaas. Basically all of the kids in Elliot's class have now come to the full realization of the Sinterklaas myth (i.e. "He's not real"), and as such there actually seems to be something of a backlash among his peers. They don't want to have anything to do with such "baby stuff." They're too cool to watch the Sinterklaas Journaal (daily television program) now. They've left Sinterklaas behind them, at least for now. It actually creates a strange dynamic now with Elliot, who has always known the full extent of the Sinterklaas myth but still got swept up in the whole phenomenon, just for the fun of it. He doesn't feel any need to abandon the joys of Sinterklaas... but I wonder how much longer that will last. It's funny to watch kids grow up.

Just for the sake of balance, I'll also include a video clip of Sinterklaas's steamship cruising through the Nieuwe Herengracht...

In any event, I wish you a wonderful holiday season -- wherever you are, and whichever culture's set of holidays you might be celebrating!

I'm kind of a nerd for palindromes (words and numbers which read the same both backwords and forwards)... So I figured I simply had to recognize this moment and post something at 11:11:11 on 11/11/11. Not that I really have all that much to say... I just wanted to recognize the moment. :-)

Just one more fun fact, as a parting shot: Did you know that we are a rare generation with the privilege of living through two palindromic years during the course of our lifetime: 1991 and 2002? Ours is the first generation with this privilege since those who lived through 999 and 1001... Can you guess when the next generational occurence will come along?

I need to grow in being small.

I need to strengthen my skills in being weak.

I need to buck up and claim complete and utter dependence on God and others.

Over the last several weeks, I feel like God has continually been leading me to the theme of dependence upon God. Seemingly whenever I draw near to God, whenever I turn my ear to hear what He might be saying, the thing that I hear is this theme of dependence.

One of the ways that I've recently felt God pointing to this issue of self-sufficiency in my life is through the 50th Psalm. It unmasks self-sufficiency for what it really is: pride and a mistaken assumption that God is somehow dependent upon us. The early verses of the Psalm recognize God as the Creator and Sustainer of all things: "The Mighty One, God, the LORD, speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to the place where it sets..." And then it comes right out and states what should be obvious: that we -- humankind, the followers of God -- are inadequate. We stand deficient. In any court of law or creation, the judgment does not fall in our favor. Even so, God doesn't begrudge us our deficiencies. He doesn't rebuke us for our lack of sacrifices or burnt offerings. In fact, it's the complete opposite!

God doesn't need us; we need God.

God doesn't need our good deeds. God doesn't even need our radical commitment to his Word or to the Gospel (except so far as these things promote an attitude of humility and dependence in our hearts towards God). God doesn't need us; we need God.

It's so basic, yet so necessary, to be reminded of these truths. God wants us to live with hearts of gratitude and dependence, not self-willed, self-sufficient, stubborn insistence on our own ways of doing things. "Sacrifice thank offerings to God," says Psalm 50:14-15, "Call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you and you will honor me." It's all about gratitude and dependence. Dependence and gratitude. Verse 23 reiterates the same thing: "He who sacrifices thank offerings honors me, and he prepares the way so that I may show him the salvation of God."

I love the simple, kind-of-silly line of rhetorical questioning from Psalm 50:13, where God asks, "Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats?" That is, What do you really think the sacrificial system is all about? Were you really under the impression that we are responsible for keeping God's belly full?!? It's so silly... and yet I fall into this faulty way of thinking far too often. I do it with prayer, or evangelism, or reading the Bible, or raising up Christian leaders, or raising a godly family, or maintaining sexual purity... And it's just plain silly! God doesn't need those things from me nearly as much as I need those things from God! As we revel in God's provision and protection for us, we can get off our little kingdom-building high-horses and avail ourselves to however God might want to use us (or not use us). It can feel counterintuitive... yet when I really stop and meditate on these reminders, I know them to be true.

I need to grow in being small.

I need to strengthen my skills in being weak.

I need to buck up and claim complete and utter dependence on God and others.

These words are being written from an iPad.

My very own iPad 2.

I actually feel kind of sheepish about owning an Apple. Sheepish in the sense of being embarrassed (by my own boyish enthusiasm about a new toy) -- but also sheepish in the sense of feeling like a mindless sheep, getting swept up in the direction of the societal flock. As much as I feel pleased with my new technological device, I also realize that I don't want to start every morning by pledging allegiance to the Apple Corporation. I don't want to accept Steve Jobs as my Lord and Savior. I just want to have some nifty electronic support for my everyday life.

And to this end, let's face it: the iPad is pretty cool.

I initially warmed up to the idea of an iPad because of its functionality as an e-Reader. After watching how much my wife has enjoyed and utilized her e-Reader (an Amazon Kindle) over the last year and a half, I started to think it might be nice to have one of my own. I liked the idea of not having to lug around a backpack full of books. I liked the idea of instantaneous book and magazine purchases (or library check-outs) from anywhere in the world. So as I grew to like the idea of an e-Reader, I started to check into the various options. And I was surprised to find Apple's offering -- the iPad -- more competitively priced than I expected.

I figured if I was ever going to test the waters of contemporary Apple technology, the iPad might be the item to initiate me. But I had to consider the possibilities for a couple of months before I was prepared to make such a leap.

As I thought about things more and more, however, it occurred to me that I could genuinely benefit from the multiple functionality of an iPad -- effectively using it as a replacement to my aging and ailing laptop. Especially with some of the after-market accessories that have been developed for the iPad (like a carrying case that has a built-in stand and bluetooth-enabled wireless keypad), it's a more workable scenario than I had once thought it would be. The iPad works really well for e-mailing, voice-and-video communication (i.e Skype), web browsing, social networking, and entertainment. Word processing was really the only other thing for which I have consistently used my laptop -- so even though this is the one area where a laptop computer supposedly trumps an electronic tablet, I figured the iPad was was worth trying (provided it was outfitted with a word processing application and an external keypad, which were minimal investments, actually). So in the end I went for it.

This week, my iPad finally arrived, and now I'm becoming accustomed to it.

I notice unexpected delights and frustrations as I play with the iPad more and more. The design really is as clever as everyone says it is, and the machine is capable of quite a bit (more than I expected, really). I love its small size and weight, for purposes of carrying it around in my backpack. And I've been impressed with little things like the battery life and the ease of integration with my other electronic devices and information. But intuitive as it may be, the iPad uses a whole different system that has to be learned as I go. I regularly find myself reaching for a mouse that isn't there. I have to be more careful about keeping my fingers clean as I use the thing (i.e. eating and iPad interaction don't go well together). I get annoyed by the lack of a means to easily export or upload information from the iPad (such as to a USB stick, or to a Dropbox account). The small external keypad that I bought to go with the iPad works well despite its diminuitive stature -- but some of the buttons (like the delete button, especially) are shaped differently or are positioned slightly differently, and are thus going to take some more getting used to.

But overall, I'm pleased with how it's gone, using my iPad over the last couple of days. I'm still not about to become a foaming-at-the-mouth fanboy, hanging out in the mall for the latest release of whatever Apple product comes out in a given month... But I do feel thankful that I have the means to be able to try such an experiment as this. Perhaps I'll share more about my experiences with the iPad, as I integrate it into my life more and more... But we'll see about that.

A good bicycle bell is hard to find.

It needs to be quiet, with no rattling or unintentional dinging, when it ought to be quiet. Still, it needs to ring loud and true -- predictably and persistently, in varying weather conditions, and even after wear-and-tear -- when a person needs it to ring loud and true. A good bicycle bell needs to get people's attention, without being cutesy or annoying. And a good bicycle bell actually has a range of voices: full-throated ddddrrrrrrrinngs for when a person needs to cut through a crowd, but also soft-and-subtle tings for a courtesy signal when passing another bicyclist who is unaware of the traffic behind him.

I had a perfect bicycle bell once, here in Amsterdam. It had the vague imprint of a fancy royal crown on the chrome dome of the bell, and its plastic trigger was ribbed all the way around for maximum thumb comfort (if I remember correctly the bell looked very similar, though not completely identical, to the picture here on the left). But then something happened to it. I honestly don't remember if it was a crash or a theft or what. I don't remember because at the time I didn't realize that it was the perfect bicycle bell. But now that I've cycled through perhaps a dozen different bells, I see what a tragic loss that "something" really was.

I've looked in multiple shops throughout Amsterdam, trying to find the same type of bicycle bell... but it's been to no avail. Still almost every day -- any time I reach for my bicycle bell -- I think about it. I know it's lame to pine for such a cheap bicycle accessory, but I do it anyway.

So anyway, I say all of that to get to this point: If anyone knows where to find such a bell, I would be extremely grateful for any leads. If not, I suppose I'll live. But still, it doesn't hurt to hope.

I used to have a hard time with Novembers here in the Netherlands.

I guess it was due to the colder and darker conditions outdoors... maybe some degree of missing cultural events back in America like Thanksgiving and the Ohio State / Michigan football game... and maybe a bit of personal emotional trauma associated with our family's first November in Amsterdam (the month when culture shock, leadership transition, and a miscarried pregnancy all caught up with us at once).

But these days, I actually find myself charmed by this time of the year. I'm actually happy that November has finally arrived!

Part of it has been simply baiting myself. I've been waiting to enjoy special seasonal treats -- like the oliebollen (like a kind of doughnuts) sold from brightly-lit concession stands around the city -- and now that it's November, I can indulge myself a little bit. I've been waiting to put on my beloved winter coat -- my Carhartt -- and now that it's November, I'm finally going to get to wear it again (though I'm still waiting until a really cold day to break it out). I'm looking forward to visiting my first monastery later this month and experiencing some extended time with God. And in marked contrast to our first several years here in the Netherlands, I'm really looking forward to celebrating Thanksgiving with our surrogate family here in Amsterdam (Funny, isn't it, that what used to be a consolation prize has now become a beloved tradition in its own right?!). And all this is to say nothing of classic Novemberisms like the International Documentary Film Festival of Amsterdam, or the Museumnacht, or Sint Maartens, or the arrival of Sinterklaas...

November is a beautiful time of the year, if I really stop and think about it.

I'm honestly amazed that I've been able to experience such a radical shift in perspective. Just three or four years ago, I was regularly overcome by depression at this time of the year -- and today I'm rejoicing in the beauties of this season! To me, it's a demonstration of Philippians 4:4-9, where it says, "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me -- put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you." I experience my shifted perspective as a demonstration of God's goodness and grace. God is with me in November, just as He is in any other part of the year. I'm just glad that I can see it now.