As we approach the end of 2011, I've been trolling through the last year's worth of entries in this space. It's fun, and I feel like it brings genuine insight too. I appreciate the sense of perspective afforded by such personal historical archives.

Initially, I thought about compiling some sort of "Top Ten" listing for 2011, but in the end I decided to condense things more in terms of themes and trends that I've noticed from the last year. Below are some of the things that have stood out to me the most.

First of all, I observed that my kids have grown a year older in 2011. It's shockingly noticeable. They just keep changing and developing, and my love for them continues to change and develop right along with them. I'm unspeakably grateful for Elliot, Olivia, and Cor. Our family in general. Marci and I  celebrated our 13th Wedding Anniversary in 2011, as well, which I consider one of the greatest experiences of my life to date. As much as they all cause me frustration at times, I feel like my family has been one of the greatest sources of blessing in my life -- 2011 notwithstanding.

Also this year, it really stood out that our family got to visit some amazing places: Belgium, France, England, Greece... and of course various places in the Netherlands and the United States as well. I've been privileged to travel quite a bit throughout my lifetime, but this year was exceptional. There are wonderful memories from each of these places -- walking among the ruins of ancient Philippi, losing and then regaining a backpack in Brussels, walking along the sheer whit cliffs of Etretat, walking through London's Hyde Park with the autumn leaves falling around us -- but perhaps my favorite traveling experience of the year was my personal retreat at the Benedictusberg in the beautiful hills of Limburg. For many years to come, I think, 2011 will remain in my ind as a year of memorable travels.

2011 also happened to be  the year that my paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Asp, passed away in July. She was a very special woman, who left behind a rich legacy both in word and in deed. Her Memoires of a Minnesota Pastor's Wife remain one of the best books that I've read in 2011 (and I have to say that I read a lot of good books this year!). I now have one surviving grandparent, in North Dakota, and I hope that I might get to see hm again in 2012. Their generation is a particularly special generation, having lived through the Great Depression, the Second World War, and many other significant events in America's "Golden Age." I feel the heaviness of history more directly on my shoulders as they gradually pass.

Also in 2011, I noticed that I spent a lot of time thinking about church, both in general (as in "The Church Universal") and in regards to the specific body of believers whom I serve as pastor. It was actually a really refreshing year for these kinds of considerations. In retrospect, I can see that 2010 was a really dark and difficult year for me, ministry-wise (dealing with the departure of my beloved co-pastor, taking on more ministry responsibilities that were outside my areas of natural gifting and experience, nearly burning out in the process); but 2011 was a kind of spiritual reawakening for me. It wasn't a perfect year of ministry, by any means, but I felt God's nearness through it all. By God's grace, I can take satisfaction in the last year of ministry.

So those were some of the main themes and trends from 2011... A good year, in many ways. I'm sure there are plenty of new adventures for the year ahead -- but I will walk that road by faith.

Our family has experienced a lot of wonderful things this Christmas season: magnificent meals, treasured traditions, generous gifts, and meaningful moments. But I think today may have been the best day of the whole season.

It was the best because we did the least.

We slept in a bit. We ate nothing but leftovers for our meals. We lounged around the house, playing with toys, reading books, and watching movies. We never took a single step across the threshhold of our front door. We never even changed out of our pajamas. It was beautiful... while it lasted.

Northern European winters help me to understand the faith of the Pagans and Druids and Celts: a theology integrally connected with the natural world around them... a call to worship marked by the rising and setting of the sun... solstices serving as high holy days because of their significance in the beginning of a new cycle that would bring them closer or further away from that most precious of all commodities in northern Europe: the sun. In all my seasons of living in Amsterdam, not a year has gone by when I have failed to notice the occurence of the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year. It's really remarkable to notice the effect of sunlight on our souls.

Today in Amsterdam, the sun rose at 8:48 this morning. It will set again at 4:29 in the afternoon. That's just 7 hours and 41 minutes of sunlight (if the overcast conditions can be called as such), and 16 hours and 19 minutes of darkness. It's a dark, dark world on days like this.

But the beautiful thing that we can remember at the time of the winter solstice is that the sunlight is coming back! And in fact, the light has already come! The Gospel of John records an occasion when Jesus exclaimed, "I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life." The Pagans and Druids and Celts didn't initially have the benefit of the Gospel, but we do. The Light has already come... and the Light is coming back again! It may have been a long, long time since the glory days of the summer solstice, when the Light was most obvious and evident... but bit by bit, the Light is making a comeback -- and someday, we will once again experience the summer sun in its full glory.

When I experience the winter solstice in northern Europe and I read the Gospel of John, the imagery is astonishing. It connects on an entirely different level. "In the beginning the Word already existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through him, and nothing was created except through him. The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it. God sent a man, John the Baptist, to tell about the light so that everyone might believe because of his testimony. John himself was not the light; he was simply a witness to tell about the light. The one who is the true light, who gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He came into the very world he created, but the world didn’t recognize him. He came to his own people, and even they rejected him. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. They are reborn -- not with a physical birth resulting from human passion or plan, but a birth that comes from God. So the Word became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness. And we have seen his glory, the glory of the Father’s one and only Son. John testified about him when he shouted to the crowds, 'This is the one I was talking about when I said, ‘Someone is coming after me who is far greater than I am, for he existed long before me.’' From his abundance we have all received one gracious blessing after another. For the law was given through Moses, but God’s unfailing love and faithfulness came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. But the unique One, who is himself God, is near to the Father’s heart. He has revealed God to us."

A few weeks ago, I had a really bad bike day. It involved three separate tire punctures (on two separate bicycles)... a broken and mangled spoke on one of the wheels... and at least four separate instances of the chain falling off one of the bicycles (with each instance requiring several minutes of messy fingerwork to get things back on track). Quite a bit of my time was wasted, the skin on my hands was stained and chapped from the conditions, and the repairs cost me all the cash I had in my wallet. It was a very bad bike day.

Two tire punctures and three chain disengagements into the day, I had a brief emotional breakdown. After ten or fifteen minutes of futility in trying to get the chain back on the bike that still had two properly-inflated tires, I cried out to myself: "These stupid chains are the bane of my existence!"

But then, just after the words escaped my lips, I had to smile and laugh at myself. I realized that if stubbornly-disengaged bicycle chains were the bane of my existence... well, then my existence was probably not all that bad. I still had my health, to walk instead of to ride the bike. I still had a bunch of bicycle parts that did work in spite of the difficulties. And I had enough money in my wallet to cover all the repair costs. Ironically, a feeling of gratitude washed over me as I considered this "bane of my existence."

Today, I've had a similar experience. Our central heating unit sprung a leak very suddenly and unexpectedly, and when the technician came to take a look at it we received the dreaded news that the entire unit would need to be replaced. An expedited order for a new CV ketel was placed immediately, but in the meantime we have to go about 24 hours without any heat or hot water. That's twenty-four hours in one of the the coldest, darkest weeks of the year. And to get everything back on-line, it's going to put a serious crunch on our bank account...

Not exactly the tidings of comfort and joy that we like to consider at this time of the year.

But with the lesson of the stubbornly-disengaged bicycle chain still relatively fresh in my mind, I've been able to count my blessings today. If a cold house and a depleted bank account are the banes of my existence... well, then my existence is really not all that bad. In spite of the mess and money, we still have a home that shelters us from the wind and rain outside. We have plenty of blankets and extra clothing to pile on for the night. We have an extra space-heater that we were able to borrow from friends. We have the financial means to arrange for the necessary repairs. And really, no matter how uncomfortable things might get tonight, it looks like it's all of a 24-hour "ordeal" -- absolutely nothing compared to what so many people around the world have to deal with on a daily basis. We have so much for which we can be thankful. Even when the things around us are bad, God is good.

How does one place a sound that seems somewhere between a New York coffee-house open-podium, a New Orleans jazz lounge, and some Country-Western bar out in rural Wyoming? Triangulating the coordinates on a map, it makes sense that the result is the Cincinnati-based musical stylings of Over the Rhine. But really, one has to hear their music to appreciate it.

My lovely wife just got me their Christmas album, "Snow Angels," and I've been enjoying it immensely ever since my first listen. Somehow Over the Rhine manages to maintain their unique indy-jazz-country sound -- and still find a way to give it a subtle peppermint flavor for Christmas. Most of the songs on the album are original (Sorry: no frivolous renditions of "Frosty the Snowman"), but they fit with the holiday season because of their lyrics and their instrumentation, which carry a reminder of the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

One thing that I especially appreciate about Over the Rhine is their lyrical content, both on "Snow Angels" and on their other projects. From everything I've heard, I gather that the husband-and-wife core of the band are sincere followers of Jesus -- which definitely does come out in their music -- but they're also not afraid to write about wine and sex and scenery. It's a refreshing take on Christian spirituality.

And of course, Over the Rhine is great because they're from Ohio: the seat of all satisfaction. :-) Nevermind the fact that I was introduced to their music by people from Texas, Missouri, Colorado, and Holland -- Over the Rhine's essential Ohioness has got to count for something special, doesn't it? In any event, I enjoy their music -- and especially their Christmas album.

Wearing one of his mother's winter-strength headbands and his brother's hand-me-down basketball jersey, Cor flashed back and forth across the gymnasium with a smile as wide as a three-point arc. Mimicking his brother, even as his brother mimicked his (their) basketball hero, this "Little LeBron" was joy personified.

Joy is contagious. The other boys in the gym picked up on the joy and reflected it back to this boy who was significantly younger and smaller than the rest of them. The other parents watched the children chasing each other and laughing hysterically, and they absorbed and amplified the joy too. As I watched the joy and smiles spread across the oversized room, my joy and my smile became the biggest of all.

Four-year-olds can be a challenge. My Cor has a hard time sitting still for longer than 45 seconds. He makes messes in his room like a tornado on the Great Plains. He whizzes all over the inside of the toilet, the outside of the toilet, the floors next to the toilet, the walls next to the toilet, the pants around his ankles in front of the toilet... He is unashamedly self-centered when it comes to holiday gift-giving (or, from his point of view, "gift-receiving"). His emotions are untamed, like a wolverine. And at times, these less-than-ideal aspects of living with a four-year-old can overshadow everything else.

Then along comes a "Little LeBron" sort of moment, and all of the challenges are put in perspective. I love his funny faces and ferocious hugs. I love his ridiculous outfits. And even in the face of his four-year-old foibles, I love the heartfelt hangdog apologies for his "askidents."

I love my four-year-old.

Sometimes Dutch medical terminology can be comically literal.

The Dutch terms for "concussion" and "testicles" are particularly amusing to me. Literally: "brain-shake" (hersenschudding) and "seed-balls" (zaadballen). Is that funny to anyone else? I'm curious to know if there are any other good ones that I might be forgetting...

According to Google, I am considered one of the world's foremost experts on precipitation terminology. Nevermind the fact that I don't have a background in meteorology or linguistics. I posted something here on my website a couple of years back, entitled "Eleven Words for Rain," and that apparently qualifies me as an expert. Seriously, for whatever reason, this has become one of the more well-worn paths from Google to my website -- precipitation terminology seekers... and appeltaart afficionados!

Anyway, despite my apparent expertise in the field, I really don't know what to make of the precipitation that's been falling from Amsterdam's skies over the last two days.

One might be inclined to call it hail... but then again, it's too small, not round enough, and too regular to really classify as hail in my mind.

One might be inclined to call it snow... but then again, it's too hard and too heavy for snow. I certainly don't feel like we're having our first snowfall of the year these days.

Another option would be to call it sleet or freezing rain... but it actually seems like an inverted version of sleet to me. The stuff that we're getting these days is solid in the air and immediately upon impact, but then it quickly melts into nothingness -- unlike sleet which comes down more liquid and then turns to ice once it's on the ground.

So what's the best word for the stuff we've been getting lately? Is there a Dutch word for it that I might not know about? Is there an English word, outside of the generic Weather-Channelish "wintry mix?" Whatever it is, I have to confess that it's not my favorite type of precipitation. But in any event, it makes it feel like we're legitimately in the holiday season. And as long as I can stay inside and sip hot buttered rum in the evenings, I think everything will turn out just fine.

I just saw this on 22 words and totally resonated with the sentiment.

I thought about trying to create a "Looks Like... Feels Like..." parallel for bicycling in the Amsterdam rain, since we're finally getting our November weather here in December. My version probably would have been a pretty tame view from my bike's handlebars in a steady, gray rain -- contrasted with a view from underneath the Niagra Falls... But honestly, I was too lazy to put it together, too comfortable here inside with my computer and my slippers. So I didn't do it. Don't you know what that weather feels like out there?!? :-)