Happy Birthday, Treaker!

Did you know that you're the only kid in our family who actually invented his own nickname (and a reciprocal nickname, at that!)?  It seems to me that this says something about you... With your brother and sister, it was just random, silly trial-and-error:  "Can I call you Floogy Scrooter?" or "Can I call you the Mishawaka Matador?"  And only after several silly attempts over the course of several years -- only after so many suggestions had been denied without any alternatives offered -- were we able to settle on Charlie Bogantz and My Little Chippy Chuppy.  But with you, Cor, it was so different!  You were still just learning to talk when I asked if I could call you some totally nonsensical name, and you immediately said no.  But when I asked my standard follow-up question -- "Well, what should I call you, then?" -- you didn't just shrug it off or state your birth-certificate name.  Instead, you confidently replied, "Treaker."  And when I went into your room to wake you up the following morning, you greeted me from your crib by saying, "Hello, Treaker!"  And in that moment, I knew that we had discovered the perfect nickname for you, and indeed for each other.

So at any rate, from one Treaker to the other, I wish you a very Happy Birthday!

You've really come into your own, over the course of the last year -- your third year of life.  It's not just dictating your own terms for nicknames, either.  In all different kinds of ways, you've learned to assert yourself as the wonderful person you are.  I can imagine that it's something of a survival skill for a third-born kid like you.  You tend to push back, when you get jostled around.  You tend to yell out-loud, when someone tries to pull something over on you.  And you tend to hold your opinions, even in the face of the most persuasive arguments.  You're your own person.  You're not just a little kid.  You're not just "Elliot's brother" or "Olivia's brother."  You're not just some little blond kid in the crowd.  You're Cor William Asp, and you stand on your own two feet.  You're strong and tough, even though you're still small in stature.  And I respect that about you.  I appreciate that about you.

But I will say that you need to be careful with such strength, Cor.  Use it wisely!  As time goes on, you'll see that you can use such strength and toughness to push others away and distance yourself, or to throw yourself headlong into the thick of things -- to become an embracer and wrestler and protector of others.  You can use it for your own glory or for the glory of God.  You can use it for folly or for wisdom.  Your mother and I are doing our best to teach you the ways of wisdom, so please listen well!  Like wise King Solomon instructed his little boy:  "Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you" (Proverbs 2:11)... "Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil" (Proverbs 3:7)... "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight" (Proverbs 3:5-6).  I know that I'm slipping into preacher-mode here, a little bit, but I'm just saying:  I recognize great power in you, Cor -- even at the tender age of three -- but I also recognize a great need for guidance in the application of such power.  I've been reading and meditating on the Proverbs a lot this year, usually just before that beautiful moment (one of my favorite moments of the day!) when I come into your room to wake you up in the morning; and it's occurred to me on multiple occasions that the Proverbs have a lot to offer you, Cor, as you grow older and stronger.  I pray that, in time, you will adapt the wisdom of the Proverbs as your own -- adding your strength to it and channeling it well.

But enough of this seriousness!  This is your birthday, and a time for celebration!  We need to play some Michael Jackson songs -- maybe "Beat It" or "The Way You Make Me Feel" -- and let you show us how to feel the music and enjoy the moment.  You're a fun kid, Cor.  Wherever you go, there seems to be laughter and music and dancing.  You bring such passion and conviction to your music -- whether it's on the computer, playing your guitar on the brown chair, or belting out the theme to the Muppet Show from your crib after you've been put in bed for the night.  Your joy gives us joy, and I'm glad to say that there seems to be a lot of that to go around these days.

I love you, Cor!  I love you more than words could ever say.  I'm proud to have you as my boy -- and it's abundantly clear that Olivia, Elliot, and Mommy feel the same way.  Thank you for being my Treaker-Boy.  I hope you know that I am and will forever be...

Lovingly,

Your Treaker-Daddy

When I remember my Grandma Liechty, I remember her sweetness.  Just like her cinnamon rolls, Grandma was all warmth and comfort, cinnamon and sugar.  She was always smiling and chuckling and sharing amusing anecdotes in her distinct North Dakoootan lilt:  "Well, ya knooow, I remember when you were a little boy, and yer mom was just gettin' ready to have another little one..." and then she'd go on to recount -- with great fondness and happy reminiscence -- how I impishly used magic markers to create a new pattern on the living room couch or something like that.  So many of her stories were about little children and animals.  That says something about her, too, doesn't it?  Children and animals and my Grandma Liechty are some of the purest expressions of innocence and sweetness that we may ever know.  I honestly cannot recall a single occasion in which my Grandma demonstrated anger beyond a momentary shaking of her head and indistinct muttering of "Oh fer gooodness."  And even then, she did not dwell on these unpleasant things for any longer than a moment.  But here's what's really amazing:  that's actually how she viewed the world!  I lived with Grandma and Grandpa for a whole summer in Jamestown, and I witnessed first-hand the sincerity of her sweetness.  It was not an act, put on for others.  It was not a way of manipulating others.  It was just her way.  It was her sweet character.

When I remember my Grandma Liechty, I remember her unflappability.  It's an awkward, old-fashioned word -- but I really do think it's the best one to describe this aspect of my Grandma's personality.  Her cinnamon-roll sweetness was remarkable enough -- but to realize how consistent, how unswerving, how perpetual her sweetness actually was (along with all other manner of goodness that was wrapped up in my grandmother).  Her emotional presence brought the joy and enthusiasm of a sporty, black Plymouth Laser (with electronic displays and vocal commands, just like the car from "Knight Rider"); though she also carried the calmness and steadiness of a broad, burgundy Oldsmobile 88.  It seemed like nothing could phase my Grandma!  She was completely unflappable.  I should know:  because I got to witness her response to 373 miles' worth of driving with a back-seat full of pre-adolescent boys who spent the entire time cracking themselves up with stupid jokes, making up their own Latino-themed Christmas songs, singing those Latino-themed Christmas songs repeatedly, and otherwise antagonizing her (and Grandpa) all the way from Phoenix to Los Angeles.  Yes, believe it or not, even in those most desperate of circumstances, Grandma remained pleasant, positive, and even complimentary (she thought our Latino-themed Christmas songs were, and here I quote, "wonderful")!  Now seriously:  if that's not unflappability, I don't know what is.

When I remember my Grandma Liechty, I remember her faithfulness.  Through all her years, she was true to her family, to her husband, and to her God in a way that seems almost mythological in our day and age.  Grandma lived according to the promises she had made, the relationships she had nurtured, and the convictions she had developed in her heart.  And yet her faithfulness even extended to the unfamiliar, the uncomfortable, the unembraced.  As far as I could tell, Grandma simply chose to believe the best about other people and extend the benefit of the doubt -- however small that doubt might be.  She spoke in loving terms of others, even when the rest of the people in the room might be inclined towards gossip or unkind words.  These are the circumstances in which faith is tested and proved pure -- when no one else would have needed to know -- and Grandma had this kind of faithfulness and integrity in abundance.

I love the memory of my Granmda Liechty.  I think I will always remember her sweetness, her unflappability, and her faithfulness.  Yet even more than remembering these things about my Grandma, I hope to emulate them, and encourage my children to emulate them -- for generation upon generation, so that the memory of Grandma will never fade.  So help me God...

The first spring in which I was living in Amsterdam, I totally missed the time change (because I had not yet realized that it was different from the American time change, which happened at a different time).  I was on my way to a soccer game at the Museumplein when my friend Steve called me and asked why I hadn't shown up to play soccer like I promised I would.  The tardiness turned out to be of no great consequence; still it was kind of embarrassing.  Steve mocked me mercilessly for the next several weeks.

In subsequent years, my friend Todd showed up late to church -- on weeks in which he was scheduled to preach -- not once, but on two separate occasions!  On each of the occasions, we were able to scramble up a plan to cover for his tardiness so that it turned out to be of no great consequence; still it was kind of awkward.  I mocked him mercilessly for years afterwards, whenever there was another switch to "summer time."

So as a public service to all of my European-based readers, I just want to make sure that you realize that I'm not telling these stories purely for the sake of amusement.  This weekend is the weekend in which the clocks are set ahead one hour.  If you're reading this, then, and you haven't set your clocks forward -- now might be a good time for you to do that! If you miss it, it probably will turn out to be of no great consequence; still it might become a bit awkward or embarrassing for you if you're "that guy" who forgets.  There's always somebody, every year.  But maybe this year it doesn't have to be you. :-)

You're welcome.

Yesterday we received a belated Valentine's Day card in the mail, from my grandparents in North Dakota.  The handwriting on the envelope suggested that maybe one of their in-home care providers had assisted them in getting the card out in the mail -- as they're now in their late 80s -- but it was special to get a little tangible reminder of their love, in the form of that Valentine's Day card.

But even more than the card, I enjoyed the picture that they sent along with the card:  an image from a recent summer, in which my grandparents are sitting on a grassy lawn together, eating corn-dogs and drinking soft drinks bought from the midway of the county fair.  To me, it's such an iconic image of my grandparents, of the American Midwest, and of enduring love.  Every time I look at the picture, I can't help but smile.

So of course, I thought I would share it (see above).

Four score and seven years ago our fathers family brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation household...

It was exactly seven years ago that our family moved from Ohio to Amsterdam.  It feels like a very long time -- considering how these years represent over 20% of my life, approximately 60% of my marriage, and nearly 100% of my children's lives... But it also feels like a very short time -- considering how much life and ministry has been packed into the time period.

It can be sobering to consider all of the people, all of the prayers, and all of the sacrifices that have been put into this "Amsterdam Project," through the years.  The words of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address (quoted/adapted above) seem remarkably appropriate, considering all this context.  This day of remembrance feels somehow heavy, solemn, and yet simultaneously beautiful and profound.  So today we are remembering.  Reflecting.  And most important, Realizing.