I'm sitting in the airport, waiting for the plane that will take me to Minnesota, to Grandma's funeral.

Even as I was writing out my thoughts and prayers yesterday, considering the more ominous signs of Grandma's life slipping away, it turns out that she was breathing her last breaths. Early in the Minnesota morning, the first morning in July 2011, Elizabeth (Betty) Asp "went to her reward."

I've been thinking a lot about that phrase over the last 24 hours or so: My Grandma, gone to her reward. It's kind of an old-fashioned euphemism for death, something that I assocoate with old Baptist clergymen preaching in a little, white-sided, sharp-steepled church-house, planted out among the waving grasses of the North American prairies. But then again, that's not so far off from the life that my Grandma Asp actually lived. Up until yesterday, when she went to her reward. One of the items that I made sure to pack, as I was scrambling to prepare for a last-minute booking to America, was the self-published memoires of my Grandma's life. Now, when I say "self-published," I mean a three-ring binder filled with plastic sleeves containing print-outs from the senior citizens apartment complex community computer. It's totally hand-made, totally unpretentious... totally Grandma. She's filled out the binder gradually, over the last couple of Christmases, and I find myself absolutely spellbound by the stories from decades and decades of being a "missionary" (Grandma enjoyed using that term, only half tongue-in-cheek) to the Swedes and Norwegians of central Minnesota. She and my Grandpa worked in little churches in little places with names like Clotho and Kerkhoven and Lake Crystal. But their impact was big. It wasn't the kind of thing that would garner national headlines -- a church building project there, a few folks baptized there -- but looking at their overall "body of work," including post-retirement ministry and family involvement, it really is quite impressive to see the way that they lived their lives.

Both of my grandparents understood, appreciated, and lived by, the grace of God, which means they would be the first to admit that no one "earns" their way to Heaven by doing good things or being nice people; still, it somehow feels appropriate to say that their promotion to Heaven is "going to their reward." It feels deeply satisfying and gives great peace to know that Grandma and Grandpa are now both together in God's presence. Rewarded indeed.

A few weeks ago, someone sent me a link to an article sharing how absurd and idiotic it is for a person to put two spaces between type-written sentences.  << two spaces >> Apparently, it's just one of those things that someone should never, ever, ever do. << two spaces >> And then again this week, my attention was drawn to a separate article that listed the double-space between sentences as the number one sin in typography! << two spaces >> I guess it's pretty serious business that typographers are pretty serious about.

But I just don't know what to do about this information. << two spaces >> I vaguely remember having heard this debate previously -- and I'm willing to intellectually assent to the preference of today's professionals. << two spaces >> However, the larger, more consistent, more thoroughly-ingrained voice in this conversation for me is the voice of Mr. Hardesty (who we'd sometimes call Mr. Hard 'n Nasty, even though he was actually a very sweet guy). << two spaces >> He was my high school typing instructor. <<two spaces >> And because I grew up in the era when high school typing classes were conducted on electric typewriters, which had monospaced type, I was deliberately and repeatedly instructed to put two spaces between sentences. << two spaces >> And if I didn't put two spaces between sentences, my grade was docked for it. << two spaces >> So I learned the lesson early, and I learned it well. << two spaces >> And, well, you know how it is. << two spaces >> Old habits die, well, hard and nasty.

I suppose I'm going to ultimately have to break this habit if I'm ever going to be a serious writer. << two spaces >> Still, there's a part of me that can't help but wish that I could maintain this little generational tic of mine. << two spaces >> Something about it seems outdated to the point of being endearing: like the old (1985) Chevette that I drove around into the first couple years of the 21st Century... or like a turntable that plays vinyl records... or like my grandparents' fondness for the King James Version of the Bible. << two spaces >> A part of me likes the idea that these things tie me to a fixed point in the flow of history. << two spaces >> And until I can figure out some way to break the old habits drilled into me by Mr. Hard 'n Nasty, I'm just going to claim that I'm doing it to be retro and true to my generation.

I've recently been reading a series of books by Frederick Buechner, all about a fictional itinerant-evangelist named Leo Bebb.  It's got some really beautiful, insightful stuff, and some really funny stuff.  Today, I especially enjoyed the description of how Bebb filled out his tax form for the IRS:

"He's filled out his tax form this year like he wasn't filling it out for himself but he was filling it out for Jesus.  Right down the line, that's how he's done it.  Like where it says put down your first name, he's put down the first name Jesus, and where it says last name, he's put down, 'I am the first and the last, says the Lord'...  The place where it says wages, he's put down 'The wages of sin is death.'  He's filled out that whole thing with words out of Scripture like it was Jesus filling it out, 'Render unto Caesar' and all that stuff.  He says all his income, it's going out for Jesus, so why not send it in like it was Jesus's income."

The whole thing is very tongue-in-cheek -- so it may be hard to fully appreciate the quote unless you're reading the book.  But I thought it was amusing, especially in this season of preparing to file for taxes.  How do you think the IRS would respond if I did the same thing with my taxes this year?

I just learned that Richard Winters died yesterday.

I never knew the man, and I can't even say that I know that much about him.  Nevertheless, I've been inspired by his example of leadership, service, and integrity; and it seems appropriate to recognize his passing.

For those of you who are not familiar with Richard Winters, he is most well known for his role as the commanding officer of Company E, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, from D-Day to V-E Day.  I learned about his story through the book, Band of Brothers, by Stephen Ambrose and through the mini-series of the same title, directed by Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg.

I remember sitting among the rafters of the old attic-space on the Leidsekade, just weeks into our family's transition from Ohio to Holland, eating burnt microwave popcorn and watching the Band of Brothers DVDs with a group of men from our church planting team.  We identified strongly with with men of Easy Company, as we struggled through the early days of establishing a meaningful ministry presence in Europe.  And that identification only grew stronger for me as the years wore on and that group of men dwindled.  One year, my home group got me a box set of the DVDs for my birthday -- and it's still a proud part of our family's film collection.  I still watch the series once a year, probably, and I'm definitely planning to watch it again this year (as it's looking likely that our family will be taking a trip to Normandy this upcoming summer).

At any rate, I always respected the role that Richard Winters played in the story of Easy Company.  He was a humble guy, with a strong sense of integrity.  He knew what it was like to fight in the trenches, but he also knew how to play strategic roles in command.  He knew how to speak with confidence, and yet without arrogance.  I aspire to his example of leadership, and I aspire to his example of humanity.

I hope and pray that Richard Winters may now rest in peace.

Amsterdam got socked by a pretty significant snowstorm yesterday:  maybe about six inches / 15 centimeters -- all in the space of about four or five hours.  It was pretty intense.  And pretty awesome.  The city looks beautiful under all of the heavy snow.  It really completes the Christmas effect.  The only problem with the snowstorm is the implications for transportation.  While the snow storm was raging yesterday, automotive traffic slowed considerably, and much of the public transportation system was shut down for awhile.

My preferred mode of transportation, even in the midst of a snow storm, is bicycle.  With a bicycle, you don't have to deal with the crowds and unpredictable time tables.  But you do have to deal with a lot of snow on the bike paths.  I was fish-tailing all over the place while I rode throughout Amsterdam and Amstelveen --

probably about two hours of total bicycling -- but believe it or not, I didn't crash even once.  I was plenty tired by the time I was done with my traveling.  But it was actually kind of fun, too.  When I stopped at the end of one bicycle ride, I noticed that I had about an inch-and-a-half  / 3 centimeters of snow caked on the brim of my cap and on the inside of my coat's hood.  Like I said, it was pretty awesome.

By the time I got home from my romp through the snowy streets of Amsterdam, it was time to get ready for our school's Kerst Diner.  The kids were all dolled up in special holiday clothes -- but because of the snow, we had all the kids wear their rubber boots to get from home to the school.  It made for an intriguing picture before we left, at any rate. :-)

The Kerst Diner (Christmas Dinner) is an interesting Dutch school tradition that has no real parallel with American holiday celebrations, but our family has really come to enjoy the annual event.

Basically, the idea is that all the kids and teachers get dressed up and then meet up in their classrooms at night-time, after the sun has gone down (which gives the school a very different feel from what everyone is used to).  All of the rooms are lit only by strands of Christmas lights.  And when the kids assemble in their rooms, they share in a dinner.  Some years this dinner is potluck; some years it's provided by the school.  Regardless of the way that the dinner is organized, the idea is for everyone to enjoy a special formal dinner together.

While the kids all enjoy eating in their classrooms, the adults gather in the main lobby of the school and hang out in a party atmosphere, munching on cookies and drinking hot chocolate and glühwein (spiced, hot wine).  This makes the whole event fun for parents as well as for the kids, since we can all get a chance to mingle and get to know each other to an extent that we're not usually afforded during the daily shuffle to ferry kids to and from school.

After an hour of everyone enjoying the gezellige party atmosphere, everyone assembles out on the school playground, where roaring fires have been kindled for everyone to enjoy.  Standing around the fires, everyone sings a few Christmas songs, and then the party breaks up with everyone wishing each other a pleasant school-vacation, a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

And so the Christmas vacation begins.