The Multi-Vine
Both feet planted firmly on the ground, I was only too happy to take pictures. But, please don’t ask me if I’d like to try it.
One student after another donned helmets and harnesses to face the Multi-Vine at camp last week. With safety checks complete, they’d climb the ladder and then lay hold of the grips that have been inserted into the tall pine tree to make their way up, up, up to the challenge. A thin cable stretched from one tree to another, some 40 feet away, at a height of 40 feet in the air. Overhead, just out of reach, was a similar cable… from this one dangled lengths of rope at intervals. These sections of rope were the only means campers had to convey themselves from one tree — across the cable — to the other.
In a word
This week I’m away speaking at a high school camp. Three hundred students gathered to seek God through play, worship, study and fellowship. It’s awesome.
During one worship session, the students were invited to write down those things for which they are thankful on a shared canvas. This one moved me deeply. Does it you?
We’ll resume our “scheduled programming” next week. Thanks for reading along.
Rhythms
Summer vacation: excitement or dread?
Water Gun Fun. Copyright Holmberg 2009. All Rights Reserved.
School’s out in our neck o’ the woods. That means my carefully crafted schedule has been turned on its ear. No more neatly slated, color-coded Outlook appointments. Gone are the large chunks of time allotted for writing… something I apparently can only accomplish in blocks that exceed 120 minutes.
For many parents, the summer is a mixed bag, a combination of relief from monitoring homework coupled with a disdain for the unstructured time that seems to drive our kids to a screen or the pantry. Read More
Grace Day
It comes every year on May 30th.
My husband’s birthday. I usually plan months in advance, thinking of ways to surprise and bless him, to honor him on the day of his birth. I look forward to celebrating, eager to shower him with affection and anxious for him to unwrap his gifts.
Birthday cake made from favorite candy and toilet paper rolls -- a nod to a marriage-long inside joke.
But he doesn’t share my enthusiasm. For almost as long as we’ve been married, I observe a reluctance to mark the occasion. A cloud-like malaise and general agitation sets in at least a week before his birthday and lingers for days afterwards. It doesn’t seem to correlate specifically with the number of his years; I noted this pattern before he even hit 30.
Instead, it seems to have everything to do with achievement. The passage of another year seems to be an implicit yardstick for how much he has accomplished in his lifetime. Each May 30th measures out not just the number of days and years that have elapsed but rather how much he believes he should have done by now. Read More
The Race
She had one goal.
After the first meet of the season, my daughter had just one goal: to run the 1600M in less than six minutes. Despite her diligent efforts in practice and pushing herself at meets, the closest she got was 6:00.34. Those fractions of a second (!) were frustrating to her but the time still qualified for the middle school district meet.
The runners lined up for the race, tense and leaning in. I knew the girls on either side of my gal were also the top competitors from their respective schools. Gunsmoke signaled the last race of the season was underway. As the pack thinned and the girls found their own rhythms, I watched my daughter settle into her stride, praying silently that she’d reach her goal in the coming minutes. Read More
His Alone
Two sports. Same season. Vastly different results.
My daughter has been playing basketball in a non-school league, as mentioned in On the Court: Part I and Part II. During exactly the same timeframe, she’s also been competing on her school’s track team. In terms of success, the two experiences have been diametrically different.
In track, she’s been her team’s lead female runner in the 1600M, earning the highest place for the school in each meet even if she didn’t win. On the basketball court, however, her team has suffered excruciating losses, logging 30 and 50 point deficits with nary a win for the entire season. Read More
Falling Fresh
She seemed glazed and disconnected.
As I sat on the edge of her bed, my daughter expressed a lack of desire to spend time in Sunday school, youth group and even small group. Her complaint: boredom.
The same stories.
The same lessons.
The same characters.
Yawn.
She’s right. We read the same passages over and over again. Paul starts to sound like that friend from high school who insists on recounting his adolescent antics at every reunion. The mere mention of Mary and Martha’s disagreement makes me want to go clean my refrigerator. We must have heard the account of Jesus feeding the 5000 once for every person He fed that day. Read More
In the dark. But never alone.
The night must have seemed exceptionally dark.
In Genesis 32, we find Jacob fleeing his uncle Laban and returning to his homeland to face the brother he’d deceived many years prior. He was fearful of this fated reunion, dividing his family and property into groups to prevent losing them all if Esau attacked (Genesis 32:7, 8).
The night before the two shall meet, Jacob separates himself from his family. In the dark of the night he wrestles with a man — who turns out to be God in an angelic, physical body — until the break of day. Jacob’s dark and sleepless night probed my heart this week, exposing the faulty way I’m prone to view my struggles: Read More
On the Court: Part II
The faith illustration didn’t stop there for me, however.
The coach’s instruction, audible to those listening intently, was one simple word: “Doubles.” The girls immediately shifted their defensive strategy and double-teamed their tall, ball-carrying opponent.
We’re not meant to go through life alone.
Especially when facing challenges or a powerful adversary. God calls us to a strategy of ‘doubles.’ Read More
On the Court: Part I
My daughter plays basketball.
That, in and of itself, is a pure wonder to me since I still duck and/or scream when a ball is thrown in my general direction. (Go ahead, mock me.) I take delight in watching her play with her team the same way I reveled in her first steps as a toddler: it thrills me.
Being in the gym during a game is, however, an assault on my senses. It’s crowded. Cracked plastic bleachers force me to constantly shift in my seat. The visual stimulus of a rapidly-moving game keeps my eyes darting up and down the court. But it’s the sound that really overwhelms me. Read More
