Category: Life

Posted in Life, memories

What are you going to do with all those journals?

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Just a few of many journals I’ve filled up.

I began journaling in earnest in 1989. When I started, I used 8-1/2 by 11 inch spiral notebooks. I filled up approximately four per year. In 2010 I started journaling in 5×8 inch hardcover journals. I’ve used all kinds of different ones from Moleskins to Leuchtturm 1917 to my current favorite EMSHOI with 120 gram paper that was a great deal ($11.95) on Amazon. I’ve written on blank pages, dotted pages, and currently use lined journals.

What do I write about? I start by writing about the scripture I’ve read that day, draw a picture illustrating something in that passage, summarize what I did yesterday, what I need to do today, and then come up with ten ideas I could write about. I jot down books I want to read and projects to work on. In the back I have a prayer list. It’s easy to fill up two or three pages a day. A typical journal will last me three months.

So let’s do the math. Four journals a year for thirty four years totals 136 journals. I had them all in two big boxes, prompting the question, “What are you going to do with those?”

That’s a very good question. I doubt that anyone is going to sit down and read these. My handwriting is such that I don’t know if anyone could. I have been sifting through them to put together a timeline of important events in our lives. Without them, I would have forgotten many places we’ve gone and things we’ve done. So I’m not just going to toss them.

Before I retired, I used the duplicator in the church office to scan the pages from the spiral bound notebooks. Once I cut out the metal spiral, I could feed the whole stack into the machine, which would email a file to me of all the pages. That took care of about fifty of them.

It’s not so easy to take apart a bound volume though. So one book at a time, I’ve been taking a photo of each page, uploading the group to my Amazon photos, where I can gather them into an album. It’s tedious work. But I am making progress.

Journals and letters from hundreds of years ago have helped historians write books about the past. Who knows? Maybe my notes and doodles and lists will be needed for a historical record someday.

Posted in Life, worship

Extravagance: Jesus anointed in Bethany

Posted on by William Douthwaite

In the men’s bible class I attended last night, we worked through Mark 14 and in to part of chapter 15. I know, that’s way too much ground to cover in a night, so we couldn’t spend too much time on any one scene of Mark’s account of the passion of Christ.

We did spend a few minutes discussing the woman who anointed Jesus’ head with expensive perfume (Mark 14:3-9). This scene appears in all the gospels but with enough variation to say that Jesus was anointed three different times. Matthew’s account is almost the same as Mark’s. In Luke’s account (Luke 7:36-50), the woman pours perfume on Jesus’s feet and Jesus includes a parable about love and forgiveness. In John’s gospel (John 12:1-8), Jesus is at Lazarus’s house, the woman who pours the perfume on Jesus’s feet is Lazarus’s sister Mary.

Whether or not we harmonize the accounts, the reactions are the same. Jesus loves it and calls it a beautiful expression of faith. The disciples think it’s a waste of a precious resource. For us, it begs the question, “What place, if any, does extravagance have in our worship?”

The heading for these verses is “Jesus anointed…” This moment is not just a random act of kindness but a proclamation of who Jesus is. The label Messiah means “anointed one.” Who is anointed in the Old Testament? Kings, priests, and prophets. This jar of fragrant perfume is properly applied to Jesus, the king of kings, our great high priest, and the Word made flesh.

Jesus is also the promised anointed servant of God (Isaiah 61:1; Luke 4:18). This servant comes to suffer for his people, to die, and then be raised on the third day. The aroma filling the room proclaims that truth.

We Christians use a variety of labels to describe ourselves: followers, disciples, ambassadors, witnesses. No matter which one you choose, you know that it will cost you something. The time and resources we spend in worship, prayer, devotion, witness, and service is worth it, right?

But what if it becomes extravagant?

  • Jesus made a point of making sure his disciples noticed the woman who only put two small coins in the offering gave more than everyone else. She gave everything she had. Isn’t that extravagant?
  • A widow in Zarephath used everything she had, a handful of flour and a bit of oil, to make one last small cake for the prophet, herself, and her son. In that time of severe famine, isn’t that extravagant?
  • When a man assured Jesus he had kept every commandment necessary for life, Jesus told him to sell everything he had, give to the poor, and follow him. Isn’t that extravagant?
  • When the ark of the covenant returned to Israel, David danced with all his might (2 Samuel 6:14). He held nothing back that day, much to the dismay of his wife.
  • And if Jesus empties himself of his divinity, takes the form of a servant, and goes to the cross, couldn’t you say that he spent everything, his very life, on us? I would call that extravagant.

When Jesus’s disciples objected to the woman’s, it was because it could have been sold and the proceeds used to feed the poor. That’s a good point, but that’s not what the disciples did with their money. They had some money before Jesus fed the five thousand. They had a money bag that Judas stole from. They didn’t give it all away to help the poor or anyone else. Nice try, guys.

When you think about it, a lot of money has been spent feeding the hungry. And yet there are still hungry people. A lot of resources have been poured into the homeless, and there are still homeless. We’ve invested a lot of money into church buildings, and there are more unbelievers than ever. The economics of God’s kingdom aren’t simple, are they?

So I’m not going to pretend to have this all figured out. It’s one of those things we all have to figure out along the way. Extravagance looks a little different for each person, on any given day, in any number of circumstances. Plus, whatever looks extravagant to us is minuscule compared to what God gives.

Extravagance that feeds our own passions makes it hard to follow God. No one can serve two masters. Extravagance that expresses faith and love preaches a powerful message about Jesus. Extravagance can make us feel guilty, lull us into complacency, or tempt us to feel self-sufficient. It can also be worship, witness, and sacrificial love.

In a sense, the notion of extravagance goes away if your eyes are on Jesus. Whatever you do in word or deed won’t be too much or too little, but an expression of gratitude for his inexpressible (and extravagant) love for us.

Posted in Life

A place to live

Posted on by William Douthwaite

While walking the dogs on a drizzly Saturday afternoon, I had a conversation with a house-shopping couple from Canada who pulled up along side of us. They wondered if this neighborhood ever flooded. (It doesn’t.) They were also surprised at the cost of living here. I thought it was affordable, but with current prices, taxes, interest rates, and the exchange rate, it’s more expensive than it used to be.

As I walked away, I realized how blessed we were to have built our house nearly thirty years ago. I’m not sure we could afford to do it in today’s market.

After my wife and I got married, our first home was a one-bedroom, one-bathroom upstairs apartment on Spy Run in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, which we rented for $200 per month. The kitchen was five-foot by five-foot square, barely big enough for one person to stand. We only lived there for about four months, before packing up and moving to Baltimore for my vicarage (internship).

In Baltimore, the churches sponsoring us put us up in a three-story inner city row home. It was at the end of the row, so it had a little bit of a side yard between us and one of the churches we worked at. It was a run-down, falling-apart, and patched-together affair than probably should have been condemned. Living here for a year taught us we could live anywhere. No matter where in the world we went, from earthquake-shaken Haiti to remote villages in Kenya to single-wide trailers in rural Florida, we would say, “Well, it’s not as bad a Baltimore.”

After a year in the inner city, we moved back to Ft. Wayne for my last year of studies and rented a small house owned by a couple heading out for their internship. By the time previous owners had finished adding on a few rooms, there was a thousand feet of living space. (And it was better than Baltimore.) When the brutal winter weather hit, we discovered that the master bedroom, way in the back, had no ductwork for heat. It was chilly until we bought a kerosene heater.

After graduation from seminary, we moved to my first church in Coventry, Connecticut. There we lived in a parsonage, a two-story, five bedroom, 2-1/2 bath home on four acres next door to the church building. We moved in to the 2,700 square foot home with a bed, a crib, a table with two chairs, and maybe a dresser. We never did furnish the entire house the five years we lived there. I mowed the four acre yard, planted a big garden, split piles of logs for the wood burning stove, and let our two Labrador retrievers run freely.

The thing with living in a parsonage is that you don’t build up equity in the property. We didn’t make and didn’t save much in Connecticut, so when we moved to our second church in Iowa, we needed a lot of help finding a place to live. For the next five years I would be one of several pastors on staff at a well off church in Urbandale, a western suburb of Des Moines. We weren’t able to afford a home in that community, but found a small home in West Des Moines, not far away. The church gifted us with most of the downpayment on a 1,000 square foot, $65,000 house, the first we owned.

Five years later, we got the call to serve the church in Palm Coast, Florida. Our Iowa home sold easily, netting enough profit to buy our next home in the south. Rather than rushing into a purchase, we rented a home for the first six months. With three children, we wanted a four-bedroom home. There were few to choose from, so we decided to build. We never thought we’d be able to build a home. But building lots were going for $8,000, construction costs were $50 per square foot, and taxes were low, so we built a 2,000 square foot Palm Coast home for about $100,000.

In the years to come, we were able to refinance. We got into an adjustable rate mortgage that was tied to the prime interest rate during the years it was at zero percent. Our monthly payment and interest was actually lower than a car payment! Homestead laws meant our taxes barely inched up each year. Housing booms enabled us to refinance and remodel our home without increasing the mortgage payment. This was one of the ways God faithfully provided for us over the past forty years.

Having written that last sentence, we would do just fine if we were to start all over again.

Posted in Life

A fiery evening sky

Posted on by William Douthwaite

At certain times of the year, as the sun sets, it almost looks like the sky is on fire.

I usually have my phone in my pocket while I am driving. But on this occasion I placed it on the center console so I could plug it in to charge it. So when I turned onto this road and saw the fiery sky, I could quickly get a picture.

A photo can’t capture the palette of colors on the horizon. Who knew there could be so many oranges, reds, and yellows? If kept driving west, would I eventually reach a blazing fire lighting up the sky? Would I reach an active volcano, glowing with molten lava? Is someone smelting steel in a giant blast furnace off in the distance?

It’s a good thing I got the picture when I did. Those colors only last a moment. By the time I crossed the intersection, they had faded. The clouds had moved. The moment was gone forever, except in my mind and in my phone.

New crayons are essential at the beginning of an elementary school year. A box of twenty-four is all you really need. There’s a box of forty-eight that doubles down on all the different colors. But the best is the box of sixty-four. The assortment of oranges, yellows, and reds challenges all you thought you knew about color. Who knew that orange-red was different than red-orange? With hues like tangerine, pumpkin, and carrot in your hand, your sunset sky might look just like this one!

Posted in Life

Where are you going to go with that thing?

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It’s a gorgeous afternoon to sit outside at Starbucks waiting for Winston the Westie to be groomed. The entrance into this shopping center is always busy. And then this guy pulls in.

Yikes. I couldn’t help but ask out loud, “Where are you going to go with that thing?” It’s hard enough getting in and out with a compact car, never mind a pickup towing a forty-foot fifth wheel.

The parking lot is about 90% full. This guy isn’t going to find a place to pull over with a camper. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out of here at all. I’ll bet he had a few interesting comments once he saw what he had driven into.

I watched him as he turned left towards Hobby Lobby. Somehow he was able to loop around. He didn’t waste any time getting out of here. He knew it was a losing battle. No iHop or Jersey Mike for him today.

I had enough trouble maneuvering a trailer half that length through crowded gas stations and rest stops. I didn’t envy his task at all. I guess I just needed more practice.

Posted in church, Life

My own personal parking spot

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Gerrie van der Walt on Unsplash

I parked the car about one hundred yards from the front entrance of the church yesterday morning. After I dropped off my wife, I had to drive the entire length of grassy overflow parking area, past senior and guest parking spots, to find a spot.

I guess that’s what happens when your arrive ten minutes after the service starts. Worship was at 9:00, but we arrived for the bible class that starts at 9:15. Hey, I don’t mind the walk.

In fact, I used to pull my car into in the most remote corner of the parking lot on Sunday mornings. It was, unofficially, my designated parking spot. Why did I do that? Well, I figured my day would come and I would need a handicapped spot. Until then, since I was able to walk the distance, I would take the furthest spot.

What about rainy mornings? Yeah, they were a challenge. But once I got to the first building, I could use the covered walkway. If my car wasn’t there, everyone knew to welcome a guest preacher that day.

Who doesn’t like to see a church parking lot filled past capacity? On my way in, I commented to another walker, “I think I’m going set up a table about halfway to church and give out free water. We both chuckled. But you know what? When the summer sun is beating down, I’ll bet a lot of people would appreciat that.

When I went to the church where I used to be pastor, I saw that my spot was empty. I don’t think people were avoiding it in memory of me. Instead, worshipers are simply looking for the closest spot.

If the day comes when I guest preach at my old church, I’ll be sure to park in my spot.

Posted in Life

Behold, behemoth

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by I Made Krisna Udiana on Unsplash

I didn’t just hear it. I felt it. A huge whomp shook the entire house. Just imagine an elephant (or a hippo) jumping off the roof and landing in the front yard. It was that kind of a whomp. Dogs barked inside and outside of the house. Knick-knacks rattled on the shelves. A voice from the other room called, “What was that?”

Great question. The last time I felt such an impact was during a hurricane when a thirty-foot pine tree fell in the lot next to us. It missed our house and fence but sounded like an explosion.

When I stepped out front, I saw immediately what was up. Even though it was only 7:30 in the morning, a crew had arrived at the construction site just a few lots up the street. I watched as an operator “eased” the other half of a giant excavator off of a trailer with a second impressive whomp. I don’t think they knew how to put the ramps down. The rental company loves it someone uses their equipment with the finesse of the previously mentioned elephant (or hippo).

At first I thought it was the crane to raise the roof joists into place. But it was an oversized excavator trenching out space for the water main. After those initial whomps, we were treated to an hour of backup beeping as they dug the hole.

An hour later they were gone. But another behemoth will shop up this week for the roof work. Whomp!

Posted in Life

The worst mailbox in our neighborhood

Posted on by William Douthwaite

This mailbox has been bent, twisted, and zip-tied for over six months now. I pass by on dog walks and can’t help but wonder, “How is it still standing? Why haven’t the residents repaired it or straightened it up?” I tell myself, “I’m sure they’ll replace it soon.” But months have gone by and nothing has changed. Why not?

  • Those are hand-painted flowers decorating the side. This mailbox is one-of-a-kind. You can’t just go out an buy another one at Home Depot. It’s irreplaceable. It stays.
  • Maybe it’s not their house. “Not our problem.” Some tenants leave every repair to the landlord. And some landlords rarely come by the property to make repairs.
  • Perhaps a neighbor backed into it, nearly knocking it over. Or a stranger sideswiped it. Did a kid’s bike crash into it? Did an over-zealous mail carrier pull away too quickly? They broke it; they’re going to fix it!
  • This mail box is close to where a tornado touched down. It could be a testimony to the power of those winds. The storm came and went in a moment. But the memory of it remains.
  • I’m not sure anyone lives in that house. Some empty homes do not have a for sale sign out front. Maybe something happened to the person who lived there. Maybe he’s in the hospital, or worse, he’s dead.
  • Or, the people who bought this mailbox just aren’t that good at putting something together. Just about everything comes with assembly instructions. But not everyone is adept at following those instructions. So this is what you end up with.

All of the mailboxes in our neighborhood look different. Some are brand new. Others are weathered. Many stand straight and tall. A few, like this one, are precariously leaning. Very few actually look good out in front of a home.

But they aren’t going anywhere.

Posted in Life

The first one is turning thirty-eight

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My son turns thirty-eight tomorrow, and I’m trying really hard to remember life as my wife and I were about to have our first child. I didn’t start journaling until 1989, so I don’t have any written record of those moments. His birth also predates the ubiquitous phones that digitally capture every moment. So with a little help from my wife, it’s all going to have to come from memory, which thankfully, is still pretty good.

The morning before his birth, my wife and I were sitting in a rental house in Ft. Wayne, trying to come up with names for whoever would show up that afternoon. She was full term, but he didn’t get the memo. He hadn’t dropped or turned. An x-ray revealed that he as sitting upright with his legs crossed. So the doctor scheduled a caesarian section.

Our house struggled to keep out the bone-chilling Indiana winter as we talked through our short list of names. We were fans of the TV series “Spencer for Hire,” so Spencer was a possibility. In the end, Adam won out. It just sounded right. But what about a middle name? Another biblical name? There are plenty of them. Paging through the gospels we came across Nathaniel. We liked how that sounded. Done.

But what it it’s a girl? Back then, gender reveal happened on your birthday. I asked my wife if she remembered any female names we considered. She didn’t, and neither do I. We had a fifty-fifty chance of not needing one. We took our chances.

At the hospital, while the nurses prepped my wife, I put on a yellow gown, cap, and gloves. When she was ready, a nurse ushered me into surgery, pointed to a stool, and said, “Sit there.” It all happened very quickly. Surrounded by the doctor and nurses, I couldn’t see much until the nurse briefly showed me my son, and then took him to clean him up. My wife had a little trouble breathing due to the spinal anesthesia. But I had to trust they would take good care of her as they quickly ushered me out of the room.

I got to see my wife and we got to hold Adam about an hour later. My in-laws came up that night and got to see him as well. He was a little jaundiced from blood type incompatibility, so he spent the next five days basking under a UV light in a tiny bikini diaper and miniature sunglasses. My wife was able to stay at the hospital with him the whole time.

When it was time to go home, he exploded, as babies often do, ruining the only outfit we brought for him. So he made the trip home wrapped up in a bunch of blankets.

Any birth is miraculous. Holding a new life in your arms is powerful, especially when it’s your child. But the other miracle is that we didn’t have to pay a penny out of pocket for anything related to his birth. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Our seminary-sponsored health insurance cost us $100 a month and covered everything.

So to the best of our recollection, that’s the story of our oldest child’s birth. He’s married with four kids of his own. We’ve got hundreds of pictures of those little ones!