Posted in Israel, Travel

Israel (Day 1)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The official day 1 of our trip was spent mostly in the plane. Nine hours in the air from Miami to Vienna, then another three plus to Tel Aviv, both on Austrian Airlines. Smooth flights all the way.

I watched and really enjoyed two movies, “Tolkien” and “Aquaman” The onboard meals were meh, but I didn’t expect much. I got about three hours of sleep. Not too bad.

We finally landed safely in Tel Aviv. There were a LOT of people in line for immigration. I’m guessing five hundred or so. But also twelve people checking passports, so we got through, got our bags and got on the bus in about 45 minutes.

Because it was rush hour, we had a two hour drive to our first hotel, the Lake House Kimberly in Tiberius. Our tour guide for the week, Tali, lives in Tiberius, and shared lots of info with us on the way. I think most of our group was dozing. She told us what to expect our first day out when we’ll get to Caesarian, Megiddo, Jezreel, Nazareth and Cana.

After we checked into our hotel room, we enjoyed a great buffet dinner on site. All freshly prepared, all typical regional food. Lots of veggies, olives, cous cous, hummus, wine, and a number of thing we liked, but couldn’t identify. Lots of seasoning, too.

The Sea of Galilee from our hotel balcony.
Posted in Israel, Travel

Israel (Day 0)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

First leg of our trip may have been the toughest: getting to the Miami airport. A five hour drive south on I-95 is rarely a good time. But today, it didn’t get exciting until the last twenty miles through the heart of the city. We were glad to get through that last pulse-pounding stretch.

I was initially a little concerned about our choice of off-airport long term parking. A little sketchy. But once we pulled in, they took great care of us and got an entertaining ride to the airport that includes some advice on how to stay married a long time: always say “yes” to your wife.

We checked our watches and noticed we had a four hour wait till we boarded our flight. The ticket agents hadn’t even arrived yet. Once the whole group arrives, we were compelled to get in line. Our check in and bag check went smoothly, as did security. A great start to any trip.

Three hours to wait now. Time for lunch. After a bit of wandering, Lisa and I found a nice little sit down place when I had a beer and a remarkably good Beyond Burger, and Lisa a tasty salad with chicken. With airplane food to look forward to over the next twelve hours, it was worth a few bucks to enjoy a nice meal.

Two hours to wait now. I had to write early since I’ll be in the air till tomorrow. Next stop Vienna, then Tel Aviv.

Posted in Israel

Israel (Day -1)

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My wife and I will join a group of seventeen other travelers to Israel tomorrow. Day zero will be all travel, from Miami to Vienna to Tel Aviv. So today is negative one on the trip time line. (I’m a math guy, so this entertains me.)

I finally packed today. The instructions said to pack light, pack casual, pack comfortable. I did. All of my stuff fits easily into a small rolling duffel. I am using packing cubes for the first time. Boy do they make packing easy! No computer, my books are electronic, my journal is ready, and the car is gassed up.

Tomorrow we drive to Miami where we will meet the rest of our group, most of whom are from our church. I believe we’ve been planning this trip for more than a year. We’re looking forward to eight days packed with all the popular destinations, from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea to Bethlehem and Jerusalem.

One of the things we keep reminding ourselves is that we are traveling to a first-world country. So much of our international travel has been to third world countries, where we can’t drink the water, travel on unpaved roads, and navigate throngs of people trying to sell us stuff, carry our bags, or simply receive a little American wealth. We checked out our hotels. They are nice. The food looks delicious, the water is safe, and we will join so many other travelers who have sought to walk where Jesus walked.

So what are my expectations? I hope to be able to picture the bible stories that happened in each of the places we will visit. I want to see fishermen on the Sea of Galilee, imagine myself at a wedding in Cana, walk through Jerusalem to Golgotha, stand where the temple must have been, and take in a history that goes back nearly 4,000 years.

Since I am a pastor, I expect to be peppered with questions about bible stories, places and people. That’s OK. I like the stories, the places and the people. I talk about that stuff all the time. But now I will be there. I will see it with my own eyes. That has to be an awesome experience, so I’m beginning to look forward to it.

Since I am a pastor, though, I fear that some of the trip will feel like work. I just want to listen to the tour guide, look at the amazing places, and imagine the people without being on the clock. We’ll see how that goes.

Posted in preaching

Refreshing

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Second worship service is over, it’s hot and I’m walking out to my car. When I get in, turn the key and fire up the AC, I quickly check my email, just to see if there’s anyone I need to get in touch with that afternoon. There is an email from someone I don’t know that begins, “My family and I worshiped with you this morning at your 8:15 service.” Hmm. I don’t remember meeting any guests this morning. In my mind survey the morning crowd and no one stands out.

The email continued, “How refreshing it was to hear the Gospel this morning.” I can’t think of any other sentence someone could write to me that would touch my heart in such a powerful way. The words of Paul to Christians in Corinth popped into my mind: “Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!” (1 Corinthians 9:16)

There are far too many afternoons when I wonder if I preached the gospel clearly enough. Did I take my listeners to the cross? Did I get them to the empty tomb? Did I faithfully proclaim the death and resurrection of my Lord? Is that what people heard?

When someone comes out of church and says, “Thank you for preaching the gospel,” I am relieved, affirmed, encouraged and thankful. That’s my task. That’s my goal. In fact, That’s all I’ve got. I can’t convince people to trust God. I can’t move them to change their behavior. I can’t answer all their questions or objections. All I have is the gospel, filled with the power of God to inspire faith, create new hearts in us, and calm our worried souls. All I can do is tell them about Jesus.

I wasn’t especially thrilled about my sermon this morning. I think I tried too hard to say too many things. I think I could have done better. Most of the people coming out of church wanted me to have a safe trip to Israel this week or offered consolation because my father died three weeks ago. But this one little bit of feedback reminded me that God can work through someone like me to bring the best news of all to people like me who need to hear it early and often.

Posted in productivity

The art of rest

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Kate Stone Matheson on Unsplash

There is definitely an art to taking a day off.

For just about my whole career as a pastor, I’ve taken Fridays off. I know that cuts against the grain. I suspect that most pastors take Monday off, exhausted from Sunday worship and other activities. But I really like Mondays. They are far, far from Sunday. They give me a chance to get a jump on the week. And everyone thinks I take Monday off, so I don’t get a lot of phone calls or other interruptions.

But taking Friday off doesn’t mean it’s easy to take Friday off. It’s not really easy to take any day off. Even if I am totally prepared for Sunday, my brain churns with thoughts of things I need to do, people I need to visit, people who are sick or dying, people I haven’t seen for a while, or people who want to see me. That last category of people includes those who have put off emailing, texting or calling me the entire week.

I have learned the necessity of turning everything off on Friday. My phone, email, and my mind. It will all be there on Saturday, right? So it’s OK to sleep. Take a nap. Read a book. Go for a walk. Watch TV. Or do nothing at all.

That’s hard. I feel like I need to make the most of my time. Doing nothing doesn’t seem like a good use of time. But some words keep echoing in my mind: “If you are available all the time, you aren’t really available.” Unless I have time to rest, I won’t be effective during my non-rest times.

I have a few members who will ask me, “So, when are you taking vacation?” They know. They understand. They know I cannot be at my best if I never, ever get a chance to rest.

So I’m working on it. I’m turning off my phone. I’m staying off my computer. I’m trying to stay off the church-grid. I’m still learning how to “sabbath,” that is, rest.

Posted in dogs

The right spot

Posted on by William Douthwaite

As anyone who has ever had a dog knows, it takes a while to find “the right spot.” You know, for number one or number two. And you also now that the worse the weather is, the longer it will take to find that perfect spot.

Like this past Wednesday, when hurricane Dorian was a mere eighty miles off the coast. The bands of wind and rain started early in the morning and came in rapid succession. Just before sunrise, there was a lull in the action and I thought, “This is perfect.” I got up, fed the dog, and we headed out on our usual morning walk.

As we left the garage, I reminded Samson, our Florida brown dog who absolutely, positively does not like the rain, “The sooner you finish up, the sooner we’ll be back inside.” The street was deserted, the swales weren’t too full, I saw countless places where he could take care of business. On this morning, though, nothing nearby would do. Nope, we have to walk about two hundred yards to find today’s “right spot.”

The wind is kicking up, the trees are waving in the gusts of wind, branches and pine needles are raining down on us, and a few drops of rain began to fall. We kept walking. And sniffing. And walking. And sniffing. I knew our window of opportunity would soon close.

Finally, we found the right spot, a quarter-mile from the house. I thought it looked like so many others we passed. But what do I know (or smell). We made it back home unscathed.

This morning, two days since the storm, the sky was clear. The air was still. Naturally, “the right spot” was just across the street, a one minute walk from the house. Go figure.

Posted in memories

First steps

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I had the privilege of watching grandchild number 4 take his first steps a few weeks ago. He will never remember that moment, but we have it preserved in photos and videos. After a month of standing up holding onto tables, legs, chairs, dogs, walls and anything else in reach, he not only let go, but took his first steps forward. I could tell from his face that he was thrilled, excited, tentative and delighted all at the same time. So were we! After those first few steps, he fell back on his diaper-padded bottom, ready to get up and try again.

I doubt if any of us remember our first few steps. But there are other first “steps” we do remember, vivid and forward-moving moments in life. Here’s a few that I recall:

  • The first time I rode a bike. No training wheels here. Dad got me up and going for real on a local playground. I was thrilled, delighted, excited and terrified when I couldn’t remember how to apply the brake. No problem. A set of old-fashioned metal monkey bars brought me to a complete stop, ending my very first bike ride.
  • The first time I broke a bone. Actually the only time I’ve broken a bone. I was on the glider seat of a swing set in the neighbor’s yard, put my foot down to stop, but had it bend backwards a little too far. It swelled up and hurt, but I went to school the next day. After limping around too much, my mom took me to the doctor who x-rayed the fracture and wrapped it up in a plaster cast for the next four weeks.
  • The first time I bought a dog for myself. I was living in New Jersey, was sharing a house with a friend from church, and decided I could get a dog. After considering many breeds, I concluded I wanted a yellow Labrador Retriever. I wanted a large dog I could run and play with. I found an ad in the paper and headed for a house about an hour away in the pine barrens of south Jersey. When I arrived, I got to sit in in the middle of a litter of thirteen Labrador puppies, some yellow, some black. I picked out a yellow that didn’t seem too shy too aggressive. Since he was only six weeks old, the owner wrote a number on his tummy with an indelible marker, and I went back in two weeks to pick up my first dog, Gabriel.
  • The first sermon I preached at my current church, Shepherd of the Coast in Palm Coast, NJ. I don’t remember my other first sermons, but this one sticks in my mind. It was based on 1 Peter 3:15, being ready to give an answer for the hope you have. I had just driven from West Des Moines, IA with a chocolate Lab, Michael. We had to stop for the night at a motel. This was over twenty-years ago, when it was a little harder to find pet-friendly lodging. After I got a room on the second floor, I snuck him up the back steps. Then I snuck him out early in the morning. The whole time I thought, “I hope no one asks if I’ve got an animal in the room with me.” No one did! But it reminded me that though we are supposed to be ready to give an answer for the hope we have in Christ, we secretly hope no one asks!
  • I remember buying my first car. It was a 1972 Ford Mustang 2. It was a actually a pretty crappy car, but it got me to and from my first real job at Bell Labs for a few years. White, stick shift, tan interior. It cost $2,000. I think my Dad fronted the money and I paid him $100 a month to pay him back.

I’m sure I’ve got a lot of other “firsts” that will come to mind. Maybe there will be a few sequels to this post. I do know that there are so many firsts I don’t recall at all: first day at school, first sermon ever preached, first consecration of holy communion elements, first baptism, first funeral, first wedding, etc. But I’ll have to give it some thought, search my mind, and see what I can come up with.

What “firsts” do you remember?

Posted in death, Life

Don’t be sorry.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

When my Dad died three weeks ago, the news quickly spread and I cannot begin to tell you how many people said to me, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I understand the sentiment behind those words. In fact, I’ve spoken them to those grieving the death of a loved one. But as I heard those words spoken to me, I thought, “Why are you sorry?” It’s not like you did something wrong. Are you sorry that I have to go through this? Are you sorry that I will no longer be able to go and visit my father? What is it that you regret?

I’m pondering this because I really didn’t feel that sad about my Dad’s death. Mom died fourteen years earlier, and I know that he’s been lonely since then. He lost some of the ability to care for himself about six years ago when we (his children) sold his house and moved him in with my brother. His kidneys failed three years ago, but after we gathered to be with him, he recovered. He didn’t want to eat anymore about two years ago, but after we gathered to be with him, and with a few bowls of ice cream, he regained his appetite. So in some ways, it’s been a long, three-year goodbye. Rather than being sorry he’s gone, I’m actually a bit relieved. I’m glad he fought the good fight of faith. I’m glad he finished the race (for him it was a marathon!) and finally crossed the finish line. I think we should be cheering rather than crying!

The last time I went to see Dad, he was basically unconscious for three straight days. We talked to him. We talked about him. We read scripture and sang songs for him. Not much response. I couldn’t help but wonder, “How long?” You just never know. A body created to live isn’t going to easily give up. All you can do is wait.

My memories of Dad are good ones. I remember the things we did together, the things he taught me, and the home and education he provided for me. I treasure the name he gave me (he was Junior, so I got to be the Third). Instead of feeling like I lost something, I feel like I gained so much. His ninety-five years were filled with family, love, church, work and hobbies. Rather than feeling empty, I feel so full of all the things Dad gave me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve lived near Dad. I’ve lived most of my life pretty far away and only got to see him a few times a year. So I don’t miss his presence, not like those who daily spent time with him. Instead, his death makes me more aware of all the parts of him that shape me.

A few folks have shared with me that they were a wreck for months after their father died. Some can barely hold back the tears when a departed loved one’s birthday comes around, or the anniversary of a death. I feel bad that I don’t feel worse, if that makes any sense. Maybe it’s my British (not Vulcan) heritage that enables me to contain my emotion.

The one thing that occasionally brings a tear to my eye is the mental image of my Dad seeing Jesus face to face. That had to be and is going to be the best moment ever, and that’s what makes emotion swell up in me. Oh, and imagining the shout of the archangel, the sound of the trumpet and then the resurrection. I always tear up when I think of that day. But rather than sadness, it is overwhelming gladness.

So you don’t have to be sorry. You can cheer along with me. You can be thankful along with me. You can share that joy with me.

Posted in aging, Life

That little voice never ages!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Molly Hogan, an 82 year old cross-fitter from Boston said in a recent interview, “You know that little voice inside that talks to you? It doesn’t age!”

From my own experience, I’d say she is spot on. Even though I’m now in my sixties, I never fell like I’m sixty. I think and speak and interact with people as if I much younger. Like thirty years younger. Every once in a while though, little reminders yank me back into reality.

Like when I need an extra day of rest between workouts. When I was younger, I would pound out the miles running, sometimes working out ten or more days in a row. I can’t do that anymore. Every two days, I need to recuperate.

Or when I suddenly realize I’m the oldest guy in the room. By a lot. I forget that when people look at me, they see an old guy with lots of gray hair. Most of my workout buddies see someone the same age as their parents!

My kids always want to be sure I’m OK. I feel like I did when I was their age, but they have begun to consider me someone to keep an eye on if I’m alone or driving late at night or on a ladder doing some painting. I appreciate their concern. I forget that I was concerned about my parents in the same way.

It’s cool that part of you never ages. It’s that little voice!