Happy Valentine's Day from Seattle!

Yes, it's Valentine's Day and I'm in Seattle, writing from a hotel room only a few blocks away from the legendary Space Needle.

I embarked on this crazy adventure on Sunday after recovering from a crazy breakfast-for-dinner Pajama Party the night before. Before boarding the plane in Burbank, I followed the suggestion of one of my young adults and bought myself some Zebra Popcornopolis popcorn and discovered that it was indeed as delicious as I thought it would be. My flight to Oakland passed pleasantly uneventfully, and once I landed there, I procured some Fenton's ice cream just so that I could photograph it, thereby proving to my young adults that it is a real place, not someplace Pixar made up for the hit movie, Up.

As I was enjoying said ice cream, I looked up and spotted a smattering of much-missed PUC-Ites--Jessica, Geoffrey, Cameron, and the new chaplain, Laffit Cortes. I was delighted to see them, and laughed with them at the crazy coincidence that we had wound up on the same flight. They were lucky to get on that flight, as it was oversold, but they made it. Arriving at Sea-Tac, I took the city's amazing public transportation system to the center of the city, meeting a very nice couple recently returned from Indonesia along the way. I was pleasantly surprised when I got to my cheapo hotel on Sixth Avenue and discovered that the bed is comfy and unlike the naysayers on hostelworld.com, it does actually have hot water.

Once I had checked in, I walked over to the Westin to check out the space we would all be meeting in for our gathering, the One Project, and to see who I would bump into in the lobby. I wasn't disappointed; one of my former youth from Yountville, Gilbert, totally took me by surprise and we spent a good time catching up on each other's lives from the past few years.

Because I wasn't staying at the fancy-pants Westin, which provided breakfast, I scoped out the McDonald's between the two on the way. I had the surreal experience of eating oatmeal with a spiny-looking fish staring me down. That was surreal. Over at the Westin, I also had the pleasantly surreal experience of meeting one of the acquisitions editors for the Review and Herald, which reminded me that not all hope is lost on getting that book of mine published.

Then began the first batch of One Project meetings. They were very clear about it being a gathering, not a conference or a symposium. The room's arrangement reflected that--instead of straight rows of chairs, there was a platform in the center of the room with tables all around it. The people at these tables also reflected an incredible cross section of the Adventist church--men, women, high school students, college students, pastors, random GC officials, publishing house representatives, writers, church members of all professions, of all races assembled in the name of Jesus.

The music chosen for the gathering pulled from the experience of this diverse group--both hymns and contemporary music were represented there. The first day's meetings took different focal points in Adventist history--1844, 1888, and 1957--and applied the lessons learned about how the church handled Jesus' legacy to the here and now. Each speech was followed by a half hour discussion period, which gave everyone a chance to explore these ideas and discuss the messiness of their applications.

To my surprise, half the people at my table were from cities less than half an hour away from my church in Southern California. So, I enjoyed lunching with them at Il Fornaio as a sort of celebration of the start of what looks like some beautiful friendships. It's a strange world when you travel 1,000 miles to meet people who live less than 50 away.

After the afternoon batch of meetings, one of my PUC friends and I headed over to explore Pike Place. We probably spent over an hour there, exploring the fruit stands and a vintage print shop, and, of course, taking a look at the original Starbucks. Stopping at the Westin to pick up my belongings, I found out that he had been there earlier in the day already--and hadn't said a word about it the whole time! I teased him about it, and he said, "Well, I wanted to give you a chance to tell the story." I'm not sure I would have been that gracious a traveling companion. Over dinner at a great Indian restaurant, we swapped stories about PUC and about ministry, which was the sort of camaraderie I've been missing since my schedule started isolating me from non-work people for the last few months.

Later that night, my colleages and I met at the Westin to work on planning the Pheron Retreat, a Young Adult retreat the weekend of March 30-April 1. After getting the big blocks away, though, we fell to talking. The conversation fascinated me, as it exhibited an honest authenticity that we rarely achieve back at home in the context of the various rooms in the conference office where we meet. We probably shot the breeze for an hour or more after we had finished the business of the meeting itself.

This morning, the discussions on doctrine and mission really moved me. One of the emerging themes of this whole event has been of trying to embrace Adventism as it describes God, rather than as it distinguishes it from other religions. This concept, as far as I'm concerned, is the hope of the church's survival--being Adventist for the sake of being Adventist leads to isolation, while being Adventist for the sake of highlighting various aspects of God's character will keep it in a state of beautiful, dynamic, loving service to the world around it. Just like Christ would. Food for thought, at least.

Speaking of food, over the lunch break a group of PUC-Ites and I made the obligatory walk out to the Space Needle and the Experience Music Project, laughing and chattering as we went. On our way back from lunch in Pioneer Square (at least, I think that's what it was), we were puzzling over a crazy-looking place called the Wexley School for Girls. Amused by our bewilderment, one of the men inside invited us in to have a look around; it's a marketing agency. But I've never seen an office like this. Their meeting room has a white grand piano converted to a table as its centerpiece. Their main office floor is a mini-golf course, with workstations next to each hole. One of the executive offices is a lifeguard tower. On one wall, there are framed, voided checks. I asked the man what that was all about. He said, "At the end of their first three months working here, we offer everyone $3,000 that they can take and leave, no questions asked. If they decide to stay, we void that check and frame it to remind everyone what they gave up to be here."

That amazed me. These voided checks framed a beautifully-painted mission statement: "We are brave crusaders. We are wildly successful and selfless with a fanatical commitment to our work and to each other." As my friends and I walked out of there, we reflected that perhaps we had learned more about good ministry and Christian community from this random encounter than from all of our meetings, as good as they were.

The gathering concluded with an impassioned speech on Christian community and with communion. I don't know why, but I got really emotional about this particular communion. Perhaps it was the collective experience of the two days, or the hope of seeing a movement within the Adventist church that is offering a focal point that leads to beautiful unity rather than eating each other alive, or a personal reaction to being reminded of the love of Jesus, who is always with me, but it was powerful.

Tomorrow, as soon as I get off the plane, I'm going back to work. But I will return refreshed by a greater hope and love than I could have possibly encountered in the routine ways I have come to spend my weekday life, even my days off. Sure, I'm spending Valentine's Day single and alone in a city far away from home, but in many ways, this is one of the best Valentine's Days I've ever had, if not the best.

I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day, full of the love of Christ.

Two Two-Day Adventures

Once upon a time, I was a good little blogger who actually wrote to you about one adventure before embarking on the next one. In the spirit of those good old days, I am condensing the last two before I go to Seattle next week.

Sore from karate and Sabbath morning's working demands, I took off in my car on the 14th of January, unwinding to the apostle Paul's monotonous voice on my audio Bible. City gave way gradually to mountains, then to desert, where the clear blue sky meets the dusty earth. I had been irate about the regional pastor's retreat I was headed to because I felt like my friends in teaching needed it far more. However, it did me great good to see my colleagues that evening at the Doral Princess Resort in Cathedral City as we roasted our beloved Regional Director, Gerard Kiemeney, on his 60th birthday.

On Sunday, I found myself growing more comfortable with a few of my colleages that I don't see as often--Mitch Williams from Downey, the Paschals, the Fredericos, and others. There were twelve or more of us all crowding up a local Indian restaurant after the morning batch of meetings by Dr. Arlene Taylor. I have waxed poetic about this woman's work in a previous letter, and I've got to say, the review was incredibly helpful and refreshing. Back at the hotel, I swam with some of the families with young children as I watched the sun set, a magnificent purple tapestry.

After the evening meeting, I felt compelled to go to the prayer room Miriam (one of only two other female pastors working in our region) had set up. There were many stations, including a self-portrait in clay, communion, artwork, and various others. It was the clay station that got me the most, though. I found myself spending a long time at it, breaking the clay into tiny, tiny little pieces. So much of the last few months has been about brokenness. Then, slowly, I started to put them together, constantly having to go back and reattach different little pieces, until it was a beautiful mosaic of a flower. God can take my brokenness, I believe, and make me into something more beautiful and whole than I was before, if I let Him.

I returned to the room, a little more at peace than I had been before, and gleefully indulged in girl talk with my room mate--one of the young adults from my church. The next day, I spent a delightful time with my relatives out in Desert Hot Springs. It was so good to see Grandma, so sweet to spend time with my cousins. I played Mario-Kart with them in their room , and they were very gentlemanly about my lack of skills. There was a cheerful, teasing fun to the whole thing and it made me wish I could make it out to the desert to visit them, my aunt and uncle and my grandmother more often.

A mere three days later, I was on the road again. Or rather, in the air--Thursday of that week, my father and I took off for the Ralph Carmichael concert we'd been preparing for since before Christmas. Landing in Oakland felt like coming home, and it was surreal to have to rent a car out of there. We made good enough time, though, that we were able to have lunch with my great grandmother in Yountville before attending to concert business. Even though she would be there for the concert, the meal actually gave us time to talk, which we relished.

Arriving at the Napa Community Church for sound check, I was immediately impressed at the band's setup for the concert. I could tell it was going to be an incredible night. The choir was a motley mix of singers from the Napa church choir, people associated with Pleasant Hill, and singers from Christian Edition. The charts we sang were lively and rhythmically challenging. The real star, though, was the band--we could feel the floor beneath us vibrate from the great sound of the brass.

Between sound check and the concert itself, though, I was glad to greet and give well-wishes to Jim Pederson, for whose birthday the concert was organized. It was a joy to see both him and his family, and as I was greeting his daughter Lisa, I couldn't help but think about how fast time has gone. It seems like just yesterday Lisa was in high school, I was in Junior High, and Jim was the Napa pastor. Now, Lisa is out of school and married, I'm a pastor, and Jim is a conference president. In the fellowship hall where we were all feasting on Jim's scrumptious soup and Debbie's delicious desert, it was also strange to think that I'd been a youth pastor there only a year and a half ago, and so much had changed.

When it came time for the actual concert, it was as though time had been suspended. Did it last two minutes or two hours? The music was so rich, so energetic yet divine, that instead of it having timelessness, it was a music of timefulness. It was full of Ralph's collected life experience, full of the many different instruments lent to that singular purpose, full of the affection of the many attendees who had come to spend a good evening together, full of the Biblical and the film narratives that weave throughout Carmichael's work.

Later in the evening, I would enjoy the company of my mentors--Marvin Wray, Jim Lorenz, Roy Ice. At four the next morning, my father and I would be frantically heading towards the airport to get to work as dawn would cross the Los Angeles sky. Twenty four hours later, I would be holed up in my office, desperately trying to finish writing small group materials on the eve of our church's small group launch. Forty eight hours later, I would be crashing at home after the effort it had all cost.

But for that evening, while the band was playing, none of that mattered. The advice I needed from my mentors did not matter. The airport did not matter. The small groups materials did not matter. My own physical and mental limitations did not matter, because for a rare, beautiful moment of timefulness, all of us in the room were made one through the power of great music.

Two adventure of two days each--or rather, two nights. Two birthdays. One adventure about the hopeful future, and another about the joyous past. May you also be able to celebrate them both.

Christmas in Napa, December 17-27

Yes, I am aware that I am more or less a month late in writing about this. I apologize for how long it's been--I care about each of you deeply, even if I have not had much time to write.

After my father and I got to sing in a rousing Christmas cantata at my church, my family packed its bags and drove into the night, only to arrive at my aunt's house in Napa at four in the morning the next day. After a few hours of sleep, we took off towards Oakland to usher for the Calfornia Christmas Revels.

Arriving at the edge of Lake Merrit felt like home. Embracing old friends, standing once more in the Scottish Rite Theatre--it was all so wonderfully familiar, and filled a deep soul need. Seeing the eccentric dress of the Bay Area theatregoers, hearing the brass fanfare, the smell of the must--all of it was a "Welcome Home." I was eager to catch up with the Pleasant Hill students I missed, but I did manage to watch the show. My friend Janet was radiant in a glittering emerald green gown. She did not recognize me until we passed during Lord of the Dance second show, and her surprised joy was delightful to see. The show itself was tightly constructed, woven around the story of Sir Gawain and the green Knight. It did great good to hear the familiar music and to see the faces of the Revels cast.

Monday, we ventured to Walnut Creek to do some last-minute shopping and to get our hair cut. Salon Indulge, where our friend Sabrina Brinley works, is full of comforting textures and smells. Catching up with her was half the joy of it; getting my hair cut was just a plus. It's not that I'm too lazy to find a place to get my hair cut near where I live, although that's a part of it; there's just a certain joy to having a friend, rather than a disinterested stranger, wave scissors over your head.

To use up some time share points, my parents and I spent two nights in Tahoe. This was a time to catch up on sleep by the cozy fire, to pity the Hawaiian stranger who had come all the way to California to be greeted with absolutely no snow. Halfway through our visit, we took a drive around the lake and went to see Hugo, an incredible film. I hope it will reawaken interest in many of the old silent films it quotes; there is something glorious about seeing them on a big screen.

We took our time getting out of Tahoe, stopping at gift stores and a vegetarian restaurant named Sprouts. Along our way, we stopped also in Placerville, and put red poinsettias on Justin and Grandpa Leonard's graves. I wanted to put movie popcorn on Justin's grave, also, to honor his movie-loving memory, but Mom thought it would be in poor taste. I had not been there in a while, and I noticed that the granite is already starting to distort with time.

In the evening, my father and I went to Pizzeria Travigne in St. Helena to visit a pair of old friends of his. The food was incredible, and the conversation both fascinated me and taught me a good deal I could apply another venture I've been participating in of late: a new media ministry. Listening to these media veterans tell their stories was inspiring, challenging in the greater scope of what it takes to do well at it, and incredibly interesting.

The next day, we drove up valley, where we indulged in Giugni's sandwiches, the rich flavors stirring up intoxicating memories of last year. We drove to the castle near Calistoga, which was decorated with wreaths for various charities. The cellar's gift shop was full of rich textures and scents, from citrus to must. From there, we continued back to Walnut Creek for the annual (and, sadly, most likely the last) Christmas caroling party at the house of our dear friends, the McMillans.

I sat down next to my father at the piano and bravely sight-read a good many complex 14th-century Christmas carols before I bowed out to talk with my friend--no, sister--Caroline. Although this has been a holiday ritual for many years now, there was a special sense both of basking in the presence of beloved friends and of sadness in the knowledge that we were all parting ways--geographically, at least. The man who had played merlin at Revels did some amazing close-up sleight of hand for all of us, weaving his tricks with wonderful stories. He closed with a speech on the nature of mystery and deception and the humility that stage magic gives you about these things. A mystery: life tends to rhyme with itself, even if it never fully repeats. Will my friends and I ever live near to each other again? Will we ever sing those crazy-hard Christmas carols in their living room again? A decade of my life has called their house another home to me. As we have moved to LA, and they to Los Alamos, I can only hope we continue to strengthen that long-reaching friendship.

The morning of Christmas Eve, the whole family attended Napa Community Church's Christmas program. It was good to see two of my mentors there--Marvin Wray and Roy Ice, and to hear Gary Piner's orchestra. The music Gary chose had excellent emotional depth to it. It was equally refreshing not to be concerned with taking copious notes on the service. Lisa's tree in the foyer sparkled with purple and gold--a sight well worth seeing. The whole family enjoyed a good lunch at Compadre's, laughing and talking. The real party was yet to come, though.

After sundown, the party was massive. Everyone was there. I can't remember the last time I'd seen everyone from the extended family assembled in one room. Lisa had transformed her garage into a dining room glittering with decorations and shining with candles. The meal included the best of everyone's culinary delights--Amy's bread, Doreen's soup, various exotic cheeses, Christmas punch, and Grandma Anabel's almond bark. The "As Seen on TV" exchange was a real hoot. People actually got into stealing items this time, and there were enough of us to create an element of surprise.

As the evening wore on, I enjoyed watching my cousin Sam gazing at a fish lamp his mother had won in the exchange. It's nice to know that even though he's growing fast, he's still got a sense of child-like wonder.

On Christmas morning, my "adopted younger brother" called us all the way from the Philippines. He did not have much time to talk, but it was good to hear his voice. Christmas brunch was a glorious array of fritata, biscuits, and coffee. We barely had a chance to digest that before it was time for Christmas dinner at my great grandmother's place in Yountville. And what a feast! Walla-walla loaf, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, and Martinelli's--it was like Thanksgiving for Christmas. We retired to upstairs, where we all indulged in lazy conversation as my parents and I worked on a puzzle. Several hours later, when the puzzle was finally finished, we scoped out the lights in Napa, soaking in the last of the festively glittering Christmas cheer.

I spent the day after Christmas visiting friends in Angwin. Something about Silverado Trail and Sanitarium Road seems to welcome me every time I drive them. Even though I returned to campus no longer a student, I felt like I belonged there. Just like the sense of homecoming I experienced in Oakland, I felt like I was at home in that misty forest high above the Napa Valley.

Our last appointment of the trip was a rehearsal for a magnificent concert--which will be the subject of another episode of Jillian's Journeys sometime soon. All in all, the trip did my soul great good, and I was glad to see so very many of you on it. I'm learning to love LA again--after all, I was born here--but I will always have a piece of my heart that belongs to the Bay Area and the Napa Valley.

So, a month late, I wish you all the goodwill of a Merry Christmas. After all, what silly rule says we can only celebrate the birth of a Savior--and the love He represents--one day of the year?

Thanksgiving in Yosemite, Nov. 22-25

After working diligently for some months, I took a few days off a little while ago to spend with my family for Thanksgiving. On Tuesday of that week, I enjoyed a scenic drive out to Simi Valley, where I met my grandmother, my aunt, my uncle, and my cousin from the desert at the Reagan Library. When I got there, I was struck by the natural beauty of the place--I could have spent a good deal of time just writing on the grounds. When my family arrived, we shared a tasty traditional Adventist picnic while we caught up on each other's lives.

The museum itself gave me a good deal to think about. The exhibits about the economy could have practically been written yesterday, but the solutions proposed for it then are so different from the way the question is being approached now, from all sides. The oval office replica was as impressive as I remember from when I came to the Reagan library as a tiny child. I'd forgotten the degree to which the president is allowed to customize it. A president can put up the portraits of two former presidents on his or her wall--Reagan has Washington and Jackson. Not the two I would pick, but to each his own. Reagan's Oval Office is decked out in warm Southwestern tones, with Remington sculptures on the surfaces.

Air Force One hangs suspended in a large hanger with a vast glass wall overlooking the Simi Valley. Inside the plane, there were state rooms for President and Mrs. Reagan. Even the seats for the press would put the first class seating I envy on my way to economy class flying commercial to shame.

More than the plane, I found the section on the friendship between Reagan and Gorbachev fascinating, for a variety of reasons. My favorite part of the whole museum, though, was the Christmas exhibit. It was a display of Christmas trees, each decked out to represent a different decade of American history. It was a great review of my history, and it was great watching my grandmother reminisce about her childhood in the 30's. We exited the museum just in time to see the piece of the Berlin wall silhouetted against the most glorious sunset. That night we celebrated grandma's birthday at Olive Garden, then parted ways with my aunt, uncle, and cousin.

After a long journey the next day, we arrived in Fish Camp and greeted my uncle Mark warmly, We shared a meal of that amazing Quattro Formaggio pizza at the Timberloft, discussing the Yosemite's concessions contract, which is up for bid. Once back at his home, we caught sight of my aunt Shirley before she went to bed.

Thanksgiving morning, Mark made us some delicious hot chocolate, then we headed to the Ahwahnee for breakfast. I'm not a fan of eggs, but the eggs Benedict there was phenomenal, with a hollandaise sauce bordering on a spiritual experience. Just as delightful as that warming meal was the stroll we took afterwards together through Yosemite. Even though winter has already descended on the park, the trees are alight with autumnal fire, leaves cascading like golden rain.

After the now nearly-ceremonial Visitor's Center stop, we returned to the house to prepare for Thanksgiving dinner. Shirley taught me how to make a pie crust, and together we made the pumpkin and pecan pies. As she warmed up the rest of the meal, my parents, Mark and I sat around the fire, lazily engaged in conversation while watching their cat, Jemma, stretch out on the rug. We helped Shirley set the table, which glittered with Fostoria crystal and candlelight.

The meal was delicious and filling. I felt sleepy for the rest of the evening as we talked into the night. What did we talk about? A little bit of this, a little bit of that--but talking fills the air to provide an excuse for being together. The content is not always terribly important.

It was sad to have to leave so soon the next morning. The next day, I would hit the ground running with a busy Sabbath, but my Sabbath was the drive back to LA with my parents and grandmother, watching the fiery trees pass. Stopping at a random tourist trap, Bravo Farms, which does cheese tastings to die for. Closing the day with a fine vegan meal at Happy Family in Monterey Park before we said goodbye to my grandmother for the weekend.

Since then, I have been running nonstop. Even my few, precious days off have been stuffed to the gills with various activities and pursuits, and this is the first one in which I have had time to write to all of you. Some of you have heard rumors that my book, Seventh-day Awesome is being published. It is not a sure thing yet. Pacific Press has responded to my query with a request for a proposal, and I have not yet sent it in (for the same reason I have been so long in writing to you). Please keep my manuscript in your prayers. I will be preparing it for submission today.

Also, I will be praying for each of you as we enter this busy holiday season. It's so easy, so very easy to let the pressure of this busy time become a temporary sentence to Hell instead of a joyous celebration of those things that are most important to us--God, family, and friends. Today, I celebrate you and thank my Maker that you are in my life.

Justin Day 2011

For those of you who are familiar with Justin Day, perhaps you know that this year was an anomaly of sorts. Usually, I post the suggestions I drafted up for the observance of Justin Day several days beforehand. This year, not so much.

Yesterday was Justin Day. For those of you who are not familiar with it, Justin Day commemorates the birthday of my brother, who would have turned 25 yesterday had he lived. Instead, he is frozen in time at age 17, the age he died in a hiking accident on Peru.

This particular Justin Day was harder than usual for my family. Harder for me, too. Justin was born here in Southern California, in the Northridge hospital. He barely survived his own birthday, and it took the heroic actions of a team of doctors to give us the few 17 years we had with him. As a child, he loved Universal Studios and admired the daring of the stunt men he saw working there. Even though the last six years of his life happened in the community of Pleasant Hill, Justin was a native of Southern California, through and through.

When we would visit Justin and I's home region of LA, Justin would stick his head out the window, breathe in the smog, and go "Ahhh!" the way some do when they visit the mountains.

This is the first time we have observed Justin Day in the area he was born. For me, it was the first time observing Justin Day with my parents since college started. Somehow, that was harder than when I'm on my own; I wasn't there for his birth. For me, it is a commemoration of his whole life; to them, it is a very specific day they remember vividly.

Yesterday, to celebrate, I wore a shirt Justin brought back for me from Romania, and carried with me the karibiner that says, "No Fear, No Regrets, No Holding Back." When we went to the movies for the evening, the films we saw reminded me: Justin's short life was not in vain. He touched many lives both before and after his death, and his memory has been an ongoing source of inspiration for me. Although I do not believe they are aware of it, in a very real way the people we love never truly leave us. Justin Spencer, Dean Spencer, Leonard Knapp, Joyce Gutsche, Sonny Ines--they may all be sleeping in Jesus, but their lives and legacies continue to live on in everything we learned from them.

No fear, no regrets, no holding back. That is Justin's legacy, and worth living every day of the year, not just on October 1, Justin Day.

King's Canyon, August 19-21

It was a merry band of 11 that boarded a 13-passenger van headed for King's Canyon on Friday noon. The goal? To build a sense of community and belonging among the young adult group at Alhambra SDA Church. In short, for us to bond as a group.

And bond we did! We were not even past Six Flags when we realized that the air conditioner on the van was broken. We called the rental company about it, stopped at a garage, and decided that we would rather press on than leave it be. This had the potential to be a really nasty situation, but everyone was so positive despite the horrendous heat that it just gave us one more thing to laugh about together.

Thanks to the delays, we set up camp in King's Canyon in the dark. This, too, was an unexpectedly good team-building activity. We talked into the night, then rose early in the morning.

After chatting around the camp fire, we all made beautiful sandwiches and then set out on a hike to a waterfall. It affectionately reminded me of some of the hikes I'd been on with my aunt and uncle in Yosemite. There were lush forests, stark granite, and creeks to traverse. It felt so good just to be walking in the open air again. When we arrived at the waterfall, we ate our sandwiches and refilled our bottles with fresh water from the river.

On our way back, I enjoyed talking with one girl who, like me, enjoys stopping every now and then to take in the scenery. There was some wonderful scenery to take in. After the hike, some of us went back to the river where we submerged ourselves in its freezing depths. Even though there was a good rock to jump off of and I enjoy cliff diving, I'm glad I didn't. Just getting into the water the normal way, I thought I'd forgotten how to swim, it was so incredibly cold. My new friend, though, wholeheartedly dove off the rock twice without showing the slightest sign of being bothered by the cold. We all admired this before we took a group picture and got out of the water. Sometimes, the body gets used to cold water; this cold water stayed cold no matter how long I was in there, though the sting in my joints wore off after a while.

Back at camp, we all dried off in the sun and closed the Sabbath with haystacks for dinner and a very loose-form worship by yours truly. Then, we made smores. For the first time, one of the people along actually inspired me to try to cook the marshmallow for real instead of just torching it. This was. . . oddly rewarding. I'd never tasted such a good smore before. But I still like charred marshmallow, if only for all the Pleasant Hill Pathfinder memories.

Fully satisfied, we settled in to playing games around the fire. We played a good round of zip-bong, a word game, and several rounds of Psychology. Just as we had called back the "psychologist" for the fifth or sixth round, suddenly an uproar came from a neighboring camp.

"BEAR IN THE CAMP!!! THERE'S A BEAR!"

Suddenly, the mood around the fire shifted. In a matter of minutes, toiletries were shut away in the bear box. The dying embers of the campfire were being revived. Then, all of us crowded into the van, some of us more tense than others. In the darkness, we waited. Some of the girls panicked. Some of the guys joked about how there was no bear. Inside my head, I was thinking, "Couldn't my outdoors-y relatives and friends have mentioned just once what to do if you meet a bear at night?" What I actually said was, "Why don't we pray about this?"

So we prayed for the bear (because, after all, they get shot if they get too close to the camps too many times) and we prayed for the general level of panic to go down. Eventually, it did. We left the van, tended the fire, and actually went to bed. We never found out if the bear was real.

The trip back out of there was fortunately not quite so thrilling--just gorgeous vistas of the canyon on our way out. We stopped for lunch in the town of Kingsburg, where my new friend and I discovered THE BEST small-town ice cream place (no offense, Big Dipper). It's called Jeb's Swedish Creamery, and it is in a different league from almost anything I've ever tasted. If you ever visit the small town of Kingsburg, GO THERE. It's AMAZING. Someone needs to tell the Food Network they exist; they deserve the recognition.

We made it back to the church all in one piece without leaving anyone melted in the van or eaten by a bear or drowned in a river. I was quite happy about all of that. Furthermore, the group really did grow closer from the experience. It seems like everyone made at least one new friend (including myself), so I consider that a successful trip. It was good to get back out into the wild and clear my thoughts, too; I would have gladly stayed longer, even if I was exhausted afterwards as it was. I promised you all a sunnier letter this time, and I'm so glad I could deliver on that. I hope that you find sunny things to think about, too.

Summer 2011 in Review

Every summer seems to have a song that reflects its special character in time. This summer, that song was Toby Mac's "Hold On," which is cheerful enough to be a song of celebration, yet acknowledges the difficulties of life.

It has been a difficult summer.

After the cruise, my parents and I started on the difficult task of packing up the home we've lived in for twelve years.

We did take some time one weekend to visit our friends, the McMillans, in Los Alamos. They've been like a part of our family for the last ten years or so, and we've really started to miss each other since some of them moved out to Los Alamos. We walked the streets of Santa Fe together, looking at one of the most incredible photo galleries I've ever seen--a photographic history of the United States. Our time together ended with a wonderful opera, Gounod's Faust. More wonderful than the opera, though, was just chatting with my friend Caroline. I'm looking forward to living a little closer to her this year.

I also took some time to drive down to Yosemite to visit my aunt and uncle who live right outside its southern border. That visit fed my soul, too, with a good hike up Sentinel Dome and long, deep discussions about life and philosophy with my aunt. She and my uncle sent me off with a handsome graduation gift: the first full-size print of her impressionistic Yosemite Falls painting.

When I got home, we turned right around to do the impossible: find a place to live in just two days. Originally, we only allotted one day, but that proved to be completely impossible. We actually managed to find a house to rent that was not surrounded by concrete. It is a welcome retreat from the hustle and bustle of life in Los Angeles.

Driving away from the house wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I had one last errand to run at Pleasant Hill Adventist Academy, and it was all I could do to keep my eyes dry while I talked to the office staff there for the last time. As I walked back to the car, I looked over at the black granite bench that sits there in memory of my departed brother, over at the playground where I fell in love for the first time, over at the classroom where I'd spent so many evenings hanging decorations for my mother. As I got in the car, I looked over at the church where Pastor Torkelson had baptized me, where I had been inspired to my life's calling, and it was too much. I cried.

The day after we arrived at our new home in Sunland, we drove out to the desert. My grandfather was in the hospital, dying. He had cheated death many times, but we could all tell somehow that this was the end. The last thing I said to him was, "Good night. I love you. Happy Sabbath." And what was death to this man other than a much-needed Sabbath rest after a very long week of a life?

It is hard to describe what it's like to start a new job just two days after that. I'm sure that all college graduates feel overwhelmed their first day on the job, and I was no exception. Work is for the living, and my mind was on the dead. I pulled myself together enough to tell stories at a Vacation Bible School, attend a board meeting, and introduce myself to the church. In a way, it felt like telling stories to children was a way of honoring my grandfather, who loved to tell stories.

I read the 23rd psalm for the cryptside service at beautiful Montecito. I've never struggled so much to read such a short text before. His crypt overlooks the hills of Loma Linda, where every day people are healed through the diligent work of doctors and nurses. He, too, was diligent as a teacher. A week and a half later, there was a service at the Desert Hot Springs church. There were things about him even his family didn't know about him, like how he'd done the grunt-work for a medical research project that saved thousands of lives in Vietnam. The sermon wisely acknowledged the pain we all feel at his loss, and did not try to belittle it by saying, "There, there, it'll be all right. . . whenever Jesus comes." Instead, it said, "We miss Dean. There is pain. It takes time to work through pain."

Time moves on, and the living are still around to feel its relentless progress. School starts this week for my parents at historic San Fernando Valley Academy, and this weekend I'm headed to beautiful Kings Canyon with my church's young adult group. It has been a difficult summer in many ways, but as that Toby Mac song so wisely says, "Hold on just another day or two; I can see the clouds are moving faster and the sun is breaking through."

No storm can last forever, and neither will this one. Thank you, everyone who has sent our family notes of sympathy or come to the funeral. You are the rays of light that are breaking through the clouds. My next letter will be much sunnier, I assure you.

JJ: Christian Edition Alaskan Cruise

The seven-day Christian Edition 30th Anniversary Cruise commenced with a day at sea. Each morning during the week of the cruise, there were morning worships featuring praise music by Deanne Knipschild, a special music, and a message by Karl Haffner. I especially enjoyed Haffner's messages on grace, both from the standpoint of content and from the way he delivered it. My favorite special music of the week was by CE bass Leonard Fletcher, who bravely kept strumming on his guitar as technical issues crashed down around him.

On Monday morning after worship, a number of us took a tour of the ship's galleys. This was rather impressive, as a cruise ship galley is no small operation. I particularly marveled at the many elevators, the skid pads on the floors, the wall charts of detailed plans for each meal, the vast hot decks, and the massive dish-washing station. Thanks to a summer working the dish room at Camp Wawona, I have a fascination with industrial dish machines, and this one did not disappoint. I was amazed that they could actually keep track of three or four different china patterns that go to different parts of the ship, but are washed in the same place.

That afternoon marked the first of the on-board CE concerts. Each day, the group performed a song that was meaningful to its own history. For example, "Nearer, Still Nearer" was the song that brought the group together in the first place. "Fishers of Men" was the first song arranged exclusively for Christian Edition, and "Higher Ground" was the first song my father arranged for them, back before he started out as their accompanist. Also, these concerts featured guest performances by Deanne Knipschild, Jennifer LaMountain, and Jaime Jorge. It was good to hear the latter two again; I was first introduced to their music a little over ten years ago at the first Voice of Prophecy Family Reunion concert at the Loma Linda SDA church, and I've had a soft spot for them ever since. I particularly enjoyed a few of the pieces that several of these artists did together, such as "Jerusalem" and "Midnight Cry."

It was also a formal night at dinner, followed by one of the ship's production shows. This time around, I actually only went to two or three of the ship's shows the entire week. Theater without a story sort of misses the point of theater, as far as I'm concerned, but I did enjoy watching the dancers, hearing the singers, and guessing the secrets of the young illusionist recently escaped from "America's God Talent." My favorite, though, was a pair of aerialists who told the story of how they met, fell in love, and married through acrobatics and air ballet. I've seen several Cirgue du Soleil shows, which use many acrobats and aerialists to fill a stage, but these two hold their own, filling the space and telling a story better than the full cast of Quidam or Mystere.

The first full day of the cruise ended in the second row of the ship's cinema re-watching The King's Speech. The next day brought us to a tiny port of call, Icy Straights Point. After a quick water color lesson on board ship, we disembarked and my mother somehow talked my father and I into riding the world's longest zipline. It took 45 minutes to bus up to the top of the precipice where the platform is built. On the way, we passed through the tiny town of Hoonah and got some great views of the mountains and water. When we got to the top, some of us had to talk each other into going through with it. 5,000 feet is a lovely number on paper, but when you get to the top of the mountain, it feels even longer. From the top of the platform, you have to squint to see the end of the line at the bottom. When it was my father and I's turn, I resolved to make the ride last as long as possible so that I could enjoy the view. I did not expect it to go so fast from the start; I thought it would accelerate to its top speed of 60 miles per hour. There's no feeling quite like it; I literally couldn't breathe. I didn't scream; I just soaked in the feeling of the air, the rushing of the trees, the majestic spread of the water before me. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Back on the ground, though, I equally enjoyed a conversation my father and I had with a local Tlingit artisan of the Octopus clan. He explained the reasons behind the layout of First Nations art with the principle of the ovoids, the difference between regular and shamanic crafts, the two-color process, and the meanings of the different clan designs. He showed us a picture of a wedding dress he made for a local woman, which was fascinating.

After all that excitement, it was nice to spend Wednesday with the ship parked next to Hubbard Glacier. Even the crew was shocked at how close the ship got to this massive wall of ice; they've never dared go that far. The dancer stopped his lesson, the busboy set down his dishes, and the head chef left his kitchen to marvel at this great tower of ice streaked with blue, white, and grey. My great grandmother and I stood in the bow of the ship, which is usually reserved for the crew, to watch it. There are some sights that defy words, some moments that defy measured time. This was one of them.

That evening, the Pedersons treated my parents and I to one of the most incredible meals of my life at Murano, the ship's specialty restaurant. The food was, in short, AMAZING. From the overture that was the goat cheese souffle (with a decorative bread cage over it) to the closing strains of the quattro apples, every bite was a wonder, a fantasia in flavor. We ate and talked together for three and a half hours. I couldn't say which was better; the food or the conversation. Some of you have heard me describe certain meals as symphonies before, but this was like the difference between the LA Philharmonic playing outside (no offense, LA Phil; I love those outdoor concerts) and San Francisco Symphony on a good night.

Thus fortified, we attacked the next day in Juneau with great vigor. There were more volunteers from our group to paint a church and feed the homeless than could be used, so we went on a tour instead. Our bus driver was a Tlingit native who gave us a great city tour. He let us all out at Mendenhall Glacier, where I was blown away by the natural beauty of the place. The last time we were there, a thick fog covered the place and my parents made me stand in the freezing rain to take pictures. This time, everything was sunlight and even the flowers around it bloomed with an incredible clarity. We were even able to walk out on the rocks closer to the glacier, which sparkled in the sunlight.

The bus driver made a special stop to the log chapel on the Southwestern Alaska University, which my grandmother remembered from a previous trip. This small church has a stunning view of the glacier through its front window. It so happens that our bus driver was the son of the pastor who had ministered there for several decades and had died a few weeks previously. He had been one of the few pastors to preach both in Tlingit and English. There was a large old reed organ in that church, and he unlocked it so my father could play. As my father played, "Church in the Wildwood," tourists stopped in the midst of this secular tour to listen, and as we re-boarded the bus, I saw the driver wipe a tear from his eye.

Friday brought us to Ketchikan, where Christian Edition did a program for a local nursing home. In this port, I ran across a shop selling Russian handcrafts. I probably spent a half hour or more in there, talking to a woman who worked there about Pushkin's fairy tales, the craft of metroishka (nesting dolls), and ikons. I walked out of there with my only purchase of the entire cruise, an ikon of St. Michael, in hopes of remembering all the wonderful things I got to study in Dr. Winkle's classes on Daniel and the Sabbath this year.

This particular Sabbath got off to a good start, as I spent it at the on-board Shabbat service. The whole thing was in modern Hebrew, and very musical. Even though I didn't get every word (Biblical Hebrew is a little different), a woman from London made me feel welcome and I enjoyed the candles, the chanting, and the hospitality they offered me even when they figured out I wasn't Jewish. It was sweet, like the Sabbath itself. As if to top that, when I was writing on the balcony of our state room that evening, I could hear the strains of Jaime Jorge's violin music wafting through the air. I'm not sure if it was a recording or him actually practicing, but either way, it was a surreal but beautiful experience to hear that while overlooking the ocean and Alaskan scenery on board a cruise ship.

Church was held in the ship's main theater, and Haffner delivered a sermon so poignant that many of us teared up. It was about Ecclesiastes and the different seasons of life; namely, how to live wisely through each. I was surprised at the end to see that the aerialists I had admired earlier in the week were there, as was the captain. There was a short turn-around time between this service and the final concert, which was a more deliberate outreach open to the entire ship. I was surprised to see the place pack out. From the back of the auditorium, I could see the crew member who stood quietly back there with tears in his eyes as well as the ship's own violinist who stopped in to hear Jaime Jorge play, still dressed with violin in hand from her own duty shift. Halfway through one of his songs, the orchestrated tracks dropped out and he kept on going as though nothing had happened. It was amazing. More amazing, though, was seeing some of these people who had been at the on-ship bars or casino all week listening to Christian music. We handed out CDs for them to take home with them for free, praying that it will make a difference.

When everything was said and done, it was a delight to take a quiet stroll on deck as the sun set over the waves. I had been skeptical about the value of a cruise as a mission trip, but at the end of this cruise, I could see that our group had collectively made a difference--while having a great time, too. Somewhere in the Pacific there's now a ship full of music about the great love of God. When the cruise season ends, the crew members will go home to their families all over the world, and then who knows what?

The brilliant colors of the sky faded, and the night gave way to the stark light of morning in the port of Vancouver. It would be another long day of travel, but by the time it was all said and done, I felt more refreshed than exhausted by the hours on the road. It would take a day for the sensation of the ground moving to stop, but it was so worth it. I wish all of you equally rich adventures this summer--but also opportunities to touch a life and make a difference. No matter where you are or what your belief system is, you have a chance to change the world through the people you meet. Meet them well.