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.

Vancouver, June 17-19

As a graduation present, my parents treated me to an epic international journey commemorating their and Christian Edition's 30th anniversary. While it was quite a crunch to turn around from the graduation weekend celebrations to a ten-day journey, it was well worth it. We were privileged to have my great grandmother traveling with us, and she made a good trip a great trip.

Like usual, we started our trek with very little sleep. In the pre-dawn darkness we unloaded our suitcases at the Oakland Airport, where we discovered that our flight to Seattle was delayed. So, we ended up taking a different route to Seattle--through Reno. In both airports, the Southwest Airlines counters were festooned with balloons and streamers. It is the airline's 40th birthday, and it's still going strong. When I read that it was established on June 18, I thought, "Hm, what a coincidence." That happens to be my parents' anniversary.

The Reno airport was surprisingly beautiful; whoever designed it was clearly trying to emulate its natural surroundings. When we arrived in Sea-Tac, it felt surprisingly homey. There, we met up with a few of our friends who had also chosen to save money on this trip by flying Southwest and boarded a "Quick Shuttle." That name is a lie, for it wasn't quick at all. After four hours with Canadian customs as our only stop, we stumbled, exhausted, out of the bus at our hotel on the outskirts of Vancouver, BC.

It was surreal to see a Costco across the street, which made it hard to believe that we were, in fact, in a foreign country. Even the restaurant across the street where we had dinner betrayed little cultural different, except for the higher sales tax. The next morning on our way to church we had a chance to see more of the city, though. Many of the houses are hidden by tall hedges.

The morning service was at Oakdale Adventist Church, a charming community that loves its priase music and mentioned several times its embarrassment over the riots that broke out when the Canucks lost the Stanley Cup that week. Those of us from California found this interesting because minor sports-related riots seem to break out in Oakland and Los Angeles on a regular basis without a single blush of shame. In Vancouver, everyone from the journalists writing the paper to the leaders at church publicly expressed embarrassment, even repentance over the riot. It was kind of refreshing to run into a culture that still has a conscience about sports riots. The church leaders asked us to remember them not for the riot, but for the volunteers who cleaned up after it and in their prayers, they asked God for forgiveness.

It was actually Christian Edition's first international service, and it was kind of refreshing to see them through the eyes of a congregation that had never heard much about us before. They received us warmly and treated us to a wonderful potluck afterwards. It impressed me that they held it in a fellowship hall that had been empty and bare at 10:30 that morning. I've never seen a church turn a room that quickly.

After a brief respite at the hotel, we headed out again to a Filipino SDA church. It was a challenging venue, with seats clear back to the street entrance, but the people were friendly and hospitable. We had to put the CD tables on the front porch, it was so crowded, but that was fine because it allowed those working there to get some fresh air. Across the street, there was a beautiful clock tower that I enjoyed photographing. Before the worship service, we were surprised to hear a women's group singing an almost note-by-note transliteration of the Christian Edition arrangement of "Bow the Knee" to the track of my father playing. It was surreal, but kind of cool.

At the end of the concert, instead of playing his usual "Joy" postlude, my father tapped out a more mellow tune. Afterwards, he explained to the congregation that the piece was called "Candles," and he wrote it for my mother for their wedding at Wawona thirty years ago. Congratulations, Mom and Dad. Here's to thirty years more.

The trip back to the hotel was lengthy due to traffic, but it gave us a wonderful view of Vancouver's most beautiful bridges in the flickering twilight. The next morning, we packed our bags and boarded the Celebrity cruise ship Century, destined for Alaska. The launch was most impressive, as we passed under one of Vancouver's larger bridges.

After a sumptuous dinner, we had a meet-and-greet in a room called the Hemisphere. As a thank-you gift for filling rooms, the cruise line provided free non-alcoholic drinks to all present for an hour. Director Calvin Knipschild explained some of the mechanics of the week and introduced the guest artists: violinist Jaime Jorge, soprano Jennifer LaMountain, preacher Karl Haffner, and his own daughter, Deanne Knipschild. My parents and I watched the sun set at sea from the great windows of the Hemisphere as we caught up with some old friends.

That night, as I relaxed while listening to the ship's musicians play salsa music, I thought, "I am definitely going to enjoy this cruise more than the last one."

Indeed, I did. The adventure was just beginning.

College Graduation

The screen seemed to blur as I submitted the paper to Dropbox, PUC's electronic homework system. For a moment, I froze in shock. Was that really the last one? Was that really the last paper of college? Suddenly, the world seemed so bright and full of delicious possibilities. "Now I can write and read whatever I want at whatever pace I want," I thought with glee. I resisted the temptation to run out to the Healdsburg Bell right away, and waited until noon the next day instead. There, my friends Fallon and Tawnya watched as I rang it five times, following a custom the class of 2005 started, to ring it for each year of college. (I count my three quarters of summer school as a year.)

It was a week of lasts, some more difficult than others. A last visit to Giugni's, a last game of chess in a coffee shop, a last conversation with the outgoing Professor McDowell, a last project at the Heritage Room, a last midnight vigil at the front desk of the library, a last journal entry by the Paulin Hall fountain, a last night living in Graf Hall. Each last felt like a memorial service--joyous while tinged with sadness. The power of graduation exercises rests in the ability to celebrate the work that got you to that point without saying, "Leave and never come back."

I did not expect commencement practice to be so fun. By some miracle, I managed to get the perfect seat--second row in the middle. On the way out of practice, I ran into my old friend Alexandra, who I met at Wawona four years ago. She joined us for the aforementioned Giugni's sandwich and chess game. Coming back up the hill, we got out of the car to take a walk to where Old Howell Mountain Road had washed out. I didn't expect it to be so impressive; it stopped at a twenty-food drop quite abruptly. Walking around it, we got the most stunningly beautiful view of the lakes beyond it.

At Senior Consecration that evening, I was minding my own business, talking to my family when my friend Cristina texted me to tell me they needed someone to do the benediction. I was dressed very, very casually and not a little self-conscious about it, but I accepted anyway. I enjoyed watching Cristina's heartfelt speech, Groschel's praise band, and Loni's slideshow. That beautifully captured the grand variety of things we'll all miss at PUC, and I hope she mails us all a copy. Pastor Ice's sermon was a great reminder that God has plans for all of us, and then it was my turn, then it was all over.

After a rehearsal for a choral piece the next day, I sat in the moonlight by the fountain, writing in my journal. Although I call that a last, I would like to think it isn't.

Lining up for Baccalaureate felt like navigating the County Fair. There was definitely a contagiously cheerful mood in the air, which my Honors teachers would call "effervescence" (proving once again that a college education just gives you fancier words for things you already know exist). Marching between Annalisa (who survived all my language classes with me) and Charles (who pulled me into his film projects freshman year) was a great feeling, and we sat in front of the only other Theology major graduating this year, my friend Jose Baltodano. His children joined him halfway through the service, and they were adorable. Annalisa and I sang Beck's "Consecration" and listened attentively as Pastor Henderson gave another of his Baccalaureate addresses. I found it elegant, how he said, "Life happens" where I would say, "Stuff happens."

In the sun-lit courtyard afterwards, I met my Spencer grandparents, who had made a two- or three-day drive from the desert to watch me graduate. They were beaming with pride. Down in Napa, I devoured the picnic meal, starving after all the marching and singing, and then I was human enough to talk to the various relatives who had assembled. On my way back up the hill, I was seized with a sudden, dire impulse to go to Elmshaven, so I did. By some miracle, the tour guides were still there, and one of them let me in. I took a closer look at Ellen White's ministerial credentials, and without so many distracting people trying to say differently in my ears, the document spoke for itself. The word "Ordained" was NOT crossed out. I don't know why, but that was important for me to see before graduating.

Commencement morning, I got ready to the strains of Les Miserables and Ragtime. Whenever I'm at a crossroads in life, I like to listen to bits of these two musicals. They help me review the past and look towards the future. I savored the walk up to Commencement Grove, taking the time to stop more than I would have otherwise, appreciating the natural beauty of the walk.

Drowning in leis, I almost teared up while I watched the faculty processional, lead by my own mentor Dr. Widmer carrying the PUC banner. The library staff were equally difficult for me. The crowd was a blur as I marched to my seat, where the tortilla wars began as soon as the service did. (Before you ask me where on earth this custom came from, I don't know. Pester my now-former boss at the Heritage Room with it.) What they say about graduation is true; I honestly don't remember much about the valedictorian's speech or even the commencement address (though I remember a little more about that). I do remember seeing the check for the Irwin Hall renovation presented to President Knight. That was a big moment for those of us who supported the renovations and voted in the partnership with the Student Senate.

When it was time to present the diplomas (or rather, diploma cases), one of the last individual faces I registered was that of my department chair, Dr. Ranzolin. The view from the platform is quite impressive, and I wished I had a camera on me to photograph it. When Nancy LeCourt read my name and honors, was she slowing it down or was I imagining it? As I received my diploma from President Knight, she whispered, "We'll miss you." Sincerely, I whispered back, "I'll miss you, too."

The recessional went by quickly, and I must've spent a solid hour afterwards thanking, congratulating, or just greeting everyone I wanted to catch before they left. I have been insanely lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life, and none of the tassels which threatened to strangle me this weekend would have been possible without all those people. As I walked down the hill, I plotted to return to PUC, which may or may not happen, but hey, it's a nice thought. It was hard to check out of Graf and force myself to drive off the campus.

That blow was softened by the incredible party my family had put together for me. If the decorations had been white, I might've mistaken it for a modest wedding reception. There was even a full-color banner saying, "Congratulations, Jillian!" and the gorgeous (and delicious) red velvet graduation cake said the same. There were elaborately-placed streamers on the windows.

The food was delicious, and just what I needed after the physical exertion of walking up and down the hill, wandering around the grove, and moving heavy objects out of my room in Graf. I dug into the Caesar salad, the grilled vegetables, the Walla Walla loaf, and the bread with great alacrity. It's a sign of real hunger when I actually finish cake after all of that. They made me make the first cut in the cake, which I felt rather silly doing, but I humored them.

The gifts were generous and useful. I have already enjoyed playing with a few of them. After opening them all, I gave a brief but heartfelt speech of appreciation for everything they'd all done for me. Now, I'd like to do the same here. Each of you has had a part to play in this. I could not have done college without your help, support, listening ears, and prayer. Even though many of you have given or sent me gifts, I feel rather like I owe each of you gifts. The degree and tassels are not mine, but the product of a large community that has informed, guided, and inspired me every step of the way. Thank you.

I love you all so much.

Thanksgiving, November 19-28

Hello!

Once again, it has been way too long since I've written, and I suppose that the now-infrequent nature of my blogging reflects either a lack of self-discipline, less travel, fun experiences that are harder to organize into blog posts, or a variety of the above. Safe to say, I've been studying hard, working hard, and playing hard this quarter. I don't want to waste a single moment of my senior year, and one of the positive elements of my senioritis has been attending more on-campus social events and exploring some of the nearby towns with my friends on the weekends. I suppose I should be writing about these little adventures, as they may give other PUC students more ideas on fun things to do with their weekends. (Hint: Ice skating in Santa Rosa on Saturday night is only FIVE dollars, and it's a cool ice rink, no pun intended.)

I'll try and do a better job next quarter--and hold me to it!

For Thanksgiving this year, I cheerfully left school on Thursday night instead of Friday so that I could see a movie with my friends and do elementary chapel at Pleasant Hill on Friday morning. That was fun--I always have a hard time choosing what to talk about at elementary chapel because of the age span, but when I get there, it's such a fun group to speak for. I hung out in Mom's classroom for the day, helping her serve pumpkin pie to her students before the three of us (her, myself, and my dad) headed off by car to Southern California. I was so wiped that I slept on the floor of the van while Dad was in rehearsal with Christian Edition.

The next morning, there was a worship service at a beautiful old Filipino church. The building must have been a deserted Catholic church, because the congregation that is in it now has only been around for ten years or so, according to one of the members. It had some absolutely beautiful stained glass. There was a window of Mary with Jesus that reminded me of the Botticelli paintings I saw in Italy--she had the same glistening eyes as those paintings. The people were very friendly, and I recognized a few PUC students in the congregation. They fed the entire group potluck, which was rich in dishes I'd never seen before.

In the afternoon, CE had another engagement at the CHIP seminar at Loma Linda University. Because seating was scarce, I took the chance to wander around the building instead. I had never explored one of the University's buildings properly, other than the church. It was strange to me, to be in an Adventist building with that much attention to visual detail. The lighting on the school's crest in the stairwell alone was more visually impressive than almost anything man-made on my home PUC campus--although nothing beats the changing of the seasons at PUC. I had always wondered why Loma Linda was considered a world-class medical school, and wandering around the deserted halls on Sabbath afternoon, I started to appreciate it. Words I didn't recognize were printed on the doors, sprinkled with a few that I knew well enough to be impressed by them--oncology research, bioethics, etc. It was a most enlightening experience.

On Sunday morning, I went with my dad to the worship service with a nearby Nazarene church. I was amused by sheets of paper in the pews that said, "Scribble Paper: For Little Nazarenes." CE was in fine form that morning, and I truly got a blessing out of the music that day. I especially appreciated hearing "Armor of God," which I hadn't heard in a while, and kind of missed. After that, we picked up Mom from the hotel, went out for a sandwich at Surfer Joe's, and then headed out to the desert. We really lucked out on our room at Palm Canyon, where we have a time share, this time--the view was full of palm trees, the sunlit pool, and even a snow-capped mountain in the distance. The greater joy, though, was to see my Spencer family members after a very long time apart. My cousins continue to grow like weeds, and I can't believe how fast they're growing under my not-so-watchful gaze. Before I know it, they'll be full-grown men.

Monday was my grandmother's 80th birthday. To celebrate this wonderful woman, we all went out to IHOP for their delicious veggie crepes. Then, in the afternoon we went swimming--the slide at Palm Canyon is faster than I remember it from when I was seven. In the evening, we struck up the time-honored tradition of Hand and Foot, a game played with Rook cards that we indulge in every time we are together. We paused the competitive tournament for cake in honor of Grandma's birthday. It was a marble cake, with white chocolate shavings on the outside and a fresh blueberry filling. It was one of the most delicious things I've ever tasted, but being able to celebrate my Grandma's birthday with her was sweeter still.

Tuesday, we celebrated Thanksgiving together. While the feast was cooking, my grandpa took me aside and told me the most wonderful stories. It made me wish that I had brought my computer so I could type them out--but maybe they wouldn't be so special if they were written, and didn't just come from him trying to pass down his memories from his long life to his granddaughter. It was a feast for the mind and heart, followed by the Thanksgiving feast of the tastebuds. When we left that night, it felt far too soon to be leaving. I want to see my grandparents again, soon.

It was a long but relaxed drive back up to Bay Point on Wednesday. We managed to miss the worst of the traffic by taking the route that goes out by Joshua Tree. I always loved looking at the twisted shapes of these bizarre plants through the window of the car. We made good enough time that we were able to stop in Santa Nella for dinner at Anderson's Split Pea Soup, enjoying each other's company as a family. It was nice to get home by nine. It allowed us to do laundry and catch up on sleep before going to Thanksgiving at the Piner's the next day.

This is the first year that the Piners and the Knapp clan (that's the one I'm from) have had Thanksgiving together, but it worked out nicely. There were over twenty people there in all, between the two families. The food was amazing--there are some recipes from the Piners that rightly are kept secret, or some pastry shop would conquer the world with them. The greatest delight of that event for me, though, was playing with my cousin Sam. I grew really attached to him over the summer, and I hadn't realized how much I was starting to miss him.

My parents and I spent the next day or two enjoying my grandfather's company. On Black Friday, the four of us went out to the movies during the day, before the mall crowd swarmed in. We used to do this a lot when Grandpa lived with us, and it felt good to do it again. On Sabbath, my parents showed him, my grandmother, and myself some of their travel photos--I swear, they should be keeping a travel blog, not me.

I went to every effort to live in denial that I was returning to PUC, even as I packed for the last two weeks of the quarter. It took the edge off of things to enjoy some In-N-Out and take a look and my great-grandmother's Christmas decorations in her room before she accompanied us up the hill. On the hill, I put off doing my homework to help my friends decorate their room for Christmas. It was worth it. The world needs more holiday cheer.

As for this last weekend, I could ooze volumes about how much I enjoyed the Ralph Carmichael concert at Elmshaven, but this letter is already too long. It is truly a joy to listen to one of the big band greats conduct a really good band playing big band charts.

I apologize for my long radio silence, and I will try to be better about writing in the future. To all you teachers out there: good luck with the rest of the school term. To all you students out there: good luck with the rest of finals. To all you musicians and pastors out there: good luck with all the extra Christmas programming ahead. To everyone out there: good luck with the holiday season--may its cheer exceed the anxiety that often accompanies it.

Albion Retreat, October 1-3

It has been a while, has it not? It's not that I haven't been traveling; I did enjoy a weekend at Leoni deeply some time ago. Alas, time got away from me. Since I last wrote, I have returned to PUC, turned 21, started work on a book about Adventist belief, and reunited with a number of friends I have missed deeply. Not in that order, of course.

On my 21st birthday, I was lucky enough to get to preach at my home church in Pleasant Hill with many of my family members in attendance. In the party that evening, I was really lucky to receive one of the coolest birthday cakes I have ever had--it had Mickey Mouse figurines on it. The Leoni weekend was a great chance to reunite with my former Pathfinder unit and watch them become LITs. I am so proud of all of them!

To celebrate a whole gaggle of birthdays and the new academic school year at PUC, my friends and I went to the Build-a-Bear workshop and made Star Wars bears. They are so adorable! Mine has a Jedi robe--I named him Christian Kenobi. My favorite, though, was my friend Tawnya's floppy-eared bunny in a sinister Darth Vader costume.

As for Albion, I have actually written an article on it already. It's available at puc.edu in a highly edited form (I am not responsible for spelling rappelling wrong--thanks, PUC PR department). For your enjoyment, I will include it here in its original form:

Religion Department Retreats at Albion

The Religion Department at PUC kicked off its school year with its annual spiritual retreat at Albion on the weekend of October 1-3. This was a weekend of fun, fellowship, and communion with God in the picturesque location of PUC’s Biology station on the Mendocino coast.

“This trip is often the highlight of the year for our Theology majors,” Dr. Ranzolin, head of the PUC Religion department said.

The weekend’s bonding started on Friday afternoon with a two-and-a-half hour long drive from PUC. The road to Albion twists and turns in sinuous curves hugging spectacular cliffs. “I keep on thinking we’re going to drive off the edge of a cliff,” commented Jordan Davis, freshman Theology major.

Upon their arrival at Albion, the students and their guests were treated to a healthy meal at the Albion cafeteria. Abraham Navarro, a student, noted, “It (the food) kept getting better and better.”

To kick off the Sabbath, Religion and Theology students provided a vespers in the recently-renovated laboratory building. Theology sophomore Samantha Angeles delivered a moving message on the importance of wisdom.

One of her classmates, Jason Whitley, commented, “I loved her sermon. It was a great reminder of what is important for those of us going into ministry.”

The Sabbath morning church service was no disappointment, either. With the winding Albion river visible through the windows, one of the

Theology freshmen from Palau gave his testimony, and sophomore Cameron Haley preached.

“The testimonies and the sermons were fantastic,” Angelica Bermudez said of the service afterward.

After church, students engaged in the annual game of Bible Bowl, where students test their general knowledge of the Bible, competing in teams.

For the afternoon, a large group of students went to see a lighthouse.

“It was bright,” commented Levi Gore.

“You couldn’t even look at it, even in the daytime,” added Danny Castañaza.

“It’s beautiful,” chimed in Jordan Davis.

Later, they went to see a sinkhole. “It was deep,” commented Angelica Bermudez.

“We saw a crab. That was pretty exciting,” Travis O’Reilly laughed.

After another vespers program and a dinner of haystacks and root beer floats, students and faculty alike returned to the laboratory building for a night of fellowship and games.

“My favorite game was zip bong,” Samuel Smith enthused.

All in all, it was a memorable weekend at Albion.

“The music was awesome,” said Jordan Davis. The music for the weekend was provided by a group drawn entirely from the ranks of the Religion Department. It featured Matthew Frias on the ukele, Julov Pierre on the piano, a guitarist, professor Kim on the violin, and Travis O’Reilly on vocals.

More than one student commented, “I just know that something exciting is going to happen this year. I can feel it.”

------

And that's where I left things off. What I don't mention is the incredibly peaceful four-hour trip I took by canoe down the Albion River with two of my friends while everyone else was at the lighthouse and the sinkhole. It was a very refreshing Sabbath, which was absolutely necessary for the thrasher of a week I had afterward. Fortunately, things are winding down for the weekend now.

Sorry it's been so long since I've written. I'll try and be better about it in the future. Have a wonderful weekend, wherever you may be, in the company of loved ones.

Redwood Campmeeting, July 18-August 1

Feel free to be startled by the dates on this email: I was up in the Redwoods for a LONG time. I used to think, as a child attending Redwood Camp Meeting, that the ten days I was there as a camper every year constituted a long trip, but going to Spain and back put that into perspective. Still, two weeks is a long time to be without phone or email contact with the rest of the world. In a way, that was quite liberating.

After helping another pastor set up their site, I was free to get settled into the borrowed trailer I would sleep in for most of the campmeeting. The next morning, all the pastors and volunteers ate together before we got started on the day's work. On that first day, the youth pastors and I raked out the clearing for the Youth division, dug a trench for the sound equipment (with the help of Kramer, an awesome dog), put together the stage, and took chairs over to the Spanish division. Tuesday's tasks involved the infamous Port-a-Potty run. Few things amuse me quite like standing on the back of a truck with a group of pastors I've known over the years and deeply respect. . . and Port-a-Potties. It was great conversation time, though, and once again, Kramer came along and helped.

By Wednesday, campers started to arrive in greater numbers and our work in the Youth division was getting more specific. This was when we started digging holes in the ground for posts and stretching the canvas around them. A few Youth started to trickle in and send their greetings as our youth helper, Eli, finished painting our backdrop, which sported the word, "Impact," our theme. By Thursday, we were working primarily on sound, lights, and programming. Our first meeting went very well, and it was a joy to see many of the kids I've come to love from Pleasant Hill, Yountville, and Napa afterward as I mannhttps://mail.google.com/mail/?shva=1#drafts/12a39c50796e36d4ed the hot chocolate. We actually call that the Choco Pit--if I'm not mistaken, my brother may have been the one to give it that name. Weird.

This kicked off the first weekend. Our division was absolutely packed on Friday--we were using every chair we had. Afterwards, my former Pathfinder unit and I were talking, and through this I discovered that I was related to half my unit by some very distant marriage ties. Who knew we really were family? They always felt like family to me, anyway. I read them a bedtime story, like I used to when they were little Pathfinders--but now they are young women, old enough to be LITs themselves. For old time's sake, though, I read a story to them almost every night at Redwood. Some nights, this meant being up quite late, while still waking up early for the pastors' meetings. However, it was worth it to reestablish some of those connections.

As the week progressed, the youth started up a service project for the Fortuna Food Bank, in order to make a good impact (our theme) on the world. I was actually really impressed with the kids as they showed up in great numbers to pass out bags, gather canned food and nonperishable items, and even make dinner for the homeless. I remember doing these things when I was in high school, but I don't remember so many people my own age being so dedicated to service. I may have done several of the announcements for it in Pepperwood Pavilion, but it was truly a high school student victory.

On Wednesday night, I got to speak in the Youth division. I talked about being an every day Superman by way of Ruth. It was one of my weirder, more circuitous worship thoughts, but the kids seemed to like it--especially the idea that we're all really capable of being everyday superheroes. I had a hard time taking my own advice, though. All the chair wrangling, running of slides, and running of hot chocolate I was doing there didn't seem like much to me. I wasn't doing the exciting things; just boring little logistical details. I had to force myself to remember that my boring logistical details were important, just like Clark Kent's honest reporting.

The last weekend was a blur. There was so much going on at once, and right after the last meeting, we had to take everything down. What had taken three days to set up, we took down in a night and a day. The volunteers who helped us were very dedicated, and made it possible for us all to leave on Sunday at a reasonable time. When I got back to Napa, I slept like a baby; I hadn't had a day off in three weeks.

Right now, I'm enjoying the second of my days off and loving it. I would like to thank a smattering of people for making the last three weeks possible for me. I don't think I ever thanked the VBS praise band properly: job well done. You worked hard, and thank goodness, none of us will ever have to play the song "One True God" again. Chris Estay, thank you for the ride to Redwood. Sherilyn O'Ffill, thank you for lending your trailer, giving me a ride back, and continuing to be an awesome supervising pastor. Anderson and Snyder families, thank you for all the good food you fed me while I was over there--I loved both the food and the company. Youth division volunteers, you were awesome. You made it so we wouldn't have to be there all night several times.

Now that everyone's properly thanked, rest up! School is creeping up on many of us. I can't believe how fast the summer has flown. Enjoy your last few weeks (or days, if you're a teacher) of freedom before school starts up again.

Yosemite, June 25-28

Happy Fourth of July weekend! This will be the first time in three years that I've actually spent it in the USA. Last weekend, however, was a much more exciting venture. After a long, exhausting VBS rehearsal, I took off on a wild adventure that involved celebrating the fiftieth birthdays of my beloved aunt and uncle, Mark and Shirley Spencer.

I woke up at home the morning after the rehearsal and finally cleaned up my room from my swift transition between school and my internship. Then, my parents and I took off into the sunlit afternoon and stopped on our merry way to see Toy Story 3 and Karate Kid. Toy Story was so good, it actually made me cry! It certainly signals the end of an era. Even though Karate Kid had great locations shot in China, it was not nearly as good as the original from the 80's. We stopped in Merced for the night, only to get up at 6 the next morning.

We drove with all haste to meet my beloved aunt and uncle at the Ahwahnee for breakfast. There, I met a good deal of Shirley's family for the first time, including a number of rather charming cousins-in-law I would be happy to meet again. The breakfast was delicious, with hot oatmeal and fabulous fresh fruit. The Ahwahnee's crowning glory is not its food, though--it is the view of the valley through their high clear windows in the craftsmen-style dining room. We took pictures in the spacious lobby before going over to Manure Pile to do some rock climbing. It felt good to have my hands on the granite again, slowly and carefully scaling the slope. I always feel safe with Mark or Shirley on the other end of the rope. I had forgotten how much I missed that.

The traffic going out of the valley to check into our hotel in Oakhurst was epic. It was like Highway 5 on the day before Thanksgiving. Thanks to this, we missed seeing Shirley's art exhibit in the Fish Camp Library, so that gives me incentive to try to visit again this summer. Once at our hotel, we crashed, exhausted, until we went back to Fish Camp to visit with Mark and Shirley for a little while. Then, we went over to see my grandparents and my aunt Dolly at the Tenaya Lodge, where they were staying. According to family custom, we played Hand and Foot. As usual, my dad and Grandpa won.

The day of the party, my dad and I helped procure more soda for the festivities before going to Fish Camp. Shirley had come up with a splendid mixer game of human bingo. We had to find different people on the sheet of paper to win, such as a John Muir scholar, my grandmother, and an elusive member of Mensa, who never revealed their identity. Shirley's niece and nephew found almost everybody but him/her, and won fair and square. Their prize for their efforts were a photo from Mark's Half Dome series, one of which I hang up in my dorm room at PUC.

After a splendid meal of pesto pasta, Mark and Shirley presented their chocolate birthday cake, resplendent in crowns. We all sang to them and played with the balloons while waiting in line for the cake. Mark was nice enough to give me a ride in the Model T his neighbor from the Tin Lizzie Inn had lent him, and we had a great time dropping my grandparents off at Tenaya Lodge. When we got back, my parents and I played Set with a long-lost friend of ours, Kelvin, before joining in with the Chicken Dance and leaving. A thoroughly lovely evening.

The next morning, we swung by Mark and Shirley's one last time to say goodbye. After a brief exchange of china at the Ahwahnee (one or two of the pieces we had from them were faulty), it was a rush to get me to board meeting on time. I barely made it, but I made it! It was a truly epic weekend, followed by a busy week. Tomorrow, I get to tell the children's story at Napa and on Sunday, there's a Fourth of July parade I'm going to. Happy Birthday, Mark and Shirley and welcome home, Diane--I dedicate this children's story to you.

Clear Lake, June 13-19, 2010

Hello! Sorry I haven't written in ages, but I've been busy writing two exegesis papers, attending finals, and going to Clear Lake county with the Napa youth group to do Vacation Bible School in two churches--Clear Lake and Middletown. There was very little turnaround between school and leaving on this trip as a start of my internship at Napa for the summer. I finished finals on Wednesday (ending with Greek--which I'm sure I botched), spent all of Thursday cleaning, and had two days at home before leaving for Clear Lake on Sunday.

The Napa youth were immediately warm and friendly. I went into that trip only knowing Pastor Sherilyn O'Ffill, but it didn't take long for me to feel like I'd known the youth for months. We camped together at Hidden Valley Lake Campground, but spent very little time at camp because there were two VBS programs every single day. It was, in short, a lot of work but a lot of fun, too. The theme was Joseph: From Prison to Palace, and Susha and I were responsible for the opening and closing programs. However, we did take some time off on the afternoons to do a few fun things in order to decompress from the work at hand.

The first night, we all took communion together, to get ourselves focused--there would be no time to breathe the following day. On Tuesday, we actually had time to go swimming at the Hidden Valley Lake Community pool. About half the Middletown church lives there, so it should have been a cinch to get in--but we were wrong! Security there is so tight that you have to be on a guest list to have access to the gated community. Even Silverado's security isn't that tight! Eventually, one of the Middletown church members got us in and we all had fun swimming, but we all left laughing at how ridiculous it is to have that much security in the middle of nowhere.

On Wednesday, we visited a woman, Karen who has cancer. She is due to die in August, but I've seen cancer patients live well past their "expiration dates" with prayer and the love of a community--so by all means, pray for her. Sooner or later, everyone must die, but that doesn't mean that it has to be right away. She loved seeing us and asked us all what we were doing for VBS, making jokes about some of the kids. To decompress from this very heavy visit, I taught some of the kids how to play Egyptian war, and they enjoyed smacking each other's hands for the duration of the afternoon.

The following day, we were discouraged to start VBS with only two kids--but by the time we were through with the opening program, there were 10! It was such a relief. We celebrated by hunting for Clear Lake diamonds. These diamonds aren't worth much for jewelry, but they have the hardness of regular diamonds and gleam and glitter in the sun beautifully. I found quite a few of them, but not nearly as much as a little boy who was with us, who had been there before. These are only found in Clear Lake County, and the ones that are actually big enough to cut are worth something.

Friday afternoon, we celebrated our last day of VBS at Clear Lake by going on a boat on the lake, which was fun. Even though it's called Clear Lake, it's really green, but that didn't matter--it had water, and therefore the kids loved tubing and wake boarding on it. We all loved the extra hour or two of sleep we got that night before going to do the church program. That didn't go as well as I would have liked, but it was a joy to see my old friend Charlie there.

After potluck, we tried to leave camp in time to do a hike, but one of the cars blew a tire, so we had to skip it. Still, we got back safely, visiting the spring where Calistoga water is bottled. That is some of the sweetest, most wonderful water I have ever tasted.

I barely had time to settle in to my trailer in my aunt and uncle's backyard in Napa before we set out sailing around the San Francisco bay for Father's Day. It was nice to spend some quality time with the Piner family, and the views from the boat were absolutely spectacular. I admired Starr's ability to keep her balance while cooking in the hold, and my cousin-in-law, Andrew, as he managed to steer for so long without running us aground. I didn't realize how hard it was until Gary had me give the wheel a spin--it's harder than it looks! It was a great challenge, and I loved it. I will never watch Pirates of the Caribbean the same way again. After we came back ashore, we went out to Marin Joe's for dinner, which is always spectacular--if you're anywhere near Marin, it's worth a visit.

Ever since, I've been shadowing local pastors, mostly with an eye towards visitation. That's the area of pastoral ministry I have the least experience with, and I'm actually enjoying it. Meeting new people is fun for me.

Congratulations to everyone who graduated either from high school, college, or film school (Hillary) in the last month--I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner! Also, happy belated Father's Day to all the fathers out there. You have a very important job! Thanks for everything you do. I hope everyone is having a great summer.