A child in surgery

Not many groupings of words can bring more anxiety to a parent's heart than those. A child in surgery. But that's where we were yesterday as we waited for our son who was at Children's Memorial Hospital having a cataract removed from his right eye.

On a list of "serious" surgeries, I'd guess that this one might wouldn't qualify. In the days leading up to the surgery, I was confident in the doctor, didn't have much fear, knew it was fairly routine, but I couldn't help but get more nervous and anxious as we sat there waiting for the doctors and nurses to wheel our 6-year-old away. The surgeon talked to us beforehand and explained what would happen. We knew he'd have to have glasses. We knew that by taking out the cataract, she'd put in a new lens in his eye which would mean he'd lose the ability to see up close, thereby needing bifocals. And yet when she started talking about the slim possibility of things like a detached retina, I immediately thought, Oh, God, our son is going to be blind, isn't he? Ethan was taking it all in stride. A social worker showed him pictures of what he could expect. He listened to his own heart with a stethoscope. He watched PBS Kids and a bit of a Harry Potter movie, which just happened to be on one of the channels. As the anesthesiologist came and said it was time to go, we said a quick prayer together and they took him away.

We waited in the surgical waiting room (I could put up with the cell phones going off left and right, but there was a kid who was playing an unplugged video game for a good half-hour that drove me to the brink of bonkers-ness) and a little more than two hours later, the surgeon came in and told us every thing went fine and we could go see him in a few minutes. I'm not sure if there are more sobering places in this world than post-op rooms in children's hospitals. Ethan was sprawled out, still sleeping, but he woke up just a couple minutes after we arrived and that was the start of a couple hours of heartbreaking cries of "My eye is bothering me so much!" It's a helpless feeling to want to do anything--anything!--to ease your child's suffering, while knowing that time is about the only prescription. Time and a little Tylenol.

We did our best to soothe him, caress his hair, hold his hand, talk about all the people who were thinking of him and it did some good and we thought he was OK but then he'd cry some more, all while saying the same thing over and over. My eye is bothering me...so much! Eventually he was able to be distracted by the TV and apple juice, but little did we know that the biggest palliative would arrive later that afternoon.

His big sister.

It was amazing. I think what Anne and I did certainly helped but watching Caroline dote on him, say just the right things, and distract him from the discomfort was a marvel. He did pretty well after we got home, but every once in a while he'd start crying from the pain and Caroline would be there to do just the right thing. The picture above sums it all up. I realize I'm on the verge of overstating our children's goodness, but I don't mind bragging when our kids display remarkable courage and compassion. I really don't know when I was more proud of both of them.

Ethan goes back in today to have the surgeon take a look at his eye and he may not have to wear as elaborate of a patch from here on out (though he has a birthday party later today and I wouldn't put it past him or blame him to want to show off his badge of honor). There will be a multitude of drops we (mostly Anne) will have to put in his eye over the next several weeks and then in mid-August we do it all again on the left eye, but hopefully when the healing is complete, he'll be able to see amazing colors and clarity of shapes like never before. That will be a pretty remarkable gift.

Just One Night

Whenever I tell friends and family about the different pastoral experiences I have since coming to Urban Village, they often say, I hope you're writing this down!

I am. Sort of. Some of my experiences, though, aren't for public consumption because of privacy concerns with the people I meet with and listen to, which I, of course, will always honor. Though as a person who likes to observe and share these observations, that can be hard. Last week, though, was just a glimpse of the kinds of people I meet with and the stories I get to hear. We had a party/benefit at T's Restaurant & Bar in Andersonville (where we're launching a third site this fall) and had a nice crowd attend. Here's a quick list of the people I talked with--some with whom I had lengthy conversations and others were just quick hellos:

**There were the three guys who are part of a gay burlesque show (two dance, the other does tech) and perform at various venues across the Midwest to raise money for AIDS awareness and prevention

**There's the 40something woman who got divorced a couple years ago, recently came out as a lesbian, and is wondering how or if she should tell her mother

**There's the couple who just got married in January--she gets up at 3 a.m. every day to work at a Caribou Coffee while also finishing school and he's a financial advisor at Edward Jones

**There's the woman who used to throw the shot put and discus at a Big 10 school and is now a veritable Pied Piper for our gay community (though she's straight)

**There's the transgender man who just finished his master's in social service administration at the University of Chicago and is looking for a job

**There's the straight guy who's going to Cincinnati this weekend for a reunion with his friends

**There's the woman who just happened to be at the bar last night, but is looking for organizations to partner with AmeriCorps for hunger relief

And there were a few others. And that's just one night. I've stopped trying to figure out the "right" way to respond to all of these diverse stories. I've learned simply to listen, be present, and love.

Religion & politics follow-up

A few days ago, I posted about combining religion and politics and wondering about tax-exempt status. Here's a clarification from Rev. Phil Blackwell, senior pastor at the First United Methodist Church in Chicago (aka the Chicago Temple) and I'm thankful for his expertise:

"The distinction is between commenting on legislation and policies on the one hand, and endorsing political parties and candidates on the other. We (as clergy) can do the first. You simply can quote the Social Principles as a warrant for engaging issues. I make a distinction between public issues of general interest and political activities. The line becomes blurred when, for instance, we at the Temple host a forum at which someone in the political spectrum refuses to participate. I use the Social Principles and the NIC positions as guidelines.

"Since the gambling expansion legislation is bi-partisan, members of both parties supported or rejected it, anything we say is not political.

"The initiative on immigration in the NIC, discussions about public education, state budget issues related to caring for people who are disabled, and war are proper issues to discuss. Endorsing particular politicians or parties is not."

A couple of definitions--the Social Principles is a guideline for United Methodists on where we stand on particular issues and this is voted on by a worldwide body of elected clergy and laity every four years. I emphasize the word "guideline" because United Methodists aren't expected to the toe the line on these issues, but gives us (and the world) a sense of our beliefs. For what it's worth, I agree with nearly all of our Social Principles (the United Methodist stance on homosexuality is one big exception).

Second definition--the NIC stands for the Northern Illinois Conference, essentially the organized body of United Methodists (similar to a diocese or presbytery) in northern Illinois.

Father's Day quilt

A few months ago, I saw an ad for a company that made quilts out of old t-shirts. My dresser drawers have long been overflowing with t-shirts of races I've run in my life, so this seemed like a great idea. I (not-so) slyly mentioned it to my wife, gave her a pile of t-shirts that had particular memories for me and, to be honest, kind of forgot about it. Until yesterday.

I'm not sure how often it happens when a mother is more pleased than a father when it comes to Father's Day gifts, but this may be the case for us. I love the quilt, but I think Anne loves it even more. One of the cool things about is that every t-shirt on there has a specific memory. They include some of my favorite races (like the Drake Relays On-the-Roads 8K), a race I won (a 5K last summer in Chicago), some races from long ago (one shirt is from 1988), and momentous races (like the Boston Marathon, even though I crashed and burned at Mile 16). Anne can't get over how great of a job they did and I have to agree.

Now, if only it weren't 80 degrees outside...

The blessings of Bollywood

A reminder of why we live in the city...

I reflected a few posts ago about living in the city and my kids missing out on having a big backyard (or, in our case, any backyard at all). We saw the flip side last night. My wife and I went to a benefit for an Indian non-profit and my daughter performed with a Bollywood group that she's been dancing with the past few months. It's moments like these that remind me that though there are things that my kids will miss out on, there are also opportunities that will open their worldview, like Bollywood dancing and going up to Devon Avenue in Chicago and buying a sari.

As you can see from the photos (this is from an earlier performance at their school), there's a wide variety of girls in the group and Caroline has a great time with them. I like to think that she's being formed in really wonderful ways in doing things like this. I know I am just watching her.

Mixing religion and politics

I'm almost done with the book "Amazing Grace," which isn't exactly a beach read, but is interesting nonetheless--it takes a sociological snapshot of Americans and religion and I've learned quite a bit from it. One of the surveys that they site states that, not surprisingly, Americans really don't care for clergy espousing political views. I totally get that. It bugs me when certain clergy hand out "voter guides" or make it known that true Christians will follow Candidate X. (Unless, of course, they say things I agree with! :) )

And yet a couple times in the last few months, I've made what I thought were pretty benign political statements and have been called out on it because some people don't think they're so benign. In Urban Village's e-newsletter that I sent out yesterday, I encouraged people to consider writing Gov. Pat Quinn and tell him to veto SB744, which would drastically increase gambling in Illinois. United Methodists have historically been opposed to gambling because, among other things, it can have harmful effects on lives and essentially serves as a tax on the poor. (To see more specific reasons, check out this link.) I've asked people in previous churches to do so and haven't had any push-back on it so I made that request again. Two individuals, though, have responded, wondering if I'm overstepping my role as a pastor in doing so. One asked if I wasn't endangering UVC's tax-exempt status and it's a question I've started to investigate. I tend to think that clergy aren't supposed to endorse candidates as opposed to issues, but, again, I'm trying to find out.

Can/should clergy get involved politically? If so, should they ask their congregation to follow suit? I'd guess that most people (in line with the "American Grace" survey) would say no, they shouldn't. I don't do it a lot, but I draw my inspiration from the Old Testament prophets who would sometimes call out the rulers of Israel if the marginalized of society (e.g. the poor, widows) were being ignored. That's part of my own discernment. Are the marginalized being ignored at the expense of those who have much? How one defines "the marginalized", of course, is tricky. One person might say unborn children are marginalized. Another would say young men in jail. There is no easy answer, which is why I don't use my prophetic voice (which I don't claim is particularly strong) a lot. But I also don't think it should be mute. And I would say that about anyone.

Sunglasses

Somewhere in this world, there is a drawer and in this drawer, there are probably at least 15 pairs of sunglasses that I have lost over the years. Cheap glasses and slightly-more-than-cheap sunglasses. I know not to invest in an expensive pair anymore because I usually have them a year or so. Normally it doesn't bother me, but I really kind of liked the pair I lost a couple weeks ago so I've had to reflect more on the spiritual practice of indifference. I've been reading about Ignatius of Loyola, an early 16th-century priest and theologian who is the spiritual father of the Jesuits. Indifference, for Ignatius, doesn't mean you have no feelings for anything, but instead means "the freedom to approach each decision afresh. The ability to be detached from one's initial biases and to step back, the willingness to carefully balance the alternatives. An openness to the working of God in one's life." (from "The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything," a book I've been quoting liberally from lately). That's obviously easier said than done. It's difficult to go into a decision or situation and check our biases at the door. I can say to myself, if I find my sunglasses, wonderful and if I don't, that's still OK. But the small and inconsequential pang of that loss still lingers even when it's something as superficial as sunglasses. There are times when things will go well in my life and times when they won't. But because my meaning in life doesn't stem from sunglasses or anything else but rather because I'm deeply loved by God, it's a bit easier to let things go. But I'll still won't mind if those sunglasses show up.

Haven't we met before?

My wife and have a long-standing joke that she gets asked this question by strangers at least once a month. We're not exactly sure what it is, but she has a face/persona that invites these inquiries. I had the opportunity to make one of those inquiries yesterday. I was having coffee with Joel Balasingham at Cafe Too in Uptown and as soon as I walked in I saw a woman who looked unbelievably familiar. I couldn't stop sneaking glances her way, racking my brain and trying to figure it out. I thought maybe I went to journalism school to her, but I wasn't sure. Of course, what I should have done was go up to her, apologize for interrupting, and just asked, haven't we met before? What's the worst that could have happened? She might have laughed and rolled her eyes and I would have been embarrassed for a few seconds, but at least I would have known. But I convinced myself that I didn't know her so I didn't do anything. Trey will be preaching about Jesus talking to strangers this Sunday and I underestimate just how much courage it takes to go up to people you don't know or don't know well and say hello. It takes a lot of vulnerability and you risk being rejected or embarrassed. I confess I don't take those chances often enough. But when I do, amazing things can happen. Sometimes friendships begin. Other times, I find an issue we have in common and perhaps we can start working on something together. Of course, sometimes nothing happens that I'm aware of, but if I trust that the Holy Spirit is actively working in the world, perhaps something is taking place. Many of us can feel disconnected in this big city, but this week pray for the courage to take a risk, maybe make a bit of a fool of yourself, say hello to a stranger and you might build a friendship in the process.

Inauguration Day

I went back to Iowa about three weeks ago for my/our annual trip to the Drake Relays. We stayed with my mom, who lives in suburban Des Moines. She and her husband have a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a nice, fenced-in yard. I was out in the yard one night with our kids playing kickball and they were having a great time. Our dog was happily off in the corner of the yard, panting, observing, and clearly quite content. It was a scene that reminded me of why people choose live in the suburbs. Anne said later that, as she watched the kids playing in the back, she missed having a yard so much that it hurt. I felt the same way. During moments like these, of course, I ask myself, why again did we move into the city? I know, I know, it's the church thing, but still...

Monday was a day that reminded me of why we live in the city, specifically, why we live in Chicago. It was Mayor Emanuel's inauguration at Pritzker Pavilion and I'm a sucker for events like this. There were an estimated 7,500 people there with a lot of notable attendees: Vice President Biden; both U.S. Senators

from Illinois; numerous U.S. Reps; Pat Quinn, the Illinois governor; and others. The Chicago Children's Choir sang, there were elected officials being sworn in, a high-school student read a poem she wrote, and Mayor Emanuel, if course, gave his inaugural address. It was a chilly day in the 40s, but, I swear, when we stood there with the sun shining, the weather could not have been more perfect.

Events like these instill civic pride in me. There are lots of reasons to be cynical about them (and, indeed, one live blog was serving the cynicism deep-dish style). I'm sure there are more than a few aldermen who took their oaths of office who have some serious ethical issues. The praise of Mayor Daley (who, of course, was also there) was getting to be over the top. Emanuel has his issues, too (I didn't vote for him). But as I stood there, I couldn't fight the feeling (nor did I want to) of being hopeful and connected to all the people around me. I committed to praying for new mayor. I recommitted Urban Village's efforts to combating hunger in the city. I vowed to look for ways to do something rather than just give up or believe that nothing I do will make a difference.

Call me Pollyanna if you must, but I'll wear that label with pride.

140 Characters

Is it possible to summarize the death of Osama bin Laden in 140 characters? Many people have tried in the last couple of days, some more successful than others. One article I found interesting highlighted research done byOpenBible.info's Stephen Smith in which he cataloged the top tweeted Bible verses 12 hours after the announcement of bin Laden's death. It's quite a list and includes Rick Warren's choice from Proverbs: "When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers" (this was #3). The number one verse, however, was also from Proverbs and gives a different take: "Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice." The first verse is from Proverbs 21, the second from Proverbs 24. These passages encapsulate my own emotions as I watched Sunday night. Relief and--maybe if I'm honest with myself--joy at first, but those emotions eventually turned to deeper reflections on the biblical nature of justice and how we define and respond to our own "enemies." I mentioned a few weeks ago that I'm in the midst of reading a psalm a day and so far (I'm through 38) almost every psalm makes some sort of mention of having enemies and many express a desire for these enemies to perish. That's a very human desire, one that the psalms express nakedly. Of course, followers of Jesus also trip up over his command for us to love our enemies. Does that command have limits? Do we need to expand or redefine "love"? I wrestle with all these questions and emotions and wonder what the "proper" way to respond is. And I find myself realizing that 140 characters are probably too many. Instead, I go before God, not saying a word, and listen for wisdom and peace.

The Candy Man and Psalm 27

I went to Wabash Tap last night to meet with a couple who goes to Urban Village and we were sitting there, quietly (well, not so quietly as the Blackhawks game was on in the background) chatting and they were munching on cheeseburgers when a man approached us. His odor and demeanor made it pretty clear that he had been drinking quite heavily. He was wearing a Blackhawks jersey and he put a miniature Stanley Cup down on our table.

"I need you to rub this for good luck," he slurred.

For those who don't know, the Blackhawks are in the playoffs against the Vancouver Canucks, but they were behind 3 games to none in the best-of-seven series. In other words, things were looking pretty grim.

The man started chatting about the Blackhawks for a while (I'm not a hockey fan, but I knew enough to keep the conversation going) and, after we rubbed the cup for luck, he moved on to the next table. About 15 minutes later, he was back. He had a plastic Walgreens bag filled with large boxes of Whoppers, Sno-Caps, and Jujyfruit candies.

"Here," he said. "Take one."

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but apparently he wanted us to have one of these boxes of candy. I wondered why he was being so generous and he explained to me that people knew him around that bar as the Candy Man because he gives away candy. Who am I to say no to the Candy Man so I took a box of Whoppers. I wanted to thank him by his real name so I asked him what other name he goes by. "I'm also known as Mr. Big," he said.

Of course he is.

This morning, I read my latest Favorite Verse in the Bible from Psalm 27:13-14: "I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" I particularly like verse 13. I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I've been repeating that to myself all day today and when thinking of my interaction with the Candy Man (aka Mr. Big), I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in that exchange.

Psalm 18, part 1--dependence

I'm going to break up Psalm 18 into two parts. Today I read verses 1-24.

This is a psalm of thanksgiving to God for God's deliverance of David from enemies. Much gratitude at the beginning and then a very graphic description of how that deliverance took place--a description of a God who was angry, smoking coming from his nostrils and devouring fire from his mouth. This God reaches down from on high and draws David from the mighty waters, delivering from his enemy. Verse 17 is the one that caught my attention: "He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from those who hated me; for they were too mighty for me."

For they were too mighty for me. An acknowledgement of...vulnerability? Limitedness? Weakness? Not sure, but I find it very comforting, to be able to name the fact that much in this life may seem too mighty (overwhelming) for us. The God of this psalm is very active and, needless to say, powerful. I'm not sure if my image of God is one with smoky nostrils and "firey" mouth. But when I think about trying to tackle this ministry (or even tackle this life), I breathe much easier knowing that (a) it probably is too mighty for me and (b) I believe in a God who will deliver me, act on my behalf, and will hear me when I call.

Catching up

I'm still reading these psalms every day, but I'm falling behind in blogging them. Briefly:

Psalm 13: This one has really affected me. When I wonder why I do what I do or why the church should do what it does, I imagine the voice of this psalmist as the voice of many in this city who are lonely, hurt, and at the end of their rope. "How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?" So many need to know they are not alone.

Psalm 14: The pessimist's psalm. There is no good, he says. Anywhere. It inspires me to step forward and say, yes, there is.

Psalm 15: Need an instruction manual? Here's a few things to consider when wondering, Hmm, I wonder if I'm abiding in God's holy tent (because so many of us wonder that very thing):

Do what is right

Speak the truth from the heart

Do not slander with your tongue

Do not lend money at interest (now there's a great conversation starter)

Plus, there just has to be "Despise the wicked." Lest we forget that there are enemies out there.

Psalm 16: What's this? A psalm full of joy and promise? "You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy. In your right hand are pleasures forevermore." Glorious. I'm eager to get to Psalm 24, but so far, 8 and 16 have been more of your upbeat psalm.

Psalm 17: This is the psalm for those who say, "I've lived a good life, haven't I? I've done all the right things." Of course, who's to say what "good" is, but the psalmist here makes his case. I imagine the older son in the Prodigal Son story liking this psalm.

Psalm 12--A good Christian is hard to find

A friend recently had this interesting line in an email he sent: "I don't doubt God, just His darling creations." The author of Psalm 12 could relate, I think.

People will eventually let us down. Even those we trust and love the most. Sometime, somewhere that special someone, the one you look up to and admire, will mess up. Though we are crowned with glory and honor (Psalm 8), those crowns don't always shine. They have cracks. Jewels fall out.

That's the frustration of Psalm 12. Verses 1 and 2: "Help, O Lord, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak." Where are the godly?

On the one hand, it motivates me to (despite my own faults and foibles) to stand up and say, we're here! I'm faithful (most of the time)! I don't utter lies (very often)! I don't have a double heart (on my better days)!

On the other hand, it reminds me that, in the end, our ultimate trust and hope can only be in God. "The promises of the Lord are promises that are pure" (v. 6a). That's not to say that we don't sometimes feel like God has abandoned us. Many psalms wonder that very thing. I have to depend, though, in the everlasting presence and nearness of God.

Reading through the psalms

If I was really on the ball, I'd be blogging daily about this new excursion into the Bible, but I'm about 11 days late.

I felt like I was in a bit of a devotional slump a couple weeks ago (sorry "When You Pray") and decided on a whim to see if I could read 150 psalms in 150 days. Because, as you may know, there are 150 psalms. As soon as I made that decision, it was like a weight had been lifted. My prayer time seemed (and is) simpler and it has freed me to be more silent and centered. So that's all good, but, and this may sound really odd coming from a pastor, it's amazing what happens you actually read sections of the Bible straight through.

I'm through Psalm 11 and while I've enjoyed this immensely and have reveled in some wonderful passages (Psalm 8 is always a favorite--it tells that we're made a little lower than God/the angels and that we're crowned with glory and honor), so far, the main message is: (a) God likes good and righteous people/things and (b) God really, really doesn't like (choose your negative adjective) evil/wicked/bloodthirsty/deceitful people and things. And the call from the psalmist is for God to either smite these evil/wicked/bloodthirsty/deceitful people or make it so they trap themselves in their own deceit. I knew this was a theme throughout the Scriptures, but I didn't realize it was so rampant right off the bat in the psalms.

The themes will change as I go along and I don't necessarily oppose reading these. It's caused me to think about my own enemies (I tend to think of things like needless anxiety or harmful fear though, if I'm honest, there are days when my enemies have flesh and blood) and it's caused me to pay closer attention to the oppressed (the psalmist speaks on behalf of the oppressed a fair amount) and reflecting on what I'm doing or not doing on their behalf. I'll see if I can blog more regularly along the way on these.

Potluck plenty

I grew up in a town of about 5,000 in northeast Iowa and the notion of homelessness was foreign to us. There were no overnight shelters and we didn't see any evidence that there was anyone (unlike Jesus) who had no place to lay his or her head. Except Lester. Lester was an older man who wandered our streets. He didn't appear to have the best hygiene and usually wore the same clothes. Apart from some youth in the community (and I fear I may have been one) who would tease him, our town simply got used to him. Like a streetlamp. Or an abandoned building. Lester, however, introduced me to ecumenism. That is, when it came to church potlucks, he had no religious preference. Lutheran, Presbyterian, Catholic, my own United Methodist Church. It didn't matter. He made his way in and made himself at home. To their credit, I think most churches welcomed him. They gave him a plate, offered him a seat, and encouraged him to stay. When we say there is room at the table at Urban Village, we mean that figuratively. From our first worship service a year ago and every Sunday since, we emphasize that all are welcome. We also mean that there is literally room at the table. We're having a potluck this Sunday after our worship service in Wicker Park. We want you to come. We want you to bring friends. We want you to invite the Lesters of our city. Because, friends, there is more than enough to offer to all.

Sacrifice

A few months ago, I went to an elementary school in Humboldt Park with another person from Urban Village to talk to the school's principal about ways that our church could volunteer. As the principal described the highlights and challenges of leading that school, she mentioned that they sometimes have issues with children making frequent trips to the school nurse and having to leave the classroom When I asked why, I learned that many of the students aren't sick, they're hungry. That was jarring. People sometimes talk about giving something up for Lent and there are lots of reasons to do so. That process often is a sacrifice, which isn't a word that people usually like to hear or use. One reason we sacrifice, however, is to draw closer to another person or to God. Going without something (like intentionally skipping a meal or going without food for a day) affects our bodies and can remind us that there are others who have to do this every day. That, then, can be a reminder that we must never forget those who go without and we must work to make sure that all have their daily bread. Sometimes sacrifice can bring abundance.

Eh, what's the difference?

I'm pretty sure I've written about my love of newspapers (which probably stems from my delivering the Des Moines Register every morning at a young age) before and it still saddens me to read articles about the demise of an integral part of my morning ritual.

Yesterday was a case in point. This headline says it all: "More Americans get news from Internet than newspaper or radio." Sigh. Of course, this is not news and I've been steeling myself for the day when I may have to read the news from sort of e-reader over my eggs and cereal.

But this morning, I had to cringe and laugh at the same time at an awful grammatical error in the Chicago Tribune. On the front page of the sports section, there's a headline in the lower right-hand corner that promotes the kick-off of the NCAA basketball tournament. The headline should have read, "And they're off..." Instead, it read, "And there off..." I can accept typos, but this was such a bad error that I imagined some editor at the Tribune seeing this error and thinking, "Eh, so what? Nobody reads this anyway."

One of the many reasons I love my wife is that she shared in my incredulity. Our daughter didn't quite get why we were so up-in-arms (though I think she understood the difference between there and they're), but we suggested that she take it to class and she dutifully did so. Anne noted that her mom would have given me a dime for spotting this error.

I'm all about the little things. This is so unbelievably inconsequential in the face of the tragedy in Japan, conflict in Afghanistan, etc. And yet I can't stop reflecting on it in the hopes that people will also continue to care about the little things, too.

Something at the table.

I've been gone a few nights lately so I haven't been home for dinner as much. My wife told me a couple nights ago that my absence really affects how everyone eats because, understandably, she's not quite as motivated to cook a more elaborate meal because she'll get hit with all kinds of questions.

"What are we having for dinner?" our 6-year-old will ask.

"Chicken stir fry."

"I don't like that," he'll often say.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. What do we have?"

And on and on it goes. Kids can be picky eaters and I speak from personal experience because I was a picky eater. My kids actually do pretty well compared to me. But there was and is always something at the table.

It's easy to drown people with statistics when it comes to hunger, but one that stuck out to me recently is that there were 286,310 children who lived in poverty in Cook County last year. 286,310 children who probably didn't necessarily know if there would be something at the table.

There are so many ways that we can make a difference in Jesus' name. Remembering all those children when we pray, "Give us today our daily bread," is a good place to start. Remembering and also acting.

Disorientation

We had an interesting conversation at my small group Tuesday night about city life. Caelyn Randall started the ball rolling as she talked about the disorienting influences that confront us when we live in the city. We then talked about the things in peoples' lives that might reorient them--being a part of a group, for example, or a person's vocation. But then people started talking about how sometimes things in city life that may seem disorienting (like sirens or traffic noise) really can make us feel at home. Some noted it's when they're in remote and quiet places when they really feel freaked out!

Seemingly disorienting things, then, can make us feel oriented, connected, home. I like that. I think God does, too. The Message translation of Genesis 1:1-2 goes like this: "First this: God created the Heavens and Earth--all you see, all you don't see. Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness." From the beginning, then, God created life out of disorientation.

On days (even weeks) when I feel out of sorts and/or aimless, this is comforting to know I can orient myself around a God who thrives on creating amazing things out of disorientation.