One Year Out

Sunday was one year to the day.

Yesterday was one year to the date.

Today begins . . . well, “the first day of the rest of my life,” I guess!

Reflections

Crazy: This enterprise was crazy from the outset. What sane person leaves a comfortable income from an enviable job to go he knows not where? That is crazy.

Busy: People have finally stopped using the word “retired” about me. I have been up to my neck in reading, studying, writing, and teaching.

Poor: That none of this reading, studying, writing, and teaching amounts to any significant income brings me back to my first point. (see “crazy,” above)

Aimless: Though I can see a number of ways this year might take me, I still have no real clarity about the next thing. A  journey without a destination is aimless.

Nostalgic: I miss a great many things about “the life that late I led.”* Some may be gone, to live in delightful memory. I hope not all are gone.

Confidence

Vocation: I still have a clear understanding of what I am supposed to be doing.

Provision: It isn’t exactly the widow’s jar of oil, but somehow our resources continue to sustain us. That “somehow”? Umm, that’s a good and gracious God.

Marriage: I know this, and anyone who knows both of us knows it – my Karen is amazing. She has gladly followed, and often led, through the morass of this year.

Enthusiasm: I love getting at my work each day. My thesis jazzes me. Teaching is a kick, even at adjunct wages.

Thesis: This work will end, and I will be proud of it, and whether or not it is a direct link to my next job is, in a sense, irrelevant.

Friends: We are reminded that we do nothing alone. I’m thankful for friends in my life: for chats over coffee, for lingering weekends in the country, for young student friends who have read chapters in progress, for long-time colleagues who have helped me network. We are blessed.

The Love of God: My Karen and I have had a some loss and disappointment this year. Our life is not a fairy tale, nor is it a romantic “starving artist in the garret” opera. But it is firmly in God’s good hands, and while we claim to understand less and less, we find more and more that we can – that we have to – rely on a loving savior who “ever lives to intercede for us.”

Thanks

I am thankful to live this adventure among friends and family who are able to put a different spin on our life these days. My “crazy” looks to other people like “faith,” and that helps me remember how all this got started. My “busy” is enviable to those who feel stuck in a rut. Our “poor” may be uncomfortable and limiting to us, but we are in our own house without fear of the wolf at the door. My “aimless” is an opportunity to trust, to pursue, and to connect with people all around the world. And “nostalgia” is the sentimental feeling that accompanies the excellent memories of good work done with great people.

So, day one of a new year . . . Onward. Excelsior!

* I am fully aware that this phrase is from “Kiss Me Kate” and refers to quite a different life than the one I have led.You’ll pardon me not posting a video – I apparently do still have some self-control. Still, if you can’t help yourself, go here to listen!

And there's the summer

My Karen and I had a long weekend away recently. The summer divided into before and after my mother-in-law's death and home-going,* with some common features on both sides of the calendar. One shared feature is Karen's work on/at/in her parents' home. That was, to be sure, a part of our long weekend away recently. But it is not all the weekend was about.

We were given the full run of my brother-in-law's family lake home. A beautiful place to read and study (for me, on Friday) and to relax in (for us, evenings, Saturday afternoon, and most of the day Sunday). I got in two Branch County bike rides - routes that I enjoy making up when I get to our home county with a bike. We took a long, leisurely kayak trip around the lake's perimeter. We ate well, outdoors as much as possible. We slept like we were . . . well, on vacation!

Saturday morning I helped Karen at Grandpa's house. Her work there, and her patience with it, amazes me. Pitching in now and then helps me see how much she is accomplishing - and earns me a little credit, too! After Saturday lunch, Karen took the rest of the weekend off. (The Old Testament Sabbath laws put it this way, "deny yourself and do no work." Knocking off work really is a self-denial for my girl.) I had the pleasure of meeting again with the committee of high school classmates to de-brief the very successful reunion we had in July. Then it was supper, and rest, until we left for home.

Since then, I have inched my way to my thousand-mile cycling mark. I'm usually there by Memorial Day. This year, I was just glad to get there before Labor Day. I hope that before the Fall turns nasty, I will be done with my thesis, and will celebrate with a few long days of riding. An overnight bike camping trip would be nice. Cycling here in the late summer has been colored with thoughts and memories of my Minnesota cycling buddy, Steve Thompson. More on him in a separate post. Suffice it here to say, an overnight on the bike would be one way of celebrating his friendship and one of his significant contributions to my life.

Today as I write, I have made my first edit at a very messy first draft of the third chapter of my MA thesis. That chapter is also the product of the second half of my summer. I'm later than I want to be with it, but . . . on we go!


* For Christians, physical death is a welcome passage from our sojourn/pilgrimage on earth, to our true home in heaven. That has often been misinterpreted (by Christians and Christian-watchers) as from a material existence to a disembodied pure soul state. But the Bible is clear about the very physical reality of a heavenly home, a new heaven and a new earth in which the redeemed will have bodies, and get to keep busy with whatever we will do to worship God in God's very presence. So, "home-going" is not just a euphemism.

Four Feel-good Family Days

What a weekend! Four-day weekends, ideally, should be fun and satisfying. This month needed a long weekend that was both. Never mind that everything about it was, so to speak, imposed on us. The "impositions" were good, and good for us.

After my mother-in-law's funeral on July 15, my Karen was home for two nights and the day in between, then back over to help our her father. Then home for two nights before heading to Portland (OR) for her annual software users conference. Thanks to the "adventure" of self-imposed penury, and the exigencies of thesis-writing, I had to miss this year's tagalong. Karen was home for one night before we again returned to Michigan - for our four day weekend.

Thursday - we arrived at my father-in-law's house and helped out with a variety of chores through the afternoon. I drew the outdoors straw, and on this beautiful day set to watering plants and weeding the entryway. Nice work, especially considering the basement option. But we both did end up in the basement, organizing and clearing things. I prefer my physical activity to be fitness related, but theologically, genetically, and practically, I know that labors in the ground and for others are actually closer to the "Maker's mark" on our lives. Satisfying work.

Thursday night we slept for nine hours - unheard of - followed by Friday morning's bike ride, with temperatures in the low 60s and full-on sun. The moderately aggressive solo pace made for an invigorating 90 minutes . . . all the time I could give the great outdoors on a day that had to include some serious thesis reading. Karen put in a long day at her dad's place, and that evening we were taken to dinner by Karen's brother.

In the evening, her two nieces arrived to kick off that family's family week at the lake. Four adult children, 9 grandchildren, bikes, boats, etc. We got out of there in time Saturday morning for their festivities to begin!

My family had its own festivities: the reunion of my mother's side of the family, to celebrate 100 years of family history on the property my maternal grandparents bought in 1913. My oldest sister lives there now, with both Freeman and King cousins nearby. The Freemans ruled the weekend, coming from as far away as California and Alabama. We had two days of catching up, learning more family history than any one of us already knew, and of course eating! Karen and I camped Saturday night at the private lake behind the old farmstead . . . our first tenting together in something like 8-10 years.

Driving back into Chicago on any summer Sunday is always its own adventure, but even that went well, as we talked away and anticipated a couple of weeks at home - our own bed, our own gardens to take care of, our routines, my thesis. The four-day weekend was a perfect transition out of a month we would not - for the most part - want to repeat. Here's to the adventure that August will be!

what a month

In the past four weeks, I have:
* sent off chapter two of my thesis, to be read by friends
* ground nearly to a halt on my reading for chapter three
* preached
* attended my high school class reunion (40th!)
* been invited to teach some music courses this fall
* become more and more immersed in two Bach cantatas, for my thesis
* walked with my Karen's family through her mother's death
* had only three bike rides, and a handful of 5-mile runs

 But . . .
* I am digging the reading I have done. Chapter three is my technical chapter, and I am finding all I need to do it well.
* The reunion was a blast. Partly because, as one of my old chums said, I'm not half the man I was 40 years ago. (I was rather . . . plump . . . in school.) But mostly because, you know, people!

We're actually a pretty good looking bunch. Especially when you consider that we are as old or older now than our parents were when we graduated from high school! (That's me, the stiff one on the far right. In front of and behind me are two of our teachers.)

* My mother-in-law had a significant impact on many lives, and we have the certain hope that she is in heaven.

* I am strangely content with my cycling miles. While I would normally be above 2,000 by late July (and haven't yet reached 800), I enjoy any time I get out, and have held my own and felt great with my Saturday morning peeps. (Who, in all likelihood, are cutting me some slack with our road pace.)

* My Karen.

That's almost four decades

This summer I will attend a reunion of my high school class of 1973. Yes, this is the 40th anniversary of our graduation. Some people who will be there I haven't seen for 30 years (the last reunion I attended); others not for 40. I am curious, and eager.

But there's another anniversary that I haven't missed, for almost four decades. The first year anniversary was complicated by a music composition class and a tennis shoe shopping trip that went badly. The most recent one was celebrated by a week away on a beautiful lake in northern Michigan. Yes, I'm talking about our wedding anniversary.

This year, our 38th, like the previous two came during a week at a friend's home on Torch Lake. Years ago, when our children were all still at home, we had the privilege of spending a week there together. Two years ago we got "on the list" again, and our friends have been kind to keep us in the loop each summer. It's a great place to get away to, not too far but far enough to feel one has got away, close enough to the things we'd like to do but remote enough to not have good access to phone service. Pretty ideal!

Oh, and to top it off - excellent country roads for cycling!

(The Cherry Capital Cycling Club has an excellent regional map.)

Days pretty much consist of being woken by the sun, having a leisurely start reading before breakfast together (we almost never eat breakfast together unless we have company or are on vacation), then deciding what we'll do. For me, it is usually a binary but complicated decision: read, or ride? I manage to do both. For my Karen it is easier: read until she has to set her hand to some project. Our children will see the fruit of their Mom's project. My class reunion will see the fruit of mine - a scanner-to-slideshow affair. Evenings above the 45th Parallel are long and leisurely.

While it all seems rather sedate (we don't even take the boat out) it suits us perfectly. Asparagus is fresh from a local farmer; strawberries are in season; antiquing is accessible; Charlevoix is just up the road; Traverse City down. But it's a notch on the timeline of our marriage. Which is itself an adventure. Thirty-eight years is not long enough to be married, so I hope this adventure is just getting started!

A Sunday Ride

For three decades I have worked Sundays. For sixteen summers, as I drove out of my neighborhood at 7am on the way to church, I have often seen a cycling group heading west down Geneva Rd. Golly, that looked like fun, and I have to confess it made me a little jealous. Oh, to have a free Sunday morning, and a group to ride with.

(Never mind that nearly every Saturday for almost a decade of summers, I have had an excellent group ride with friends. Sunday is another day, and I wasn't riding!)

Then there are the organized rides. Like marathons, always on Sundays. Kind of rules out participation when one works Sundays.

So as this last weekend rolled around, and my Saturday morning guys were deciding to do an organized ride on Sunday, my Karen said, "Well, of course you should go. Who knows how many free Sundays you'll have with your next job?" OK, then! I was in.

The Udder Century has been running for 30 years. It is sponsored by the McHenry County Bike Club, in northern Illinois. The route goes by a lot of farms. The event is very well organized, lots of cheerful volunteers, and there had to be a couple thousand riders involved. Being farm country, in the Midwest, there were lots of loops providing options for distances: 32, 50, 62 (a "metric century"), 75, and 100 mile rides were on offer. The Saturday gang opted for the 75 mile route at a casual pace.

It was overcast, in the mid-50s, with a fair W/NW wind. Good group riding conditions, and surprisingly (to me) we did keep a fairly casual pace throughout. Also surprisingly, the 75-mile route turned out to be 80 miles. It was a kind terrain, except for that one big bump about a mile before the end. Ouch.

Here is the route. The metrics (speed, heart rate) are Jon B's.

So, 80 of my 330 total miles, on one ride. By this time of the year, I'm usually on my second thousand seasonal miles. But this year has to be different, and I'm glad to get out when I can. And on this occasion, especially glad to ride with friends, finish well, and enjoy a rare Sunday getaway on a bike!

Monday night ride

Monday nights, an excellent bike club, ABD, sets out on a delightful "recovery ride." It is a recovery in the sense that many of the riders are likely to have raced over the weekend. Probably on Sunday. The ride is supposed to be moderately paced (16-18mph). It usually has a dozen riders, more or less.

I have missed this ride all season. Various reasons, most of them academic. Literally, academic. This week I finally felt my way clear to consider it. And when my Karen asked me if I was planning on it, that settled it. Karen is a big fan of me getting out on my bike. I mean that it in the best possible way, for all the right reasons. And she has a way of asking if I'm going to ride that really means she hopes I will. This is the woman who bought me my two good bikes.

Monday was hot here, and it still was at 6:20 when we rolled out for our 6:15 ride. But it wasn't long before the wind, the lowering sun, and the long stretches of shade on the roads turned this into the ideal evening ride. Golly, I've missed it. There were only 6 of us riding, which no matter how nice people are - and they almost all always are - it is more fun with a dozen or more. I've been out when we've numbered two dozen, and that's a blast.

The ride snakes through parts of Winfield, West Chicago, Wayne, and Bartlett in a big loop at the end of a long string. (Think of a balloon.) For me, with my ride to and from the start point, it is a round 24 miles, just under 90 minutes, usually averaging just over 16mph.

And now, "I'm back!" My miles are pitifully low this season. This 24 mile ride amounts to about 20% of my total miles. Do the math. By this date I'm usually approaching my annual goal of 1000 by the end of May. Well, that ain't gonna happen, probably not even by July 4. And that's OK. But this ride? Yes, see you again next Monday.

Weekend Breaks

Last week I began writing my thesis. After the first day, with its hard-won 80 words - yes, that is eighty words - I assumed most days would be more productive, but I wondered how many words a day I need on average to complete what I think will be a 40,000 word thesis. If I have 75 weekdays this summer, that amounts to roughly 600 words a day, Monday through Friday.

If I rode my bike 20 miles a day, on the other hand, that would be 1500 miles. Pretty doable. (In fact, if I could just get out of bed early enough, there's no reason I couldn't do both the riding and the writing!)

But the weekends belong to my Karen. Thankfully this one was sunny, warm, and productive. The yard looks great, the fence staining job is complete, the house is clean. Took at Prairie Path ride with son Pat, enjoyed a visit with Pat and his girl, got to a Pentecost Sunday service, and I got in a visit with my sister Bonnie and most of her family. I read Dorothy Sayers' The Zeal of Thy House. I'm ready to get back to the study, and see how many words are in me this week.

And thinking that that road bike sure looks lonely.

Surrounded by Books

There is no adventure like it . . . a book can take you anywhere.

These days many of mine call me to my basement study, but they take me to 18th century Germany.

Just because I said I would, here are a  couple of pictures from my study. This is my thesis space:

That's my space. To the right, below the calendar is where by thesis books have been collecting. For fun, I wanted to see how tall an order this thesis is. Unfortunately I had already returned 3 of the books that I've used.

Those 2 slim volumes on top are the musical scores of cantatas I'll be studying for the thesis.


The fun is just beginning . . .

My 3 Rs

It's April, and I just got in from my first group ride of the season. Being a full-time student, I've found, has not left a lot of time for some of the more ambitious exercise I enjoy. That, I believe, is about to change. Thanks to the 3 "Rs" that will shape my summer:

Reading
Riding
Running

READING This week I received approval to write a thesis for the M.A. in Historical Theology. Already my stack of books for that work is impressive. I'll have to post it before some go back to the library.

RIDING Cycling is my body's love language. So, many people have assumed that my academic hiatus (my self-funded sabbatical, my season of unemployment) has meant lots of riding. Not so! But now that my semester is winding down (two more days of classes; one essay due; one independent study paper due; one final exam) I can see where the bike fits back into my life.

RUNNING I started running four years ago, made a little splash in a local 5k event that I admire so much (the only organized 5k I've run; and I commend it!), and completed two marathons. Well, technically one marathon in two successive years. For two years my "running calendar" has been empty; I've casually kept up the exercise but intentionally kept down the distance. But now I am registered for my first event in two years, which is also my first trail run.

Why these 3 Rs? Well, for the 3 Ws, of course!

Reading is the prelude to Writing. Over the next four months I'll be working on my thesis. If you are a glutton for punishment, or just want to feel superior about the way you live your life, you can track that at my other blog: Te decet hymnus. I love to write, and a thesis (I didn't know it would be this thesis) is why I returned to grad school in the first place.

Running is the means of my Weight control. Especially in these rather full days of reading and writing, a 30-minute run is an easy, quick break, and a much more effective calorie burn than cycling. I've had to watch my weight all my adult life (and should have earlier!) so it's nice to have something I enjoy that has such a direct impact on that.

But Riding is the key to my Well-being. I experienced it again this morning. After weeks of being off the bike - I took it off the trainer, put it in the garage, then got busy with other things - I felt what I feel every year: "This is where I belong." It's uncanny, really. You may know the line from "Chariot's of Fire," where Eric Liddel tells his father, "When I run, I feel the pleasure of God." Well, I won't claim to feel the pleasure of God, but I do feel that he built me for this particular pleasure. Man, I love to be on a bike!

In fact, it is not far-fetched to say that Riding will be the carrot for my Writing this summer, the reward I give myself for hitting certain daily goals. If I see you on the roads, think twice before asking me about my thesis . . . unless we're on a really long ride.

Five

Last Sunday, March 3, marked 5 months of my self-funded sabbatical. I last wrote about it here. Interesting, but not surprising - the two months' lacuna corresponds to the first half of another semester of graduate study. So, anyway, 5 months of Sundays away from the work that I do reasonably well, that has shaped my adult life, and that I hope, Deo volente, to return to in some capacity.

Surprises
* It's harder to take time for exercise than I thought it would be.
* I spend less time making music here at home than I want to.
* I dream about footnotes and formatting.
* Study and writing really can feel like work.

Delights
* Evenings with Karen. Like, every evening with my Karen.
(I should admit, this may be a delight that is not shared. One night during our 2004 sabbatical, Karen said to me,
"you need a hobby."
"I already have a hobby - you!"
"You need another hobby.")
* Sunday mornings in church together. We drive together, sit together, leave together.
* Study. This really is a delight. And it is a privilege. Yes, it can feel like work (see above), but just like the work of my vocation - I may complain about it, but I wouldn't want to do without it.

Annoyances
* So many books, so little time.
* Finding myself so out of my element in a high-achieving graduate program.
* 24-hour days. Seriously, even 28 hours a day would help. 32 would be ideal.

Discoveries
* I really miss making music. I miss conducting a choir. I miss the chancel choir at College Church.
* My opinions about the Pietists keeps changing. I can't either dismiss nor embrace these people, who factor pretty importantly into my thesis. Why do they have to be so . . . human, ergo complicated?
* It's both easier and harder than I thought it would be to work at home. It's amazing how many times the phone rings - and how often the calls are not welcome. (i.e., they are not personal calls; if you are a friend trying to reach us, please do!)

Convictions
* I am more convinced about my vocation: planning and leading gathered worship.
* I am less convinced about the viability of the noun "evangelical," and while my theological commitments are the same I wonder about carrying that tag except as an adjective.
* Whatever is next, it will be with wonder and joy, and Karen and I will be surprised and delighted by it.

But now it is spring break, and our delight will be enhanced by a trip to San Francisco (courtesy one of our parting gifts from College Church) where we now have two grown children. Adventures await!

The really great outdoors

I'm back outside. After an autumn pretty much off the bike and the running shoes "hung up" since September, January has got off to a nice start.

Not because it started warm. Last winter was the mildest I can remember, and I squandered it, "exercise-wise-speaking" ( can you identify the source of that construction?).  I wasn't training for a spring marathon, and yet I also did not take advantage of the warmth to be out on my bike.

January 1, 2013 was different. And not because of some lame resolution. No, because the Saturday morning ride guys were called to the challenge by the quiet "heart" of our group - Jim H. One year ago, Jim was fresh out of liver transplant surgery. The initial prognosis was positive, but so much was up in the air. In subsequent weeks, he went from managing, to doing well, to very positive, and ultimately this summer to being basically "back on the bike."

Which is a nice metaphor, and in Jim's case, also very literal.

So, when Jim proposed the New Year's Day ride to Caribou - regardless of temperature - there was almost nothing would have kept me from it. And while I've missed many a Saturday ride, I managed this one.

Bundling up to ride in 10-degree Fahrenheit is always a challenge. Last year my Karen bought me a big box of "hotties" - hand warming pouches to slip into gloves - which I never opened until this ride. Bonus! The box had a few packets also of foot warmers. I was in business. Layered up, covered up, and heated up.

But, golly, 10 degrees IS cold!

We took a reasonably direct route from Winfield to Geneva, and at our Caribou there (this is often the first hour mark on a Saturday morning road ride - a quick 18 miles to get things started . . . and then about 20 minutes to sit and shoot the breeze while we decide where and how far to go from there.). There we met 2 other riding pals who had driven out. No shame there. Perhaps the better part of wisdom. And to be honest, the three of us who rode seriously considered whether the two drivers might be able to haul us back!

A nice 22 miles, all told, and by the time I got home it was a balmy 14 degrees. Cycling season? Well, I have my first road miles for the year. Meanwhile, my road bike is on a trainer in the basement, and I'm on it a few days each week.

Then, yesterday, after a hiatus of uncertain duration, I hit the streets in my running shoes again. It was just laps in my neighborhood, and only 2.5 miles. But it was sunny, "warmish" at about 35 degrees, and while it will take a while to get that running feeling back, it was good to be out.

My only goals for the winter are to be on my cycling trainer more days than not each week, and to rebuild running road miles. And to do it all out in the pretty great outdoors.

Twelve

. . . being a bi-weekly report on self-imposed unemployment, scholarship, and vocational exploration . . .

Twelve weeks, but not three months. One week shy of a quarter. But with this bi-weekly, I draw these reports to a close. Yesterday, December 30, was a milestone on several levels, and tomorrow begins a new year. The adventure continues!

The past two weeks have been mostly free of academic engagement. I sat for a final exam on the 18th, attended a final class session on the 19th, and that afternoon tidied up and organized my newly set up study area. Notes organized and put away for easy retrieval, book shelves restocked, and the extra computer monitor turned so I can watch videos from my winter bicycle trainer!

Then it was all Christmas all the time. A couple of social engagements, grown kids returning home, and all the comfortable aspects of a King family Christmas. (And no, we are not that King family. While growing up, that was a common joke question. And a fair one, given the roster in my childhood home.)

The bike went up on the trainer the day I took my exam. I am back on the bike. Over the past few weeks in various conversations I was asked if I was riding and running a lot, since - you know, I'm not working. My reply - that no, in fact, I haven't been on the bike at all to speak of, and the running has also stopped - each time evoked a physical response of surprise. Interesting. Peoples' mouths have gone agape (this really happens; it's unexpected, like when someone is literally stopped in their tracks), a couple of people flinched. A few found words to probe. This was all instructive to me, and I finally had to admit that all things considered, the dropping of my best "hobby" was probably a function of some low-grade depression. So . . . back on the bike, albeit indoors, and with a winter goal to hit. I also have a running goal, which of course as always will properly take a second place to the bike. But there we are. Balance, we are about to be restored.

Grown children come with their own sense of adventure, and they increase the awesomeness of our adventure. Sometimes scary, sometimes hilarious, and often just nice. We had a long Christmas weekend with all but our Army Captain with us. And he joined us on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning via Skype. Nice technology, that. On Christmas morning we had him on with us for nearly three hours, "in the circle" and taking his turns giving and receiving gifts. He had sent everyone's to our home, and we had all sent his to him. As a way to celebrate a family Christmas, it was a distant second to having him home. But he could not get leave because he had to "hold down the fort" while the soldiers going back to A'stan got leave. OK, well, given the alternative - that is, since this means he won't be going back - we were content. Karen and I got down to see him this past weekend, thankful for a posting that is within a day's drive.

As my Christmas break continues for a couple of weeks, I will be finalizing the description of my thesis, and expect to submit the formal proposal in January. There are also a couple of writing projects that I need to set my hand to. A recent flap in the Chicago Tribune, where the movie critic dared to pan "Les Miz" on cinematographic grounds, highlighted the whack aesthetic of popular culture. In short, the complaints to and about the critic amount to this: "How could you pan this movie? It made me cry, and at the end people stood up and cheered." Well, my friend, if you don't think this mindset is troubling church life and liturgy and music, stay tuned . . .

Meanwhile, life returns to "normal" for me and my Karen. I'll be looking for some part time work to help pay the bills during my last 6 months of studies, and we'll also be asking in earnest: "So, God, what is next, anyway?"

Ten weeks

. . . being a bi-weekly report on self-imposed unemployment, scholarship, and vocational exploration . . .

Here I sit, in a study space that finally came together hours after I handed in the project that concluded one of my courses. Oh well, it has proved to be an effective space in which to prepare for the final exam in my other course.

We ordered the bookcases online to complete my study area. The desk is a huge bit of quarter-sawn oak that we found for an amazing low price when we lived in Minnesota. It was too large a desk for that house and it is too large for our present house. We often wonder if we shouldn't get rid of it, but just can't bring ourselves to let it go. When this current adventure began, it was fairly obvious that finally this expansive surface would be the place for me to study, and (God willing) to write a thesis.

We ordered the pine bookshelves from an outfit out East, then waited. And waited. And got the credit card bill, but still waited. We called and waited. The semester plodded along. The desk was set up for a work space, with boxes of shelf-destined books stacked to approximate the final project. At some point, it was apparent that the new ideal delivery date had to be after my term paper was completed. That day, last Tuesday, I said to Karen on her way to work, "In my dreams, I come home from classes today, find the shelves delivered, and get them set up before supper." Well, that didn't happen.

Instead, they arrived before I left for class. I dragged them indoors, finished printing the paper and dressing for my class presentation, and left with a shot of adrenaline that I badly needed to make a public presentation on less than 4 hours of sleep. (And yes, I am too old for that.)

I'm not great with my hands. I'm not even good with my hands. Building things is not something I do. Wood and I tend not to get along. So I wasn't as excited as I might otherwise have been, to take delivery of these boxes and realize that their proportions had to mean that these shelves were going to have to be put together. Well, to my very great pleasure, this turned out to be the best "kit" project of all time for me. It went together fairly easily, with good directions and extremely well made materials. The first unit took just under 1.5 hours, and the second in just over 30 minutes. By the time Karen got home from work on Tuesday, the shelves were up on a bare desk, and they met with approval. And mmm . . . they smelled good too! Fresh pine, unstained and unpainted. Love that.

The next day I unpacked the books that have been waiting to go on shelves, and there it was - a semester late, but with plenty more time ahead to enjoy it. I am now diligently using it to prepare for a final I will take in this space, online, Tuesday morning. Onward!

I still have not been on my bike or out for a run. But I have a plan, see, and this mild Chicago December makes it seem realistic. Studying is my job right now, and the exercise I miss will have to kick in during the semester break. But in such a way that I can keep it up when school begins again. One piece of that is definitely having my road bike on a trainer, just to the right of my desk. Yeah, like that won't be distracting. 

Hurtling through Two Months

. . . being a bi-weekly report on self-imposed unemployment, scholarship, and vocational exploration . . .

Eight weeks. The first Sunday of December marks two full months of the adventure of uncertainty. Only it doesn't exactly feel like uncertainty, and if I was looking for adventure, this was a poor plan to find it.

As for "uncertainty," my day-to-day is filled with plenty of immediate and significant things to be done: reading, writing, practicing, and the normal stuff of being a homeowner and a husband. I have concrete deadlines for school, personal goals for music, and a commitment to not be preoccupied with either when Karen gets home from work.

And adventure? Funny thing. This adventure feels a lot like working, a little like worrying, and almost nothing like - oh, say, a bike trip!

Students are hurtling toward the end of the fall semester. As I round that corner, I have only two grades outstanding: a final paper in one course, and a final exam in the other. And yes, each will account for 40% of my final course grades. I like to think I know how this is all going to come together. If I'm right, I will find that I can make some progress on other important matters that should be settled before Christmas. If I've misjudged how these next two weeks will work, then I may get that scary sense of "adventure" after all.

One nice coincidence in the past couple of weeks: earlier this month I was given for my birthday the excellent recording (CD and DVD) of Osvaldo Golijov "La Pasion segun San Marcos." Try to hear it if you can. Hey, try to see it if you can. Picture the baroque passion tradition, reworked in 21st century Latin America. Can't do it, can you? Then check this out.

Well, I also was tapped to make a presentation on liberation theology and the Trinity. It provided my first opportunity to do a little cross-discipline, multi-media presentation in the context of my theology studies. So, that was fun. And pretty well received, as things turned out.

Karen and I decided to be wild, crazy, and irresponsible this weekend. We drove to Minnesota to attend the St. Olaf College Christmas Festival. This century-long tradition is something we have long held as the standard of Christmas programming for the church or the academy. What a joy to get there for this, our 4th or 5th experience of the Festival in situ. Need some rich sacred music in your Christmas? Count on St. Olaf! (And consider streaming the rebroadcast from Minnesota Public Radio.)

This quick round trip was made all it should be, by providing visits with some of our Minnesota friends. And we look forward to more of the season enriched by our Wheaton friends. Adventually.

Almost like a kid

Yesterday I hopped on my bike, and took an easy ride to nowhere.

I didn't change into cycling clothes. I didn't take my asthmatic precaution. I wasn't trying to get anywhere in particular, or by a certain time, or to reach a self-imposed goal. And when I got home I didn't write the ride down in  a cycling log.

It wasn't as much fun as when I was in school, before I got my license, and rode from town out to friends in the country. I'd go out to Jeff's place after school to ride horses and shoot squirrels. Then I'd ride home before supper. Those were the days. And I'm pretty sure that's where my love for cycling began (though as an obsession it lay dormant for a couple of decades).

Reflecting recently on my current relationship with exercise, I realized that a big part of my avoidance of the bike (yes, I'll stick with that word, avoidance) was partly wrapped up in the mechanics of preparing for a ride. Without going into a lot of detail (actually, a post in itself sometime if I don't mind revealing my compulsions), I'll just say that I just loved getting on a bike and riding. Without folderol.

My friend Neal and I don't get together nearly often enough. When we do, we often swap cycling books. We both love travel writing, and both love to ride, so we usually have some book that takes in one or both, usually both. My latest on loan from Neal is Just Ride: A radically practical guide to riding your bicycle. It is by Grant Peterson, the founder of Rivendell bikes. (It says so, right on the cover!) Peterson's main point - his only point, really, illustrated in dozens of ways - is that most of us aren't professional cyclists, or even racers, so why do we think we have to conform to the racing bike-style?

Freeing. Absolutely freeing. Now, I enjoy vigorous, challenging, fast group riding. And I'm not going to give that up. (If I did, I'd pretty much have to go back to riding solo all the time.) But yesterday's ride was a direct purposeful response to this common sense wisdom . .  and it also met my need to just get out and ride, for cryin' out loud.

Fortified Fortnight

. . . being a bi-weekly report on self-imposed unemployment, scholarship, and vocational exploration . . .

Yesterday marked another fortnight on the precipice. Winter's coming - though the warmth of this Thanksgiving week in the Midwest makes that a little hard to believe - and with it a run of special services that I am going to miss being a part of. I mean, of course, Advent and Christmas. I have to admit that I felt I was getting away with something this weekend, having breakfast with my brother, Ron, on Saturday while the choir (I can no longer say "my choir" - more on that another time) had a rehearsal for seasonal music. Getting away with something . . . and missing something. That is going to mark this season, I know.

The past two weeks have been packed with school work. For the most part, I am settling into the reading, the assignments, the long-range planning required to succeed as a student. I am engaging a bit more in class discussions (without feeling like a total doofus). I've been really jazzed finding resources for a research paper in the Trinity course. This weekend I charted out the days from now till that paper is due. Then, I tried not to freak out.

A friend offered me a little musical gig, playing congas for one item in his choir's Christmas concert. When my Karen and I talked about this, she said, "Gee, if we'd known you'd get the random monthly gig we could have made this change years ago." She can be so sardonic. Still, she has always supported the pent-up percussionist in me, and I think she is secretly delighted. Or maybe she is just happy to have me out of the house and earning something!

We've been confronted in multiple ways, these past 2 weeks, with the realities of a limited income. Yes, we counted the cost, and yes, I've known all along that after the fall weeks, I'll need to take some kind of part-time job. But it's in the spontaneous, in the unexpected, that the reality of our belt-tightening hits us. Son Andrew will not make it home for Christmas - he will be tied to his post (oh, now that's a funny double meaning!). Instinct: "Let's rent a vacation home and move our Christmas to Kentucky." Reality: Oh, right, that's what the discretionary part of our income used to do for us. Which presses the point: discretionary spending aside, I really need to earn some income during my next semester.

I've been indolent in the exercise arena, and reflected on that. Why am I "OK" with not cycling or running these days? Am I just super engaged with creative studies, or am I in a funk? Good questions. And characteristically, I won't take time now to sort that out.

We're still here on the precipice, and winter is coming. Thankfully that means that Thanksgiving is upon us, and with it a long weekend with our grown kids. Andrew won't be with us on the day (that post he's tied to) but we'll drive to see him and spend some time after Thursday. Karen and I will get to St. Olaf College for their iconic Christmas Festival. (We can, you see, find a reason to spend some "discretionary" money!) Andrew will get home for a few days of leave. And I'll write a long term paper. Then, before we know it, it will be Christmas. And after that, a new year.

We are eager to see what that new year will bring.

Unemployed in exercise

Two funny comments people have made, hearing about this stage of my life:
"What is it like to be retired?"
"Will you get a lot more time for cycling now?"

Don't even get me started on the retirement question. Either people have a really outrageous idea of how much church workers make, or they think I'm a lot older than I am. (My gray hair notwithstanding.)

The second question at least has the prospect of reality in it. It does make sense that, having cast off the daily office routine and getting "weekends" in my life, I would find time for more cycling.

When asked about that on my way out the church door, I would say that my recent sabbatical demonstrated that being a full-time student is every bit as time-consuming as the job I had. However, I did manage to train for and run a marathon during that sabbatical, so maybe it was a reasonable question. Would I ride and/or run more, in this period of life?

And the answer it: "no." For reasons which are different and similar to my work life, and certainly because this is unfolding in the autumn months, I haven't been cycling at all and my running has pretty much wound down to nothing. Having a cold recently didn't help the running. And today, when I had planned all day to get in a short, 3 mile run, when it came down to it I couldn't bring myself to "suit up" for it, and treated myself to a power walk instead.

While out, I reflected on this. Nothing new here - I have to admit that the running, at least, and probably the obsession with cycling too, has been a form of compensation for a work life in which I was less challenged/engaged/empowered, or whatever. The exercise was one way to keep me pressing on in one arena - to push myself to accomplishments I could record and look back on with some pride.

Don't get me wrong. There is a lot of that satisfaction in the work I've done and hope to do again. This is just a slice of reflection here, not the whole picture.

Not to mention, that this kind of exercise is kind of essential for keeping my weight down. (Some readers know that I was . . . let us say, plump, until my senior year of college, and have fought weight issues since then.

Now I am busy with school, and when I do have time I feel I must give it to the details of home ownership. And then when we're both home, trying to be a good husband. So the running and cycling? If they're on the back burner, there's barely a flame under them. And the surprising thing is, that I'm OK with that. I'm just busy enough to keep my weight where it should be. (And I'm trying to eat according to my reduced exercise, too. That's the part I miss :~) And I'm more than engaged enough in creative and challenging studies to keep my mind otherwise occupied.

Having said that, this weekend I will bring my road bike into the basement, and put it on the trainer for the winter. Because, after all, this is my physical thing, and spring will return, and when it does I want to be ready for it.

Following Fortnight of Folly

. . . being a bi-weekly report on self-imposed unemployment, scholarship, and vocational exploration . . .

 Four weeks ago today was my final Sunday as pastor for worship and music at College Church in Wheaton. The first two weeks away were marked by travel, some school-related panic, and something that tasted a little like grief. These past two have brought a more realistic sense of what we may expect of this transitional phase.

We're calling it a "transitional phase." I think of it as a "self-funded sabbatical." My Karen's take is more like "unemployment." I have to take her appraisal very, very seriously. We did the math before stepping into the abyss. We know how to live in want, and we well remember from the lean years that just because a budget doesn't work on paper, doesn't mean our needs won't be met. So far, so good. How we feel about that in January will tell the real story. Paul Simon's song, "Getting Ready for Christmas Day," has a little bit of edge to it for me this year:
From early in November till the last day of December,
I've got money matters weighing me down . . . 
I know Santa Claus is coming to town.

These past couple of weeks have brought me into the last half of the fall semester. In Wheaton's odd pattern, that has meant a course change in my Historical Theology sequence, but the continuation of my Trinity course. I've got by OK in both, but this past week I had to admit that in spite of what I have tried to tell myself, grades really do matter to me! More to the point, I'm concerned that "decent" grades might be a reflection that I lack "originality" or that academic  je ne sais quois. I guess that is OK so long as I don't have doctoral aspirations.

I don't.

Reading has been exciting. I can't get enough of it. Nothing new there. It is a love for reading that created a "pastor's bookcase" that is now jockeying for space in our home. 27 years of keeping a personal library in church offices, come home to roost. Literally. Karen has made one really creative alteration to accommodate about 18 linear feet of shelves, under our sun-porch window sills. They can double as seating, and a week ago we had a group in and proved that it works. We are waiting on another simple bookcase that will serve as a desktop bookcase. I really hope this will meet our needs. I don't like Karen giving up more space or repurposing one more piece of furniture to accommodate this "transition." Happily, yesterday I was able to put most of my deep storage books away without requiring more work or ingenuity on Karen's part.

One week ago, I had the pleasure of being a substitute director at a friend's church. It was a joy to walk in, work someone else's plan, conduct choir and brass, and get a feel for a different church. I don't know whether or how much this could happen in the coming weeks or months, but that was a gift. It was our first Sunday in town since October 7. Today we drove into Chicago to attend an historic church where (due to the obvious conflict) we had never been for services. Interesting experience at every level, and it has me thinking again about "what I want to do next." I wrote a little  about that earlier this week. I have to say, from both of these church experiences: I really value good preaching. I refuse to concede that a church has to have either good music or good preaching.

Oops, but now I've slipped over into the work of my other blog: Te decet hymnus.

My journal has been a good resource, but not something I am hung up on writing in daily. But now as we head toward Thanksgiving, along with my grown children I've committed myself to naming, listing, writing each day about Three Things for which I am Thankful. Thankfulness, too, is an adventure. And it is coloring this one.

Eye Heart San Francisco

How does an unemployed graduate student score a weekend in San Francisco?

First, he has to have been employed, and in that state gotten used to some flexibility and freedom to travel. Then, he has to have some kind of relationship to an airline; something that will provide him with travel funds. Importantly, he will need a wife who is a whiz at tracking said funds, organizing life, and a fun travel companion. Oh, and it also helps to have a free place to stay, and a child with a car.

All that came together for my Karen and me when, the first weekend of my unemployment-for-studies, we headed off to San Francisco. Since my work for 3 decades has involved Sundays, we haven't exactly had the freedom to take weekend trips. But over the years we have enjoyed some of the perks of Southwest Airline; notably, for this trip, their policy of letting customers cancel a flight without penalty, and holding those funds for use at a later date. That date was to expire this month, and here we were with an open weekend which to go away for did not require making substitute arrangements for Sunday morning. Off we went!

Son Chris planned a delightful two days for us. We landed mid-evening Friday and settled in at his condo, anticipating a full Saturday in the sun. That included a leisurely stroll at Coyote Point Park, along the Bay, lunch with niece Jennifer Dew, Jose de Castro, Isadora and her friend Sweden. (Yes, a California teenager named Sweden.) This was my first Indian meal since India, and it was nostalgic to slowly work the excellent buffet table.

Jennifer recommended a visit to Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, at Moss Beach, on the ocean side of the peninsula. We thought we'd get that in after a hike along the peninsular ridge. Traffic on the beautiful windy road across was bumper-to-bumper, and it soon became apparent that we wouldn't have time for the hike and the tidal pools, so we just pressed on.

Many people know Half Moon Bay by name, if not by reputation. It is a destination along the coast. We almost always just drive through it on our way to someplace else. It turns out the traffic jam that turned a 20-minute drive into 2-hours wasn't traffic or construction related, just people getting to HMB for the pumpkin festival. Man, that was kind of annoying. But - wow - were there a lot of pumpkins in town! We just kept rolling, now north along Hwy 1 to Moss Beach.

Sunday found us at our go-to church when we are in the Bay: City Church San Francisco. (more on this at Te decet hymnus) Chris had arranged for us to take an architectural walking tour in the afternoon. We had some time between church and the tour, so we did some walking on our own, with the kind of people-watching that one gets so well in San Francisco.

The tour was fantastic, and deserving of its own post. Here I'll just give a shout-out to guide Rick at San Francisco Architecture Walking Tour. And um, Rick is that organization. Excellent and most highly recommended. Not to mention that we had a picture perfect afternoon for our leisurely, artistic, informative walk in the financial district.

It's hard to get enough of San Francisco on foot, so we walked even more - along the Embarcadero and through the Ferry Building - before catching BART to head home. It was two beautiful days in a place that is not Chicago but could be home. If only.