Twu wuv

 Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togevah tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam… And wuv, twu wuv, will fowow you fowevah… So tweasure your wuv (from The Princess Bride, 1987).

We do, of course, remember the ill fate of this particular marriage. Princess Buttercup is an uncooperative participant, and Prince Humperdink has self-serving ulterior motives, all of which contribute to the immediate demise of this big-screen union.

However, in recent months I’ve grieved over the number of failing marriages among people I know, care about, and love. One of the most disturbing facts about some of these situations is that Christian couples appear to be pursuing temporal, easy solutions to spiritual problems. Research indicates that the divorce rate among Christians is, indeed, slightly lower than the national average, but not significantly, and the actual results and findings appear to depend on who’s doing the research.

Why are Christian marriages failing? What could Paul and I possibly be doing right that others seem to have missed? Paul and I certainly are not marriage rocket scientists. We are not, nor have we ever been, any sort of example to be followed in the area of successful marriage. We don’t read books about Christian marriage, nor do we attend marriage classes or conferences. Like the members of most marriages, we don’t always communicate clearly, kindly, or, sometimes, at all. We misjudge each other’s motives. We neglect spending one-on-one time strengthening our marriage. We’ve gone through seasons of being ordinary or perhaps even boring. We’ve struggled financially. We keep score.

Granted, most of our friends whose marriages are crumbling are doing so for much more serious reasons than the slights and benign insults experienced in the Koning household. In a few cases, affairs have been the major factor. In others, allegations of or substantiated abuse complicate already emotionally charged situations. I agree with a nationally well-known psychiatrist that adultery, addiction, and abuse are legitimate reasons to pursue divorce.

Can the God of the universe overcome these sins against another? Can the Creator really heal and restore? God will not circumvent the natural order of His creation, so there will always be consequences. However, the God who turned absolutely nothing into a beautiful, elaborate universe; the God who delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego unsinged from the fiery furnace; the God who brought Lazarus to life three days after his death and burial; the God who conquered the power of sin and death at the cross and victoriously reigns on high today–that same God can and will bring new life and even great joy to a dead marriage. Even in situations involving the three A’s–adultery, addiction, and abuse–if both partners are sincerely working to overcome these evils, God will bring renewal to these couples. We know of marriages who faced serious challenges, persisted, and are flourishing.

One couple faced ongoing unfaithfulness. The husband confessed his sin and begged for his wife’s forgiveness. While it wasn’t easy and took months, maybe years, to sort through the carnage, this marriage is stronger today than ever. They even counsel other couples confronting infidelity.

While I realize some don’t recognize this as having a negative impact on marriage, pornography addiction is, in my opinion, a devastating force in marriages. Unfortunately, I know of many situations in which a husband has struggled with pornography or other sexual temptations. These men’s wives were willing to prayerfully work through the issues of mistrust and rejection. Once again, in nearly every case of which I’m aware, these marriages have emerged stronger than they had been previously. One woman told me recently, “I have the marriage I’ve always dreamed of.” A couple of years ago this same woman was crying her heart out over her husband’s obsession with pornography. Jesus Christ really can redeem circumstances we believe to be irreparable.

Perhaps most confusing to me are the Christian marriages ending because of boredom or because the euphoric feeling of love has waned. John 3:16 does not say, “For God so loved the world that he had lots of warm, fuzzy feelings.” “For God so loved the world that he gave!” Contrary to what our culture tells us, love is not a feeling; it is action. And God loves those who are hostile to Him, hate Him, curse His name, despise everything about Him. He loves them enough “that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” If God loves me that much, even when I was His enemy, certainly I can love my husband who’s pretty darn nice to me most of the time, even if our marriage is fraught with imperfection.

So what’s mine and Paul’s secret to blissful happily ever after? I’m not really sure; it’s a bit fuzzy, to tell you the truth. The first thing that comes to mind is loyalty. We promised to love, comfort, honor and keep each other, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon one another our heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, and keeping ourselves only unto the other as long as we both shall live. We knew what we were getting into. We signed up for this. If I’m bored or melancholy, it’s my responsibility to fix it by pursuing appropriate treatment or to work it out with Paul one way or another. In no way do I mean to minimize the effects of depression; in fact, I have been diagnosed with clinical depression in the past. No, depression is not a legitimate reason to walk out on Paul. The endorphins (or, as the case may be, lack thereof) in my brain are the problem, not Paul. Loyalty is one of the givens in our marriage. No matter what happens, we’re both in it to the end.

Secondly, I think we err when we blame our relationship troubles on our spouse. Certainly, with the help of God’s Holy Spirit, the two people in the marriage are the only ones who can address their specific struggles; however, the enemy of our souls is the one with whom we battle. We are deceived if we believe we will be happier or more content once we leave a seemingly unpleasant situation. Satan’s only purpose among those who have put their faith in Christ, because he has lost all claim to our immortal souls, is to make us miserable. He comes only to steal our joy, to kill all hope, and to destroy our peace (John 10:10a). He cloaks his schemes with false promises of contentment and fulfillment. If we chase after these empty claims, we will be left even more hopeless than we imagine we are within the marriage. He causes us to misinterpret our spouse’s voice tone. He goads us on as we are easily annoyed by habits that once charmed us. He tempts our eyes to glance towards greener pastures. All the while, he is chipping away at the very foundation of our marriages, completely annihilating our vows one self-centered irritation at a time. No, we must not allow Satan to win this battle. We must allow Jesus Christ to bring full, abundant life to our broken marriages (John 10:10b).

Finally, I think our friend “The Impressive Clergyman” is much wiser than he appears. Well, maybe not. He exhorts the strange pair before him to “tweasure your wuv.” Marriage is a gift from God. It was His idea, created for the purpose of blessing His children. Marriage is sacred. Catholics uphold marriage, along with baptism and the Holy Eucharist, as a sacrament. Marriage is, indeed, a precious gift to be treasured. If it doesn’t seem to be worth treasuring today, the almighty God of the universe can and will transform that which seems hopeless, desolate, empty, or dead. He is the God of the impossible. ~ cck

Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” ~ John 16:33

Retrouvaille (pronounced re-tro-vi with a long i) is a French word meaning “rediscovery” and is a marriage program offered in communities across the U.S. and abroad. The initial weekend experience and subsequent series of 6-12 post-weekend sessions offer tools needed to rediscover a loving, vital marriage relationship.

Pondering the Pen

As I begin to think of myself as “a writer,” I’m realizing the need to discipline myself to write regularly, even daily. I’ve neglected the blog for weeks, thinking I should save my best contemplations for magazine articles or for something; for what, I’m not totally sure. A friend, also a writer, made an astute observation about hoarding one’s ideas. They’re like manna (Exodus 16) – God only gives us enough for today. We can use it for its intended purpose, or it will rot and be good for nothing. He will give more tomorrow according to our need. We must have faith in tomorrow’s promised provision.

She actually gave me this particular advice for Paul. He had started writing a bit for a travel web site I’ve mentioned previously, trazzler.com. Contributors to the site do not earn compensation until they either win one of the regular “contests” or are invited to freelance by the site’s editors – no guarantees. For a while, he was saving up ideas, hoping they would hire him. I encouraged him with my friend’s manna metaphor. Whether because of her exhortation or because he just could contain his ideas no longer, he did go ahead and submit several more pieces. Almost immediately, he won one of the monthly contests, which resulted in a small freelance contract. God provided day after day what Paul needed to create his art. New ideas flowed in abundance once Paul faithfully used the manna God was giving him.

However, I have found her advice excruciatingly true for my own writing lately. A tale or analogy will appear in my brain, and I’ll think, “I gotta write that down.” The thoughts will come fast – phrases, images, narratives, and more. If I don’t get the ideas down immediately, the sudden insight disappears nearly completely. I may try to revisit the thought a day or two later, but I can never muster the same passion I have at that initial moment of epiphany. If I scrawl the ideas on a napkin or scrap of paper before I can access a computer, that helps, but often such resources are not easily obtainable. I’m learning to carry a small notebook with me, but writing and driving simultaneously isn’t always a great idea, especially with one’s offspring in the back. While I’m not sure who cares about what I have to say or through what venue I may eventually publish, I still believe I am supposed to be writing. I have come to the realization that writing is something I love. Writing gives me the luxury of “talking,” but also the time to think through my words, polish the language, and delete things that should remain unsaid. Ideally, the exercise could generate some income, even if meager, to help support my family, but the search for anything resembling fame has no part in this equation.

One problem is that it takes me an eternity to produce something I like. I word-smith every jot and tittle to death, relishing the process all the while. I enjoy researching synonyms, history, scripture, people, and, well, anything. One symptom of folks who struggle with ADD is that we lose track of time. Other than my impulsivity, the time issue is my biggest challenge. I have to set an alarm so I don’t forget to pick my children up from school. I can work on a single paragraph for two hours, and it feels like ten minutes have passed. I simply must figure out a way to write faster, so that when I do start making a few shillings for my efforts, I’ll earn more than I would if I deliver pizzas (Dave Ramsey’s regular recommendation when you need a short-term financial solution). Plus, I’ve got to do laundry, shop for groceries, cook supper, sweep, vacuum, keep up with bills and paperwork, and eventually unpack the boxes in which everything we own was (and still is) stored for the year we lived in Kenya. I’m just not sure how one balances writing faithfully and with discipline with the seemingly mundane stay-at-home-mom chores which are crucial to the well-being of my sweet family. Previous experience has made evident the fact that “working” and “mother” are mutually exclusive terms for me personally; I’m hoping that working from home will produce greater success than the former.

Paul and I recently discovered and joined a wonderful group of local writers, the Triangle Area Freelancers. They are a huge encouragement to us, particularly to me. Their mission seems to be mutual support and encouragement in a generally solitary and lonely profession, with the specific goal of helping aspiring writers to publish and receive proper financial compensation for their craft. At the risk of sounding trite, it’s just a really nice group of people (but with an eccentric and interesting flavor). One member has published over a thousand articles (I promise I’m not exaggerating). Others have published in every print medium from professional medical journals to Reader’s Digest, from pet lovers’ to gardening fanatics’ magazines, from military history publications to graphic novels and comic books. Many have published books. Some haven’t published at all. One woman is planning a trip to Germany where she will work in a bakery owned by a friend of her deceased grandmother; she is writing a cookbook that will include her travel adventures and cultural history. One guy, young enough to be my son, vaguely described a nebulous science fiction screenplay he’s working on. Another woman also specializes in photography and public speaking. I came away from our first TAF meeting with only one thought: I need to get busy. I need to write. I can write. I will write.

Can I do so diligently without my house and relationships falling apart around me? If they do, I’ll tell you all about it. If everything remains remotely intact, I’ll tell you about that too. Does the manna metaphor hold true regarding household chores? I haven’t had a whole lot of success with manna and mopping, but then again, I haven’t ever tried to apply the manna analogy to my mom/wife/home management job description. Heck, I just started pondering creative manna a couple of weeks ago. It’s a brand new concept entirely as it relates to cleaning and maintenance. I’m not sure the parallels make much sense, but it’s yet another thing I may be telling you about. ~ cck

Proud Wife Post

Paul is currently the featured writer on http://www.trazzler.com/. Most of his trips are in Africa, but he has written a couple North Carolina adventures as well. ~ cck

Peter had ADD

I’ve thought a lot about the Apostle Peter recently. He is a Biblical character who undoubtedly had Attention Deficit Disorder. Impulsive, easily distracted, hyper, emotional. As Easter, the reminder of Jesus’ redeeming work of salvation and the celebration of His victorious resurrection, draws near, I consider Jesus’ activities just prior to His crucification. He is praying in the garden of Gethsemane with the remaining disciples, when Judas and a “large crowd” (Matthew 26:47) of priests, elders, Pharisees, and soldiers (“armed with swords and clubs” to arrest an unarmed man who never harmed another person in any way) arrive. One perspective, considering the throng of hostile people involved, is that Peter acts bravely; impetuously, out of anger, and without considering the consequences, yes, but with courage nonetheless. In a misguided effort to defend his Lord, Peter whips out his sword and chops off the ear of the guy standing closest to him*, some poor servant who was along on this treacherous errand, probably more out of obedience to his master than from any sort of conviction or personal mission of vengeance. Peter acts out of his love for Jesus. Jesus had just finished telling Peter that he would betray Him three times before the next morning, a charge Peter vehemently denies, “Even if all fall away, I will not. Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you” (Mark 14:29, 31). Perhaps he was trying to prove his sincerity. Jesus fixes Peter’s mess. He heals the man’s ear (Luke 22:51).

During this 24-hour period, Peter argues with Jesus for all or nothing (John 13:6-10). He falls asleep when asked to pray with Jesus before His horrific, humiliating execution (Luke 22:45-46). He makes outrageous promises he doesn’t keep (at least, not immediately; John 13:37). He disobeys Jesus’ specific instructions (John 13:36, 18:15). Peter does, indeed, deny Jesus in three separate statements (John 18:17, 25, 27). He is glaringly absent during the beatings, crucification, and burial of Jesus (John 19). Thinking everything he has believed and done for three years was for naught, he goes back to his boat and life of fishing (John 21:3).

I am Peter. Often, I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. I can’t seem to stay awake or get up early in the morning to pray. I have the best of intentions. I rarely do as I’m told, even when it’s in my best interests to do so. Perhaps not with words necessarily, but I often deny those I love by my attitude or actions. Sometimes I am absent when people need me. I am easily discouraged and, when in doubt, return to the status quo.

However, the minute Peter realized Jesus was alive, He really had risen from the dead as had been foretold, he didn’t wait for the guys to help him row their boat to shore. He leaped into the water and swam straight to shore, straight to His Jesus (leaving his buddies with the work of rowing the boat back to shore with their huge fish haul; John 21:7, 8).

Jesus uses people with ADD. Jesus uses impulsive people. Jesus uses people who don’t follow through. Like the servant’s rent ear, Jesus can fix mistakes, even big ones. Peter may have appeared hopelessly useless during the three years of Jesus’ public ministry, but Jesus saw Peter for the man he was becoming and prophesied accurately that Peter, the same Peter who fouled things up time and time again, would be the “rock” on which He would build His church (Matthew 16:18, 19). In effect, I know about the saving love and grace of God today because of Peter. Following his legion of failures, Peter proceeds to have a powerful public ministry of teaching and healing, works closely with the apostle Paul, writes two epistles that are among canonical scripture today, and withstands all sorts of persecution and torture because of his stand for the risen Christ. Peter eventually does, indeed, die for his faith in Christ; some traditions claim he asked to be crucified upside-down because he was “unworthy to die in the same manner as [his] Lord” (from The Acts of Peter).

I’ve cut off a couple of ears lately; more than usual, so it seems. ADD is a nuisance. I’ve tried various methods to make peace with the way my brain works differently than that of other people. One of the things I do that I wish I didn’t is talk. All the time. I often speak before thinking. What most people do internally, I do aloud. A friend recently encouraged me to listen, really listen–In a group or in meetings, whose voice do I hear the most? If it’s mine, I should shut up. On most Friday mornings, I pray with two other women for our kids and their school. We are one little chapter of the international organization Moms in Touch. As we were sharing requests for our kids this morning, I realized I had been talking for ten minutes about my kids and my problems, telling my stories. I told my fellow pray-ers how my friend had challenged me. They made an interesting observation, one I had never realized: I don’t ramble on and on when I’m actually praying. When I talk with God I’m focused, concise, clear, and other-centered. It’s true. This revelation is somewhat overwhelming.

While I don’t even need to consider the ridiculous comparison of the eternal impact of my life verses that of the apostle Peter’s, I am encouraged by all that God accomplished in and through that impetuous first century fisherman and by my praying friends’ observation. God is using and will use me in spite of myself. Perhaps because of my inpulsivity and blathering and emotionalism and passion. He is the One who created me this way. Now, if I can just figure out a way to embrace how God wired me and what He has planned for me, as opposed to seeing my peculiarities as maddening obstacles. Ah, now there is the conundrum. I wish I could ask Peter how he made the leap from bumbling betrayer to confident world-changer. ~ cck

* My Paul (as opposed to the apostle Paul) thinks Peter intended to cleave the guy’s head, missed, and only got his ear. Paul points out that Jesus could have healed a split skull as easily as He did an ear. As I ponder Paul’s theory regarding Peter’s intentions, I think it is further evidence of God’s sovereignty and Jesus’ total control over the situation. Had Peter successfully struck the servant’s head, the consequences (Peter’s immediate death or trial and subsequent execution) may have been irreversible even if Jesus had healed the damage. Peter was a significant part of God’s plan for the early church, so he missed and only got an ear.

Missionary Sunday Message Link

Last Sunday, Paul and I had the opportunity to speak to our home church about our year in Kenya. If you’re interested in downloading the audio of that message, you may do so at http://www.holycross-raleigh.org/sermons.html.

You’re invited!

Paul and I will speak during “Missionary Sunday” at Church of the Holy Cross Anglican in Raleigh on Sunday, January 25. We will share stories from our year at Rift Valley Acedemy in Kenya as well as lessons we learned along the way about how the Body of Christ works together to accomplish the Great Commission (Matthew 28:18-20). Everyone is welcome!

Missionary Sunday
at Church of the Holy Cross Anglican
Sunday, January 25, 2009
9:45 a.m. – Hymns of Praise
 10:00 a.m. – Worship and Holy Eucharist* 
2301 West Millbrook Road, Raleigh, NC 27612
919-788-0970
Child care and Sunday school are available for children through 5th grade during the service.

If you are interested in hearing about our adventures, but are unable to attend on January 25, we hope you will join us in February or March when we will present slides and stories from our most recent experience as missionaries. We will post details once we make definite plans. ~ cck 

* “Any baptized Christian, from any denomination, is invited to receive communion at Church of the Holy Cross. We celebrate the Eucharist every Sunday to rejoice in Christ’s resurrection on the first day of the week… We believe that God’s act of reconciliation with us through our Savior is of such importance that it bears repeating each week …” from holycross-raleigh.org.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Bibles

When we packed to go to Kenya, space was at such a premium only one Bible made the cut. We left my old, beloved NASB in Raleigh along with Lily and Silas’ NIV Adventure Bibles. I justified this decision by contending that we were adopting a more traditional stance, returning to the nostalgic era of the family Bible, using father’s Bible.

Lily soon complained about not having a Bible of her own. We found an old paperback NIV “Teen Study Bible” abandoned on our dorm bookcase. The original owner is probably a senior in college by now, if not married with several children, so I had no remorse about taking it. It had obviously spent at least one afternoon in a torrential Kijabe downpour at some point in its life, but, now long dried out, a little packing tape fixed it right up.

Lily’s taped-up Teen Study Bible made the return trip to Raleigh while Paul’s big NIV did not. He doesn’t write in Bibles like I do, and marks and notes are what give certain Bibles sentimental value. We gave his Bible to the RVA outreach committee to give to a Kenyan family who needed a Bible.

Again in Raleigh, I enthusiastically leapt back into my women’s Bible study. While I’m quite partial to my 25-year-old NASB, I like using the NIV for Bible study because the teacher reads from that version during her lectures, so I’ve used Paul’s for years. Without that option, I borrowed Lily’s NIV Adventure Bible, and she continued to use the stolen, repaired Teen Study Bible. My friends laughed each Tuesday morning as I pulled the Adventure Bible from my bag. I really didn’t care, “I’m on an adventure.” Week after week, I sat among my friends with their leather-bound NIV Study Bibles while I contentedly read from Lily’s Adventure Bible.

I imagine that most 10-year-old girls want to be more grown up than they actually are, imitating the fashion and lingo of Miley Cyrus or Ashley Tisdale. Not Lily. A Tom boy by nature, she is a little girl at heart. Kenya was such a perfect fit for her. She could climb trees all day long, get filthy, and hunt for chameleons, lizards, and mongooses with her friends. She never cared much for the “Teen” part on the cover of her “Teen Study Bible.” We got her a cool Kenyan kikoy cover for her Bible, but she still wasn’t crazy about it, knowing the target audience was teenagers.

One Tuesday during my women’s Bible study, I sat beside my friend Donna, as I often do, for the lecture. I rustled around to get settled, putting my purse on the floor under the chair in front of me, taking a big swig of my Diet Coke, finding a pen that worked, and finally pulling Lily’s Adventure Bible from my bag. Donna said suddenly and a bit strangely, “I’ve got a gift for you if you’ll accept it. I was only going to give it to you if you still had the Adventure Bible today.” She handed me a lovely medium-sized brown leather NIV Bible. I cried. I always cry. She said that she was shopping for other things, and she just felt God’s leading to buy me a Bible.

When Lily got home from school that afternoon, I showed her the new Bible Donna had given me, and I returned her Adventure Bible. She was much happier than I had expected. Come to find out, she had missed her Adventure Bible quite a lot, but knew I needed it for my “big” Bible study.

Chantal has been a bully since she arrived in Lily’s class in the second grade. For the most part, Lily steers clear of her, but Grace has earned Chantal’s respect. Grace may have stood up to her early on, and Grace’s mother is always kind to Chantal, even praying with her once on the playground. Grace has been one of Lily’s best friends since kindergarten. Grace’s church coordinates evangelical outreaches designed specifically to include the children of the church, and they sometimes visit Chantal’s neighborhood. Within a day or two of Donna presenting me with my new Bible, I received an e-mail from Grace’s mom, “Did you hear the news that Chantal accepted Christ at the outreach this weekend.  I just spoke with a friend who confirmed it, but said they didn’t have any follow-up material to give kids! I am going to see if we can get a Bible for her.”

I asked Lily if we could give Chantal her Teen Study Bible. She was more than happy to give it to a new believer. Grace’s mom thought it was fabulous the Bible was “from Africa.” Well, it probably wasn’t originally from Africa; more likely Grand Rapids. Lily took Chantal the Teen Study Bible the next day. Often understated, Lily said nothing of the Bible being one she used while in Kenya or anything about Chantal’s new faith. I can picture Lily handing her the Bible, certainly not hesitantly nor with any sort of anxiety, but quietly and confidently, saying something to the effect of, “I had an extra Bible. Would you like it?”

Lest you are concerned about Paul’s Bible-less state, worry no more. I fully intended to buy him a Bible for our anniversary or for Christmas, but both passed without that particular gift. We just returned from a visit with Paul’s dad in Waxhaw, North Carolina. He is sorting, throwing away, packing, or giving away everything he owns, anticipating his move to Holland, Michigan where he will live with Paul’s sister Marcia and her husband. Among the items in the piles designated for us were not one, not two, but three of Paul’s mother’s Bibles. Two of the three are NIV Study Bibles (Paul likes the notes included in that version).

While God’s sovereignty is one of His characteristics I cling to, claim, and declare most often, I’m still awed when I see Him acting sovereignly in the day-to-day activities of my life. Seemingly random decisions like leaving Bibles in America and Africa, borrowing discarded paperback Bibles, and Donna buying a Bible at Wal-Mart – all orchestrated by a loving, sovereign God. Was it all for Chantal? I do believe God loves her enough to have gone to this much trouble and more just for her. And I wonder what became of Paul’s old Bible. I pray it’s fate was as sweet as the one that belonged to that now grown RVA student. I wonder where she is, where she went to college, where she lives. I’m sure she has long forgotten the Teen Study Bible she cast aside in Kedong Lower West. And I thank God that, in his sovereignty, He gave me a mother-in-law who valued and loved the Scriptures as she did, leaving a godly example and legacy for us and our children.

God’s word is living and active. I’ve always understood Hebrews 4:12 metaphorically, but in this case, a literal interpretation is appropriate.

So is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.

~ Isaiah 55:11

Paul later commented that if God had really told Donna to get me a Bible, why didn’t He tell her to get a large-print version? My over-40 vision seems to deteriorate daily. The very week Donna presented me with the new Bible, I had bumped up my reading glasses from +1.25 to +1.5, so I’m able to read my new Bible with relative ease, at least for now. And this weekend Grandpa (Paul’s dad) gave me a pair of +2.0 reading glasses for when the +1.5s fail me. ~ cck

The Christmas Card Photo

A family tradition endured annually, the Christmas card photo session is always an absolutely miserable saga for the Konings. We take a million shots of the exact same pose and, inevitably, somebody has their eyes closed, or somebody’s hair looks weird, or someone (if not everyone) is uncooperative. A tripod is usually involved, as are arguing, whining, and idle threats of privileges to be revoked and beatings to be administered. Stories accompany every year’s Christmas card photo, including the years (at least two in the past ten) we failed to send Christmas cards whatsoever. The lost years weren’t for lack of trying, and I have tales explaining those unsuccessful photo shoots as well. Further complicating the situation, we have historically opted for me and Paul to join Lily and Silas in our Christmas card photo, not because of any delusion that anyone is remotely interested in our appearances, but I do imagine that people care about our whole family, not just the kids, even if they are significantly cuter than me and Paul. Capturing reasonable facial expressions is much more difficult when using the self-timer feature while screaming, “Stop wiggling! Look at the camera!” From time to time, we have employed friends to help minimize our agony by serving as photographer, but those efforts have only resulted in the publicizing and sharing of our family’s argumentative and generally contrary tendencies.

We were nearly saved by an eight-year-old boy this year, but heaven forbid we have an easy go of the whole process. We found a photo among our Africa pictures that was “pretty good.” It would need to be cropped. Paul and I were not in the photo. Silas is actually sitting on Lily’s head, but it’s not too terribly obvious. Instead of just going with it, however, in the hope of the elusive perfect Christmas shot, I required unwilling children to pose in their pajamas in front of our Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The results were less than stellar, and Paul didn’t care for the pajama idea in the first place.

So, this year’s Christmas card photo was taken by J.T. Reber, age 8, one of Silas’ best friends in Kenya. Lily just handed an eight-year-old boy her daddy’s not inexpensive camera that she had very special permission to use the day we were leaving Kenya. (“I made him put the strap around his neck,” Lily protests.) They are on the beloved Titchie Swot zipline that wouldn’t pass a single safety regulation in America. Perhaps J.T. should take our annual Christmas card photo every year. I wish he lived closer to us, or we closer to him.

Now I’m facing the matter of actually getting the cards in the mail. I wonder when that last detail will be accomplished. I wonder if J.T.’s clerical skills are as good as his photography talent. Alas, he lives eight time zones away. ~ cck