BMC leadership

Leadership meeting today. Here is a group of dedicated people with so
much to do. It is amazing how faith works its way through our lives.
Though not the primary focus of most around the table still the center
of their lives. Great example of chesed ( loving kindness).

Snowing Here

Heading to Zanesville and slowed down by 8 car pile up. Nice snow
crazy people.

Get a grip

Its stuck in my head and I can't get it out. The logical result of the existence of a frame of reference is the idea that whatever we see immediately is framed by what we've seen. This morning I listened to a podcast on design where the commentator was talking about the gestalt concept in design. He used the term "convenient cognitive handle". What an intriguing concept and one that relates so dramatically to the "we of me" concept. We all have inside our frame of reference, little handles that protrude from every angle and every thing we hear, see, or experience forces us back to grab one of those convenient cognitive handles. Those handles define everything; relationships, attitudes, spirituality, our very definition of life is based on how we approach it in our heads.

Sometimes I Lose my Faith

I am human and from time to time I lose my faith. It’s not that it is planned or even foreseen but rather as startling as coming to faith was in the first place. Having traveled on the road of faith for more then just a short time, the expectation might be that strength or conviction or some other self generated attributes would hold my foot steady against “wickeds” and wilds and not so wilds of the present age. It has always been my intent to stay strong in faith, to run the good race, to stay the course, but alas in the midst of my goodness there always seems to lie the seeds of discontent that moves me to another path.

Is it the lack of knowledge that causes the loss? Or maybe some shortfall in teaching or instruction that precipitates the sideways glance or turn of head? Is it some weakness in doctrine or indoctrination that becomes the origin of apostasy? Clearly, intent is not the fervent glue that I might think for it appears that the road to hell is paved with its derivatives. Possibly, it’s the fault of those with whom this dance of life is shared. Their imperfections and flaws surely have seduced me into passageways where darkness seems to overpower light. Reason dictates there is no place within my heart that would, with such recklessness, abandon that which intent and command have set as such a noble prize. Yet, when heart and hand and mind do fail to keep the frailty of humanity at bay, and with little regard for life or death, I plunge face first into the indulgence of self, the truthful sting of faith is felt. Without a thought of return or origin the embrace of faith is forsaken in willing welcome embrace of self.

The One in whom faith commences and eternally resides does convict with gentle means, though not so often thus perceived. A message not concealed but seldom heard and understood is proclaimed again my heart. There is nothing I can do but set myself toward the task of keeping faith with Him who is author and finisher. Aware of the frailties of this humanity by experience taught, His mercy makes compassion move beyond perception’s reasonable ends. Loss of faith is not loss of the faithful One. Condemnation is not the inevitable tide of actions wrought with selfishness, but the fact that simply and persistently He waits again to be found.

Looking back to Look Ahead

I've been doing some thinking about the cognitive concept of a frame of reference. The idea that we are all made up of the people we have known, the places we have been, and the experiences we have had. In the thinking process, it occurs to me that I've been thinking about this for a long time. In 1977 I wrote a poem, more of a poet slips then a poet's lips, about it, "The We of Me", which explores the interesting idea that who we are is where we've been. The sentiment was admittedly narrow in 1977 and I suspect was tainted by some infatuation or another.

Every Little Girl

Every little girl should see the Nutcracker ballet. The dreamy imagery combined with the grace of dance and the music....the music. Tonight Lola was a little girl fitting right in to the pinafores and party dresses poised at the Ohio Theater to see Columbus Ballet's version of the Nutcracker. It was a little girl's dream and my little wife in her first Nutcracker was as delighted as a school girl.

Weisberger's Aniversary.

BMC friends Paul & Ellen Weisberger, celebrating their 18th
anniversary at Longhorn. Good friends, good fellowship, acceptable
food. Love endures.

Sertoma

Yesterday's Sertoma meeting awarded $2,000 to the Childhood League.
Accepting the award is Barb Acton, Executive Director. Sertoma (Service to Mankind) is a service organization providing funding support to charitable groups.

Go West Young Man...

"One thing you can say about life is that it's constant". (Woody Allan) The constancy of life has the tendency to also be consuming. Please understand that being consumed by life is a strategy embraced by many, myself included. However, being consumed by it and having life consume you are two different concepts. I confess that while I subscribe to one I am the victim of the other. Life’s consumptive appetite is for time. It steals minute, than hours, than vast periods of time that seem to vanish without a trace. It was just yesterday that Lola & I shared the hospitality of Wayne and Merry Shervey in their Hopkins, MN home. We all had the connection of childhood which seems closer then history will admit and had a uniqueness of relationship being relatives and also friends. Great memories of fun and friendliness seem fresh but life, in its chariot of time, is hidden by memory which secretly compresses the distance between two points in time. What seems fresh is placed by history twenty years in the past.

The chariot can move pretty fast and provide little scenery unless you keep your eyes open for the scenic overlooks life has to offer. The moments, which almost seem to be outside of time, give a different perspective of where we’ve been and where we’re going. Imagine our delight to experience one of the scenic overlooks of life on a trip to visit the Shervey’s near Portland in their Canby Oregon home. Because memory folds time there was the perception of a mere skip in time like the bounce of a stylus and we were again connected. The hospitality and warm blending of soul and spirit enable us to be consumed by life and not worry so much about being consumed by it. When you lift your head above the blur of the journey you can see all the mountain tops.

Today I fell in love

Today I fell in love. It’s not something that is unusual for me. I tend to fall in love several times a day but this was different. As William Wadsworth said in his poem, “She was a phantom of delight when first she gleamed upon my sight,” this was a defining moment. Though I’d seen her many times before today this was the day I really saw her for the first time. What style, grace, what a personality, what a smile. She could make a train take a gravel road.

I’d known her all her life and had always liked her. I saw her first when she was only minutes old and even than she was unforgettable. The first grandchild is always special, so I’m told, and she is. Enthralled, delighted, ecstatic framed my relationship. I am the father of the father so I tend to stand at the back of the baby line but that’s ok. The time that I’m with her has always been special.

Alexsandra Elizabeth Klein is formidable nomenclature for such a tiny imp. Though formal in structure the name fits this little princess. It seems my cognitive process had gotten somewhat out of hand and our relationship, for me, had gotten somewhat analytical. But, today my head went round and my heart stopped. Today it was like I saw her for the first time and I fell head over heels in love. This young lady is my destiny, she is our destiny. In her, as in all grandchildren, are bundled the hopes and dream of a generation that has begun to entrust the world to our children and come face to face with the results of that disposition…grandchildren. Today I fell in love.

The 100% Solution

It will soon be 30 years since my father died. He was a small man, taking after his mother, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in an extraordinary amount of home spun wisdom that for the most part was wasted on me during the time it would have been most beneficial. Like many of his generation his formal education was short lived with most of what he knew resulting from paying attention to life. His “higher” education came from North Africa and Italy during the Second World War and years spent focusing on responsibility to his family and community. It is only now that I am at the age where remembering things my father told me seems to be easier then recalling the code for the garage door opener, that the effect of my father’s little “pearls” has become clear.

Dad’s solutions, which were not taught but non-the-less caught, were quite simple, first; Do what works. If it doesn’t work, do something else. Secondly, none of us are better then any of us. Always remember what you say is who you are so remember who you are. Finally, always do your best. Maybe it’s the age thing but is seems to me in a world that has become increasingly polarized by ideologies that this basic common sense has been misplaced.

What if we did what works rather then doing nothing because we can’t agree on what works? The willingness to be flexible has been compromised by the gods of idealism. It’s good to have a sense of who you are and where you’ve come from. A tradition of thinking that ties us to who we have been and defines who we have become is a good thing. However, blind faith is just that, blind. Tradition is faithfulness to the living ideas of the dead. Traditionalism is faithfulness to the dead ideas of the living. Traditions says, “How can we change and remain faithful to who we are?” Traditionalism says, “How can we stay the same at all costs?” The first is inclusive the second exclusive. It is many times characterized by subtleties, such as the ideology behind the statement; “You’re either for us or against us.” rather then, “If you’re not for us you’re against us.” The first statement sets up the 100% solution that if you don’t think and act like we do there is no other choice than to be “outside.” The second statement exposes the crack of flexibility and becomes the starting point of compromise rather then the ending point. The 100% solution is usually not the solution because it alienates rather then integrates.

It seems as though things have become more one dimensional. People are categorized by one issue definitions. You can be conservative or liberal, business or labor, pro security or privacy, tax or anti-tax, bigger government or smaller government but being a liberal businessperson that favors the idea of minimum living wages is outside of many professed ideologies. The result of the 100% solution is the fanaticism of polarization. Rather it is in government, religion, or personal affairs ideas have become more divergent, less tolerant, and more offensive in dealing with different opinions. The axiom that the purpose of the confrontation of compromise is to change relationships has fallen into disfavor.

The 100% solution has always had an effect on all levels of culture. Human history if full of the pendulum of tolerance and intolerance and I suppose this is no different. Dad would say, “Sit down and think about it for a minute, none of us are better then any of us. Remember who you are and just do your best.”

Brilliant prairie days

It was one of those brilliant prairie days that gleam in your memory like the first time you discovered that birthdays meant presents. The sun looked down from a cloudless sky as the wind moved relentlessly through the field of tombstones bowing the sparse trees in dutiful adulation. My thoughts of those who slept here were painted with faces and stories of a time when life was not as charitable. Even in death these resilient and enduring people steel their faces to the inhospitality of an unforgiving land. Their very presence on this prairie hill behind the small white church presents the inordinate concept of resilient restoration even in death.


This prairie cemetery brought to mind another grave scene in Bethany in which another resilient restoration occurred. The story opens with Yeshua telling His disciples that their friend was dead and they were going to be taught a lesson. This is frequently the way that Yeshua begins His restoration projects by stating “OK, this part of your life is dead, let’s deal with it.” The disciples, being very good disciples, are ready to begin interpreting what is about to happen and as usual they miss the mark. I can imagine the trip to the grave was full of theological intent, prophetic speculation, and a good bit of complaining. It didn’t stop when they arrived; even the well intentioned tried to move away from the point of the trouble. Lazarus sister Mary said, “Lord if you had been here…” and not off preaching somewhere you might have saved him. But just as Yeshua still does with us He says “Where have you laid him?” Where is the dead part of your life? Let’s not spend any more time on “should have, could have, and would have” let’s go to where the body is buried. Because the prospect of restoration is not palatable and therefore not initially chosen, we say, “Lord don’t open it! It stinks in there.” We’ve been devout believers but these things have been hidden so long we can’t imagine what will happen if they are let loose again. He says, “Do you believe me or don’t you?” Let’s roll back the stone.


What a dramatic example of G-d’s willingness to restore us to Himself. We each have our own hidden places that keep us from moving closer to G-d. He hasn’t changed His methods and still brings us back to the place that keeps us from complete restoration. Just as He called Lazarus out for the grave and death He calls us out of those things that keep us away from Him. He wants resilient restoration but it’s up to us to roll away the stone.

Sea of Galilee sunset

Sea of Galilee sunset
Originally uploaded by Klein Family

...vivid impressions of G-d’s touch and an unexplainable feeling of connection to another time and place...

Sunset at Ma'Agan kibbutz on the south shore of the Sea of Galilee.

Home again

It had been a while since I had visited. The trip back had been filled with a torrent of memories and as the crest of the hill disappeared before me the remembering became vivid, almost visible. My mother and father, those early times together in love and caring ignited feeling of life lessons learned, and an unexplainable feeling of connection to another time and place. It was a different place than I was seeing in memory. The buildings were gone and none of the physical signs that a farm had ever been there remained, except for a few abnormal mounds and depression that gave faint impressions of human touch. Yet through my mind’s eye something else appeared. The places that I had experienced and written on my heart years earlier sprang to life as a vision in the mist. I was home again.


Fortune and G-d’s favor allowed for a recent visit to Israel as part of the Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations’ conference and tour. Schedule did not permit a lot of thought or expectation building. I just didn’t have the luxury of spending much time thinking about it, therefore the journey to Eretz Israel came without much expectation. However, I did have my mental picture gleaned from reading scripture, hearing sermons, and seeing travel logs. In my mind it was a broad and vast land filled with palm trees, mountains, quiet pools, and people in bathrobes. It was a spiritual storybook land that had been the place of parables, history, and G-d’s presence. The flight there did little to change these pre-conceptions and was not much more than a succession of small seats, bad food, and waiting for something to happen. Though presenting an extraordinary blend of modern and historic imagery, the Tel Aviv airport did little to arouse anything other than “what’s next?”


Then to the bus and out into “the land.” It was on the bus, within the first half hour, that I began to feel the “crest of the hill” feeling of coming home that quite frankly surprised me. How could I feel like I’m coming home to a place that I had never been and have only thin ancestral connection? This just didn’t make sense. But in spite of what my mind continued to remind me of, my heart did not listen. The longer I was in the land the more feelings of being “home again” kept growing. As I finally yielded to G-d’s attempt to get my attention, the mental realization of this not only being the homeland of the Jewish people, but the homeland of every believer began to unveil itself in consciousness. I knew this place, though skewed in interpretation. It was the place where water had been turned to wine, where people had been raised from the dead, and where G-d’s presence had been revealed. The storybook land turned into the mounds and depressions that gave vivid impressions of G-d’s touch and an unexplainable feeling of connection to another time and place. The Negev, the Sea of Galilee, Capernaum, and on and on pealed scale after scale from my spiritual eyes to reveal the simple fact that this was G-d’s “home town.” This is a place where, as believers, we have in our hearts all visited. I was home again.

On presenting Faulkner's First Edition

To my dear friend:

Life’s character is undiscovered country and at times is relentless in the presentation of its common and ordinary nature. If we, by lack of perception or pure inattention, are persuaded to embrace this adaptation, life emerges painted in muted tones.

Yet life’s nature has a much broader and deeper richness of tone then accepted by inattentiveness. It is abounding with beauty and delight that is offered for the taking by passionate seekers of its heart.

If life can do no more then illustrate its nature, it has outdone itself with you. You are a First Edition, one of a kind, an uncommon individual that continues to reveal the deep colors of life to all who know you.

In the Mirror

As I sat at the bar and looked at myself in the mirror the answer became clear. The irony of the situation did not escape me. A bar is usually the place where things become less clear; however at that point there was unmistakable clarity. I had been here before, maybe not in this place but at this same juncture. The beginning.

Frank Herbert in his classic science fiction trilogy, Dune, begins with an oddly poignant statement, “A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct.” It is a time that only happens once no matter what the clichés say about beginning again or being reborn. The beginning is always different. America has just completed one of the most significant elections in its history. It’s not that the sacrifices required or the resources available are not quality but it is, at the end of the day, simply the unveiling of another opportunity, another beginning. The accolades, analysis, and well wishing aside it is an opportunity to begin.

It is my belief that we all need to become good at beginnings because life is full of them. Deep in the human unconscious is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic. (Herbert) Life continually reinvents itself, and we all wander in the same wilderness. Becoming too comfortable with the place you’re at, your accomplishments, or your capabilities, invites stagnation. Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind (Herbert).

The secret is to recognize that the beginning itself is what is significant. The opportunity to attack a problem from another direction, and possibly pull out a noteworthy end, is a challenge without equal. We stand poised for the first step of another beginning. Things will go wrong. Every civilization must contend with an unconscious force which can block, betray or countermand almost any conscious intention of the collectivity. (Herbert) However, things will also go right and the delicate undertaking of the beginning will increase the rights and decrease the wrongs.

So in the mirror, “Truth suffers from too much analysis.” (Herbert) It is the challenge of beginning, the opportunity, and getting the balance right that makes life worth coming back. This is our chance. (Again.)

Rabbi Ari's Synogogue

Rabbi Ari's Synogogue
Originally uploaded by Klein Family

...G-d remains active and present in this noisy world. If we want to hear him we have to pay attention...

Rabbi Ari's Synogogue, Israel

I don't sleep well

I don’t sleep well. That’s not to say I’m not a good sleeper. I suppose more accurately I’m a short sleeper. Getting up two or three times every night to stroll around the house, talk to G-d, talk to the cat, or make notes to myself has become normal. At first I was somewhat distraught rehearsing how miserable tomorrow would be if sleep continued its perforated character. Then one night I had a “defining moment”, much like Esther’s ”such a time as this?" defining moment presented by Rabbi Silverman in the Purim message. It came to me in a blinding flash of the obvious, “this is a time to listen”. After that everything was different and I even somewhat enjoy this second sleep idea because in the quiet of the night G-d’s voice seems more singular. It is important to know G-d’s voice in this noisy world full of a virtual cacophony of sounds that continually bombard the ear and cloud the mind.
My defining moment leads me to think about Passover and how G-d’s protection and guidance redeemed the Jewish people from their harsh bondage and saved them from death itself. What if there had been no one to hear and recognizes the voice of G-d. What if Moses would have come down from the mountain and said to his wife, “I saw the darnedest thing, a bush that burned and was not destroyed. You don’t see that every day. What a coincidence.” He would have missed a defining moment and everything would have been different. What if the Hebrew slave that, rather than shaking his head and wagging his finger at Moses, said, “I think I’m going to put blood on my door post.” and changed the history of a nation and the world.
Passover teaches many lessons. The one I think about now is how G-d remains active and present in this noisy world. If we want to hear him we have to pay attention. We can’t sleep through His constant attempts to protect, guide, redeem, and save. He has not stopped speaking or become disinterested. He hears us as we rehearse the miseries of life and waits for us to wake up and recognize that He’s been here all the time waiting to help.

I was expecting to feel sixteen again.

I was expecting to feel sixteen again. After all, my chauffeur had been doing an exemplary job and there was really no need to be anxious to get behind the wheel except for the indefinable urge to take control of a 4,500 pound machine. The Doctor had explicitly prescribed no driving until we were done with the drugs. I don’t know what drugs he was on but I finished mine up and having passed that test, with a blatant disregard for my Doctor, decided to take up the challenge and drive again. Admittedly, there was a bit of excitement and more anticipation then I may want to confess but as I slid behind the wheel a strange feeling of transition shuttered through me very much like the feeling experience when clothing replaced pajamas. One more shift, not back to, but forward toward what some call normal but what I expect to be an abnormal life.

My friend Ralph sent me a letter. It was a delight on a number of levels, not the least of which was that it was hand written. There is something about putting pen to paper that reveals an almost lost intimacy. Ralph hasn’t been driving either. He’s been plodding along the valley path and, though separated by space not spirit, we’ve both enjoyed “spending time in the garden…where I’ve quieted myself enough to hear. G-d speaks, peace follows,” both anticipating getting behind the wheel again. And the “path”ology was as encouraging and worthy of thankfulness for Ralph as for me. Tied up neatly in the little phrase, “The Doctor…feels they were able to get all of it” is such an invitation to the abnormal life.

Life can no longer be normal when you have felt the touch of the healing hand. When you have been plunged beneath the black water of death seeing only the distorted forms of light above the surface and as the shadows of death close in on that light and fear threatens to overtake you there it is. The Healer’s hand. Not thrashing the water frantically searching for you but calmly, not pulling but pushing you from the water. He’s been there all the time holding us up. Maybe its circumstance, or lack of focus, or fear, or selfishness that keeps us from seeing but none-the-less He’s there anyway. So to expect that the One who would support and comfort in such times of need would disappear when situations improve, makes little sense. Therefore, a life lived with attentiveness to the presence and activity of the Comforter can in no way be considered normal. I think Ralph would agree that even though there is a rush about being behind the wheel it’s probably a lot better to just let the chauffeur do His job. I believe being abnormal should be quite normal.

JR

Pajamas

This idea of spending my life in my pajamas is grossly un-attended and should be given much more consideration. My characteristic slothfulness has been allowed to wallow around in a state of euphoria, in the shallow fog of waking or falling back to sleep, intent on one but always ready for the other. The very act of donning clothing signifies an unspoken undercurrent of intent to go and do…something. In my world it is much more difficult to definitively frame what “something” is, then to accept the charge of getting something done. So, logically, when this morning I was charged with the task to; “Get dressed,” until cognition captured consciousness, the very thought gave me pause. But as recollection triumphed over character, the realization of responsibility focused on what was happening today.

I don’t think that whoever named it “pathology” ever intended for it to have the connotation it obviously has. This “Surgical Pathology Report” does much more that crisply and distinctly delineates what has been found on this mysterious path, it also points to what’s ahead on the path. The surgeon asked if I’d seen the report to which I replied I had not been granted the required security clearance to know anything about what was happening inside my body. He then provided me with a verbal code book that allows me to provide some basic translation.

Final Pathologic Diagnosis (this is what was wrong); This was renal cell carcinoma (cancer on the kidney)

Procedure; right kidney, nephrectomy (they took out the kidney; though, in my opinion, generally “ectomys” are things to be avoided; this was a good one)

Prognosis; Tumor infiltrates through the renal capsule, with no extension into perirenal fat and no definitive lymphovascular, vascular, ureteral or soft tissue resection invasion. (They got it all.)

Prescription; Regular blood tests and/or x-ray initially on a 6 month schedule with no further treatment necessary. (go ahead, live the rest of your life)

The Doctor seemed much more concerned about my use of a cane to steady myself then the results of the pathology report. Upon using the cane to emphasize my point and assurance that his bruises would heal, he did concede to my position.

Though somewhat disappointed that I will have to abandon my pajama strategy in lieu of culturally accepted dress codes, the report was very well received and was appropriately celebrated with breakfast at Waffle House. Thanks again to all who have offered prayer and support. I couldn’t have done it without you.

JR

Today...

In looking over this site I'm not quite sure it is serving the purpose for which it was intended. It appears I've become somewhat verbose in description of my inter-health and somewhat lax in reporting on my outer health.

Today marks two weeks since surgery and in my opinion I’m doing quite well. With the aid of my cane and my cat I have become fairly mobile with frequent trips to the garden and my home office. Lola has returned to work and has trained the cat to take over in her absence. Though he is well intentioned, he has a ways to go to fill her shoes. I am blessed by her love and care.

My current challenge is to remember where I am and that is two weeks from surgery. My natural tendency is do more than I’m ready to do. As a result I have some good days and some bad days with most of the bad days being a result of the good days. Slow and steady wins the race. I look forward to attending synagogue this Saturday for the dedication of the Ner Tamid (eternal light) designed specifically by local artisans for Beth Messiah.

September 19th I return to visit the surgeon and received the results of the pathology. I am optimistic and look forward to moving beyond this next step.

JR

New Glasses

I’ve been talking about this Psalm 23 valley for awhile, and because of where I am and maybe who I am, have become focused on this one man’s journey. Today the L-rd convicted me of myopia.

I can remember getting my first pair of glasses. It was in Ms. Krueger’s second grade class in the basement of the main school building at Bristol, South Dakota. Now understand that my public school experience was totally and completely shaped by the reality of my perception and therefore it was not until somewhere in the 4th grade that it was revealed to my perceptive reality that the terms “lower” grades and high school had nothing to do with where they were located in the building. You see at the time that I attended Bristol Public Schools first through the fourth grades were housed in two rooms in the lower level that was the basement of the building. This at one time had been the gymnasium and had, as a result, high ceilings with small “basement” windows at the top of the walls. Grade five through eight were on the first floor with the “high” school grades nine to twelve being quite naturally on the top floor. It wasn’t until I heard the joke; “Why did the student bring a ladder to school?” that I ever puzzled together the concept that being in high school had nothing to do with where it was located. This did two things for me. One it made an immeasurable difference in my education career and two, while not making the joke any funnier it did make the attempt at humor understandable.

It was Ms. Krueger that suggested to my parents that they have my eyes checked. The result was my first pair of glasses and just like in the stories I experienced a miracle. Things that were for the most part conceptual or abstract in understanding became obvious, unmistakable, and clear. Back in the classroom marvels expanded with my first view of how tall those walls really were and how small the windows looked. I truly saw Ms. Krueger for the first time and fell in love immediately and also discovered that there were other kids in the class with me that were more then simply blurry shapes with distinct voices. I discovered I was not alone on this journey. Each one of these now cogent fellow travelers was doing the same thing I was. They were figuring out where they were and where they were going.

So here I am fifty some years later still living in the haze of myopia attempting to figure out where I am and where I’m going. Still looking at those tall fuzzy walls with what might be windows at the top. Still pretty much unaware of those blurry shapes with distinct voices journeying here with me. Then the Teacher suggests that instead of spending so much time figuring out where I am that I may want to test my spiritual lenses. And in His compassion a phone call, unexpected but totally miraculous just as the first day with new glasses.

Nancy and Ralph Thomas have been friends since our time together at a small church (Becida) in the north woods of Minnesota. Our families shared the beginnings of the road of righteousness at this small but fervent body of believers. Ralph and I are the same age and though each on different career paths have stayed loosely connected over the years. Nancy called to tell me that Ralph had surgery for prostate cancer on September 7 and instantly the spiritual lens focused. In this valley, Ralph and I now stand together arm in arm both leaning on the One who has promised to be there with us. In an instant we have become brothers on this path with an unexplainable connection through our travail. Both with G-d gifted help mates to counsel and support along with a myriad of friends that bathe in love, prayer, and encouragement. I here today can see, as if for the first time, that this valley is full of travelers like us. All on this journey and each one of these now cogent fellow travelers is doing the same thing I am. We’re all just trying to figure out where we are and where we’re going. Neither my brother Ralph nor I know in which house we will rest after this time but we will both continue our walk with the One that led us in.

We will pray for Ralph and Nancy as we urge you, too. Pray that they will be alright no matter what the outcome.

JR

I am human

I am human and from time to time I lose my faith. It’s not that it is planned or even foreseen but rather as startling as coming to faith was in the first place. Having traveled on the road of faith for more then just a short time, the expectation might be that strength or conviction or some other self generated attributes would hold my foot steady against “wickeds” and wilds and not so wilds of the present age. It has always been my intent to stay strong in faith, to run the good race, to stay the course, but alas in the midst of my goodness there always seems to lie the seeds of discontent that move me to another path.

Is it the lack of knowledge that causes the loss? Or maybe some shortfall in teaching or instruction that precipitates the sideways glance or turn of head? Is it some weakness in doctrine or indoctrination that becomes the origin of apostasy? Clearly, intent is not the fervent glue that I might think for it appears that the road to hell is paved with its derivatives. Possibly, it’s the fault of those with whom this dance of life is shared. Their imperfections and flaws surely have seduced me into passageways where darkness seems to overpower light. Reason dictates there is no place within my heart that would, with such recklessness, abandon that which intent and command have set as such a noble prize. Yet, when heart and hand and mind do fail to keep the frailty of humanity at bay, and with little regard for life or death, I plunge face first into the indulgence of self, the truthful sting of faith is felt. Without a thought of return or origin the embrace of faith is forsaken in willing welcome embrace of self.

The One in whom faith commences and eternally resides does convict with gentle means, though not so often thus perceived. A message not concealed but seldom heard and understood is proclaimed again my heart. There is nothing I can do but set myself toward the task of keeping faith with Him who is author and finisher. Aware of the frailties of this humanity by experience taught, His mercy makes compassion move beyond perception’s reasonable ends. Loss of faith is not loss of the faithful One. Condemnation is not the inevitable tide of actions wrought with selfishness, but the fact that simply and persistently He waits again to be found.

JR

I don’t like writing autobiographical testimonies

I've been asked to give an account of where I've been. I don’t like writing autobiographical testimonies. They tend to be far too self-indulgent and grossly over use the personal pronoun “I”. Although there may be some agreement around the principle of gaining lessons from life’s experience, many of those critical events in my life are better off forgotten. If G-d can blot out my iniquities through His forgiveness, the lesson to take away is that life points forward not backward. So instead of providing a blow-by-blow depiction of a life too often “over lived” my intent is to share some of its lessons.

Always remember where you came in. The good fortune of a stable loving home cannot be underestimated. Growing up there is no time in memory that offers anything but security, love, and wise counsel. Unfortunately, having the tools does not assure good use. My travels around the “G-d of my father” were long and circular. If good judgment comes from bad experience, my judgment should be precise. Being raised in a religious home did not guarantee a positive relationship with G-d. I was well studied in religion and new its precepts and concepts from every direction but truth. It took a direct confrontation with Yeshua for me to answer the question He asked Peter, “Who do you say I am?” And that is where I came in. That is the place which can never be forgotten no matter how far or long the travels are, the answer must be remembered, “You are the Mashiach, the Son of the living God.” (Matt 16:16)

You are what you eat. The farther away, in time or space, we get from the place we came in the less we remember about it unless there is a constant reminder. My father died in 1979 and even though I’ve not forgotten him he is not on my mind nearly as much as when he was with me. It is necessary to purpose to remember the relationship we had by pictures, memorabilia, keepsakes and other memories. My father stays close to me because my choice has been to feed on his memory. The relationship I had with Yeshua “when I came in” was special and unique, as it is with everyone, because at the beginning we were so close. But time and space continue and the relationship changes. My Yeshua can only stay close if the choice is to feed on His memory, His word. The scripture admonishes us to “put on the mind of Messiah.” (I Co. 2:16) The way to discover what a person’s mind is, is to listen to what they say. Yeshua’s mind becomes mine when His word is fervently and diligently devoured.

Phone home. I grew up on a farm in rural South Dakota. The operative word is “rural”. The closest neighbors were around 5 miles away. We never had a telephone or running water. When I was courting my future wife, Lola, our primary means of communication was through letters. For those of you who don’t remember, letters are like email only slower. Even though letters served to bind the relationship, there was nothing like talking to bring us into focus and draw us closer together. Even though I can remember where I came in and continue to eat G-d’s word they still only serve to bind the relationship. To focus and draw closer conversation is what is needed. This spiritual walk we are on is often referred to as a “personal” relationship. I can think of no relationships, personal or not, that can remain if you never talk and listen. If you don’t pray you will stray. It is also important to listen. Never miss a good chance to shut up.

JR

Today…

This was another good day. I was able to get up walk around and even spend some time in the garden, which may have been a little over ambitious but none the less gratifying. Laura and Russ Marr visited early in the evening and G-d in His ever abundant providence provided a newly mown lawn through Russ. I thank G-d and Russ. He also showed up in the form of Betty and Bruce Smith who stopped to visit and with a little “Jewish mother in a bowl.” (matzo ball soup)(Betty’s is the best.) With all these believers sitting around what better time for my youngest son to call with a pray request. G-d never misses an opportunity.

Deo gratias

JR

Things Are What They Are

Written: August 23, 2006

Things are what they are. Sometimes the axiom of, “perception is reality”, or “read between the lines”, or “every cloud has a silver lining” are just ways of rationalizing or posturing or merchandising. What I am discovering in this valley is that some times, or most times, things are what they are.

I am quite sure that people’s urges to bring me the short answer to the question “what’s the best way out of this valley?” question, are born from compassion, conviction, and very genuine concern. I’m struck with the absolute fervor with which all present the answer. Whether based in experience, observation, or hear say they, to the last man and to the exclusion of all others, have the definitive cure, the most attractive path, the wisest and only logical choice for my ill. It doesn’t seem to matter what the basis of these incredible and miraculous remedies are, all propose to be based in truth, logic, common sense, or spirituality and have impressive anecdotal evidence to support the claim that if I just eat this, or wear this, or massage this, or pray this everything will return to a place that is even better than the place I came from and I will have discovered a way around the valley. Furthermore if I don’t embrace this particular answer not only will things not get better but they will, not may, get much-much worse.

Never mind the current circumstance, look at what else is in store for me. I’m poised on the brink of disaster and this must be taken seriously. My very life depends on immediate acceptance of the proposition to change how I eat, sit, walk, talk, and think about this existence that G-d, in His evidently flawed wisdom, has planted me in.

Never mind what I know to be true, I should be fearful, no dramatically afraid, that what has previously been presented, documented, experienced, and accepted is unfounded. Those that I have relied on for judgment and sustenance have not just been mistaken but have, as a part of some vast undefined conspiracy, deliberately misled me primarily to further their own clandestine goals. I can no longer rely on conscience or counsel and must throw my trust solely and completely in the hands of these compassionate purveyors of myopia, these malevolent merchants of mistrust.

No matter how filled with conviction or compassion or concern, the agenda for these disquieting harbingers of apprehension remains fairly constant. It is my opinion that in this world morality is how we think things should be and economics is how things really are. It is the anticipation of money and power that molds this illusion of fear and mistruth. I am experiencing a vast subculture of zealots; spiritual, physical, and emotional, comprising an army of prophets and diviners of untruth. All mendacity relies on true as its origin and has always started with the question that originally brought man to iniquity, “Did G-d say…?” (Genesis 3) We are still falling for the same line.

So what is the answer to my question about the best way out of this valley? My answer seems to be in truth already accepted and not in truth counterfeited. Things are what they are. G-d in His wisdom has allowed me to walk through this valley. Why would He do that if He didn’t know I already had all that was needed to complete the journey? He promises His comfort, His presence, and gives assurances that being with Him completely extinguishes all fear. (Psalm 23) I think I’ll just keep walking.

JR

Caned and able

Isn't a cane a marvelous invention? My mother used this cane and I
remember what a challenge it was getting her to accept the fact that using
it was a good thing. I had to sneak it home from the “cane store” and
casually drop it into conversation. Though many say I am a lot like my
mother I do not follow her character when it comes to the cane. I find it
to be an extremely versatile tool. Its primary use not with-standing, it
has functioned as a hook on the foot of the bed to get me up and down, an
arm extender when I drop things to the floor, a cat herder, and recently I
have noticed its use in conversation. There is nothing like a point
emphasized with a long stick.

We’ve had some company and many cards and letters (electronic and snail)
in the 24 hours since coming home. I’m feeling quite well if I don’t move
too quickly. As many of you can attest I have never been known for the
speed at which I move either in physical or intellectual realms. The words
“Jim Klein” and “quickly” are not often heard in the same sentence. This
is a monumental admission for someone who professes to be a “chancellor of
change.” In our world change happens constantly and our ability to adapt
is the key to whether or not we have to use a cane or simply walk up
right. We all need something to lean on at one time or another.

I thank G-d for the canes I lean on, not only the metal and rubber one
that keeps me from falling on my face but for all the people that support
me every day. Through this time I have been amazed at how people have
come forward offering support, whether in trouble or out, G-d shows His
grace and mercy through people. We only need to pay attention and keep
leaning.

JR

It's back.

Thyself thou gav'st, thy' own worth then not knowing,
or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaken
and so thy great gift on misprisonment growing
Comes home again, up better judgement making.

Ah...Shakespeare. Who can say so much to say so little and say so little so well.

Translation: I'm Home.

Thanks everyone. I'll write more later.

JR

Walking Around

Jim is eating well, up walking around every couple of hours and in general
ready to go home. He is still taking some pain meds, but is doing GREAT!!
I saw him and Lola this afternoon. Lola said she slept well last night.

Thank you all for your prayers and support.

Jim is doing well

I have spoken with Lola by phone. She said Jim is doing VERY well!! He is
walking on his own, sleeping, eating and getting along fine. The doctors
are considering letting him go home tomorrow.

Lola is exhausted. Please keep them both in your prayers.

Jim says "Hello and God's Blessing" to everyone

I just left Jim's bedside and he is doing exceedingly well.  He has no severe pain and was looking forward to a good night's rest.  He is in good spirits and has had fun teasing the nurses.  He asked me to say hello to everyone and also to thank you for your prayers, love, comfort and support.  It has meant so much to both of us.  Continue to pray for us as we will not know the results of the pathology report for at least two weeks (the doctor will be out of town).  We know what God has done up to this point and it is poignant.

The latest...

Lola asked me to post the latest. Jim is in his hospital room. According to Marcy (who just came home from seeing him) he looks "astoundingly good". Good enough that it's hard to imagine that he even had surgery! I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see for myself. (It an OSU game day, so parking will be impossible, but I have a bicycle!)

Jim is OUT OF SURGERY!!!

He is in the recovery room and has already had his breathing tube removed. He has a small incision and several smaller spots where the scope was used. The Dr. said he looked good and there was no indication that there had been any spread outside the kidney itself. However, until pathology examines the kidney, they won't know for sure.

Jim is expected to start taking clear liquids this evening and getting up and around tomorrow.

Lola is ecstatic, to say the least!!

Thank you all for your prayers.

Surgery going VERY well - kidney is out!

Lola just spoke with the surgical nurse - Jim is doing VERY well and surgery is going smoothly. The diseased kidney has been removed and they are putting him back together. Estimate is that he should be done in an hour. Your prayers have been answered!! Thank you, L-rd!!!

Surgery has begun

Lola, Marcy, Danelle, Roxanne and surprise guest Amy Palmer (and I) are in the waiting area at the James. We have been informed that Jim's surgery has begun and things are going well so far. Lola seems to be in good spirits, as was Jim when I saw him earlier. Please continue to pray as they are estimating a 4-6 hour surgery at this time.

G-d's Timing is Perfect

Thanks to Chris Kotting for writing this up for me from a phone call!!

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Well, it's been a crazy 24 hours. I had to go to work to make up a few hours, so I was there late last night, so I was late getting to the hospital this morning. I was fretting that I wouldn't get a chance to see Jim & Lola before Jim went into surgery, because I wasn't completely sure where or how I would hook up with them.

Of course, I got lost...

SO my panties were really getting into a wad by the time I found the place and hunted down a parking spot.

I hustle my tuchus into the building, just in time to see Jim & Lola crossing the lobby on the way to pre-op. Praise G-d!

Jim looks good, and seems pretty positive about the surgery. I'm waiting in the main lobby now. Lola's coming back to get me once Jim's headed into surgery, then we'll both head for the Surgical waiting room. Marcy will probabaly be here by then, and folks will be swinging by periodically throughout the day.

Waiting is the hardest part...

Known or Unknown

He was a young man. He seemed pleasant enough and exhibited a quiet confidence that comes from knowledge. We took up our positions as dictated to by culture. I in the uncomfortable armed chair against the wall and he on the round wheeled stool drawn up to the institutional desk like shelf hanging from the wall as if placed there for the sole purpose of complementing the round chair. The room is small and institutional.

The young man closes the door and proceeds to tell me about this pain. At times I have trouble following his multi-syllabic language but he is gracious and just a slight bit condescending in its translation. He is logical in presentation not leaving much to the imagination. The options are clear and concise, one from column “A.” or one from column “B.” or one from column “C.”. And, by the way, column “B.” probably won’t work, column “C.” will probably make it worse, and column “A.” might help.

Do I understand? What an intriguing question. Do I understand the part about what the pain is? Yes, very well done sir. Do I understand the part about what needs to be done? Yes, resounding clarity, admirable presentation. Do I understand the part about what the odds are that this is a bad thing? Yes, well stated, precise numbers, not 90%, not 88%, but 89%. Somewhat like checking the tire pressure, “Yup, there’s a 89% chance that this thing will kill you.”

What about this question? Do you understand that from this moment in time your life will change forever? People will look at you differently. The mix of fear and sadness, discomfort and thanksgiving is hard to hide. I think it’s their eyes. They look directly at you, searching for some absolution or abstraction that pardons the discomforting thought of my future and the gratitude for theirs. Why don’t we look at each other like that when we’re both whole? Why can’t we touch each other’s soul as a normal part of everyday life? And if we are so bold, rid our selves of the unexplainable guilt that rises from culture, or teaching, or spiritual misdirection, or some other misprisonment.

He was an older man. He was at ease and though attempting to construct a peer to peer relationship with his learner it was evident that he had been in this room more times than he could remember. But as “wisdom’s mark doth show,” he did.

He sat down beside me and leaned toward me until our arms pressed against each other. Then I recognized Him. The voice was calm and firm, filled with on unflinching confidence, unmistakable concern, and genuine sincerity. It was Him; compassion, acceptance, consolation, empathy. It was G-d Himself in this man, known or not known, nonetheless present. He had me…and without struggle brought me back from my pending dark journey into myself, and with a touch the focus changed. I could hear His voice, not the wise man sent to comfort me, but the voice I have over the years come to recognize. “Listen,” He said, “you’ve done all the dying you’re ever going to do. This is just another change.”

Salt Shakers

There is somewhere time to think about pain. There is a stoic place in the somewhere that says pain makes you stronger. I don’t have total agreement with this postulation because there is no definition involved. Physical, emotional, spiritual, cultural, national pain all manifest in ways that may be strengthening but many just hurt.

Over the past several months I have experienced physical pain that presents itself in various guises, from a sharp wrenching burn to a crouching clandestine discomfort that drags everything to the edge of thought and emotion. This one doesn’t strengthen and in fact it does the opposite.

It reminds me of visiting my aunt Maimie’s house. She lived with her daughter Helen and a small particularly annoying miniature dog that at some times, to me, seemed to be indistinguishable from the multitude of collectibles unevenly distributed in veritable every vacant space. The pre-visit parental admonition was “don’t break anything.” most particularly the dog and most surely the salt shakers. The collectibles were salt shakers that had, over the years, been painstakingly called together by my aunt and cousin into a sea of porcelain and pewter, all of it quite valuable and most certainly most fragile.

I should say a word here about my natural tendency. Though probably not inherited, it was every bit as apparent from an early age and has become more refined over time. Things around me like to fall off shelves, get caught on clothing, jump in front of my feet, move over head and behind elbows and generally make a nuisance of themselves by smashing to pieces on some conveniently located hard surface. I’m a “klutz”, a “shla’meal.” So in the shaker museum with its pint sized purveyor of calamity I sat on the edge of anticipation, not anticipation of “if” but of “when.”

This discomfort is the same feeling. I am consistently anticipating the smash of sensation that will capture every focus of my life. This pain is tiring. It adds neither strength nor wisdom. It has no lesson to leave no moral to reveal. It is malicious, nasty, and disconcerting. I would like to leave it to its watchful purpose and go home now.

Before the Morrow

This is the day before the day and I am in the midst of the prescribed exercise of "cleansing". It has an interesting ring to it. I'm thinking of putting on a long robe and climbing to the top of some nearby mountain but then they don't have commodes up there so that's definitely out of the question. In between my trips to my mountain alternative today I have some pieces that have been squeezed from my spirit to share. Thank you to everyone for your thoughts and prayers.

JR

How to read/comment on a Blog:

Reading: If you want to start at the beginning, start at the bottom. The posts are added on top of one another, so the latest is always at the top. If you want to see a certain post and all the comments to it, click on it’s title from the listing on the left side of the screen.

Comments: To comment on a post, click on the “0 comments” or “X comments”. You will be taken to a window that allows you to read the other comments already made and to post your own. You can post anonymously and add your name in the comment. (That way, you don’t have to create an account on Blogger if you don’t choose to do so.) Alternatively, you can use a Blogger account you already have or create one for commenting. If you create an account, you will be asked to create a blog. You can do that, but your blog will not appear until you make the first post on it. (There is no requirement that you ever make any posts on your blog.)

Please keep in mind that this is a PUBLIC blog and anything you write (your name, phone numbers, email addresses and any personal information) is publicly available on the Internet. If you want to share something private with Jim and Lola, an email would be better.

No flowers at the hospital??? :-(

All,

In researching the James Cancer center (looking for wireless internet access - what else?), I came across the following from their "Patients and Visitors Guide":


Flower Arrangements and Balloons

Live plants and cut flowers are not permitted in The James because they may spread infections. Floral arrangements made of silk, paper, plastic or ceramic may be given to patients...Only mylar balloons are permitted; no rubber or latex balloons are allowed in The James due to concerns about allergic reactions.


Just a heads up in case you were planning to send flowers.

Surgery Scheduled 8:15AM

This morning I recieved the third in a series of phone calls from the surgical scheduler at the OSU medical center. Apparently, they keep spilling coffee on the schedule for what once was a 7:00AM surgery is no longer at 9:00AM but at 8:15AM. (Sept. 1)

To this point.

This episode began several years ago when with little warning I experienced what I diagnosed to be kidney stones. It was an excruciating incident that relies on experience for explanation. I have been told that with the possible exception of childbirth, it may be one of the top ten pains. Medical communication being more art then science has quantified pain into a ten point numbering scale with one being the mildly discomforted smiley face and ten being the “oh my god, where’s my leg.” This pain was a ten with a bullet.

The doctor, however, did not agree with my diagnoses because in that dramatically clinical and qualitative diagnostic test; i.e. please pee in the cup, nothing turned up, no little stony things, no blood, nothing. He almost seemed disappointed. I, however, had been feeling fine from about ten days after the event until the time that I had eventually made it in to see the doctor. We need to watch this and call me if it happens again. I can remember leaving the office and mentally making a list of all the things I would call him if it did happen again.

Things were fine for about eighteen months and then the premonition of pain appeared again but this time I was ready. Lola had been studying polarity for sometime and had identified all the body marks that could head off those kidney stones at the pass. So I asked her to “do that voodoo that you do so well.” The treatment seemed to work and another six or eight months passed and I remained fat and happy. As 2006 dawned it was Lola who was garnering all the medical attention. Her sixteen year battle with the “shadow beast” culminated in surgery for a hydro-cephalic condition. It was almost a miracle cure, which just goes to prove you should never underestimate the value of drilling a hole in your head and putting in a piece of plastic. She’s feeling better then she has in years.

In May I began to have the nagging premonition again and was experiencing some mild discomfort, so we opted to do what had worked before. This time with an associate of Lola’s that came to give her a treatment as part of her recovery. When it was my turn under the screw Lola said, “It may not be such a good idea to lay flat on the firm treatment table.” Understanding that the idea of me laying flat anywhere was quite revolutionary, I in my flawed logic replied, “What could it hurt?” The answer of course was me. Such pain I had! It was only through God’s providence that Amad was visiting or I might still be on the treatment table.

Another undiagnosed kidney stone was again my mis-diagnoses and as before, just holding on through the worst of the pain was my prescription. This one brought an attitude. It was bound and determined not to leave me alone until I paid attention to it. The expected ten day persecution period passed and though there was some moderation, it was still persistent in holding my attention. Over the next month and a half I relied on little red and white capsules to bring me to a place where I could pretend to ignore it. It was my decision to wait for my scheduled doctor’s appointment that turned out to be a blood test and no visit with the physician making my real face to face a good two months from the occurrence. And still the pain, in its obnoxious little egotism, was always demanding attention, always suggesting something else.
Again the doctor says; “pee in the cup” and still comes up with the same results and admits his desire to have pictures of me, from the inside. We scheduled a cat scan with results reported by some type of medical personnel by phone in a “what’s my line” impersonation next to none. I have a cyst on my kidney that warrants further pictures, ones that cost more. And then the doctor calls. Now I don’t know much about the medical profession but I do know the difference between a call from the medical personnel and one from the doctor. It’s a solid mass, a growth, a tumor, a bad thing, and I need to see a specialist.

The specialist confirms it’s not a good thing. An unwanted growth that has a ninety percent chance of being cancer is his best offer. My memory for multi-syllabic medical language is limited but the translation is an aggressive surgical kidney cancer that does not respond to chemo or radiation. Because the little bugger (5cm) has grown down into the kidney the option is to remove the kidney. So here we are waiting for September 1 when surgeons will exercise their laparoscopy skills in yet another test of the practice of medicine.

Where have I been?

This electronic journal is an attempt to keep everyone up to date on this unwanted but necessary journey through a Psalm 23 valley. It is my hope that through the thoughts shared here, by all, we can encourage each other whether we are in the valley or on either side.

Thank you to Sue Fredrick who came up with this idea and did the technical work. “A grateful mind, by owing owes not, but still pays, at once…” (John Milton) Thank's Sue.

JR