Category: Jerry’s Reflections

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Gaspar’s Sign

GASPAR sat atop the gangly beast, his body swaying to its rolling gait. Memories stirred.

The star-gazer sage relished such occasions when he could without interruption review his past, his station in life, and particularly good fortune.

Gaspar was mildly aware that certain virtues had seemed to elude him. Like humility. This, he would not deny. He found himself more often growing uneasy at his self-congratulatory reflections. But only to a measure.

“It was I after all”, he mused afresh, “who first took serious note of that curious beacon disclosing itself in the western sky. And didn’t I, Gaspar,in my scrupulous research, uncover the mystery-promises that seemed perhaps tied to the phenomenon?’

These promises, he reflected, were oral references of ancient Hebrew parchments – oracles predicting a king’s birth. A child-king promised to the Hebrew peoples. . . perhaps even to the world at large.

‘Of Course it was I.’

His shoulders lowered and he breathed out a sigh, still hesitant to credit others who were equally vital to the venture upon which they now embarked. . .

After their months of travel the star’s brightness radiated almost directly overhead now. Gaspar squirmed in his saddle, a curious discomfort had been welling inside him. A mood tracing itself to no specific source that he could call to mind. His saddled shifted again.

The star’s beam – brighter than he had yet observed it – converged it seemed, with another kind of light, a piercing presence exposing the very interior of his  soul.

Gaspar felt a stab of conscience unlike any before. His body gave way to a sudden muffled cry leaving him troubled by his own abrupt sorrowing. He spoke, faintly audible words of severe intensity spilling from his lips.

“Impure! Impure am I. . . arrogant and impure am I!”

Drawing a sharp breath Gaspar choked out an unrehearsed confession – distress punctuating each word, “I have regarded my brothers with contempt.”

His remorse carried forward – the probing light of conviction unrelenting.

“I am unworthy. . .”

“But”, added Gaspar (a bewildering question had formed amidst his confessions),

“Before whose holy face I am unworthy I know not!” What I do know is I dare not proceed to the place of the king-child, not in this state – sullied by this stain.”

Gaspar questioned, reflectively now, ‘Who is this one, this child to whom the light we feel has been guiding us? Might it be he – or the spirit of he – who moves upon me so, here even before I have beheld his face?’

He drew his camel back and brought his cape about his face. At his command the camel knelt and, on dismounting, Gaspar went to his knees. Repeating an earlier refrain he cried, “I must gain mercy. Mercy”.

“Oh Exalted Being”, he whispered, his eyes lifted to the night’s canopy, “Governor of constellations . . Mercy!”

In this moment he sensed a thing wholly new to his former experience. Sitting motionless and in awe, he felt a bathing presence, bathing – Wave on purifying wave. Tender. Cleansing. Joyous. Wave on wave washing over him.

He did not measure how long he lingered, lying there prostrate on the hardened path. Gaspard moved to rise.

His right foot, pressed beneath him so long, had lost feeling. Reaching a hand upward, he grasped a tree’s low-hanging branch. A picture, a metaphor of sorts, came to Gaspar’s mind as he rose and balanced there now on the steady foot. He clung to the branch, gazing at its form, afresh.

“Yes, yes, I am seeing it now. This is who I am, I am a man not able – not of my own might to stand. I am off-balance and much in need of support – such as this tree supplies to my bodily frame now.’ He drew earnest comfort in the musing.

Soon there stirred in him a resolve – and a whispered pledge. He felt his jaw anchor in place. Tears moistened his eyes,

“From this hour I shall walk rightly in the company of others,” the magi whispered. “My brothers – Melchior and Balthazar indeed – and too, my servants as well. Friends unto whom I shall render proper regard, and service. Yes, we shall be – each to the other – a supporting limb. As a branch. “He paused looking upward, “May I find strength.”

Excited voices suddenly cut in, spirited cries from somewhere ahead. Ecstatic, adoring, calls sounded out in varied tongues – Aramaic, Hebrew, Persian, Arabian. All of them announcing, heralding, calling forth a special personage.

The child-king.

A Hebrew’s voice bearing a trace of Persian accent rang out. Clear, crisp, jubilant. The call moved Gaspar. Other voices followed.

Cupping a weathered palm to his ear, he took in a string of wondrous, descriptive exclamations. One by one. . .

“All worship to him, the Christ-child!

“Messiah!”, called another.

Then, “King. . . “Morning star! . . .

“the BRANCH!”

The word seized Gaspar, ‘the Branch?’

Gaspar swallowed hard and a shiver coursed through his body. A breeze touched his face, stirring his beard. He glanced to the tree and its limb, now back of him and beyond reach.

Peering forward once again toward the path ahead he took in the lighted glow of a simple dwelling. A breeze touched his face, stirring his beard. A tender warmth enveloped him. He whispered, “Soon I shall offer up my myrrh to him – my Lord!”

Gaspar mounted his animal which on rising seemed herself taken by the night’s magic, “Bear us forward, camel – do you see the light of the dwelling there, camel? It is there we shall meet a child. .

The King-child. The Branch!”

©2020/2024 Jerry Lout

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A Different Christmas

*Blogreader friends: Today’s entry (penned yesterday) is lengthier than usual . I hope you’ll like the fictional narrative’s meaning. . . and spirit.  Merry Christmas all.

Tobi William’s adolescent fingers fished through the kitchen drawer till one of them landed on the prize.

“Here it is, Trina”, the eleven-year-old chimed to his kid sister, “Your turn with the calendar!”

Trina took the Sharpie from the brown-haired boy who was a bare two years her senior. In a sweeping arm-wave of mock theatrics, Trina landed the sharpie’s point on the number 23. “There” she pronounced, “tomorrow night we sleep at Samantha and Caleb’s!”

High-fiving each other they bounded from the room.

Of course, as with most siblings, the two didn’t always see eye to eye. They had their occasional spats and their scraps. But, with special events like the one slated for the very next day, the harmony of the present would go unchallenged.

The two family’s homes lay just a mile apart with their respective neighborhoods, linked by Ozark Blvd.

The children’s parents had struck up an acquaintance with the Butler family through a random encounter 18 months earlier at a nearby park. The friendship deepened through shared interests, their common faith. . . and out of an instantaneous connection between the children.

Caleb and Tobi, for instance, lived to skateboard, a fact to which their legs and arms and other exposed surfaces of the body often bore witness.  An impressive sampling of bruises and partially-healed pavement burns, along with the occasional bandaid dangling here or there at an elbow or shin or knee.

Tobi and Trina’s sleepover at their friend’s home was a departure from the ordinary. After all, who does this on Christmas Eve?

In this instance, however, the sets of parents themselves had set about contriving for the arrangement for just this once.

The Williams had learned that the Butlers had been enjoying a special practice – something to do with setting out a ‘treat’ in readiness of a coming ‘guest’. The items were arranged and placed on a small table near the Christmas tree. The serving was in place well before sunrise on Christmas day. Toby and Trina’s parents felt a Christmas experience in the home of their friends might give their young ones a special enduring memory.

Christmas Eve arrived! Each household enjoyed a nice mealtime to themselves.

At the Butler home a bit after dinner, Samantha and Caleb gazed out a window, studying the trickle of cars passing by their house. Then, seeing a quite familiar car roll into view (it was now around 9:00 pm.) the children danced and rushed outside. Tobi and his sister, laughing with their friends, were welcomed in.

Servings of fresh eggnog appeared. A few minutes later the children (with at least a couple of them bearing ‘milk-like’ rings about their lips) moved to a place near an old but decently-tuned piano. The singing of Christmas carols began.

“Okay, guys, Off to dreamland”, one of the parents announced. Their pajamas donned, the four friends headed upstairs for a reasonably good night’s rest.

“Are they all asleep?”

“Yes, seems like it.”

“I’ll have everything in place before sunrise.”

“Alright. Goodnight”.

“Nite”.

At Christmas dawn the house remained sweetly quiet. For the briefest of moments. Then. . .

“Samantha!” cried Trina, “it’s Christmas!”

With this the four children – in a hastening recovery from blurry eyes and sleepy yawns – made their way downstairs.

What their eyes met brought surprise that registered strongly on each face. It was not a surprise of awe or wonder, but one more of curiosity and puzzlement.

“Mom? Dad? You are here?” said Tobi. “But you dropped us off last night and we thought you. . .” his voice trailed and then picked up again, “and also, why are you guys and Mr and Mrs. Butler. . . why are you all sitting on the carpet there by the little table?”

“Yes, you’re sure right”, Trina’s mother laughed, “we did go back home and that is exactly where we slept. But”, she continued, “we couldn’t think of missing out on this”. Mrs. Williams was motioning to the small table.

The items atop the table that had been arranged on it seemed to be still intact, resting undisturbed beneath a tidy cloth covering.

By now the Williams and Butler children had drawn near – their eight collective eyes fixed on the little table and its modestly veiled burden. Mystery.

Samantha and Caleb’s dad spoke.

“Tobi and Trina, on this special morning, we wanted to have you and your parents – yes, and all of us together – to simply join in the celebration. Celebrating Jesus’ birth by remembering what he came to bring.  . . you know, his Christmas gift. . .”

Mr. Butler paused, smiling.  Then, pretending the look of a professor he asked,

“Now, tell me young students. . . what do you think that gift might have been. . . the one that Jesus came to give?”

After a brief silence, nine-year-old Trina raised a hand. Her already-widened eyes carried a twinkle as if a ‘spark of knowing’ had landed on her pupils.

Acknowledging Mr. Butler’s head nod, Tina declared, “He came and gave himself!” 

“Yes! And that is why. . .” (here the host dad lingered), “Well, that is why that, after we open a few presents here in a little bit, we will all head to the Community Shelter downtown and share some food and clothing with our friends there”.

“Wow”, Samantha whispered.

“But first,” added Mrs. Williams, “let’s celebrate a birthday! . . We will need all you kids for a special part, OK?”

“Sure”.

“Great. Do you remember the part of the one Christmas Carol that goes ‘O Come let us adore him’?”

The children nodded.

“Well, us four parents need all our four children, that would be you, to sing that ‘O Come let us adore him’ part through just a few times softly while we – your moms and dads – receive of the Lord’s Table. In this way we will all be remembering and worshipping our savior, our wonderful Gift-giver the One who gave himself in life and in death. . and even now – living in and through us all.”

At this, the children of the Williams home and the children of the Butlers’ home slipped alongside each other, clearing their voices softly like vocalists sometimes do.

The adults, kneeling near the table, began sharing the communion elements together. The movements caught young Caleb’s eye,

Signaling toward the elements by a nod of his head he whispered to the others just loud enough to be heard,

“What our parents are doing there sure does beat leaving a couple cookies and some milk for a fat little elf dressed in red”. A collective giggle erupted. A fresh clearing of throats followed,

O come let us adore him. . . Chri-i-ist the Lord !🎶

©2024 Jerry Lout

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In Pursuit

Although her length and breadth boasts an imposing 1.7 million square miles and hosts a vast mix of ethnicities, each individual inhabitant of the Indian Subcontinent is ‘a story being written’. Through the many years since our meeting, Nuren’s story leaves me smiling and, frankly, in wonder.

When Nuren arrived in Michigan he brought with him a rich heritage of India family and culture. Hearing Nuren recall his grandfather’s role in shaping his life is itself an excursion into a generations-long treasure. While his Hindu upbringing instilled elements that framed some of his worldview, Nuren’s insatiable quest for deeper meaning gave rise to relentless questions.

When a married couple, Amit and Glory – also from India and also student-residents in the Wolverine State – happened to cross paths with Nuren, a bond of friendship began forging. So much so that when the couple moved to Tulsa on a snowy January day for Amit’s further studies, their friend Nuren found every excuse to stay in touch.

Through a host of phone visits and added long drives to Tulsa, Nuren’s questions about the intersection of personal life and the Christian faith were earnestly posed. In a sustained environment of warmth and hospitality, his friends in T-town never wearied of the visits. To the contrary, Amit and Glory continually welcomed their keen-minded, inquisitive friend. Glory’s tasty curries found their way to the simple dining table around which robust questions and the occasional prayer were brought forward.

On a warm Summer day a couple of years after Nuren’s first Tulsa visit, we gathered at the home of veterinary friend Jim Osborn. The water temperature of Jim and Pam’s above ground pool was just right.

While further questions (some not yet thought of) would remain unaddressed for a time, our hungry-for-truth friend Nuren was ready to respond to Jesus’ call, “Come, follow”.

A fresh dry towel appeared. Broad smiles, perhaps a tear or two, touched the faces of several gathered. Glory and Amit beamed. We entered the pool.

“So now, upon the profession of your faith. . in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. . .”

©2024 Jerry Lout

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In Good Time

      He has made everything beautiful in his time.*

From the start, the matchup seemed pre-ordained. Clint and Jackie had hardly met the Zhirs before hearts became knitted together.

Punctuated by periodic dinners together, friendship outings and game nights, the two households grew close. Conversations could cover any range of topics. With, however, one exception.

As devoted Jesus-followers, Clint and Jackie carried their faith walk into all spheres of life. Bringing the topic of spirituality and, particularly references to Jesus, however, gained little ground with their special Far East friends. From the early days of the relationship, the Zhirs politely signaled they had no interest in discussing religion or faith. The American hosts took note, faithfully honoring the couples’ space.

When Mrs. Zhir conceived and began her maiden journey toward motherhood, Jackie (mother of three) expressed delight. She made herself appropriately accessible – fielding anxious questions, conveying practicalities, offering encouragement. The two women – of their diverse histories, cultures and beliefs – grew ever closer in friendship as the months went by. And when baby came, the families celebrated together.

After university, Mr. Zhir found employment and the family moved to their new location. A few years passed.

At a coincidental meeting with our volunteer friends Clint and Jackie (they seemed especially cheery), we learned fresh news about the Zhirs.

“Hey, we heard from them recently!”, Clint began.

Jackie chimed in, “In our visit, they reflected on our warm friendship from years back. They also referenced their appreciation over our having given them space regarding the matter of ‘discussing religion’.”

Clint went on, “Through some newer friendships in their present city, the Zhirs began being stirred to explore Christ and the faith. Great news. Both are now believers!”

©2024 Jerry Lout                                                                                * Ecclesiastes 3:11

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Watershed Moments

As with many spouses of T.U. scholars, she had adopted a Western nickname (perhaps less daunting to the American tongue). Gayle and her graduate-student husband, ‘Dean’, had been in Tulsa nearly two years. The story of their faith journey corresponded with a marginal difference to that of another married couple, the Zhirs*. The Zhirs happened to both share a common first name. My wife, a twinkle in her eye, nicknamed them ‘Zhirs Squared’.

ISM enjoyed serving alongside host families – Christ-followers endeavoring to mirror the faith. Such households, with their knack of welcoming strangers in their midst, lived and breathed hospitality.

Dean and Gayle were an engaging couple eager to sharpen their “second language” skills. They instantly warmed to the ‘English Corner’ community.

Along the way Dean was notified that a significant academic opportunity in a distant location had been offered him. The couple’s departure from Tulsa was imminent. They would move in a matter of days.

Wednesday evening’s English Corner rolled around and the usual stream of internationals and American host friends arrived at our common meeting area, the campus dining hall. Alerted to Gayle and her husband’s news of soon moving away, one volunteer exclaimed, “Oh, Gayle, we are going to miss you so much!” At this, the young lady – overcome by the sincere gesture – excused herself and moved to a quiet area to gather her emotions. Tears flowed.

Some moments later she was joined by her host friend who had followed her from a respectable distance. In the moments that followed, Gayle, sensing a consoling presence which she discerned to be the love of God, expressed her desire to embrace the faith that so marked her friend’s lives. Shortly afterward her husband Dean followed suit. Christ proved himself true through their years following. Savior, companion and Lord.

Among the beautiful features of nearing, then crossing salvation’s threshold to God’s kingdom is the uniqueness of each person in their own pilgrimage.  The circuitous route of the Zhirs (befriended by a different volunteer family altogether) would unfold  across its own distinctive set of landscapes.

©2024 Jerry Lout

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En Route

Any novice square dance student just learning the “grab-your-partner and do-si-do” moves is soon paying attention to distance and space.  The night of Bear Trap’s special hoedown witnessed one couple stagger backward and break into laughter after conking heads at the “now bow to your partner” call.

Our return to Tulsa from the Colorado Rockies found our team and volunteers shifting gears as Spring Semester was soon to launch.  Brisk January days shocked the system of some students – especially those transitioning from the equatorial climates of their homelands. It meant shedding their ultralight sweaters in exchange for garments more suited to our Oklahoma winds sweeping down the plains.

Most students in the coming days discovered the need of having their own vehicle. But many had never driven. ISM volunteers and staff stayed busy, both pursuing reliable cars that may correspond to a student’s thin budget and the considerable courage demanded in coaching the new owner to drive!

Travelers over the world know that streets and thoroughfares are hazardous places, especially at times when adrenaline runs high.

Yingli was set to graduate. The commencement ceremony would begin in an hour. Cap and gown in hand, she rushed to cross the street en route to the venue where crowds had already gathered. Yingli missed spotting the oncoming car until the last second. She immediately halted but not soon enough to avoid the tire crushing her foot. Though Good Samaritans rushed to her aid, her fractured bones waylaid any hopes for the near future to ‘walk’ for her diploma.

Our friends were quick to locate her at the hospital. Comforted through the trauma by their presence and prayers, she settled into the long season of recovery – several weeks of it back in her homeland. Afterwards, again in America while advancing her academic pursuits, she entrusted her life to Christ.

Yingdi’s smile shone with humble radiance throughout those subsequent weeks, then into coming years. She had embarked on a new journey, along another kind of thoroughfare; a passageway like no other.*

©2024 Jerry Lout                                                *John 14:6

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Happy Tears

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named*

 

Until their December visit to Colorado’s Bear Trap Ranch, several of the students had never seen snow. We offered up simple tips on navigating snow and ice after witnessing through barely-concealed grins their earlier attempts at the challenge.

Each exhilarating day of broomball on ice, indoor table tennis, family group, (pretend) Olympic games, and mountain hikes would at last wind down with mealtime. This was followed by a Christian ‘talk’ presented by a guest speaker. Nate Mirza of The Navigators  endeared himself to the community time after time.

Through a small library toward the gathering room we moved after dinner, passing beneath the mounted head of a large and quite imposing form. The taxidermied head of ‘Bruce The Moose’ was affixed to a strong interior wall, peering down like a sentry keeping watch over library shelves laden with their literary stock.

I reflect on those yearly wintry seasons together with other community-centered events in a wide range of settings where groups of international students meet with a blend of fellowship, service and faith. I am stirred by a mix of nostalgia and gratitude. Whether it’s Bear Trap Ranch, the Springtime Car Care Clinic, our Saturday night ‘Strings n’ Things’, or road trips to Branson or St. Louis or Houston. One element seemed always to mark these times. The sense of family.

The final day of Bear Trap’s ‘International Student New Years Houseparty’ arrived – accented by scores of students scurrying about, rushing to toss their luggage into a waiting car or van. And (more urgently) rushing to get in a last hug from another student or campus ministry sponsor – complete strangers seven days before. Emotions ran high and winter coat sleeves served as Kleenex substitutes to catch the occasional and abrupt stream of tears.

A casual passerby taking in the scene might readily sense a sacred movement in the way a touching piece of music can stir heartstrings. Seeds of friendship had found their way into fertile soil within a short span at Beartrap. And some had been drawn deeper and deeper into a tighter-than-ever, more settling than imaginable, family identity. Through one who stays closer than a brother*.

©2024 Jerry Lout                            *Ephesians 3:14-15;  Proverbs 18:24

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Wardrobe Check

Family.

Few ‘stand-alone’ words carry greater force in stirring emotions. For some, all manner of feelings can lie poised to erupt just at the mention of “family life”. A lot of them are feelings most of us know, springing as they do from memories out of our past. Stirring emotions ranging from cozy and warm to jagged and piercing, depending upon relationships enjoyed. Or not enjoyed.

While writing this, fresh news came of the death of a dear friend’s father. My friend, Amit – receiving word of his dad suddenly falling ill bought air tickets. He reached his native India from the U.S. shortly before the patriarch’s passing. The father and son shared a close bond. Reaching the homeland to console his mother, Amit now joins her in the mourning.

Family ties run deep. Few narratives in all the world’s literature bring the truth home so powerfully as Jesus’ story of the lost (prodigal) son. And it is the Luke 15 parable – introduced, contemplated and discussed – that rocked the world of a long parade of students. The routine had grown as predictable as the Rocky Mountain snows for the diverse groups, day after day and year after year, each morning just after breakfast. Bear Trap’s seven or eight Family Groups – each comprised of eight or so sharp college students of varying nationalities – combed through the passage with keen interest. Outright astonishment met most of them in the end, as the narrative portrayed outrageous selfishness colliding head-on with (a father’s) outrageous affection.

Campus ministers facilitating the group discussions were struck by notable reactions by the internationals. Hardly ever was there a student whose conscience was stung over the sin of brazen hedonism and wasteful living characterized by the story’s younger brother. However, many of these scholars from abroad (well-behaved, performance-focused) resonated with the conflicting struggles of the elder sibling. He’s the one who kept his nose clean, yet carried just as much ‘heart-distance’ toward the father as did the scandalous kid brother.

in Family Group time we were brought to wrestle with matters of the heart. Discovering in the process that we fractured souls, all of us, come draped in a collection of ill-fitting garments of our own tailoring.

©2024 Jerry Lout

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Bear Trap

Apart from a moment or two navigating Mt. Kilimanjaro’s steeps, it was the nearest I have come to sliding off a mountain.

Heavy snows had fallen across the Rockies. The drivers of the 15-passenger vans that our team had filled with Christmas-break college students strained to maneuver steep, slippery terrain.  Our destination, Bear Trap Ranch, lay West of Colorado Springs at an elevation of nine thousand feet.

Intervarsity Christian Fellowship had purchased the property decades earlier, transforming it over time into the perfect mountain retreat venue. Bear Trap Ranch played host every winter season to the International Student New Year’s Houseparty.

Keenly-atuned drivers maneuvered the vans up the snow-laden (Old Stage) Road leading to Bear Trap, successfully averting disaster.

A handful of slopes surrounded the Ranch, each boasting its own distinctive peak. These kept watch over the campground below.

Year after year through a treasured week, bookended by Christmas and New Year’s Day, scores of internationals and their respective campus sponsors got the familiar, wide-armed welcome from IVCF staff and campsite workers.

By weeks’ end, the energies of our Tulsa group along with all the others, spanning schools from Nebraska to Texas, were gloriously spent. Broomball on ice, indoor square dance, New Year’s talent show, With scrumptious dining at every meal, with cross country skiing and coffee-time chats, every social interchange proved to claim a piece of the student’s souls.

But a crowning element, like strong glue bridging the divide – of culture, language, personality – percolated upward and outward from Day One. Starting every morning at 9:00.

Family Group.

©2024 Jerry Lout

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A Shared Humanity

Lifting the serving bowl and its beefy/spicy contents up for all to admire, the host rendered the verdict, “And, the winner IS. . .”

Through every season we were learning that each day can open a new place in our hearts, a place where we can welcome new friends and celebrate more fully our shared humanity*

Whether the Autumn Chili cookoff (like this one marked by bursts of  – “Wow, who brought this ?!”) – or the Summer road trip to old town Har-ber Village at Grand Lake or the Hayride/ songfest/bonfire and s’mores treat at Sonrise Ranch outside Owasso, every outing seemed to pulse with adventure.

The student ministry subscribed to value-centered priorities. Like fostering friendships. Then, where possible, nurturing them.

Our volunteer teams hosted students from far-away lands whose domestic mealtime had never ever featured chili; young adults whose tastebuds would never think of savoring an odd mini-sandwich stacked with marshmello, Hershey chocolate and graham cracker.

As for Har-ber Village, few Americans had themselves ever encountered – except through library books or a Google Search – the spellbinding world of a reconstructed  19th century village.

Nor did road trips end with a screeching halt at the state line. Missouri, Texas, Arkansas – even Colorado and California – unveiled before us their varied treasures, from the quaint to the spectacular.

As for the chili cookoff that evening at Beau and Mary Ann’s home, our student guests were deputized taste-test-judges. The Blue Ribbon chili pick of the night fell to an iconic burger enterprise from around the corner, Wendy’s!

©2024 Jerry Lout                                                                   *Henri Nouwen