Army Chaplaincy

Just an FYI . . .

On 16 August I learned that I have been accepted to the Army's Chaplain Candidate Program. What that means . . . the door is open for me to return to the military as a chaplain. I've been serving in the Army Reserves the past two years; this ensures that I can finish school without risk of deployment. Essentially I will get discharged and recommissioned on the same day. There are opportunities for me to train during school. When I finish the Sem, I can either return to the Reserves as a chaplain immediately - while serving as a parish pastor. Or, I can serve at least two years as a parish pastor, then return to active duty.

I am thankful to God for this opportunity to serve his children in the military. I am excited to see where this opportunity leads!

Peace to you,
Jake

P.S. Please keep my brother, Steve, in your prayers. He arrived in Baghdad roughly one week ago . . . .

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

(Wasn't that a great movie?)

I just returned last night from a fantastic trip to Georgia for my friend Joe's wedding. Joe and I have been friends since we met as young lieutenants in the Army, nearly eight years ago. We were roommates in North Carolina and Missouri. Joe is still one of the most intelligent and funny people I know. We always joked about writing memoirs of our misadventures entitled, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." As such, I was enlisted to tape the letters H-E-L-P on the bottom of Joe's shoes prior to the ceremony. It was a request from the groom that, as an usher, I had to fulfill. No one else would touch it. Joe's incredible wife Lisa, upon seeing his shoes after the ceremony, laughed and remarked, "I would have been disappointed if you didn't try something like that!"

The weekend was also a great opportunity to spend some time with one of my best friends from the Seminary, Ted, and his wife, Sarah. It was a bit disorienting at first to see one of my friends from the Seminary outside that context. Ted and I have sweated through Greek translations, research projects and a stint as intramural co-captains over the last two years . . . but we've only known each other in that context. It was fun. Ted is doing his internship in Apharetta, Georgia, the next Atlanta suburb over from Roswell, where Lisa grew up and her parents still live. Ted and Sarah were gracious enough to pick me up from the MARTA (train) station and let me borrow a car the whole weekend. I was continually overwhelmed by hospitality this weekend: both from Ted and Sarah and from Lisa's family.

The whole wedding event was fabulous. The groom's dinner had a fiesta theme, complete with pinata (though, not filled with airplane-sized liquor bottles, per Joe's specifications). The ceremony was in a cool little chapel at the family's home church. (The pastor who performed the ceremony happened to be an Air Force Chaplain.) The reception was in an old home that had been turned into a banquet hall. The slide show, music, dinner . . . everything was really nicely done. But, the best part were the people. I only knew Joe and Lisa, Joe's sister, and the best man (Joe's friend, Matt) before the wedding. By Sunday brunch, I felt like I had known most of Lisa's family and friends for years; and, I had finally met Joe's parents! All great people.

Speaking of great people . . . I really enjoy traveling by plane, as you meet the most incredible people. On the way down, on the leg from St. Louis to Atlanta, I met a restauranteur, named Miles, living in Dallas who had graduated from Southern University and was on his way to his ninth annual fantasy football draft in Atlanta. We talked football, basketball, baseball, life and business the whole flight.

The flight home was the most unique. Sarah dropped me off at the train station at about noon. I arrived at the airport and was checked in at about 1:30 for a 3:50 flight. I figured I would ask if I could fly standby on an earlier flight, which happened to be boarding at 1:35. I got on, but was informed that my baggage would follow on my original flight. No worries, I thought, I'd rather have a three-hour layover in St. Louis than Atlanta - because I knew I could eat at Chili's (it's always Tuesday night at Chili's). On that flight, I was seated next to an Army staff sergeant, in uniform, returning to Fort Bliss, Texas, from a four-day pass at home in Tennessee. He will be deployed to Iraq in the next week. We had a great conversation about the military and chaplaincy (conversations invariably turn to religion when you let people know that you're a seminary student).

Well, I arrived in St. Louis at about 3:00, waiting on a 6:00 flight. So, off to dinner at Chili's. After talking baseball with a businessman from Texas for about 20 minutes while we ate, a woman from California, in St. Louis on business, sat down next to me. Her flight didn't leave until 7:00. We spent the next nearly-two hours in great conversation about business, school, travel, family (we even talked birth-order effect, as she's an eldest child, also), life. Great conversation. Her grandfather is a retired pastor. Sadly, 5:30 came and I had to head to my gate . . . .

I had a friend in undergrad who used to have a T-shirt with a caricature of Einstein, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, on the front. The caption read:

"Sit on a hot stove for a minute, and it feels like an hour. Talk to a beautiful woman for an hour and it feels like a minute. That's relativity."

The next conversation was equally as dynamic. I sat next to George (my granfather's name). George happens to work in finance in St. Louis, but is also a "pastor-in-training." We had a great conversation about life, faith, and infant baptism. It was challenging, uplifting, encouraging and fun. George is getting ready to travel to Haiti this winter on a mission trip, so I was able to share some insights on travel to harsher environments. It was a great flight.

This whole trip was put into perspective when I went to pick up my suitcase. When it didn't come out on the baggage carousel, I went to the lost-luggage counter. I told them where I had checked my bag (Atlanta) and where I had come from (St. Louis). To which they replied, "How did you make your flight in St. Louis? We just got a message that you should have missed your flight in St. Louis."

Huh?

Turns out, my original flight from Atlanta to St. Louis - the flight on which my bag followed - left Atlanta 1.5 hours late! Had I taken that flight, I would have arrived late to St. Louis, not had dinner at Chili's . . . not had any of the three above conversations.

Coffee, Canoes and Cycles

Every time I come home to southern Minnesota I pray that I might someday get called back to this area. I absolutely love it. I love the people, the fields, the small towns . . . .

Tuesday I went canoeing again, this time with my uncle, Dale, on the Zumbro River. We paddled seven miles (+) from Zumbro Falls to the village of Hammond. It was a beautiful drive through farmland under overcast skies. I keep the window down perpetually - I don't think I've had to use the A/C since I got back. The water was moving pretty good as it rained fairly hard Monday night. The water is always muddy, so it's hard to tell if it was higher from runoff. The water is so silty that you couldn't see the bottom even if it was less than one foot deep. The Zumbro twists through the limestone and sandstone valleys of southeast Minnesota, eventually running into the Mississippi south of Wabasha (of "Grumpy Old Men" fame). We saw a couple bald eagles - one immature, one, well, mature. Shortly before we pulled out at Hammond, the sun broke through. We had parked my uncle's pickup outside the Hammond bar and dropped in for a cold one before going back for my truck. (Aside: my observation has been that bottled beer is generally preferred to tap beer among my friends and relatives - and the locals I've observed - back home in Minnesota and Wisconsin, by and large. I find this surprising, since I prefer draft beer, and, you can get a Bud tap for $1.75 . . . at least a dollar cheaper than most large cities I've visited. Enough about beer.)

Wednesday evening I met some college buddies (George, Zach, Tupy, Brothen and Brothen's girlfriend, Allison) for dinner at TGI Fridays near the Mall of America. I love those guys and don't see nearly enough of them.

Thursday, around noon, I pointed my motorcycle southwest to go visit a high school friend, Finny, near Albert Lea. First, I had to bust out the electrical tape and slap a bandaid fix on my left turn signals. (I still have not repaired the damage from my Memorial Day wipeout.) There was some trepidation as I gently turned my bike from the gravel onto the pavement for the first time since my accident. After two and a half hours through the fields and county roads of southern Minnesota, I had regained most of my confidence - and a keener eye for debris on the roadway. It was a beautiful ride. Well worth the time to go and visit a friend. This afternoon, we ate a late lunch at Perkins before I meandered my way back to Red Wing. I didn't have a map, but knew I just needed to keep moving East and North and eventually, I'd hit highway 52 at or near Rochester. Less than 30 miles after I left Glenville, my speedometer/odometer conked out, so I spent the rest of the ride trying to gauge my speed by the feel of the bike and the few cars I encountered. Three hours later, I was back home.

It's Friday night and I'm not at CRAVE. But, I find myself, ironically, in a coffee house. Tonight, I'm drinking a half-caf brewed coffee at Caribou Coffee in Red Wing; after this, I'm going to go visit my friend, Ole. I've composed the last few posts here. It's a beautiful chain coffee house in a renovated train depot. The depot used to house a train-themed Hardee's restaurant. I don't think there's a kid from Red Wing in their 20s or 30s now who didn't have a train-themed birthday party here (picture kids in birthday hats singing, "chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga, Har-dees! Har-dees!"). It was an institution! But now they have good coffee and free wireless. Progress?

Bald Eagles, Tubers, and Gastro-Intestinal Distress

Sleep-deprived and hastily packed, I pointed my truck north on Friday afternoon. First stop, U-haul return. Second stop, the License Center (to "register" my canoe ("register" in this sense means cough up 24 bucks for the privilege to use my canoe on Minnesota's waters for three years). Third stop, JB's in Oakdale. Fourth stop, Jon's Dad in Stillwater. (JB's dad provided world-class logistical support for this expedition.) We spent the first night at their place up near the Crow Wing chain of lakes.

Saturday morning, our expedition began. We put in on the 3rd Crow Wing Lake (the third of eight, counting south-to-north). We planned to paddle to Nimrod (nearly 35 miles) the first day, then down to Motley (another 40 miles) the next. The first 5-7 miles was a beautiful paddle through wild rice and reeds in a narrow corridor between the Crow Wing lakes. By the time we were south of the 1st Crow Wing Lake, the river opened up a little. Except for cabins on the lakes and about three fishermen, we had the waterways to ourselves. That changed when we got south of the intersection between the Shell and Crow Wing Rivers. That's where we found our first tubers. Tubers - almost like potatoes except not buried underground, inedible, drunk, and floating on tire innertubes.

Dinner Saturday night consisted of Mac-and-Cheese, steaks, and a few cans of Grain Belt Premium Lager ("Premo" for we Minnesotans). The stars were spectacular. The bugs were not-so-bad. And, the air was cool. I slept out under the stars and watched as the last few pieces of pine were devoured by flame and the tubers camping nearby stumbled home from the bar in Nimbrod. Then, I'm not sure if it was the steaks, beer, or the river water (I used a micro-filter with chlorine drops for most of our water supply on Saturday), but I awoke about 0430 with the worst case of (gastro-intestinal distress) I've ever suffered. I alternately wanted to weep and vomit. (Sorry.)

I will say, except for the tuber-traffic, it was a stellar paddle all-around. The weather was gorgeous. We saw numerous bald eagles and scores of waterfowl - even several loons on the third Crow Wing. The water was clear. The forests were lush and green. If you find yourself planning a trip on the Crow Wing River, plan a week-day trip during Summer, or in the Spring, when it's too cold to float half-naked down the river and the water levels are a little higher.

We cut our Sunday plans a bit shorter. We settled for a 15-mile paddle down to a county park west (?) of Staples. Sunday's paddle made any inconvenience on Saturday worthwhile (this is the day that the Lord has made!). The river opened up . . . the bottom was mostly flat and sandy. We saw one other canoe and two peaceful tubers. The sky was mostly overcast. Sore backs and shoulders loosened up. It was a bit bittersweet when we pulled up to the dock . . . . JB's dad arrived less than an hour later.

Canoeing rocks . . . .

The Way I Roll

What trip would be complete without a major mechanical failure? Once again, I narrowly avoided a more serious disaster. I picked up my U-haul trailer Wednesday afternoon . . . went to my buddy Dave's parents' house in southern IL to pick up my canoe - approximately an hour away . . . stopped to pick up a set of tires in Granite City, IL . . . and returned to the Sem just before midnight. The next morning, loaded up the trailer . . . finished my Exegetical paper . . . and hit the road about 1:30 in the afternoon. As I was pulling out of the Sem I noticed a slight wobble in the right trailer tire. As I got out onto the highway, the wobble continued. So, I took the next exit and pulled into a residential area off Clayton Road - approximately 1.5 miles from the Sem. As I walked around the trailer to investigate, I noticed that I was short roughly five lug nuts and one stud. Apparently the 32-point inspection at U-haul failed to recognize merely hand-tightened lug nuts. I had now lost five lug nuts and one of the studs had sheared-off. Dave said he noticed a noise when I left his parents' the night before. I didn't notice any vibration or anything. So, I spent the next 3.5 hours on a side street - in 98 degree weather - waiting for the roadside assistance dude to show, realize he didn't have the right parts, leave, and return to replace the hub. Fortunately I didn't have to unload and load a new trailer. Thank God (!) I didn't lose the wheel on 64/40! (I had visions of my canoe and unmentionables strewn across the highway as unconcerned St. Louisans and Illinoisians flattened boxes of Luther's Works and talked on their cell phones.) So, my prediction was wrong: I made it to my Mom's at 2:45 in the morning and left around noon to head up to JBs for an expedition Lewis and Clark would be proud of . . . .

En Fuego

Tuesday night was designated "burn stuff I don't need" night. I collect all my old receipts with signatures, stuff with phone numbers etc. . . . Then I burn it all . . . about every year or so.

So Tuesday night, I was sitting outside my building enjoying a beer . . . watching the fire . . . when I noticed two guys run around the corner of Loeber Hall, pointing. Then one guy pulls out a cell phone. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it sounded frantic.

"I should say something," I thought.

So I stood up - beer in hand - and waved.

The first guy says, "Hey, it's outside."

They smelled smoke from in front of the Chapel and walked over to see what was going on. Smoke was billowing up from Mezger. There's a huge flood light on the corner of the building, so it made the smoke look pretty impressive. That, and the burning candle in my window right above the fire, and it looked like Mezger was about to go up in smoke.

I complimented them on their vigilance and returned to tending the fire . . . .

Packing is not fun. "Good-byes" aren't either. But, "hellos" are pretty cool.

David Corson asked me on Saturday, "Have you finished packing yet?" My reply: "Ask me if I've started." I was so overwhelmed last night. It seemed like a pretty daunting task. I didn't get to bed until nearly 1 am. Things looked better this morning.

I've also found it hard to get too excited about going to Germany while I still have outstanding homework at the Sem. I've been stuck on about an 85-90 percent solution on an exegetical paper on Matthew 11.2-15. This has been a passage that's intrigued me for nigh on a year (can I say "nigh on"?). What's up with JtB's doubting? Is the kingdom "suffering violence" or "advancing violently" (check out a couple different English translations - contrast ESV and NIV)?

I'm supposed to pick up my U-Haul tomorrow afternoon. Then, I'll pick up my canoe tomorrow night. "Wheel's up" is tentatively around 0930 Thursday.

Well, at the request of some friends, I've decided to rededicate myself to a blog. I will do my best to keep you all up to date with my travels and misadventures!

Next on the docket: A canoe trip with college buddy Jon Brothen on the Crow Wing River in northern Minnesota. (That's assuming I make it to Minnesota in time. I'll probably roll into my Mom's at about 1 in the morning, then head up to JB's at noon the next day, canoe precariously lashed into the back of my truck.)

As I wrap up this post, I'd like to close by sharing the opening line from Mitch Albom's "The Five People You Meet In Heaven." (Don't buy it.)

"All endings are also beginnings . . . we just don't know it at the time."

See you soon.