Exploration & Contemplation

The last time I wrote, I shared about an opportunity to support our young assistant pastor in his ministry (primarily with refugees) and his further studies. 89% of the needed finances have been committed, mostly from people within the church, which is good and healthy. We’d like to get that last 11% in the next 11 days, before the month is up.

As I wrote before, ministry with refugees is like any other ministry, just more complicated because of the situation they find themselves in. There is trauma, uncertainty, instability, fear, language, culture, discrimination, court appearances, legal appeals, and so on. These people need the gospel message (what is more valuable, more beautiful than the love of God given to us in Christ?) and the gospel in action (mercy). When we were in the United States, we wished there was something we could do for refugees. Maybe you feel that way too. Here’s one small thing: you could give a little bit each month, or each year.

If you would like to take part, let our church treasurer Jart Essink know what amount you plan to give and for what time frame (one year or longer?). That helps us plan and make a budget. You can contact him at gerard.essink@googlemail.com.

There are a few ways you can give.

• US dollar checks can be written to International Church Services, Inc, with “AIPC – Witsel” written on the memo line. Mail them to:

International Church Services, Inc

802 Carriage Court

Augusta, GA 30909

USA

• Bank transfers to the church’s bank in Belgium are also possible. To do this please contact the church treasurer Jart Essink for details. essink@googlemail.com.

• For those who prefer convenience, you can donate via paypal through the church website aipchurch.org. (You can also find videos of sermons and other things there).

In other news, we took a recent trip to Egypt to visit my brother. I’ll try to post a pyramid picture soon, along with some reflections, as usual. When we returned to Belgium, spring had arrived: sunshine, flowers, leaves on trees! The weary world rejoices.

“Before I came to the church for the first time, I didn’t feel like a human being.”

A refugee from the Middle East told me this a few months ago. The first time he attended the church, about a year ago, people greeted him, talked to him, loved him. As he had already been exploring Christianity for some time, it wasn’t long before he gave his life to Jesus Christ. He explained recently some of the ways he has changed. “I used to be lazy when someone needed help with something. Now I want to help.” He visits a disabled friend each week, cooking meals, cleaning, taking him shopping. He also prepares the coffee for the church nearly every week.

When I asked this man’s permission to tell his story, I said I would not share his name or country to avoid any potential danger to him. He replied, “I don’t care and I’m not scared because I chose my way whatever happens.” Thank God for such bold faith!

The friend who invited this man to join him in his exploration of Christianity left his country many years ago, journeying from country to country looking for a home. At one point he crossed the Sahara desert from Libya to Niger by truck. During the journey of several days, some fellow travelers died. In his home country, he says people kill each other over anything. “Over a chicken,” he says. And he used to feel the same hatred and rage himself. Not anymore.

A young man from Central Asia saw his three brothers leave the country and never heard from them again. Later he left too. But life in Belgium didn’t seem worth living. Hearing about euthanasia, he asked a doctor for help committing suicide. Fortunately, this doctor turned him down. An invitation to the church led this young man to faith in Christ, which changed everything. He found peace and joy. But his conversion also cost him: his best friend and his father, when they found out about his Christian faith, both said, “You will never speak to me again.” The hardest news yet was hearing just a few weeks ago that his third and final application for asylum was denied. Thinking about his situation makes me feel sick. He cannot return home and he cannot stay here. He told me I could share his story. In sharing it, I ask you to pray for him.

Ministry with refugees feels like a great privilege. We see lives transformed. I hear stories of miraculous answers to prayer, healings, release from jail. Jesus speaks to people in dreams and visions.

Ministry with refugees is also anguishing. Refugees run from the trauma of war, violence, persecution, and poverty. They run through the trauma of the desert, the ocean, and hostility. When they arrive in a foreign land and apply for asylum, the trauma haunts their memory while the uncertainty of their situation continues to add stress. They have dreams – to study, to work, to serve the church. Many of them are educated people who had solid jobs in their countries. They are regular people. Imagine if you suddenly had to flee for your life. Those who are granted asylum have difficulty finding an apartment to rent, as few people want to rent to immigrants or refugees. Some refugees who have just met the Lord have to leave the country. I worry about them.

As this is my first season through all of this, I find it overwhelming. The assistant pastor of the church, a 25 year old named Jan Witsel, finds it normal. From the time he was 15, he spent many afternoons in a refugee center near his hometown in the Netherlands. That became the proving grounds of his Christian faith, as he discussed life and religion with men 30 years older than he was. Jan also married a refugee, a woman from Ethiopia. Her own situation was exceedingly complicated, even after they got married. They finally figured out they could get her legal status if they moved over the border to Belgium, which is how they ended up at the church here in Antwerp.

Jan guides refugees from the church through the complex legal process. He helps them respond to senseless interview questions like “What is the most important song in the Protestant church?” Jan is building a team to do outreach among refugees (starting with weekly soccer near a refugee center), networking with other churches, and helping lead a European refugee ministry organization.

One of the people I shared about above scouted out several churches, looking for a place where he could learn more about Christianity. “The reason I came back to this church was because of Jan,” he said. “Jan explains everything at your level. If you need it at 20%, he explains it at 20%.”

Jan has also been an invaluable partner to me. I have not been very stable, as you will know if you have read any of my recent blog posts. Grief leads me through a cycle of sleep troubles, depression, doubt, anxiety, and fear. I have been so grateful to have a gifted young man as co-pastor. The church brought him on full time for just a year, to cover the time when they were waiting for us to arrive. That year is up at the end of June 2018. Conversations with the church council and other members of the church led to the clear conclusion: we want Jan to stay.

Jan wants to stay too, while studying for a master’s degree so he can be officially ordained as a pastor. Members of the church are stepping up to provide the finances needed for a half-time position for Jan. He will strengthen the church’s ministry with refugees (from outreach, evangelism, and discipleship, all the way through to legal issues) and continue to lead youth and children’s ministry.

To enable Jan to devote time to his further education, we are looking for some outside partners who would like to give financial support for the next few years. The total goal for outside giving is €15,000 (approximately US $18,500). Would you like to be one of those partners with Jan, Antwerp International Protestant Church, and this ministry among refugees?

If so, let our church treasurer Jart Essink know what amount you plan to give and for what time frame (one year or longer?). That helps us plan and make a budget. You can contact him at gerard.essink@googlemail.com.

There are a few ways you can give.

• US dollar checks can be written to International Church Services, Inc, with “AIPC – Witsel” written on the memo line. Mail them to:

International Church Services, Inc

802 Carriage Court

Augusta, GA 30909

USA

• Bank transfers to the church’s bank in Belgium are also possible. To do this please contact the church treasurer Jart Essink for details. essink@googlemail.com.

• For those who prefer convenience, you can donate via paypal through the church website aipchurch.org. (You can also find videos of sermons and other things there).

What about these refugees who have been denied asylum here? They are struggling, but by God’s grace they are also strong. “My faith is something untouchable,” one of them says. Another says he feels the presence of God with him when he reads the Bible. And though he feels overwhelmed, “I trust him and know that he knows my every thing.” Another told me this week, “Papers or no papers, it doesn’t matter. I have Jesus the Messiah.” Their strong faith is lifting me up, as I myself wrestle through a dark night of the soul.

And by the way, some refugees do end up staying. And they can become servants and leaders in the church, brothers and sisters along with the Belgians and immigrants who make up Antwerp International Protestant Church. That is our wish for every one of them. Talking about ministry with refugees can be a little awkward, like they are a separate category. They are in fact, human beings like the rest of us. They have just happened to suffer so much that sometimes they don’t feel like it. Meeting Christ and his church makes the difference.

Like any of us, they can find that “The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.” – Psalm 9:9

A couple days ago I did a little reading in historical theology and spirituality. I wasn’t looking so much for historical details as for personal help. I wasn’t disappointed.

The Valley of Vision is a collection of Puritan prayers. “Puritan” has become a mostly negative word; reading some of the beautiful prayers of the Puritans might correct some of that derision. One prayer addresses the Triune God together (three Persons and One God) three times and addresses each Person (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) three times, praising them for having “loved me and sent Jesus to redeem me,” “loved me and assumed my nature,” “loved me and entered my heart,” among other warm praises.

Many Puritans recorded their experience of grace in journals “to test their spiritual growth, and to encourage themselves by their re-perusal in times of low spiritual fervor,” as the brief introduction says. I find it comforting to know that well-known writers, preachers, and physicians of the soul found themselves in temporary moods or longer seasons of spiritual drought. For of course I find this myself, and return not so much to journals as to specific memories of God’s grace and guidance in the past. Thinking through the story of what God has done for me helps to balance out whatever apathy or depression I may be feeling.

The Rule of St Benedict (written in the 500s) is one of the foundational documents of monasticism, which has a long and influential history in Europe. Our new home country of Belgium was basically settled and civilized by monks, whose monasteries were “from the sixth century on, centers of economic and intellectual life,” according to an introductory history of the country. Monasteries are still remarkably numerous here, but they are now known more as centers of brewing technique rather than economic, intellectual, or spiritual life.

Several people here have expressed that they feel lonely. As church is often the one setting where these people really do feel at home, I decided to reread Benedict’s Rule for some possible ideas of how to bring a stronger sense of community and spiritual growth to the church. What struck me instead was Benedict’s brief comment on the type of monk who has moved out of the monastery. They “have been trained by a lengthy period of probation in the monastery with the support of many others and have learned to fight against the devil. Well-armed, they go out from the ranks of the brothers to the single combat of the desert…they are able to fight against physical and mental temptations.” The most spiritually mature are not beyond temptations; they have not arrived at some restful state. They are ready for greater battles, greater temptations.

I find myself dealing with two mindsets. On the one hand, I long for a season of rest and renewal. On the other hand, I think God may set me greater challenges. Why not? What God wants for me is not easy relaxation, but something that can only be shaped through the hammer of adversity and the anvil of suffering: Christ-likeness, also known as holiness or spiritual maturity. God may indeed grant me a period of rest and renewal. He knows what I need. And although I have no plans to head out for the single combat of the desert, God may also continue to let the challenges come.

The challenges so far have included the expected adjustment to a new country and culture. But then it’s difficult to identify where those difficulties end and where grief begins, not to mention normal stresses. What is certain is that the experiences of the past year have left me more vulnerable. Things that I might have handled with minimal stress now trouble my soul for extended times. My sleep, for instance, has been crazy in its irregularity. Some nights I sleep ridiculously long hours. Other nights I fall asleep normally, but after a few minutes am jolted back awake. Sometimes this repeats dozens of times. After so many I begin to struggle in my thoughts. Fear creeps in. Strange things. I suspect that underneath this difficulty sleeping is that the state of my soul is easily shattered. Something in me is not able to rest. Indeed, sometimes the thought that jerks me to consciousness is this: “I had four children. One of them has died. This cannot be true!” That thought feels like getting too close to the edge of a cliff, so my mind and body are left buzzing with an energy that makes it difficult to fall asleep. Sometimes I wake up sobbing. But it’s not always obvious that grief is the cause. Many times I just wake up for no apparent reason.

This is where the books on grieving, whether about stages of grief or how resilient people grieve, become irrelevant. No book could predict that seven months after my son’s death I would go through a week of impossible sleep. Each person grieves according to their personality and circumstances. Certainly, there are healthy and unhealthy things that people can do in the process. One healthy thing, I think, is to let myself be weak.

The last book I read from was The Fathers Speak, a collection of personal correspondence of the Cappadocian Fathers: Basil, his younger brother Gregory of Nyssa, and their friend Gregory of Nazianzus. They were important church leaders and theological thinkers in the 4th century. In one letter Basil writes openly and refreshingly about his coming death. He is “driven by an illness towards the inescapable issue,” he tells the new priest of a nearby church. He asks the man to pray for him that he may visit him in the church, concluding, “but should we die first, we shall meet with you in the Lord.” As if death was no big thing.

Peter felt the same way about death. “Can you please…stop…crying?” he asked us the day before he died. “It makes…me cry too.” He wasn’t actually crying. It just made him feel sad. Without our sadness he was emotionally just fine. Really. He was on his way to meet the Lord. But for those left behind, now that’s the hard part. That’s where all the difficulty comes. And that’s why seven months later I continue to experience aftershocks of grief.

Going back even farther in history, I find a clear statement of my feelings: “How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (Psalm 13:2). Maybe forever, I feel. But the last piece of the Psalm also applies: “But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.” Sorrow and joy together are a part of life in Christ.

There you have my personal reflections, as if copying a page out of my journal. What about the family? Here are a few photos of snow (“It hardly ever snows here,” everyone said) and exploration.

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The kids were all ready for the Christmas vacation. School in a foreign language is tiring. We are proud of Isaac, who studied harder than ever in his life and achieved excellent grades on his first big exams.

And the church? In the last week several people have received their papers – their applications for asylum have been accepted and they are now residents of Belgium! On the other hand, a family was just denied asylum. In a month they are supposed to leave the country. Actually, they can appeal the decision, but will not have housing until a court case is opened, which could take six months or more. They cannot return to their home country; their families have rejected them and a militia has stated their intention to “spill blood.” The family has felt the love of the church, which is the body of Christ. “You told me that the church is a family,” the father of the family told me, “And it’s true.”

To tie it up, I find myself learning and re-learning this same lesson: it’s okay to be weak. In fact, weakness is in our nature; each of us is mortal, growing physically and mentally weaker in our older years. What good does it do to deny reality? Strength comes from God’s grace in us. Back to the prayer that gives its title to The Valley of Vision:

Let me learn by paradox

that the way down is the way up,

that to be low is to be high,

that the broken heart is the healed heart,

that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,

that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,

that to have nothing is to possess all,

that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,

that to give is to receive,

   that the valley is the place of vision.

When I applied for the position as pastor at Antwerp International Protestant Church, I sent in my Curriculum Vitae, which is like an expanded resume. It had all my strong points on it, of course. In my inaugural sermon here I preached on a passage in 2 Corinthians 12, where the Apostle Paul says “I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.” Those things open the door to God’s power and grace. So in my first sermon here I shared a CV of my weaknesses. Particularly after this last year of uncertainty and loss, I am more aware than ever of my weaknesses. (The video of this sermon and others can be found on the church website, by the way).

I appreciated the fact that Peter was mentioned in the service in which I was installed as pastor. I was moved by the prayers of the congregation. One woman had the kids of the church make cards for our family. In our weakness we were welcomed with grace.

Our first month in Antwerp has been busy, but it has been goed bezig (“good busy”) as the Flemish say, or lekker bezig (“sweet/nice/tasty busy”) as the Dutch say. Busy with what?

• Rearranging the house
• Renovating the office
• Getting the kids started in school
• Figuring out where things are
• Getting lost in city traffic and construction
• Getting to know my excellent assistant pastor Jan (pronounce it like “yawn” – it’s the equivalent of John)
• Building teams for various ministries
• Meeting with dozens of people from the church

In meeting with church members, I have heard stories of people who were atheists, agnostics, and Muslims; I have heard stories of people who grew up in stiflingly religious forms of Christianity, in which ten out of five hundred people would take communion when offered – the rest were too terrified and unsure of their election; I have heard stories of some who grew up knowing and loving the Lord. There are no more than a handful from any given country. I think we have five continents represented. What do all these people have in common? All have discovered the grace of God.

There are some here who hope to someday return to their home countries. Others hope to never return. One young couple from the Middle East said that if they are denied asylum and forced to return to their country, they will be killed. Under Sharia law the punishment law for their apostasy is death. Europeans and Americans commonly think that Muslims should adopt a more moderate form of their religion. The people I have met here who come from Muslim backgrounds say they have never encountered moderate Islam. Westerners wish the stream of immigrants and refugees would become like them: non-religious. But secularism doesn’t tell a very compelling story. We are seeing a number embrace Jesus as Lord.

Belgium, like most of Europe, is nearly complete in its secularization. In Belgium, a historically Catholic country, the artifacts are still in place – cathedrals and chapels are everywhere – but hardly anyone practices Catholic faith. I thought at first that perhaps this lack of exposure presented the possibility of people encountering the vibrancy of the gospel, church, and mission for the first time. I am afraid that the teaching of religion in the state schools, however, effectively inoculates people against Christianity. The metaphor of a vaccination is precise: in inoculating people against a disease, a tiny amount of the actual disease is injected into the blood stream. The body creates antibodies, preventing infection. A small exposure to a watered down, insipid version of religion leaves people feeling like they are familiar with Christianity. In reality, they have only been exposed to Europe’s new religion, secular humanism, but dressed in Christian terminology. Isaac’s religion teacher told the class, “There is no heaven or hell. Heaven is when something good happens to you, and hell is when something bad happens.” Our son Peter died in May. He faced death without fear because he believed in the real heaven – the presence of God, who loved us and gave himself up for us.

I have found the Belgian people to be somewhat reserved, as we were warned. Greetings are rarely given on the street. But our neighbors have been wonderfully friendly, as have been other parents from the school. With some people we inevitably talk about faith because they ask what I do for work. Some are blunt: “we have outgrown religion.” Others say in essence, “We don’t really believe anything, but we still baptize our children and have them take their first communion because of tradition.” There are a few who identify themselves as practicing Catholics.

An unexpected request came to the church soon after I arrived. A young man was asking for help, as he felt trapped by evil.  His intense story was met with skepticism everywhere he turned. Desperate for help, he sent emails to 20 churches. “Those things don’t happen,” he was told. Apparently even many churches in Europe are secular. The short story: we are handling the case with prayer and love. After his first Sunday at our worship service (a long drive for him to attend), he said, “I felt something today that I’ve never felt before.”

In addition to a clear explanation of the gospel with reasons to believe it’s true, people also need to encounter the gospel. The power of the Spirit is one way. A sense of love from God’s people is another. Power and love is a great combination. Include unity in diversity and you have a picture of the kind of church we already are and will grow into even more.

Several people have asked if there is a way they can financially support the church here. I have told people that the church is self-supporting, but extra gifts are always appreciated. Here’s how you can give:

US dollar checks can be written out to International Church Services, Inc, with AIPC written on the memo line. These donations are US income tax deductible. Send them to:

International Church Services, Inc

802 Carriage Court

Augusta, GA 30909

USA

Bank transfers are also possible. For this please contact the church treasurer Jart Essink at gerard.essink@googlemail.com.

People have also asked about our home address. Here you go:

Veltwijcklaan 297

2180 Ekeren (Antwerp)

BELGIUM

I plan to write again soon with more of an update on our experience in a new land and family activities. And some photos, of course.

* I have been corrected on my Dutch grammar. You say “welkom op” (meaning “up” or “on”) to an institution, such as a school, but “welkom in” to a city. So “Welkom in Antwerpen.”

We arrived in Antwerp five days ago to find a number of small house-warming gifts at the furnished manse (flowers, fruit, muesli, cards) and not so small (bicycles, on long term loan from the former pastoral couple who now work with refugees in Sweden). Another bicycle was brought to us a couple days later. Before the worship service on Sunday a couple dropped by with a large bag of other goodies, including chocolate, nuts, and lunch boxes for the kids. We returned from Sunday’s worship service with homemade barbecue sauce (from one of the few Americans in the church), cake, and more. We were told to stop by a woman’s house later to pick up a large home-grown pumpkin. Rebecca somehow strapped the beast of a squash to the back of her bike.

Our house from the back.

We gave away most of our household items when we moved out of our home in California, and we have received many things here. We also give and receive encouragement, prayer, instruction, and so on. It is as if Jesus himself is at work around and through us. Indeed, the church is called the body of Christ. This is one thing it means to be the body of Christ: to give and to receive.

Our first Sunday with the church I did not preach, but enjoyed leading communion and heard an encouraging sermon from a guest speaker. Conversations after the service continued until 1:30 in the afternoon, when we were invited to lunch at a family’s home nearby. After lunch we walked to the park (at their local castle, of course) where there was a festival in progress. We watched a hip-hop dance routine with one young man dressed as the Joker and fifteen or twenty girls dressed as some other super villain I didn’t recognize. As we walked to the bounce houses our Dutch friend chuckled, then explained: “The man making announcements just said, ‘I’m not allowed to leave this stage, so is there a volunteer who could bring me a beer?’ That’s typical Belgian,” he said.

Also typically Belgian, apparently, are open air urinals. You could get arrested for trying to pee in one of these in the US.

There is another typically Dutch/Belgian thing that has quickly gained popularity among the younger members of our household: chocolate sprinkle sandwiches.

The Dutch also swallow filleted raw herring, sometimes accompanied by diced onion. The Dutchman who showed me raved about the health benefits of the Omega 3s and 6s. I didn’t think I could handle a whole fish, so I tried just a bite. “Why not just fry it real quick?” I asked. “It would still have Omega 3s.”

“Ahh, you’re ruining it that way,” he said.

Both individual and cultural tastes come to the fore when sampling the cuisine of a new region It is a strange thing that the same dish can delight some and horrify others. Those differences in opinion can lead people to take offense, or they can lead to humor. One friend here thought our “ants on a log” (celery with peanut butter and raisins) sounded terrible. So we brought some over and laughed at the faces she made. We are greatly enjoying the local cheeses. There are ridiculously cheap gouda and brie in infinite permutations – and more expensive types of cheese as you go up the scale. Nate suddenly decided last night that he likes brie cheese. “It tastes just like butter!” he said with surprise. And we feast on fresh breads, which you put through the slicer yourself at the grocery store.

Then there is the food that Wikipedia describes as “meat-based.” Belgians invented one of the most popular foods in the world when someone deep fried French cut potatoes. Fries are sold here at frituurs (almost as ubiquitous as Starbuck’s). Other deep-fried Belgian foods haven’t found the same worldwide fame, though. When we visited here in June, I asked the man at a frituur what was popular besides fries. “Bitterballen,” he replied. I placed an order, eager to try a local favorite. I can report that bitterballen are, in fact, “meat-based.” Imagine a soft, sticky meat paste. Now imagine that this meat paste is formed into balls, coated with bread crumbs, and deep fat fried. This deep-fried “meat-based” paste with a crunchy crust is bitterballen. Friends here acclaim this dish and its larger, sausage-shaped cousin, the kroket. One Flemish friend, however, dismissed frituur food as “mystery meat.” Americans prefer their meat paste in other forms, such as tubes: Americans are estimated to eat 70 hotdogs per person per year.

Changing topics, school starts on Friday. The kids are all a little nervous about starting school in Dutch, a language they don’t understand. Until then, we continue to adjust things in the house to our style and preferences, get to know the area, and meet with new friends. Our welcome has been literally warm – as in the weather. Belgians continually tell us, “The weather is not usually like this.” Between our different trips here we have spent something like twenty days in Antwerp. We have yet to see it rain, which it supposedly does all the time.

On the zip line at the park next to another castle. We biked there.

Changing topics again, this is the first post I have written in a long time that does not mention Peter. Except that now it does. We still miss him of course. I was moved to tears when the assistant pastor prayed at length about Peter’s life and testimony in the worship service on Sunday. The body of Christ shares both joys and sorrows. There are many in the church here, just as there were in California, who know sorrow deeply. We are not alone in that. Sharing communion, as we did Sunday, is a sharing in both the sorrow and joy of Christ.

I have been impressed with the church’s strengths: hospitality, friendship, evangelism, discipleship, diversity, and flexibility. These gifts are in the church from God, largely through the previous pastor and his wife, I believe. I am very pleased to have a very capable group of leaders to begin working with. They, along with the assistant pastor and some help from the interim pastor, have done well keeping the church moving forward in a year and a half without a full-time pastor.

As a pastor, these things I have heard make me happy and excited about the potential of the church:

“I want to be baptized.”

“I know the basics of the Bible, but I want to learn more.”

“I want more discipleship.”

“I want more training.”

“We are thinking of starting a Bible study in our home.”

“I’m ready to start another course on the basics of Christian faith if there are people who are ready.”

I am eager to begin baptizing, teaching, training, and leading.

Our visa has been approved. Here we go to Belgium. If all goes according to plan (but it hasn’t in a long time!) we will leave in just over a week.

Here is the important bit for those who are local. There will be a farewell gathering this Saturday, August 19 at 2pm at Gateway Community Church at 353 E. Donna Dr in Merced. There will be a chance to share memories and say goodbye. We are also eager to have everyone pray for us as we go. Want to bring something? Sure, you can bring a dessert or lemonade or something if you like. We’re not doing a full meal.

The visa process has whipsawed us back and forth between eager expectation and discouragement.

Here are the documents you need to turn in. Actually, it’s these documents. No, it’s these.

Ask the consulate for a reference number. That’s just a local reference number. You need a different one to check the status of your visa application. No, there is no other reference number.

The documents didn’t arrive in Belgium. They will be sent electronically.

The visa will take 2 weeks. It will take 6 weeks. It will take a few months. It could take 9 months.

Your visa has been approved.

The back and forth was not unlike the back and forth of Peter’s treatment. The tumor is shrinking! The tumor is growing. The tumor is shrinking! The tumor is growing. Three times. I have told God we would like a season of renewal. It hasn’t come yet. Perhaps he sees fit to set us greater challenges. Why not? I suspect, though, that once we arrive in Belgium we will get a good season. Along with a new set of challenges, of course.

The back and forth made it hard to celebrate the news. We won’t really celebrate until we have arrived. The travel itself is still a hurdle considering the crisis of our travel last time.

Our six year old asked, “Can we have mussels our first night in Belgium?” Mussels are popular there.

“Probably not the first night, but the first week,” I said. That was enough to make him happy. Nate and I are the seafood lovers. Peter was too. Now we are outnumbered by the ones who are unmoved by the beauty of a mussel, so we will have a private party. (Or are there any Antwerpers who wish to join us?)

Since the last time I wrote, I went on two more two-night backpacking trips. Once with a friend. That trip was perfection. All our choices turned out to be the right ones. Should we set up the tent? Yeah, let’s set it up. As the last stake goes in the ground the rain and hail begins to pound. Should we climb to that point or go up this way? We ended up doing a fun walk along the ridge. And wow, look behind us, we didn’t even notice that.

Should we camp at Granite Lake or Granite Basin? Granite Basin was picture perfect.

Seeing a blond bear was a bonus.

I also took my oldest on a father-son backpacking retreat. We caught lots of fish, jumped off cliffs into the water, watched the glow of a forest fire, saw another fire on top of the distant mountains (no wait, that’s the rising moon, big, bright and orange), went off trail to climb a peak, talked about Peter, talked about manhood, and sex, and growing up. It was good.

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On the last morning, I stood in the sun’s early warmth staring out across Lady Lake to the peak we climbed the day before. I cried, thinking about how I can’t share these moments with Peter anymore. Sorrow is now mixed in with everything else.

There have been some bright points, but it has been a difficult summer. There is no good place to grieve, but being unsettled, unstable, and unable to plan for the future has made it harder. We’re not sure what is grief and what is everything else. We are sure that grieving is in the background of everything now – relationships, emotions, backpacking.

What is the goal of grieving? To return to normal? To recover? Those aren’t possible. The best description I have heard of losing a child was from a memoir of a family whose 19 year old daughter died suddenly from an aneurysm. The father said, “It’s like an amputation. It will heal, but you’re still missing a limb.” What I hope for through my grieving is to become like those I admire: full of sorrow, full of joy, full of compassion, full of love, full of Jesus. I have been blessed to know saints like this, whose faith is an encouragement and inspiration. Pray for us.

To our friends in California and the rest of the US, farewell! I look forward to the work ahead of me as pastor of Antwerp International Protestant Church. I will continue to write. Continue to stay in touch.

Jesus went to his death calmly, “like a lamb to the slaughter” (Isaiah 53:7). Peter also faced death with an amazing calmness. I recorded a sermon on John 10 for my church in Antwerp last week (the assistant pastor needed a Sunday off as he and his wife expect a baby at any moment). In the sermon on Jesus the good shepherd, I said that Peter faced death the way he did because he heard the voice of the good shepherd. Peter is now with the shepherd of his soul, full of joy. Seeing his faith strengthened us, but we still have a lot of living still to do and it’s hard to live with joy when we miss our son. Suffering, loss, and grief are difficult, but inevitable, so we are doing our best to do our living and grieving with the same sort of courage we saw in Peter as he was dying.

I wrote before about the physical symptoms of grief and stress that pounced on me without warning. That has calmed down considerably. We are now mostly just waiting. We are staring at a wall. We have no idea what’s happening on the other side of the wall. Attempts to communicate with those on the other side of the wall result in conflicting and confusing pieces of information. But someday we expect our visas to come flying over that opaque wall of bureaucracy. Then we can begin to plan again. A schedule and some work would be good for us. We really hope to be in Belgium before school starts on September 1, but basically we know nothing. Actually, one of the leaders of the church in Antwerp called their home office and found out that the paperwork was submitted June 2, but it has not arrived/been registered with the home office yet. That means more waiting. Our Belgian friends shake their heads at the system they know all too well. We understand a little bit of the maddening wait endured by immigrants and refugees as they try to get legal status in a new country. But they are stuck in a civil war, poverty, or persecution. We are not.

My desires for what I wanted to do during our wait were simple: hike, write, and visit family and friends. We have visited people in Oregon, Washington, Montana, and California. Reconnecting with old friends was especially helpful for me. After anxiety, the next chapter in my grief was sullenness – sometimes I just don’t feel like talking. All I really want to talk about is Peter, but I can’t really announce to every group, “Let’s talk about my grief.” Conversations with people who know and love us from 20 years ago have been much easier; we skip past the small talk altogether and get to the how is your soul type of questions. It has been a blessing to talk with people who aren’t afraid to ask about our sadness or to share it with us. We have shared the grief of others as well. Sharing sorrow doesn’t eliminate it, but it does make it shared. And that is something. Even more important than grieving with others, we share the sufferings of Christ and he shares our sufferings with us. Also, Rebecca’s spiritual director reminded her recently that there is always One who understands about losing a child.

We also shared with some friends the last of the bugs, rattlesnake, and other delights left over from Peter.

As it has been difficult to talk, we depend on others’ initiative of friendship to us, their ability to ask good questions, their understanding when we don’t respond promptly. It is even more difficult than usual to stay in touch because we’re bouncing from place to place. “Are you even in the United States?” people have asked. This is a time when we depend on receiving love and friendship more than we are able to give back. So please, do contact us, but don’t think that a lack of response means we don’t appreciate it.

It has also been difficult to pray. When Peter was sick and dying, my prayers had a burning focus, an intensity born of desperation. To be honest, I miss that a little. What I really miss, of course, is Peter. There are a thousand things that remind me of him. I left my Kindle on a plane, so I adopted Peter’s Kindle Fire as my reading device. I discovered a folder he created for the apps he didn’t use. How I miss him!

The intensity of prayer is gone along with Peter, the constant subject of my prayers. As I find it difficult to pray, I depend on the prayers of others for us.

I haven’t hiked yet as much as I would like, but that would be hard to do. A few days in the Olympic Mountains with my kids and my dad was wonderful. As we climbed Dirty Face Ridge (our six year old loved the name) to the top of Mt Townsend we had a close-up view of the rugged Olympics around us, and to the east the familiar landmarks of the Cascades. As my kids scrambled up a steep, gravelly path around a cornice of snow to a pass above our campsite, my heart was happy. But Peter would have been the first one to the top. So I was also sad. Thoughts of Peter now color everything, so it is hard to just be plain happy. Still, the solitude and beauty of the wilderness is restorative.

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A day hike with Rebecca in the Desolation Wilderness a few days ago was anything but desolate. I look forward to more days of hiking in the weeks of waiting ahead of us. (Look closely to see the man crossing a slack line over the gorge).

If I’m not hiking I hope to be writing. I haven’t written a blog post in a long time. There is plenty I could say and I am filing away possible ideas, but the time and energy I have had for writing (not enough!) has gone mostly towards a book. I have written an outline and a few rough chapters of a book I am calling Unafraid: My Son’s Miraculous Death from Cancer. How’s that for a title? I will share our story of fear and fearlessness, along with reflections on the questions that naturally come up when a child dies of cancer, like If there is a God, why do kids get cancer? Why does God allow people, especially children, to experience such pain? Isn’t heaven just a fairy tale we tell ourselves to feel better? What reasons are there to believe in God, the resurrection, and heaven? And How does a person recover after loss? (I’m still finding our the answer to that last question). I will use real conversations I had with Peter in the responses to those questions. Any suggestions on how to find an agent or a publisher?

So Peter’s death has been difficult. Of course. It has made it hard to pray, hard to talk, hard to just be happy. One thing we haven’t experienced, though, is a crisis of faith. The Bible teaches us to expect suffering. Jesus told those who set out to follow him to take up their cross. Plus, we knew that the world suffers. Why not us? We can say with conviction, “God is good.” We are waiting for his good kingdom to come.