Happy Birthday To You, Julie. I Love You.

A typical photo of Julie: Surrounded by kids

I've lost count of all the places we've lived. The rental on the hill with a view of the courthouse in a little Oregon cowboy town. The houses set back in the woods down quiet streets. The little house near the beach that's so small we have three young boys in a bed. The big house we built together with a porch overlooking a little valley. We've lived in motel rooms and a moldering, drafty dairy barn but we've always been together.

I've lost count of all the miles we've traveled, all the hard things we've endured. I remember watching the life drain from your face in a hospital room and I won't forget seeing a nurse wake you up so you'd keep breathing. I've never been so afraid and I've never prayed so hard that I won't be left alone.

I've lost count of all the laughs we've shared. Our little ones saying their first words that crack us up, the older ones making jokes together over board games and laughing long after we all should be in bed. We've made a million memories together as a family. My favorites are always with you. Like simple things such as around the dinner table at holidays, the kids laughing, babies gabbing and reminisces about crazy stunts the older kids have pulled. I love the memories we share like a perfect summer day peering into the Grand Canyon, a place so breathtaking it takes your words away. I love how we have our own language, a glance and a knowing smile we share that says a thousand words without speaking.

I've lost count of all the times I've let you down. Sometimes angry words. Other times silence. Some bad decisions, some selfish actions. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.

I want you to feel loved and treasured and honored. You are beautiful in ways I can't describe. Lovely, strong, faithful, determined, loving. I admire you so much. Thank you for choosing to spend your life with me. Thank you for loving me when I'm not worth being loved. Thank you for being the mother of my children who they all adore. Thank you for teaching us how to love selflessly, how to follow Jesus Christ and how to give when it seems there's nothing left to give.

Happy birthday Julie. I love you.

My Eye-Opening Experience At A Nigerian Boarding School

Doing the wash at a Nigerian boarding school.

I wanted to share a link to a post I wrote for my missions work over on another blog I've launched with the Transformational Education Network. It's an inside look at my eye-opening experience at a Nigerian boarding school. It was one of those experiences I will never forget. It's something I believe can be a call to action for those of us who follow Jesus Christ.

Check it out here: Boarding school

The BEST Seafood Chowder Is My Christmas Present To You

We have a favorite Sabo family Christmas tradition that dates back to when the number of our kids was in the single digits, which is approximately the 2002 or 2003 time frame. It's soup. But not just any soup. This is a seafood chowder that the family looks forward to waaaaaayyyyy more than opening Christmas presents. Sort of. Maybe. Ish? Okay, so my seafood chowder takes a close second to the whole opening Christmas presents thing. But don't let that dissuade you from breaking out the heavy-bottomed stock pot and giving this seafood chowder a whirl in your kitchen. You will not be disappointed. I promise.

I found this recipe in The Oregonian and it's called "Portland Seafood Chowder." It makes 10 cups, which means I automatically double it. Or so. And I've modified it by adding more seafood to the point that basically if it swims, or crawls, or scampers, or filters in saltwater, it goes in this chowder. As a disclaimer, due to the nature of the ingredients it's an expensive soup to make. Which is why we only make it once a year. Which is also why I'm seriously considering launching separate Kickstarter and Gofundme campaigns to support our seafood chowder habit so that we can enjoy it more than once a year.

Without further ado, we give you the "Portland Seafood Chowder" recipe in all its gastronomical glory. Go forth and be a Pacific Northwest foodie aficionado.

12 oz. diced raw bacon
1 1/3 C finely diced onion
1 1/3 C finely diced carrot
1 1/3 C finely diced celery
1/2 C diced roasted red bell peppers
1 1/2 t dried dill weed
1 1/2 t dried basil
1 1/2 t dried marjoram
1 1/2 t cajun spice mix
3 T all-purpose flour
1/2 C lightly hopped ale
1 10-oz. can baby clams
2 8-oz. bottles clam juice
4 C diced raw potatoes
6 to 8 fresh mussels, scrubbed & debearded
1/4 lb. cubed firm white fish such as snapper or cod
1/4 lb. smoked salmon, flaked
1 C whipping cream
salt & pepper to taste

* Among the seafoody items I add with liberality (one of the few times in my life I'm a liberal):
crab meat
oysters
baby shrimp

In a heavy-bottomed stock pot, cook the bacon over medium-low until it is brown. Add the onion, carrot and celery and cook over medium-low heat until the carrots are almost tender. Add red peppers.

Stir in the dill weed, basil, marjoram and cajun spice mix. Add the flour and cook, stirring constantly for about 5 minutes. Add the ale, the juice from the clams (reserve the drained clams for later), and the bottled clam juice. Stir until smooth and then add the potatoes. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, cover and simmer until the potatoes are tender, about 10 minutes. Add the mussels, white fish, smoked salmon, reserved clams and any other additional seafood, cover and simmer for 3 to 5 minutes or until the mussels are opened and the white fish is done. Discard any mussels that do not open. Stir in the whipping cream and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve hot.

Merry Christmas!

My Nigerian Experience

Things I won’t miss about Nigeria:

--Hearing the muezzin or whatever he was blaring from a nearby mosque in the pre-dawn hours. I can deal with the roosters, the car horns and anything else of a noise variety. That one alarms me, though, and the first time I heard it I thought a terrorist attack was imminent;

--Rice. Whether it’s white, or jollof, with red sauce, with beans, or in some other form, I’m ready to explore other culinary dishes;

--Driving. As near as I can tell, there are no rules to driving in Nigeria. Nor are there even guidelines, let alone suggestions. I don’t know what it takes to get a traffic ticket here, but let’s just say road cops in the USA with a monthly quota of traffic tickets to fill could get ‘er done in about an hour here. I’ve been on divided highways with a raised median and if traffic is stopped in one direction, why they just hop the curb and start driving against traffic in the oncoming lanes. Right by cops. Why is this okay? And passing is always an option, even going uphill, past a tractor-trailer on a blind corner. I feel like I cheated death on the roads for two weeks;

--Showers. Picture a faucet, a small bucket and cold water. You’re feeling my pain. Like any spoiled American, I like my showers long and hot. The struggle is real, man;

--Electricity that constantly fluctuates. It’s worse than being in a relationship with Taylor Swift – the power is on again, off again. On again, off again. On, off. It makes it really hard to recharge my cell phone. Oh, the horror of it!

--Vivid dreams. I suspect it’s the anti-malarial meds I’m taking, but man have I had some vivid dreams. They’re the kinds often that make you wake up with a start and you can’t get back to sleep … then the muezzin fires up. Last night I had a dream I inherited some very valuable books in a very finely crafted wood bureau and had to get them from New York to Boston without anyone knowing it or else something really bad was going to happen to my family.  Oops … now everyone knows it;

Things I will miss in Nigeria:

--The weather. Hot, dry days in the 80s and cool nights in the 50s. It’s like summer in Central Oregon. Perfect;

--An Arabic shawarma from Jam’s, a little hole-in-the-wall eatery over by one of the other missionary compounds. Chicken, garlic, pickles, salad and a couple of other things wrapped inside a tortilla-like thing. Oh, the joys of a Jam’s shawarma!

--The sights. Every day you see something that blows your mind. Take, for example, the cargo on a motorbike, to include masses of humanity, livestock, goods such as firewood, or all of the above. Just when you thought it was not humanly possible to pack more onto a motorbike, you see more;

--The people. So friendly. I made many friends here and made them quite easily. One of the things that tickles me is how often they say, “Welcome, sir.” I’ll meet someone and greet them and they’ll reply, “Welcome, sir. Thank you, sir. Welcome, sir.”

--The children. Universally polite and friendly, if not somewhat surprised and curious at times to see a white guy. I will never forget the look on the kids’ faces when I took their photo and turned the camera around and showed them the digital copy. Priceless. I believe for many of them it was the first time they had seen their own picture. Their faces were a thousand words;

--The faith of my fellow Christians. You can hear it in the prayers. It’s a deep, profound trust and love of God that I imagine comes in part in a place where life is truly fragile. In the course of five days earlier on my trip I was with three people while they received word that someone close to them had died unexpectedly. There are no guarantees here and life is hard, very hard. The one thing you can trust is God’s love and the hope we have in His son, Jesus Christ. I have a great love and admiration for the people I’ve met here. God bless you all. I’ll miss you and look forward to seeing you again.

Thoughts On Being Caught Behind A Muslim Horse Parade And Faith

Eric Black with some of his students and staff

Nigeria can be enchanting and confounding, often at the same moment. I was returning to Jos from Biliri in Gombe State in northeastern Nigeria, riding shotgun in a pickup driven by fellow Serving In Mission missionary Mark Redekop, when horsemen appeared. Not just any horsemen either. These were elaborately clothed Muslim horsemen, somewhere around 40 of them, parading through the main thoroughfare of the city of Bauchi.

Trotting to a steady beat of drums, the Muslim men drew scores of onlookers in the Islamic city. We crawled along in the scrum of people and kids cheating death by flitting across the highway. Battered cars and trucks, drivers leaning into their horns with gusto, jockeyed for position. Motorcycles with passengers aboard – I saw one motorbike on the highway in the Nigerian bush with a man and six boys on it -- spewing thick exhaust and darting through traffic and horses, sometimes into the oncoming lanes. Three-wheeled motorized buggies that serve as taxis sped around us and between the horsemen. As near as I could tell, there had been no warning of a parade, perhaps because in the current state of affairs in Nigeria events like this might attract terrorists from Boko Haram. The Islamic insurgents do not discern between Muslim or Christian targets; the day before in the city of Kano scores of Muslims were slaughtered in a Boko Haram bomb blast and shooting timed for the afternoon prayers. Other times they target Christians, particularly churches and bombings and massacres are not uncommon here in the north of Nigeria.

We squinted into the low late afternoon sun at the horsemen ahead of us, fruitlessly hoping to see the display of horsemanship conclude. I later learned it was apparently something along the lines of a “Durbar” parade. These are events unique to Nigeria that commemorate the days past when guards in magnificently colored and adorned robes and turbans and armed with swords would travel on horseback in protection of the Muslim emir. I asked a Nigerian about the men and was told that back in the day if there was trouble or some sort of aggressiveness or violence directed toward the emir, the horsemen would “slaughter you.” I believe the tradition of emir protection has passed. At least I hope it has, but you never know and I rather furtively snapped some photos and video on my iPhone.

We eventually passed through Bauchi safely, perhaps culturally enriched but deprived of precious daylight. You don’t want to travel Nigerian roads at night because motorists have little regard for traffic rules – I wouldn’t’ even call simple rules such as driving on the right even guidelines or suggestions -- and deadly accidents are the norm. The delay meant darkness loomed, a harrowing thought as we passed the hulk of a smashed up truck that had recently hit something head-on. “That couldn’t have been good for the driver,” Mark said. As we traveled west toward the setting sun, dodging goats, cattle, oncoming motorists and people, we passed through a predominantly Muslim village. Inside a small mosque I glimpsed a man in a flowing white robe bowing toward Mecca, his forehead pressed to the floor.

The oppressive poverty and hopelessness is overwhelming in Nigeria, as well as the rest of Africa. Every day is a struggle. I’ve talked to many young people here and hope of a better is elusive. There’s a resignation to a hard life. Many have asked me to take them back to America, one smiling young man offering to stow away in one of my bags.

But in my talks there’s been one consistent glimmer of hope. In Jos and in Biliri there’s a hope in Jesus Christ. The hope springs from a deep abiding faith in Jesus, a trust forged through perseverance and an understanding that to suffer is to walk alongside Jesus. Peter writes that various trials test our faith, acting as a purifier the way heating gold to melt it filters out the impurities, resulting in something much more precious. The result is “praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ,” Peter writes.

Out in Biliri at a school started by American missionary Eric Black, who uses our Transformational Education Network computer outreach curriculum, I met a young man named Gideon as he was about to lead a group of students on an outreach. Just before they squeezed into a van bursting with people, luggage, musical instruments and Bibles, Gideon gathered the group in front of the school for a brief message. “If you really love Jesus with all of your life,” he said in his accented English, “then sacrifice your life to live for Him. Whatever it may cost you to live a righteous life, then do it.” Then he paused, looking intently at the students. “For that is a great, great gain.”
Gideon described how the journey to a distant city would be tough, the devil doubling his efforts because he knows who he is up against. “Put on all of your armors,” he said. Then he challenged the students.

“As we go out on outreach, if you’re passionate for Jesus then go out and preach the word,” Gideon said. “If you are not then I will advise you that you will stay back home. The place we are going we are really taking the message of love. The message of peace. The message of unity. Some will say that it is like we are going on vacation. That is not what we are going for. So be ready to lay down your life, whatever it may cost. It cost Jesus His life to bring you back. So be willing to lay down your life.”

He closed by telling the students that in whatever persecutions they face, to endure them without complaining. He told them that he loved them and that his prayer is that as they head out from the school they would transform the world.

My prayers are with them. As I left Biliri on Saturday afternoon with Mark and two Nigerian passengers seated behind us in the pickup, I thought back to Gideon and the students at Biliri Educational Center. It called to mind one of my favorite scriptures. It is Isaiah 9:2 and it speaks of Jesus Christ, the Messiah: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, upon them a light has shined.”

In my travels through Nigeria over the past week, I have seen this verse played out. Despite the crushing poverty, the daily struggle simply to put food on the table and the lack of opportunities such as education and jobs, there’s something different in the lives of many of the young people like Gideon I’ve encountered. The difference is the illuminating light of Jesus Christ in their lives. They believe a better life awaits, and it may not even be on this earth. They are passionate about their faith, intent on spreading the gospel of Jesus Christ and believing that Jesus elevates lives. I believe there is hope in Nigeria.

A Transformational Thanksgiving in Nigeria

It is the wee hours of Thanksgiving in America, but here at 7:30 a.m. Jos, Nigeria, I am chugging a bottle of “F.A.M. Vita” vanilla yoghurt in a dark guest house room without power. The pervasive, acrid smell of campfire smoke – people still cook with fire here and you can drive down the street and see garbage burning – lingers with me, as always. Outside my open window I can hear the noise of the bustling city: cars and three-wheel motorized buggies zipping down the street, horns honking, people talking and someone on an air horn announcing something. I am thankful.

I am here on a mission trip with the Transformational Education Network. I have traveled with our CEO, Joe Gallop, who presented at a symposium yesterday and discussed technology and transformational education. More than 100 educators and students attended and both Joe and I are very pleased with how things went. The Lord truly blessed it and I met a young man with a communications degree who I hope will help me with gathering photos, video and stories from here in Jos at the school we partner with, E.I.C.T. that I can use in my TEN3 communications.
 
Today we will be attending a workshop where Joe will speak on “Essential Values in Transformational Education.” It’s the first of a two-day workshop and we are looking forward to seeing what the Lord will do today. Yesterday went very well and we were able to connect with a number of educators interested in the Transformational Education Network curriculum and our method of education. One of the things that appears to be coming out of this trip is forming a network of schools – private, government and others – that can act as a forum and exchange of information, ideas and solutions to help achieve transformational education. Our role will be as facilitators and advisors and we will be working on how best to accomplish this exchange of information.

Tomorrow I will be traveling several hours with an American missionary named Eric Black to his post in Billiri in Gombe State. I should say that Lord willing, I will go. I have to check with the SIM security director to discuss whether I should go due to concerns about safety in that area. I think everything will be fine and it will be good to travel with Eric, meet his family and learn about the education center he is operating in Billiri.

After I return, probably on Monday, Joe and I will be traveling to the communities of Zonkwa, Kwoi and Kubacha (I think I got those right) southwest of Jos in the neighboring state of Kaduna to explore the potential for launching TEN3 computer training outreach programs. We also were invited by one of the educators at the symposium to visit her private secondary school here in Jos, so it looks like we will be heading over there as well.

As for my general experience here in Nigeria, I have to say I have met some wonderful people. They are universally friendly to me, greeting me with big grins. Whenever we exchange greetings people often reply with “Welcome sir. Thank you sir. Welcome sir.” It makes me smile. The traffic is crazy, the police are everywhere and they carry AK-47s. It’s the dry season here on the Nigerian Plateau so it’s dusty, hot during the day in the 80s (I’m not complaining!) and cool in the night down to the 50s.

On the 4-hour plus drive Monday morning up to Jos from Abuja, where we landed Sunday evening and spent the night, we traveled through at least a half-dozen and probably closer to 10, military checkpoints. Soldiers with AK-47s manned the checkpoints, I’m assuming because the area has seen its share of Muslim-Christian conflict. Boko Haram, the Muslim terrorist group, operates in the area occasionally and more than 100 people were killed earlier this year when they set off bombs in the bustling outdoor market that’s several blocks from the compound where we are staying here in Jos. Mostly we were just waved through the checkpoints, though a few stopped us simply to chat, it seems. One engaged us in conversation and our driver, Audu, asked the soldier if he was born again. We talked about being born again, Jesus, salvation and he said he was born again. He was quite offended we didn’t have our Bibles with us in the car – they were in our luggage in the back. I’m glad he didn’t shoot us. (Just kidding!) At another checkpoint a soldier asked Joe and me where we were from. When he found out we were Americans he said he wants to go there someday. What he really wanted, though, was for us to bring him a white American wife. I told him I could see what I could do and maybe make that happen. He got a big grin and then reached in the car and we “pounded” fists. It’s the first time I’ve ever pounded fists with an AK-47-toting Nigerian soldier manning a highway checkpoint. I have to admit it was a pretty special moment.
I have many more stories to tell, but we’ll save those for other times. Blessings to you all this Thanksgiving.

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 1. `Hey Dad. Where Are You?'

Let's see...a Taco Bell run or this sunset?

Do you ever get to a late Sunday afternoon, take stock of your life, check your mutual funds, contemplate the meaning of life, wonder if anyone working on Wall Street who engaged in shady mortgage fraud and insider trading deals has a soul ... and weigh whether it's worth it to cook dinner?

There's something about fixing Sunday night dinner that I find particularly agitating. Even daunting, repulsive and annoying. And I'm a dude who loves to cook. I can't put my finger on exactly why I don't like to cook on Sundays. After shedding my pastor duties after church I tend to "check out." You might find me in the garage piddling around making a coffee table. Sometimes I nap. I might take a jaunt to the store and act like I'm shopping for the week's meals and blow it all on ice cream and non-essentials like fancy coffee creamer and crazy cheeses made in Holland. Does this make me a bad person?

I mean, I'm usually a pretty good guy. I recycle. I put my shopping cart in the cart corral in the parking lot instead of in the space next to the van, even in hard rains. I clean up the lint screen in the dryer. I yield in the traffic roundabout and stop for pedestrians trying to enter crosswalks. I buy Julie raspberries because I know she loves them even though they're really expensive this time of year. Really expensive like cheeses made in Holland.

So we got to Sunday afternoon just before 5 p.m. and there were all these kids looking really, really hungry. The thought actually crossed my mind to cook something. The other thought I had was that they wouldn't starve if they didn't have dinner. I mean, we have bread and peanut butter in the house. But then I'm not going to eat a p.b. & j sandwich for dinner ... so I was faced with what's known as a "parental dilemma." You know the one. Where you have to decide if it's in the best interests of your family to eat at Hardee's or Taco Bell. I had a hankering for a burrito so the choice was fairly easy.

I got the lowdown from everyone of what they wanted from Taco Bell, loaded Seth in the van and took off down the street ... except I glanced at the sky and it was on fire. It's a three-block run down to the beach from my house and my intention was that I would race down there while obeying all traffic laws, snap a sunset photo and then get to Taco Bell before my children suffered privation leading to acute starvation and other health-related issues.

I got to the beach, told Seth to sit tight, ran out to the shoreline, snapped a photo and ran back to the van. Piece of cake. Except I knew that the show was just beginning. It would be a monumental sunset because literally the sky was aflame ... so I fetched Seth out of the van and we frolicked on the beach while I documented our interlude via my iPhone. Yes, I had total disregard for the well-being of my family. Yes, I got a phone call from someone high up in the Sabo household who was surprised to learn I had not even made it out of the neighborhood.

But I got some killer clicks.

Seth gets photo-bombed by the sunset.

Ultimately, I made it to Taco Bell. No one in the Sabo house had starved. They appeared perplexed at how long it took for me to make a Taco Bell run considering it's literally a few minutes away. But hey, boy did Seth and I make some remembories, as Evie used to say when she was a little girl.