Waking up on my 48th birthday and realizing one big thing

I spent part of my birthday teaching this crew how to skip rocks.

I was scrolling back through my memories of birthdays past, thinking about some of the particular January 29ths that really stand out. I thought I’d share some. 

1976 — On my 7th birthday in the wintry cold of Bend, Oregon, I broke the two middle fingers on my right hand shortly before my friends arrived for my birthday party. I snapped the tips of those fingers in an unfortunate incident involving a wheelbarrow full of firewood, a rickety ramp consisting of a single flimsy board and a big drop down some steps on our back patio. Oh, and my older brother was in the mix. I soon adapted by learning to write left-handed. So I guess you could say that on my 7th birthday I learned about overcoming adversity. And not to use your writing hand to try and hold up a ramp beneath the weight of a wheelbarrow full of firewood being driven by your brother, even when he tells you to hold the ramp up with your hand.

1985 — I would turn 16 this year and mark it later that summer by competing on an “All-Star” track and field team from Oregon and Washington that traveled to Hong Kong, South Korea and China. I discovered firsthand the meaning of “abject poverty” on our train ride through the rice paddies and villages of rural China and recall how hordes of Chinese people would crowd around in awe and touch the hair of a girl on our team who had blond hair that was nearly white. I competed in a 5,000-meter race in a rustic, dirt-track stadium in Guangzhou, China, finishing third in sweltering heat. I remember distinctly three things about that race: 1) I was sure I was going to either burn up or melt to death, perhaps both; 2) You couldn’t drink the water in China so after the race I “quenched” my agonizing thirst with the only liquid available, a warm, fizzy orange soda pop; 3) I was overjoyed that our second meet got canceled because I was sure I wouldn’t survive another race. After the race we traded trinkets and jerseys with our fellow Chinese competitors and I remember one tiny, rail thin guy wanted my beloved Nike Spiridon racing shoes. I turned him down. To this day I think about that poor kid who had literally nothing and rue my selfishness: Why didn’t I just give him the shoes?

1993 — I turned 24 in the frozen tundra of Ontario, Oregon, which at the time was gripped in a brutally long, cold, snowy winter. I was married to Julie and we had two boys with a third on the way — Imagine that! Julie was pregnant! — and I was working for $1,200 a month as a sportswriter at the daily Argus Observer covering high school sports. Often I would leave my 1986 diesel Volkswagen Jetta with Julie and run the mile or so to work through the campus of Treasure Valley Community College. I remember distinctly on one frigid night running home for dinner through the crusty snow and underestimating how bitterly cold it was, thinking someone might come across me frozen solid in mid-stride sometime the next day. It took me a month to thaw out from that jaunt and to this day I hate to be cold, perhaps partly because of that moment of idiocy. But I get the warm fuzzies thinking about Ontario as well. The farming outpost on the Snake River next to Idaho is where we discovered the Calvary Chapel movement at a church on the outskirts of town and where we learned about expository Bible teaching. It changed our church lives forever. We also made lifelong friends who taught us so much about raising children, homeschooling and a family where Jesus Christ is at the center. 

2001 — I turned 32 in a couple of finished rooms of an old dairy barn on a 3-acre patch of land at the edge of Corvallis, Oregon, where we were holed up while we built a big dream house. We had seven kids, an eighth on the way — yes, Julie was pregnant! — and it was a hard time. Very hard time. All I can say is that God carried us through it. I learned plenty in that season of life, like DIY and how to use power tools such as a compound mitre saw, how to kill skunks nesting under your barn (it’s ugly and smelly and I don’t wish it on anyone) and what true friends look like (thank you Jim Bass and many others). I remember the strength of Julie in those hard times. A gritty perseverance and a deep, abiding faith and belief that God in His power will get us through anything. I’ve never met another woman like her. Don’t think I ever will. I’m so thankful for her.

2009 — After living in Virginia for four years, we returned to Corvallis in fall of 2008 so I could attend Cornerstone School of Ministry. On my 40th birthday at school I remember how one of my classmates ornately and rather gaudily decorated my car in embarrassing fashion, writing passages drawn from Song of Solomon referencing my “abs of carved ivory” on it … except it wasn’t my car. It was someone else’s. Now THAT was funny and made for a memorable birthday. But from 2009 I learned many things, above all that God is in control. And that He is a very good and loving God.

2017 — I awoke on my 48th birthday next to my wife of 26 years, who’s not pregnant I might add, in a little house a few blocks from the York River where around Christmas time all 14 kids were home. It’s 15 kids when you add in Taylor’s wife, Bethany, then 16 kids when you count the wee little lad she’s carrying in her womb. (We’re so stoked to be grandparents this year!) Then you add another to make it 17 for when Ethan’s fiancee Mandi, was here, plus throw in another “kid” to make it 18 when Brenton’s — and ours too! — good friend from Oregon, Parker Smith, stopped in for several days to visit. Julie glowed because all her babies were home and the house was just so full of life. And a ton of food. Literally a ton of food. I remember thinking that, yes our house is small and there’s kids everywhere, but there’s so much laughing and joy and love and I’m so thankful for all the Lord has done in our lives. And then a few days ago I got this text from Evie, who’s out in Oregon studying at Cornerstone School of Ministry for the year: “Okay. We were in prayer yesterday and I remembered in It’s a Wonderful Life at the end when Harry toasts George and says, `To George Bailey, the richest man in town.’ I know this is really mushy but I always thought of you when we watched that movie.” So yes, Evie is right. On my 48th birthday I woke up as the richest man in town.

Witnesses to a Christmas miracle: The Shepherds

This post originally appeared in my 12 Kids and Counting Blog on Dec. 22, 2009


I've been thinking about shepherds lately. We're having a Christmas Eve service -- 5 o'clock Thursday, you're all invited -- to sing some hymns and carols, read out of Luke 2 and I'll share a short message. As I read Luke's account of the birth of Christ, I can't help but wonder about the shepherds who saw the angel of the Lord. I've read accounts that 2,000 years ago shepherds were the pickpockets and thieves of the day. The sorry, no-account drifters who were troublemakers and virtually indentured servants. Things haven't changed much, perhaps. I've enclosed a link at the bottom of this post to help you see where I'm going with this thing.

But let me describe the life of a modern-day sheepherder in the barren Wyoming outback, where you might be in charge of a flock of 1,500 or 2,000 sheep: On call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Your home is a 5 x 10 "campito" without running water. Have to go to the bathroom? Here's a shovel. You have no electricity. The searing summer days can hit 100 degrees. On Christmas Day at a sheep camp near Encampment, Wyo., look for a high of 14 degrees, with a low of zero. And snow. Your heat source is a wood stove. It might even work, particularly if you have wood. In addition to no days off, a sheepherder must be able to ride a horse and repair fences. Not to mention guard the flock against predators and poisonous weeds. Not only that, a decent worker should be able to assist in lambing, docking, castrating (Rocky Mountain oysters baby!), dehorning, shearing, vaccinating, drenching and medicating the sheep. Sometimes the work gets a little hairy -- or worse. Wolves are a constant problem in parts of Wyoming. Other places have bigger problems. On Sept. 14 in Sublette County, a sheepherder was attacked by a grizzly bear. Miraculously he lived. The bear left a 7-inch gash in the man's head, two punctures on the left side of his chest, three claw wounds on his gut and a punctured wrist. Oh, here's the kicker. The pay is $650 a month. And all the sagebrush you can see.

Yet these are the guys the angel of the Lord came to tell about the birth of the Messiah, our Savior. Why? Why not the Bethlehem Town Council? Or the Bethlehem Chamber of Commerce, or Rotary Club? Surely a group of men existed in metropolitan Bethlehem that were far more qualified to have an audience with an angel of the Lord than a bunch of sketchy shepherds. This is what I love about God. He takes the sorriest, no accountenest knuckleheads and uses them for His glory. Read about their response to the news of the birth of Christ. I'd say they were transformed. Any thoughts on what kind of weight it carried when these guys started spreading the word about what they had heard and seen? No wonder Luke describes it thusly in 2:18: "And all those who heard it marveled at those things which were told them by the shepherds." (NKJV)

There's a part of me that would like to taste the life of a Wyoming sheepherder. What's it really like out there? How bad is it? Could I endure it for more than a few days? I can think of one redeeming aspect of a sheepherder in Wyoming. When night falls in that big sky that stretches from the end of the earth to the end of the earth, unobstructed by trees, or houses, or apartments, or skyscrapers, without artificial light flickering for maybe a hundred miles, you can look up at a billion stars and be amazed by the hand of God. I reckon that's what those shepherds were doing 2,000 years ago, before the angel even appeared. They were looking up.

It's time for a reset of the measure of success for families in America

What success looks like in the Sabo family.

We have a way of measuring success in America that centers around a consumer economy. It's the insatiable appetite for materialism and the accumulation of things. Tragically, it spills over into the church and our kids with devastating consequences.

Our uniquely American economy of success is measured by things we don't need but buy anyway. We drive big new SUVs so that we have ample room to haul all the stuff we bought at Costco back to our McMansions that have huge garages to store all of our junk accumulated non-essential items. We wouldn't be caught dead with flip phones so we're armed with the latest technology everything -- much of which we have to ask our teenage kids how to operate -- and our walk-in closets are bigger than the bedrooms we grew up in and have enough clothes and shoes contained within to outfit an island nation.

Our secular practices have carried over to the religious. Our churches are virtual rock concert halls, becoming glorified entertainment venues with bright lights, big screens and all the essential high-tech bells and whistles. It's merely churchtainment, an emotion-driven vehicle that's a shallow push for "relevancy" in a culture that's increasingly ambivalent to Christianity. As a result, on any Sunday in any city in America it's possible to go church clubbing in our churchwear without ever hearing the power of the Word.

We are what we worship, essentially.

So where does that leave our kids?

We measure success in our kids by their accomplishments that we can post ad nauseum on social media. And we're motivated by our dreams of their success -- that we also can post on social media. The measuring stick is their future earnings and we're driven to ensure they're the top-performing kids inside and outside of our social circles.

We're consumed by the youth sports culture and no cost is too steep -- The best equipment! The top sports camps! The number 1 travel teams! -- to make certain our kids are the best at the one sport we select for them they pick. We're driven to get them into Ivy League schools so we make sure they do all their homework every night -- beginning in pre-school -- and harass any teacher who dares to give them less than an `A.'  We also make sure our kids are deprived of nothing -- whether it's processed food that's actually making them sick, high-tech gadgetry, prescription drugs to get them to "concentrate" and "focus," or colleges that will leave them indebted in perpetuity.

Meanwhile, they are spiritually impoverished.

We value all the wrong things and the consequences are tragic. We're lying to our kids by our actions, treating the world and the things of this life as the singular objective for them. It's the gospel of me. Sadly, it's a sentence of a life of emptiness. We're creating a generation with an insatiable drive to find fulfillment in things that will never satisfy.

These things I've mentioned, the houses, vehicles, sports, school, gadgets and other things, in and of themselves aren't bad. It's the place they have in our lives though that's the problem. It's their hold on us. They consume us. And it's reflected in how we value them and the resulting messages we send to our kids.

Take a step back. What's your measurement of success in your kids?

I've had to do my own reckoning in this. I've had to ask myself and pray through if what I'm valuing is what God values. Is what I'm seeking for my kids reflected in the life and teachings of Jesus?

They're hard questions. Especially in the culture we live in. Yet they are good questions. After all, what's more important? This temporary life and its earthly rewards? Or eternal rewards and a life together as a family with Jesus.

Jesus said that His kingdom is not of this world. So why are we so intent on creating a world for our kids that's the opposite of what He taught?

I can tell you this also. There's no greater joy I have in my kids, particularly my older kids who are making their own lives, than to see them following Jesus passionately. To know that for them, Jesus is both their savior and their Lord.

That's the true measure of success.

What a heart breaks for. What's our answer as Christians?

What lies ahead?

I came across a quote this morning by a great, but flawed man: "Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God."

Bob Pierce uttered those words many years ago. The founder of World Vision International, a Christian evangelical nonprofit humanitarian aid organization, Pierce was a visionary man with a heart for the hurting. He was also, like many of us, a flawed man and one whose life assumed tragic overtones in its latter years.

We are all imperfect, the unfinished works of a merciful God awaiting perfection in Jesus Christ. I hope as followers of Jesus that we can reckon that truth in all humility. I recognize that as much as anyone as I survey the years behind me, the decisions I've made, the zigs and zags.

It's worth contemplating though as I look ahead and chart a future. What's my heart broken for?

What's yours broken for?

What are the things that break the heart of God and what's our response?

Of kids, parents and life lessons about peace

The lads.

The lasses.

We are less than two months away from having Taylor and Ethan graduate from college on the same day and they are in full-blown job-hunting mode. I fully admit it's a bittersweet time for me. I'm excited for them to start this new journey in life but wondering what it holds. They are literally looking across the country for jobs, having interviews and praying about the Lord's direction.

We've been through this once already with Brenton. He spent two years going to Calvary Chapel Bible College in Southern California and then three years after that as a youth pastor at Calvary Chapel Corvallis in Oregon. It was hard on all of us to have him so far away and we're so thankful to have him back here in Gloucester. He's doing most of the teaching at Calvary Chapel Gloucester (To hear the messages go here: CCGloucester messages), leads our prayer meetings and the Lord is doing great things through him in our church. He is also an assistant manager at a nearby Starbucks so we're thankful he's able to work and live here.

We obviously hope that Taylor and Ethan will find jobs nearby and want to have them close to the family. But we trust completely that they will be led by the Lord in whatever they do. And it's just beginning for us ... Evie will be a sophomore next year at Virginia Commonwealth University and just signed a lease on an apartment up there that she is getting with a few friends. Claire expects to head off to a four-year college next year and MerriGrace expects to start classes in the fall at a local community college. Abram is now 16 and just got a job at McDonald's ... there's a lot going on around here on a daily basis, you know?

We were able to Skype with Taylor and Bethany on Friday night and it's exciting to hear about how they are nearing graduation and all the things in play for their next step. They're such a sweet young couple and are people who brighten whatever room they are in.

Ethan was home for a few days over spring break and had spent the first part of the vacation up in Detroit with some friends as part of a ministry team serving people in need in the Motor City. We were exchanging texts throughout his time up there and he texted me something I found quite interesting. He was talking about young adults having a relationship with the Lord and how that looks and how parents can cultivate that in their kids.

He said something I find quite interesting and it's a tribute to Julie. Ethan was one of those teens who was definitely a work in progress. There were many battles, a few scars, but we fought hard for him. I remember particularly Julie and Ethan having long "discussions" late at night about various issues. What I always appreciate and love about Julie is that she doesn't give in and always comes at life's situations from a Godly, Biblical perspective. She's also very intent on ensuring that our children own their faith so that when they leave this house and go out into the world they are prepared to deal with whatever comes their way from a position of strength as a follower of Jesus.

Ethan was reminiscing about growing up in his texts and wrote: "I remember growing up Mom used to make me make things right with the Lord before I came and apologized to her." You can't have peace with the world -- or parents, for that matter -- unless you have peace with God. Peace with God means peace with the world. Jesus said in John 14:27 (one of my favorite verses), "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

Peace is a treasure and it's a gift from God, especially in this season of change in the Sabo house.

Is your Christianity fueled by passion or emotion?

Tides ebb and flow but waves are unceasing. It's like the difference between emotional and passionate faith.

Hey Christian. Is your faith fueled by passion or emotion?

Are you seeking an `experience' during worship? Then it's emotion and not a passion to simply worship an awesome God and glorify Him.

Are you seeking to feel good at church? Then it's emotion. A passion for Jesus is being broken by our sin, being convicted by God's word and desiring to repent and be restored by a God who loves each one of us so much that He sent His Son to shed His cleansing blood for us.

Do you not have joy in any circumstance? Then it's emotion. A fruit of the Spirit is joy, which is deeper than an exciting experience or an enjoyable set of circumstances. It's not centered around things on this earth that bring us pleasure. The great preacher Charles Spurgeon said about a believer's joy: "Believers are not dependent upon circumstances. Their joy comes not from what they have, but from what they are; not from where they are, but from whose they are; not from what they enjoy, but from that which was suffered for them by their Lord."

Do you believe that God is in control until things don't go the way you planned? Then it's emotion.

A passionate follower of Jesus Christ believes that God created the universe (Genesis 1) and set the stars in the sky and knows them by name (Isaiah 40) and knitted you in the womb (Psalm 139) and sent His Son Jesus to redeem the world (John 3) and is fully in control of the world and does as He pleases (Psalm 115) and believes that all things work together for good to those who love God and are the called according to His purpose (Romans 8). Or you don't.

Passion is fueled by desire. It's a product of desire. Passion and emotion or excitement are not the same thing. Emotion is centered around feelings. But emotions can fool us. Our emotions ebb and flow.

Contrast the emotional experience with a passion for Jesus that is relentless. Passion keeps going when there's no emotion or excitement. Passion is a choice. It's choosing Jesus in all our circumstances, through all our circumstances and above all our circumstances.

Don't confuse passion with emotion and excitement. Zeal without knowledge is excitement. Zeal with knowledge is passion. That passion is fueled by knowledge of God's word. Read God's word to know God and be passionate about Him.

I was moved to write this post after a teaching Brenton gave a couple of weeks ago. It was a very powerful message and I really encourage you to listen to it because he does a much better job than I can of conveying the difference between passion and emotion. It's the Feb. 28 message in this link: Feb. 28 Romans message

A Sunday morning, a Psalm, a text and renewal

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.  -- Psalm 51:10

This morning I woke up and it was just blah. The Sunday morning blahs. It's very rare I feel this way on Sunday -- definitely on Mondays, often on other days, but rarely on Sundays -- and it felt strange. I look forward to Sundays, to the worship, the word and the fellowship at our church, to see lives elevated by the love of God through His son Jesus.

I reached for my phone to check the time and then pulled my hand back. I knew if I checked my phone I would get lost in it. It's precisely not what I needed in my state, to drown myself in the abyss of social media and become further entrenched in blah.

As I pondered the day and what it held and my condition, I confess to just a general bad attitude. About getting out of bed, about getting ready for church, about getting little Sabo kids ready for church, about going to church, about serving at church ... I could go on but you get the idea.

My heart was in a bad place. Dark, I guess you'd say. Ever had one of those mornings?

As I looked up at the ceiling the Lord gave me a word: Renew.

Okay, renew. And what do I do with that?

Get up, that's what. Go out to the living room and open my Bible. Then look for the word renew. The Christian life is sometimes just one little step of obedience. Followed by another. Then another.

And I landed upon Psalm 51:10: "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." A word precisely for me, a gift from God on this morning. The idea of this verse is that "create" is only something God can do.

I can't get it anywhere else, from any other source, from any other activity. This verse in its context is a plea from David to ask that his heart be renewed, restored and transformed. God is the only source of this renewal.

It was a word for me this morning. A word that a prayer of repentance is the renewal I needed and the renewal I received. Blah dissipated, eclipsed by the power of renewal unique to God.

But something remarkable happened later in the morning. After I had gotten Seth and Judah dressed, after I got Olivia and Ezra breakfast, after I loaded our music equipment in the van, after I helped set up for church and fetched the crackers and grape juice from Farm Fresh for communion.

I got a text from Ethan, who is up in Detroit with a group of students from his college serving people in need in the Motor City. The first text I received from him said that he realizes he says this every time he finishes a book in the Bible, but Hosea might be his favorite. Here's the exchange:

Me: "I am very partial to the minor prophets. Hosea was a tough, Godly man."
Ethan: "14:5 says that God is going to be like the dew and Israel is the lily. This is after 14 whole chapters of the people of Israel rejecting the word of the Lord and disobediently intermingling with the surrounding pagan tribes. Moreover, that image is so beautiful! The lily is a desert flower which means that the only source of water it ever gets is each morning when the coolness of the desert night condenses into a dew that rests on its petals and soaks it to its roots. When in bloom, the desert lily is a beautifully vibrant flower full of color. He is telling Israel that if they soak in his word and goodness and allow it to strengthen the roots of their soul, they will be beautiful amidst a spiritual desert. A good word for me to return to the dew each and every morning."
Me: "That's a really good for me as well son. Needed that this morning. Love you."
Ethan: "Love you too! I'll be praying for church this morning!"

One more thing about this morning of renewal. God answers prayers. Don't ever doubt it. This morning a gentleman who had grown up in the church, but had cultivated a hard heart to the Lord over the years, has been coming to church faithfully for nearly a couple of years. Today as we studied through Romans 10 he had scales fall from his eyes for good. He repented of his sins and gave his heart to the Lord.

He is renewed.

When I was 25 years old, I was too busy to write letters that go viral

My first house. 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, 860 sq ft in Prineville, Ore.  Bought it for $58,500. 

Perhaps you've seen the news recently about the latest crisis that has gone viral. No, it has nothing to do with our presidential election -- I am telling you, in a nation of 330 million people it will forever boggle my mind that these are the "best" we have to offer -- the price of oil, Syria, Isis, the refugee crisis, or anything else.

Nope. The latest crisis to go viral is the 25-year-old Bay Area woman who wrote a letter to her boss at Yelp complaining about her circumstances. It's all over the news, has come up in discussions at home, work and elsewhere and it highlights what appears to be a generational mindset gap.

Talia Jane wrote the letter to her CEO, Jeremy Stoppelman, and rather predictably she was fired that day. In the letter, she complains about her pay, her grocery situation and her rent, among other things. For example, she's living in an apartment that costs $1,254 a month.

Two things, real quickly. I've never lived in a house with a mortgage that high and maybe, just maybe, look to cut costs with a roommate? Okay, three things. Maybe work and live somewhere else with lower cost-of-living expenses? Just some thoughts...

Just to be clear, no one is making her work for Yelp, live in one of the most expensive places in the country and, most importantly, write a letter on social media that goes viral and gets her fired. Those are all choices she has made. Now she's living with them.

Talia Jane, I don't know what to tell you other than typically when we make choices there are these things called consequences. They go together. You'll figure this out soon enough I reckon. Maybe you have already.

In response to Talia Jane, another Millennial by the name of Stefanie Williams wrote an open letter to her that also went viral. She doesn't mince words and basically tells Talia Jane to buck up, get a job or two and do smart things like have roommates to cut costs. She shares her story of being down on her luck and bucking up and working hard and now things are good.

It's all a bunch of drama that is so unnecessary. I think that's my big takeaway. The advent of social media means everyone's problems can now be everyone else's. It's not that we didn't have problems back in the day, it's just that they were typically contained to small circles. The way it should be.

I do remember back when I was 25. Vaguely. That was 1994. I was living in Prineville, Ore., in a two-bedroom, one bath house with four roommates and a mortgage of around $400. Okay, so my four roommates were Julie, Brenton, Taylor and Ethan. A loaf of bread cost $1.59. The average income was $37,000 (Full disclosure: I was nowhere even close to that and was probably pulling down around $18,000 a year.) and a gallon of gas was $1.09.

In addition to working at a newspaper I would occasionally pump gas at a gas station for some extra bucks. I also occasionally did landscaping work and even made a few bucks as a professional runner. I recall having the mindset of trying to improve my writing skills and attaining other work-related objectives in hopes of achieving "professional advancement" and increasing my income the old-fashioned way: hard work.

I didn't post my issues on Facebook. Or write a blog post on Medium that goes viral. Or ask people to support me by launching a personal PayPal account.

Maybe you can relate.

Here's a major difference between the Talia Janes of the world and those of us who look back on our days when things were pretty hard. I mean, we didn't have much, finances were tight -- not much has changed there actually -- and there were plenty of struggles. Sound familiar?

Those memories make me smile. Those struggles and how we handled them and the faith we had that God is in control and we could trust His plan are vital to who we are today. The struggle drove us and pushed us. Struggles are central to our faith. They are central to who we are. Embrace them.

A daddy moment: My baby's breath and answered prayers

Julie doing what she does best

This is one of my all-time favorite photos of Julie. I think it captures so much of what I love about her. It's how I know her so well. She's just loving on a baby. There's more than a few of these photos around believe it or not, but this one just captured my heart. I think that's because there's a tenderness to it, on many levels.

You can see Julie's right hand is in mid-pat and little Seth is asleep, looking quite content and loved. The way babies should feel. I'm guessing he has a full tummy from nursing, judging from the blanket over Julie's shoulder. I also like how Ezra is in the background reaching out and has his hand on his little brother. Our older kids have always loved our babies so much. It's always been so sweet.

I had forgotten the back story to this photo until it showed up on my Facebook news feed today under one of those "Three years ago" notifications. Indeed the photo was taken three years ago and there's a story to it. It turns out little Seth was really, really sick. He had been suffering from a cold and had a fever.

The next day he was admitted to Children's Hospital of the King's Daughters in Norfolk because he couldn't breathe. He wasn't even two months old yet and I'm pretty positive a lot of parents can relate to the torture of listening to your babies struggle to breathe. I remember many, many sleepless nights when our babies have been sick and neither of us sleeps. Or we try and take turns sleeping while the other holds the baby. Rough, rough nights. And rough days to follow.

The day after that photo was taken, after what I'm sure was another sleepless night, Julie took him into the doctor. The doctor didn't take long to advise Julie to go home, pack her things and take him down to CHKD. Right away.

Seth having a rough couple of days at CHKD

He spent a couple of days, maybe three at most, at CHKD while they got his lungs cleared up. I remember driving down there late in the afternoons and spending several hours in the room with Seth and Julie, who didn't leave of course. I like to say she nursed him back to health -- literally. I remember driving home at night, saying prayers across as I crossed the James River on the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, prayers that didn't stop miles and miles later as the Coleman Bridge carried me home over the inky night darkness of the York River 90 feet below.

I'm thankful for doctors and places like CHKD. We've spent more than a few days down there with various Sabo kids for various reasons. They've always taken care of us.

When the photo of Julie and Seth with Ezra in the background popped up in my Facebook feed it brought an immediate smile to my face. And as I looked back through the photos around that time three years ago and remembered the trauma of the moment, I thought how blessed I am by the Lord with all these healthy babies we've had. They've had their moments of illness, but they've always been relatively brief.

And I don't think it's so strange that I found myself missing those moments. Those times of holding a tiny little baby in my arms, snuggled up against my chest with his arms and legs all folded up and wrapped tightly in a blanket and listening to him breathe easily. And knowing that prayers are answered.

The Faith Race That Goes To The Committed, The Courageous

Back in my college running days. That's me on the right there, the one you wouldn't recognize these days.

My last college cross country race was held on a warm, sunny November day in a big, hilly park in Fresno, Calif. It was 1990. I was 21, married with a little boy and in my senior year at the University of Portland. The race was an NCAA regional meet, my last chance to qualify for the national cross country championships and I was running with the big boys from the West region. All the Pac-10 (back when it was the Pac-10) schools were there along with big schools from other major conferences.

I was ready, if not a bit intimidated to race with the elites. To qualify for the NCAA championships your team has to be in the top three. Or for individuals, you have to be in the top three from non-scoring teams. I had a legitimate shot. A very good shot. The race was 10 kilometers, or 6.2 miles. I always felt like we were at a slight disadvantage racing in California at that time of year because in Portland it was 50s and raining sideways, so a warm day in the 70s was a bit taxing for us and not something for which we could prepare. But that's not an excuse. The conditions were the same for everyone.

As the race went on I knew our team was in the running for a shot at the NCAAs and I was as well. I remember distinctly with a half-mile left thinking that this was the last cross country race I would ever run. In high school I had been fortunate enough to be a part of an amazing turnaround. My freshman year of high school, when I started running at Bend High School in Oregon, we were horrible in cross country, finishing somewhere close to last in our district. By the time I was a junior we dominated our district and finished second in state. My senior year we destroyed the competition, winning the state title by 69 points. That state title was by far the highlight of my high school athletics experience.

College was similar. My freshman year we weren't that good, but by the time I was a senior we had a shot -- albeit something of a slim one -- to get to the NCAAs. So with a half-mile left in the race I did something that I never did. I sprinted. I never had much of a kick and usually conserved energy for the very end of the race, maybe the last 100 meters. Not this time.

I don't recall how many runners I passed but it was a lot. Maybe six, possibly eight. Could be more. I absolutely crushed that last half-mile. And paid the price for it. As I stumbled across the finish line in 11th place, two runners who kicked much later burst past me. But I had beaten them to the line and the officials pushed me in front of them in the finish line chute.

Gasping for air I literally stumbled through the line on legs of rubber and I remember the strangest thing happened to me. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was so exhausted I literally was falling asleep as I walked through the chute. I found a picnic table and promptly crashed onto the bench to go to sleep, or possibly die. My teammates probably thought I was dead, maybe just nearly dead at best, and kept trying to help me up to walk me around and keep me alive. I would have none of it. I told them to leave me alone. I just wanted to sleep. Or maybe die.

My effort was seemingly noble, yet all for naught. Our team finished 4th and I was the 4th individual. My cross country season, really my cross country career, was over. Since then I've looked back on that race and comforted myself knowing how hard I fought that last mile. I've even used it in messages I've preached at Calvary Chapel Gloucester about finishing the race well. To push yourself to the limit.

Yet that's not the truth. I've thought about that race a lot over the past 25 years. (Wow. Has it been that long? Mercy sakes.) And while it's a nice narrative I've told over the years it's not quite right. I've been wrong to talk about that race in the manner I have. It's long past time to come clean. I'll explain.

Here's why I've been thinking about this. I see too many Christians practice their faith exactly the way I ran that race. We all gather at the starting line -- that moment when you come to faith in Jesus Christ and make Him your Lord and Savior -- and from that point there are some who really go for it and are all out for the Lord. They are passionate, unwavering and zealous and the love of Jesus shines in them and through them. They are lights in a dark world, continually pointing people to Jesus, being compassionate, loving and radiating His grace. I admire them greatly.

Others run comfortably, more or less lukewarm. This is your typical Christian and a group I would characterize as the vast majority. Some flat out dawdle and others, sadly, drop out. But for pretty much everyone who sticks in the race there's a sprint at the end as the realization hits them that the end of their life is near and they want to "do something for the Lord."

So what really happened in that race of mine 25 years ago? In every cross country race there comes a point fairly early when you have to decide your level of commitment. The great runners push themselves to the limit from the start. For me, the moment of truth in that 10k in Fresno came around two miles into the race. At that point I backed off a bit and didn't fully go for it, opting to conserve my energy until the end. I played it safe. I ran comfortably, easily within my limits. It proved to be a decision I would regret. And still regret. Why not just go for it? It was my last cross country race! Ever!

Here's why I made the decision I did. I simply lacked the courage. And commitment. The race doesn't always go to the fastest or strongest. It's often to the most committed. The most courageous. That wasn't me on that day.

Which brings me to my Christian life. And yours, if you're a believer. What's your level of commitment? What's the courage meter of your faith? Are you coasting? Have you settled?

I've settled in my faith far too often. I've coasted in my faith far too often. It's too easy to just back off -- daily Bible reading, prayer, sharing my faith, pressing into the Lord, missions and other elements of the Christian faith can all take a back seat to "life" and its distractions and enticements. It really comes down to who Jesus is in my life. And yours. Is Jesus worth living for? Worth dying for? Didn't Jesus lay down His life for you and me?

I say all of this because I'm wrestling hard with some major decisions. It has everything to do with my level of commitment and the essence of my faith. I'm guessing you have these decisions to wrestle with as well.

It's the two-mile mark and time to make a decision. What's my level of commitment? What's yours?

On A Night In Haiti When God Prevailed

Waterfront living in Haiti

It was one of those nights in Haiti where the heat was relentless. It's a long, suffocating heat that would leave me drenched in sweat and exhausted. I waited in vain for a breeze; even the slightest, gentlest stirring of the air to offer even a token amount of relief.

Instead all I got was fear.

Even today, more than three years later, I don't know how to explain it. It's a fear I could feel, the distinct and inescapable understanding that evil was in my presence and, in the simplest of terms, that something very bad was taking place. Except for the fact that I was alone in the small bedroom, save for a fellow missionary sleeping soundly nearby, oblivious apparently to the unceasing heat and the evil hovering among us.

I would later learn from our generous hosts that the rural, hillside cinder block home we were staying in had been built in a neighborhood of occupied by at least nine witch doctors who plied voodoo and, I would surmise, did not much care for the American missionaries carrying the hope of the gospel to a people in desperate need and the hearts to elevate lives.

As I lay sweating and succumbing to whatever force enveloped me, the fear welled up to the point that I remember my breathing became labored. I remember distinctly feeling like my lungs and heart were being squeezed. I was convinced I was not going to leave Haiti alive and the only way I would depart would be in a coffin. Whether it was delirium, or some sort of vision, or some other supernatural occurrence such as spiritual warfare, I can't be sure. I do know that I've never been more scared in my life.

I think about that night frequently. It is seared into my memory. Certain events in life we carry with us and they arise frequently out of the millions of memories of our past. Many bring us a smile, some may bring sadness, others a laugh.

This memory of that night in Haiti brings an understanding to me. It's a knowledge beyond something I know in my mind, like a fact I can recite. It's an intimate understanding of the power of God, of His love for me. Because in the depths of my fear, in a dark place of seemingly inescapable evil, I came to an understanding of who God is and how He cares for me.

I prayed for relief from the enveloping fear. As I prayed I felt compelled to reach underneath my bed and fetch my Bible. By the light of my cell phone I opened to Psalm 62 and read these words:
"Truly my soul silently waits for God;
From Him comes my salvation.
He only is my rock and my salvation;
He is my defense;
I shall not be greatly moved."

As I read the whole Psalm a peace washed over me. It wasn't instantaneous, but more like having something very heavy slowly lifted off my chest. It was, I believed, good overcoming evil. It was love prevailing. It was true power exercising its might and conquering evil on behalf of a wounded man. My circumstances didn't change. The heat didn't relent, the dark night remained, the voodoo practitioners were still nearby.

What changed was my focus was taken off my circumstances and my fear and on to the God who sent His beloved Son to die for me. Fear takes prisoners. God frees lives. God is my shelter and defense fighting on my behalf; I'm never going it alone.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is John 14:27. In the verse Jesus gives a promise and says simply, "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

I know that peace intimately. I encountered it on a suffocating night on a hill in a Haiti village, where a darkness of profound fear was overcome by the illuminating light of God's overpowering love, spoken to me through words that are as alive to me today as they were to the Psalmist thousands of years ago.

What We Do Best As A Family Is ...

Family should be one big celebration

Maybe it's because there's a lot of us. Maybe it's because we love to laugh and make each other laugh. Or maybe it's because we've always had little kids around who reach big milestones on a regular basis. Whatever the case, over the last several days I was struck by something that happens a lot here at Team Sabo.

We celebrate.

We celebrate little things. Like a lost tooth. The displaced little tooth is taken around the house and shown with great pride to each brother and sister. The new gap in the mouth is admired and analyzed and there's long discussions of whether the Tooth Fairy is broke thanks to the Sabo kids.

We celebrate funny things, like 4-year-old Judah telling MerriGrace about his latest dream. It was a dream where he forgot to put on his pants and underwear but went out in public anyway. Now I when I have had those dreams of being buck naked in public, it was more like a nightmare. Judah had a different response: "Whoops!" he told MerriGrace. That's a story worth celebrating.

We celebrate attempts to conquer the English language, which is no small feat for a 2-year-old like Seth. He likes his apples cut in half, with the skin off and smothered in "pinka butter." Although he means to say "peanut butter," we all think "pinka butter" is just so much better. Because it makes us laugh.

We celebrate one of the biggest moments in a Sabo kid's life -- the day of turning 10 years old. -- with regularity. You see, at the age of 10 a Sabo lad or lass becomes a "big kid." There's all sorts of benefits to being a big kid. Not only have they hit double digits, but they can stay up later at night. They are entrusted with more freedoms, like playing video games. There's also a certain amount of responsibility -- they may be counted on to help out more with the little kids. Now that we can definitely celebrate.

We celebrate when the kids in college come home for the holidays or on a weekend. Sometimes the younger kids make welcome home signs. Or they color pictures. Sometimes they bake cookies. Sometimes, like tonight, we honor a special request and make chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. All the time there's a ton of hugs.

In another week we'll celebrate in a big way a first for our family. Taylor is marrying Bethany. The excitement in the house is palpable. We've been doing a countdown for months. Today Olivia was modeling the dress she is going to wear. We giggled over the snazzy shirts and ties Judah and Seth will be wearing. We've dug out photos of when Taylor was but a wee Sabo to share at the wedding reception. And the great thing is that we'll have many, many more of these types of celebrations.

We celebrate potty training and riding a bike with no training wheels and going to Busch Gardens and family vacations and picking blueberries and getting baptized and a little kid reading their first book and getting a driver's license and birthdays and a million other things.

We celebrate life because life should be a celebration. I view this life I have, my wife and all these kids, as a gift from God. And gifts are worth celebrating.

Three Things to DO This Christmas Season

I tend to chart out my life by a series of events. I have this sort of oral history in my mind and recall certain things by events in my life. For example, it's easy to remember when we moved from Prineville, Ore., to Corvallis, Ore., because it was right after Abram was born in 1999. Or I remember  the year when Eli was born because it was 2004 -- when we moved to Gloucester, Va. Another example would be remembering precisely when gasoline prices spiked in 2008 -- it was in September at the exact moment we were driving to Oregon so I could attend the School of Ministry at Calvary Chapel Corvallis. I will never forget the shock -- maybe horror is a better word -- of seeing the price of gas on the freeway in Tennessee at $4.99 per gallon. Or the acute physical pain associated with watching the needle of our fuel gauge rapidly drop toward `E' when we were driving into ferocious oncoming winds on I-80 in Wyoming. It's still painful to remember it seven years later ...

A year ago I spent two weeks in Nigeria while working as Communications Manager for the Transformational Education Network. It was an extraordinary time as we worked with church officials in Nigeria to open Bible-teaching computer training schools. As part of our work we traveled to a few schools, including the ones pictured above. Take a good look at those photos. Would you, as an American, say they are less than ideal conditions for school?

But here's the thing I remember when I visited those schools: The smiles I got from those students. I think about that frequently. Those kids have it rough and I'm know there are countless discouraging things they face every day. But they are so excited about going to school because it is a privilege and a blessing in that country. I'm not sure what percentage of Nigerian children actually get to wear uniforms and receive an education in a safe environment, but it may well be surprisingly low. These kids are grateful, to say the least.

I say all this because we all know how easy it is to get caught up in the consumer mentality of the American Christmas. I am guilty of it as well. We focus on things that don't matter, instead of things that do matter. With that in mind, I'd like to encourage all of us in three things -- particularly me -- this Christmas season.

1) Be thankful. I've traveled around the world. I've been to Africa, Haiti, China, South Korea, Hong Kong and other countries. We have so much to be thankful for as Americans. Be thankful for simple things such as running water, electricity, easy transportation, an overabundance of food and access to education. We take them for granted. Be thankful for our freedoms and safety in this country. The vast majority of us are untouched by violence, despite mass shootings and murder rates in inner cities. We don't have armed guards standing at gates at churches to ensure the safety of congregants like I saw in Jos, Nigeria. We don't have AK-47-toting soldiers manning checkpoints on highways every 10 or 15 miles to make sure terrorists aren't toting bombs and weapons across the country, as I saw in Nigeria. Not yet at least ...

More importantly, though, be thankful for a Savior. Two thousand years ago in an inconsequential town in the Middle East a child was born who would grow to become a remarkably compassionate, loving man. He is the Son of God and would live a sinless life, performing miracles of healing and later enduring searing punishment and torture and be nailed to a cross to be crucified. He would sacrifice His own life and take on our sins so that we could be free from the shackles of our trespasses and live life abundantly. Be thankful for the grace, mercy and selfless, unconditional love of Jesus Christ.

2) Be giving. We have this consumer mentality in America and an obsession with material things. Even in the church we find it hard to live out what Jesus said: That it's better to give than to receive. One of the saddest things I've heard recently is listening to the stories of two of my kids who work in the food service industry describe how the worst day for tips is Sunday afternoon when the Christians in their nice clothes go out to eat after church. Or how those same people can be among the rudest and most demanding customers. One of my kids describes how sad it is to know that some of the store's worst customers are a group of people wearing their church t-shirts who are rude to staff and then sit around and gossip. Come on Christians. We can do better.

Give more this year. In tips, in love, in deeds, in words and joy. Be a light to this dark world. Reflect the compassion of Jesus and live it out. Radiate the love of Jesus to a world that trades in harsh words, cynicism and selfishness.

3) Be servants. Jesus said that he came to this world to serve and not to be served. If we call ourselves Christians, that means we are followers of Jesus Christ and that these words should resonate with us. Does being a servant describe your life? Husbands, what does serving your wife look like in your house at the moment? How about with your kids? How does being a servant play out at work? How does it play out at church? Being a servant is a mindset that entails setting aside your needs to serve others and it can be a complete foreign concept to us. It starts at home. Believe me, I can do better and I know it. Perhaps many of us can do better. This world will be a better place when we have more people, Christians particularly, who view the journey through this life through the lens of being a servant. It's serving without complaint, accepting responsibility, being quick to apologize and quick to forgive and being patient and loving.

I leave with a verse that's one of my favorites, a prophecy from Isaiah 9 that describes the coming of Jesus. Just as Jesus is a light to a dark world, we can be lights this Christmas season: "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."

Good Housekeeping gets advice from a Sabo on Christmas

Happy Thanksgiving! We are so stoked about Thanksgiving in the Sabo house. It's the best holiday, from our perspective. We bake, cook, eat, play a friendly game of family soccer, relax, watch movies and basically downright own the holiday. Hashtag dominatethebird.

A couple of days ago, however, my lovely bride Julie Sabo was quoted in an article in Good Housekeeping. Yes, that Good Housekeeping. You can find a link to the story in GoodHousekeeping.com down below, but it was an article on Christmas shopping for a big family. Like the insider's take on how to save money doing Christmas shopping for the kiddos. The actual title of the story in GoodHousekeeping.com is: "11 Christmas Shopping Tricks to Steal From Moms With Big Families."

I noted in the story that Julie leads the pack with 14 kids. One other woman who was quoted has 14 kids so kudos to her. I will say that Julie was absolutely unstoppable for a stretch in the mid- to late-90s. She was just cranking out kids like no one's business. In a span of 7 1/2 years her womb yielded six offspring -- a really impressive feat!

I won't spoil the fun by telling her secret to Christmas shopping. If you're reading this I imagine you can read the article for yourself with one handy-dandy click on the link. But I will say that Christmas is a beautiful thing in our house. There's a tremendous amount of joy in being together, of giving each other gifts, in seeing the kids' eyes light up when they open their presents.

Most importantly, it's another opportunity to acknowledge how blessed we are to have so much love for each other and to have the time together. My family is a treasure and a gift from God. I am so thankful the Lord has given me such a wonderful wife and all these marvelous kids and that holidays are such joyous occasions.

GoodHousekeeping.com article

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.

When Ebola Strikes The Community: 15 Funerals A Day

Three orphans from a Sierra Leone family, led by a boy who is 17.

I confess, it was a hard day for me. It's one of those days I've been through before with Julie. A trip to the hospital for a surgical procedure after a tiny beating heart inside her was silenced for reasons that remain a mystery. Just two weeks ago that tiny heart beat strong. Then some bleeding, a trip to the doctor and a weaker beating heart. Then later, more bleeding and a devastating silence. We've been blessed abundantly, 14 times to be exact. We've held and caressed all the tiny little babies, each time with inexpressible joy. I've gazed mostly through tear-stained eyes at the new little miracle in my hands, always thankful for this perfect life I'm holding and equally relieved that Julie's ordeal has passed. I wonder as I hold the infant about the new life that's being forged ahead of us, how it's a birth of new dreams and hopes and above all else, love. A deep, abiding love.

Julie and I have been through mornings like this one five times. Each different, some much more difficult than others. None of them easy. I guess I endure a silent mourning, some sort of brave face. Things get bottled up inside and I imagine it's not healthy. I don't know. It's a flawed coping method, I recognize that. Anyway, I walked around the hospital grounds in Williamsburg this morning while Julie was in surgery and I found this fiery red maple leaf on the ground. It was strikingly beautiful and the thought crossed my mind that its beauty was perfected in its death. A thousand leaves had tumbled to the ground around it yet that one stunning leaf nestled among the mulch caught my eye. I snapped a photo and I would imagine it's burnished into my memory forever. I don't pretend to understand the hows and whys of mornings like this one, except that I know that it is God's will for us. That's where I rest and that's where I find peace.

And then amidst my personal struggles I get emails like these. From a man I've never met in person -- we connected from thousands of miles away through my missions work -- whose faith is tested every minute, every second. Rev. Samuel Kargbo is awash in a sea of death in Sierra Leone, a thousand lives around him at the mercy of a vicious disease. Ebola has cut a harvest of death through his neighborhood, his city, his country. "We see the number of deaths increasing by the day and fear is generated in us, except that we have the inner man to strengthen us," Kargbo writes.

The fear is so palpable that people are afraid to go to the hospital when they are sickened, for fear that they will be diagnosed with Ebola, he writes. "This tells you the other reason for the death of many people during this period. That is part of our responsibility to educate and sensitize people to go to the hospital."

If you look closely at the photo at the top of this post, behind the three orphans who sought food to carry them through the day, you will see a lady on the ground behind them. She has lost 13 members of her family. "It is only three of them that are surviving," Kargbo writes. "The lady lying down has not escaped the danger."

For Kargbo, death surrounds him. The nearest cemetery to his community is burying 15 people a day. "We do feel the terror of death hovering, but we are covered by the wings of our Lord," Kargbo writes. "Despite the numerous deaths, we are presently engaged in reaching out with love to the community, especially addressing the needs of the orphans."

A grandchild of his has a cough and running nose. His youngest daughter complains of general body pains and his family is taking precautions to not touch her. "With the first aid treatment, if she does not show improvement after three days, we will be left with no option but to get her to report to the hospital," Kargbo writes.

His emails are a window into a suffering I'm not familiar with and Lord willing never will be. I don't say that his words give me perspective on any grief I may be experiencing because what he has to say doesn't necessarily diminish what pain I feel. What I do know is that I have an overwhelming sense of empathy for Rev. Samuel Kargbo, his family and the people of Sierra Leone and surrounding countries. I can't fathom the fear, helplessness, weariness and host of other emotions he must experience every moment. Yet it's abundantly clear that this man has a deep, abiding faith in God that's unshakable. The fires of Ebola have forged an immovable faith. I am awestruck by it. I pray that God moves to contain this disease. I ask you to pray as well. So often as the world implodes around us, that's all we can do. 

"Once more," Kargbo writes, "I say many thanks for your prayers. We surely need those prayers."

"Once more," Kargbo writes, "I say many thanks for your prayers. We surely need those prayers."

Three Things I've Learned When I Feed My Creative Juices

The ruins of Rosewell

Over the past year I have been shooting a lot of photos from around Gloucester. It began when I started using my iPhone as a camera. I also have a Canon T5i that gets lugged around the county to snap shots of sunsets, landscapes and landmarks. And kids. Plenty of kids. Here's three things that I've discovered about what happened when I started shooting photos and the surprising things that resulted when I launched a new creative passion.

1) What you will find when you take the time to get out in nature will surprise you.  

I started shooting photos after getting on Instagram and fighting a sense of inadequacy. I have friends out in Oregon who were posting these amazing landscape shots -- majestic snow-capped mountains and rushing rivers and desert sunrises -- and I felt like I had to compete somehow. But how? We have no mountains here -- the highest point here  is like 60 or 80 feet above sea level, unless you count the 90 feet height of the Coleman Bridge as you enter Gloucester -- our rivers are amazingly wide but languid and the closest desert is thousands of miles away. So I started exploring. Living on a peninsula has its advantages. The sunsrises and sunsets on the rivers are spectacular. The trees and foliage tell stories. The frequent storms usher in extraordinary cloud formations that refract light in stunning ways and are enhanced when they are reflected off the water. There are hidden treasures and gems off the beaten path; historic homes and crumbling plantations and weathered houses. I've learned a ton about watching sunsets and the timing of the most glorious light. You'll be surprised. You'll be amazed. Your life will be enriched when you get out there.

Boats in a Gloucester marina

2) Exploring creativity opens paths of more creativity.

When I started shooting photos and thinking about settings, sunlight, natural light, reflections, angles and other aspects of photography, I've found it started opening doors to other creative avenues in my life. By no means am I an accomplished photographer. I want to make that clear. I have friends who are professional photographers and it's a huge leap from what I do to what they do amazingly well. But in my own little way I'm exploring something new and trying to stumble through learning a craft. Perhaps it's the time I'm taking to appreciate the scenery God has given us in this little corner of the world that is spurring other creative juices. Whether it's dabbling in making videos, writing, woodworking and making a coffee table out of 60-year-old reclaimed hardwood flooring, I've found that creativity feeds creativity. There's just something that happens when you start stimulating your brain in new ways. Challenge yourself. Take the time to find something new to take on. You'll be surprised.

3) You will feel, and be, blessed.

Being out in nature has renewed my love of God's creation. He's made so many beautiful places and we all should spend more time enjoying them. It's also been a time for me to meditate on God's word, to pray, and to think about how richly God has blessed me. The other night when I had five of my boys down on the pier at the beach in this lovely, peaceful setting was one of those times. We made a memory and those last forever. There are times I've looked up in the sky near sunset and saw the clouds and the way the light is arcing through the sky and told Julie or some of my kids to get in the van because we're heading down to the river to enjoy the sunset. As I've worked on my coffee table I've been able to listen to sermons from pastors and I've thought deeply about what He's doing in my life and where He's taking me and how I need to yield more to His will in my life. Creative time can be periods of slowing down, assessing and reflecting. I experience a recalibration, a deeper understanding of what's valuable. First and foremost of value to me is my relationship with God and the eternal gift He has given us of His son Jesus. My family is a gift from God. What I experience, all of it, is a gift. I am thankful. I am blessed. 


Finally, here's a link to a collection of photos I've taken from around Gloucester that I assembled in a video. The music is kind of cheesy ... oh well. Enjoy.  Gloucester vignette

Faith That Matters In This American Life

Touch the Light

I was driving around Gloucester late last fall on a stormy day and spied this lone tree in a field. I actually stopped in the middle of a busy road and gazed for a few moments. Eventually I parked my car and walked around in a smattering of raindrops before finding the right angle for a photo.

There's just something that draws my eye to this old, gnarled and scarred tree set against the storm clouds and rising above the line of distant woods behind it. It's a lone sentinel in a field, surrounded by farm ground that's planted every spring and harvested in late summer. I'm not sure why it was left standing because it seems that everything else in what was once thick woods was chopped down and cleared away long ago to make way for ground to till and grow crops.

If you spend enough time in ministry you can relate to this tree. If you spend enough time in a relentless pursuit of God perhaps you can relate to this tree. Sometimes it feels as if you stand unprotected and vulnerable. Sometimes you take some blows. You can be buffeted by storms. You can feel alone.

All those things are what drew me to this tree. After all these years in that field and through all the changing seasons and the relentless onslaught of storms, the tree has endured. The tree is still standing. Sure it's beat up and gnarled and when you get up close you can see it's rotting in patches. But I like how, as I gazed at it from the base of a low knoll, the tree rises out of darkness and above the line of trees behind it, seeming to touch the light in the parting dark clouds.

It reminds me of our hope in Jesus. There's things that go on in within this Christian life, in faith, in ministry, that are trying and difficult. There's discouragement and at times despair. I'm reminded it always occurs when my eyes are focused on circumstances. I'm reminded to fix my eyes on Jesus. My hope and faith is in Him. And I'm reminded that in Him I'm never alone.

Three Key Things For Husbands I've Learned In Marriage

Twenty-four years ago today at a little church in Canby, Ore., I exchanged marital vows with my lovely bride, Julie Young, who wore the same dress her mother wore on her wedding day 24 years earlier. We were 21 on that lovely September day, when I became a dad to her little boy of 16 months. We wed on Labor Day weekend at the start of my senior year of college at the University of Portland, launching an adventure that at this point is nearly 9,000 days long, includes 13 more kids and has endured approximately 90,000 diapers and a move across the country. We've had plenty of struggles but the sweet memories we've made together are incalculable. Here's a few things I've learned about marriage.

Surrender. I am at my best as a husband when I can surrender my selfishness and my desires and serve my wife. My model in this life is Jesus, who came to earth to serve and not to be served. I freely admit it's a constant battle fighting selfishness. But my wife, and then my children, should be assured by what I do -- and say -- that I value and treasure them. Quite often that plays out simply in how I spend my time. Is it to fulfill my wants and desires or is what I'm doing showing them how much I love them? Too often I've chosen to do things I want to do ... I'm a work in progress! Here's the thing though: My fondest memories are times I spend with my wife and family and when I'm participating with them or knowing they are doing the things they enjoy, even though it's not always the way I wanted to spend my time. Essentially, my relationships are elevated when I take the lesser position.

Serving. This plays out in how much I contribute to the family operation, which at its core is serving my wife. Husbands, serve your wives. It's that simple. ("Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her..." Ephesians 5:25) There are certain tasks I've taken on over the years as a way of serving my wife and contributing to the operation of the family, such as grocery shopping, cooking and, yes, even changing diapers, to lighten the load on Julie. I've fallen well short in many other areas, however. I'm working on them, including taking the 2 littlest ones with me when I haul older kids to soccer practices and games to try to give her more free time away from the demands of wee ones. She's earned it after years of sacrificing her desires for our family and I'm committing to serving her more.

Relationship. To me, the most important relationship in our marriage is my relationship with Jesus. My marriage works best when I am spending time with the Lord by reading His word, by praying and in meditating on Scripture. It's a way to learn to model this earthly existence after my savior's. The word used to describe Jesus the most in the New Testament is `compassion.' If I bring compassion to my marriage, it entails numerous actions: Love, tenderness, empathy, humility, sensitivity, kindness and so much more. A compassionate husband is a good husband.

I still have so much to learn about Julie and marriage. I am learning how to get things right, how to submit, to be quick to apologize, to surrender and serve and have compassion ... I could go on and on. My prayer is that God will give me the wisdom, selfless love and heart to be a loving husband who treasures his wife.