F is for Four years
“All you have to do is click ‘publish.'”
Four years ago my sweet husband assured me with those words. I’d argued, convinced I’d never be able to figure out this “blog thing” and certain that I would never have enough to say to actually keep it afloat. What on earth was a blog? I’d never read one and had no idea how to maintain one. But since he insisted (and had already paid the $13 for my domain name and set the whole thing up), I had no choice. So I wrote about him and How God Broke My Heart and thus it all began…
While many of you have graciously written over the years and shared how God has used one word or another to touch or challenge or bless your life, I’m well aware of the fact that no one’s been more blessed or affected by this little corner of virtual space than myself. Writing here got me through a very difficult journey in our life, and continues to carry me through processing the victories and struggles of this life of faith.
It was fun today to read through the different “blog birthday” posts over to the right: First, Second, and Third.
And all this has made me think: I wonder what beautiful thing is just waiting for you to do? Sometimes it’s the silliest things that keep us from just doing what we love and are gifted by God to do. Not everyone needs a blog, but everyone needs something. Do you love to knit but never do it? Have you always dreamed of planting a garden but never given it a shot? Think photography might be your cup of tea? Would you love to spread awareness about human trafficking or raise funds for a missions organization? What do you dream about? I’d be willing to bet we all have hundreds of unused gifts just waiting to be opened. Yes, our lives are already full, which is another reason we need margin, so we can squiggle our beautiful artwork in the white space!
In all seriousness, would you commit that thought to prayer? Lord, is there any gift You’ve given me that You’re wanting me to open now? It might not be the time, but it might…
Thank you, dear readers, for wading through my word-wanderings and making this sacred space what it is. And thank you, my dear husband, for the $13 domain-name and for giving me the courage to click publish.
{Happy friday.}
Laying to Heart
Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Ps. 90:12
During our time in London there were three times we saw people swarm. It’s always fascinating to watch watch makes people swarm, what they’ll go crazy for. It’s telling, isn’t it?
- The crown jewels. Yes, people will wait in line like Disneyland to see the largest diamond in the world and see the queen’s crown. Opulence interests people. We’re fascinated by royalty.
- The Jonas brothers. Yes, walking along the Thames river we saw a swarm of crazed people and later found out it was due to an appearance of one of the Jonas brothers. Of course I had to ask, “Who are the Jonas Brothers?” I’m hopelessly out of the celebrity loop … But as a people we’re fascinated by celebrities.
- The dead. While the rest of the British Museum is a steady and calm stream of meandoring visitors, the Egyptian mummy hall looks more like an amusement park, complete with crowds and cameras. We’re fascinated by death.
It is an interesting place. It was the one part of the museum I remember from my visit eleven years ago (that and the Rosetta stone, that’s cool too.). In the Egyptian hall you can see the mummy of Cleopatra, along with a real unwrapped corpse from thousands of years ago, amazingly preserved because of the unique dry and sandy climate and burial rituals. It is eerie, I’ll say that. Walking through hall after hall of mummies, encased in tightly-wrapped graveclothes and elaborately painted coffins.
They were very concerned with how they would enter the afterlife.
And we’re very concerned with taking pictures of them now.
Later, staying with our missionary friends, we watched the children’s movie The Indian in the Cupboard. After the child has turned his toys into real, tiny people, one of them dies. The child is upset and wants to make him go away, “send him back” to the toy world so that he will no longer be real. He’s scared because this real, tiny person is actually dead in his hand.
The Indian rebukes him: “You want to send him away because he’s dead?! You are afraid of a dead man?”
I’ll admit, very often I’m the little boy who does not want to see anything that brings death too close. Sure, I’ll stare at a mummy kept safely tucked behind glass walls in a museum, but what if the dead were lying in my hand? What if I had to stare the horror right in the face?
And what if the worst part wasn’t even death, but something infinitely worse?
Eternal death.
And maybe we are wise to put this eternal reality in front of our faces daily. Maybe, when we “number our days,” and see that they are short, we will “gain a heart of wisdom.” I’m all for laughter and mirth, but a heart of wisdom is what I need. The wisest man who ever lived said this,
It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart … The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. Ecc. 7:2,4
Is he saying never laugh? No, a merry heart does good like medicine. Is he saying to always be serious? No, in fact we’d all be wise to take ourselves a little less seriously. But the exhortation is against triviality. We’re wise to consistently ponder, of “lay to heart” things of substance. Things of eternal value.
Things that matter.
Things like eternal life and eternal death.
Because we naturally respond to whatever it is that we ponder, whatever we lay to heart. The Egyptians responded by feverishly ensuring that their physical bodies were well prepared for death.
Little Colton Burpo (from Heaven is For Real) responded by feverishly ensuring that everyone he loved “knew Jesus.”
What is our response?
…for this is the end of mankind, and the living will lay it to heart…
American Idols
The Southbank of the Thames river surprised me.
We’d toured the city of London for several days, walking miles with heads tilted back, constantly looking up up up at the beautiful buildings, cathedrals, palaces. We were in a perpetual state of looking up, always up, taking in the breath-taking sites as we stood like ants at the base.
But by chance we walked across the Westminster bridge and found ourselves on the Southbank. It was a beautiful walk, as the evening sun was setting, and we took our time looking out over the river as we walked.
But then we glanced back and saw the real sight.
From across the river, you can look over and really see. From that distance you can really see what the buildings look like, and how they look in relation to each other. St. Paul’s and Westminster and the Parliament buildings all look amazing when you can actually stand back far enough to see them. When actually in the city, you’re far too close to take them all in. Isn’t that true with anything? You have to stand back far enough to see.
And the larger something is, the farther back you have to stand.
So in order to see a continent, a culture, perhaps sometimes we need to stand back really far, like all the way across an ocean … Perhaps?
Honestly, the best part of our trip was the simple gift of perspective.
In the very first conference at the Single-Minded conference Jeff talked a lot about idols. We asked challenging questions and prayed that God would gently and graciously show us what idols we still are clinging to in our hearts. As we heard right before we left,
“Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs.” Jonah 2:8
I for one do NOT want to forfeit any grace; I need all that I can get!
Jeff talked about how most of our idols can be reduced down to one of four basic idols:
- Approval
- Success
- Control
- Comfort
We all can be prone to these at different times, but I’d never so clearly seen how much we as Americans do bow down to that last one — the idol of comfort.
The best sight-seeing, the kind that needs no camera
Yes, there’s Big Ben. Crown Jewels. Tower of London.
The Glasgow Cathedral was breath-taking (pictured above).
But by far the best sight-seeing we’ve done has been seeing the fingerprints of God on the lives of His people.
We knew this would be. Before we came I prayed that God would give us more than experiences but that He would give us encounters. Encounters with Him and encounters with people. But in every conversation about our trip it seemed to focus on the sights. What would we see, where would we tour, what attractions of London would we make sure and not miss. But right away on this trip God reminded us very clearly that the most spectacular sight we’d see would be His people.
He reminded us in a funny way.
At 30,000 feet above sea level, somewhere over the Atlantic ocean, we looked at each other and realized,
“We forgot the camera.”
Yes, laugh if you will. We traveled to Europe and left our camera sitting on the kitchen counter, because we’d been taking video of our kids right before we left for the airport. So we shrugged our shoulders and decided we better just live every moment. We better just enter in to every moment and live it.
So that’s what we’re doing.
After sleeping in until 10am on Monday (we had been running nonstop since we left the US on Thursday), we then sat for hours with our missionary friends Scotty & Monica Burns over breakfast. Hearing stories, testimonies, amazing tales of God’s hand on their church-planting work in Glasgow. I had tears in my eyes, amazed all over again at the greatness of our God. Knowing that God brought me here, across the Atlantic ocean to build my faith. Just to remind me how big He is.
Then we came out to Renfrew to stay with different missionary friends, Brian & Shauna Luse, and were floored all over again, in a completely different way, of seeing God’s hand and grace all over their lives. After their children (five of them who were deilghtful and won my heart) were in bed, we too sat up for hours, laughing, sharing, built up in our faith and amazed at our great God who works in Renfrew, Scotland and West Linn, Oregon all at the same time.
Then we came to London and it continued.
Yesterday we slated the entire day for touring Oxford University, then found out that our Business Pastor’s two daughters and sons-in-law would be there as well, two of whom we’d never met. We wound up spending the entire day with them and their three kids, touring this historic and stunning campus, climbing towers and hiking miles and meandoring along CS Lewis’ contemplative path and even going to their home to share dinner together. Again, an entire day spent with these people we didn’t even know turned out remarkable. Amazing “small world” connections (turns out we lived in the same dorms at the same time in college!), beautiful shared moments, laughter, generosity, kindness. Miles spent holding their children’s hands down narrow cobblestone roads. Even a bit carrying their newborn daughter in a front-pack. Fellowship and enouragment. Joy and generosity.
You can’t capture that with a camera.
Yes, we took a few pictures with their cameras and we’ll print them at home and tuck away so we can reminisce down the road, but those kind of encounters cannot be contained in a picture. It made me ask myself,
How often have I tried to capture something instead of just living it?
You know me, I’m all for memorial stones, for remembering, for looking back. What I mean, though, is maybe we’re so quick to document it (or tweet it or post it to facebook) that the encounter is premature. Not even fully experienced, or encountered.
Of course it’s a beautiful balance, right? The art and skill living. Many times our experiences are what enable encounters to happen. And our documenting and capturing things can actually enhance the moment, sometimes. But I’m thankful for the chance to just live this time in Europe and focus on the most spectacular sight of all –– God’s beauty shown through the life of His people.
You likely have the same spectacular sights …
Right where you are.
—
Thanks for reading, friends. And thank you for your prayers … it’s been a glorious time.
F is for Flight to London. {Single-minded}
So excited to land this morning in London and head to {Single-Minded}! We humbly ask for your prayers as Jeff and I embark on this adventure of teaching the conference. We’ve prayed, prepared, and sought Him, and now we wait in expectancy to see what our glorious God will do for His glory.
Happy Friday to you, dear friends. Thanks for reading.
—
Want to know more about Single-Minded? Here’s an overview of our six sessions. I’ll be sharing more on Psalm 27 in the weeks to come. Great stuff!
Single-Minded Conference {Psalm 27}
1:: Confidence: The stronghold of my life. (1-3)
2:: Vision: The one thing I seek. (4a)
3:: Beauty: The fixed and holy gaze. (4b-5: split)
4:: Worship: The joyful sacrifice. (6-10)
5:: Consistency: The level path. (11-12)
6:: Hope: The courageous wait. (13-14)
Session Summaries:
1:: Confidence is hands-down the #1 most attractive quality. It spans generations, cultures, and draws others in more than liposuction and bulging biceps. Moreover, God created us for confidence as true confidence comes from knowing Who He is, who we are, and Whose we are. In a world that bombards us daily with messages that we need to be a certain way, look a certain way, hook-up in a certain way, God’s Word stands in beautiful contrast with a message that cuts straight across the grain. In a media-saturated consumer culture that feeds on our insecurities, the first step to a single-minded life is attaining the unshakable godly confidence that only comes from the one who fashioned our form.
2:: Unless we’re proactive, we can fall into the mindset of simply waiting for life to happen to us. Our world tell us to decide what we want to be and go do it. Our fear tells us to avoid failure at all cost, so play it safe and wait for destiny to knock on our door. God’s Word says neither is enough but instead gives us one pure and holy passion, one magnificent obsession. When we are freed from insecurity and can move forward boldly in godly confidence, we have the courage to pursue this one thing – the glory of the risen King. All of life becomes filtered through this single-mindedness. To live is Christ and to die is gain. A complex world becomes simple as our focus becomes fixed.
3:: Sadly, our world has all but mutilated beauty beyond recognition. Sin always takes good things and elevates them to ultimate things, but wrongly-focused worship destroys the object because it cannot contain the weight of worship. Worship was created for God alone. We have made beauty and sex into ultimate things, when God created them for us as pure, holy, lovely, and glorifying to Him. In order to recapture beauty, and sex, we must fix our gaze back on the one true God – to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD. He is beauty. When He defines beauty, we begin to recapture His intent for beauty in our world and in our relationships. And with most things, this battle of transformation is offensive and defensive. We pursue beauty as defined by God, and we flee fleshly lusts as God “hides us in His shelter in the day of trouble.” He “lifts us up” above the slough of sin and sets us on the solid rock of His truth.
4:: Like beauty, we’ve missed the meaning of true worship. True worship, in Spirit and in truth, should encompass all of life. We worship through our work, our words, and our witness to the world (1 Peter 2). And as God delivers us from every evil, on a daily basis, our response should and will be a joyful sacrifice of praise. A loud sacrifice of praise – one of shouts and singing. We see from Psalm 27 that worship should be 1)Sacrificial 2)Joyful 3) Musical. The greatest battles have been won by worship in God’s Word, and our greatest battles demand that we not forsake this critical spiritual discipline in our daily lives.
5:: Few characteristics are more critical to the Christian life than consistency. In our experience, the single life can sometimes be characterized by extreme ups and downs, difficulty finding balance, and a challenge to develop the kind of structure and consistency so necessary for long-term growth. Certainly married folks struggle here too, but they are often forced into structure and consistency due to the fact that a family depends on it! The “freedom” of singleness can be both blessing and curse. Too much downtime can lead to sin or unhealthy habits. Lack of accountability can lead to laziness. Freedom and flexibility in a schedule can lead to haphazard patterns of life. So we ask, “Teach me your way, O Lord,” and we pray that He will “lead us on a level path.” A level life is a life of joy and stability, the soil where godly fruit can abound.
6:: We all are waiting for something. Not just singles. But it is true that many perhaps deep down still have the ache and longing for that glorious counterpart hand-picked by God. Whether waiting for a wedding or a job or a ministry opportunity or a change of scenery, we spend much of our life waiting. So we must learn how to do it well. God’s word is replete with exhortations to wait, and wait well. Will we wait on God or wait on circumstances? What is the difference and how can we tell? Here we’ll learn how to wait for the Lord with expectancy without expectation. With confidence and security we can be strong and let our hearts take courage and wait, wait for the LORD.
My First Picture of God
On June 9th, 1980 my dad held Mom’s hand as she bore down in pain and brought me into this world. With joy the nurse thrust me into his arms.
“It’s a girl!”
Mom beamed. Dad gulped.
Later that day he drove home, alone, to check on things at the house. Halfway home he pulled to the side of the road. Overcome.
“Help me, God!” Tears streamed down the weathered cheeks of this Vietnam vet. The man in charge who always knew what to do was, for the first time, at a loss. With hands clenched on the steering wheel and head leaned forward in prayer,
“I don’t know what to do with a girl!”
He’d only had a brother and –until now — only had a son. He knew bootcamp and work ethic and how to throw a curve ball and rebuild an engine. But what, dear God, was one supposed to do with a girl?
At some point someone told him, “Just love her.”
So he did.
And, in doing so, he gave me a picture of God.
It’s no mistake God has chosen the name Father for Himself. And it is no mistake He has given us earthly fathers, whose primary responsibility is to show us what God is like until we are old enough to see Him for ourselves. It is a gradual shift from gazing upon our earthly daddy to gazing upon our heavenly Daddy, and certainly not without its share of mistakes and misconceptions along the way. Our family was no different. My dad was not perfect, but he did this, and my first picture of God looked like this:
- As a newborn, he let me sleep on His chest for hours. I’m sure there were many important things to be done but none as important as this. God the Father never hurries us from His presence.
- As a toddler, Dad let me take naps with him. I could never fall asleep as fast at him, so I’d lie there and listen to him breathe, trying so hard to make my own short breaths line up with his long ones. If I could just breathe with him. As I rest in God’s presence I lie still, quiet. Can I somehow slow my hurried pace and short quick breaths to move in step with His majestic ones? I still try.
- As a preschooler, Dad ran a hundred miles behind my pink two-wheel bike, along the icy driveway on Christmas afternoon. He held on tight so I could learn, never letting me crash, never letting me go. God faithfully holds me tight as I venture out in faith — in ministry, writing, speaking. He knows I’m wobbly and scared, but He never lets me go.
- As a kid, Dad patiently helped me to overcome my fears. I sobbed in fear before the Presidential Physical Fitness test, the eight-year-old homeschool kid out on the track with the public junior high kids. He wouldn’t let me off the hook, made me do it. Cheered the whole time and scooped me up in congratulations when I finished the mile, my face beaming with pride. God sticks me to courage, forces me to faith, though I scream crying that I cannot, that I’m too small or weak or scared. He insists, cheers, empowers, then scoops me up in joy when I finish — and succeed.
- As a teenager, Dad turned away a lot of boys. He was ruthless. I cried. Shouted. “Why?! Don’t you trust me?!” He did trust me. The boys he didn’t. Now, so glad. God, at times, lovingly responds to my prayers with a firm but gentle, “No.” I cry, shout sometimes, but He remains. Later I look back and thank. He knew.
- As an adult, Dad continues to do whatever he can to help me succeed in life. He watches my kids, gives wisdom, prays for me, fixes stuff around the house. Whenever I need him, he’s there. God continues to abide with me at all times. Always there, sustaining me in every way to see me succeed in this life of faith.
Dad, you might not have known what you were doing but thanks for painting my first picture of God.
You did a great job.
Happy Father’s Day.
—
No dad is perfect, but perhaps there are ways that your dad, or dad-like figure, showed you glimpses of our Heavenly Father? What glimpses are you grateful for today?
{More on my dad: What Love Looks Like and Happy Birthday, Dad.}
Happy birthday, Dad.
Today my dad, Mr. Zyp to many of you, turns sixty-nine. Really, Dad? Sixty-nine.I want to write what he means to me, so I sit, fingers poised.
How do I sum up the world in one post?
I wrote recently of his example of love, and if you have not read it, I pray you pause and do now. My dad is worth your time. 🙂
I want to find him the perfect gift, that will somehow convey what he means to me. But again,
how do you wrap up the world in a box?
So Dad, instead of giving you a gift, I’ll simply list out mine.
- Dancing around the May Pole. I barefoot in that long turquoise dress. You in polo shirt and PE shoes. I proud. You prouder.
- Working on my free-throws. How many times did you say,”Keep your elbow in!” A thousand. My elbow still creeps out, Dad.
- Going to that minor league baseball game. I telling you about a guy I liked. Scared to death, I told you. “His name is Jeff Patterson…”
- You scaring many boys to death. Thank you.
- Being tiny, sitting on your lap, fingering your earlobe. I loved the feel: Soft and rough at the same time. Just like you.
- “Daddy, can I marry you when I grow up?”
- You always tearing up when you pray.
- Boat rides.
- You silly. Always silly. Riding bikes at the beach and coming around the corner to find you on your back, riding your bike upside down.
- Waving goodbye every morning out those big front room windows, waiting excitedly for that one spot when we could see you down the road. How you always knew to hold your arm out the window and wave. Knowing we were back there, waiting and waving.
- Hearing the sound of the garage door open. “Daddys’ home!”
- You getting pulled over for speeding and listening to you lecture the police offer that he should quit wasting his time giving measy 5-mile-over speeding tickets when real creeps were out in the world. No one ever said you didn’t speak your mind.
- How you built those wooden lap-tables for us so we could have all our books and colors and papers with us on those long road trips to your basketball games.
- Watching you ref. Being about to burst with pride that I got in free to all the games because you were my dad. I thought you were a celebrity. Now I know you are.
- How you taught me to ride my bike that one Christmas, freezing cold, driveway a sheet of ice. How many miles did you run holding onto the back of the seat?
- Jeep rides up in the snow.
- The gym you built in our backyard. A gym! I still sometimes shake my head at that. Who gets to have a gym in their backyard?!
- That moment–was I nine-years-old?– after we moved from our Deardorff drive house, when just you and I went back for one last look, make sure we hadn’t forgot anything. How we stood in that entry-way. I had started to cry and tried to hide it, then looked and you were too. You looked at me and I could read your mind, you’d carried me home from the hospital to that house.
- Building that house on Wright Rd, how we hadn’t drilled the well yet so we had to ride our bikes to the neighbors’ house and bring home buckets of water. Showering in the locker room at school late at night. I just remember all that being SO fun, which has everything to do with you…
- All those summers in high school building decks together. All those complaints about the 3-minute lunch breaks we were allowed and the $5/hour wages I received. You worked me hard and now I’m so very glad.
- And now, the countless hours you have invested in my family–my husband, my kids. You are Papa and you are their prize. They adore you, as you know.
I can’t imagine a better Papa for my children … except for the part where you sneak them soda and french fries. But hey, nobody’s perfect.
Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.
I love old people.
I love old people. Love them. A funny part of our Road to Santa Clara story is that although we moved down there to be the college pastor, we ended up leading the SonShiner’s group instead–the 50-and-over group that was really the 80-and-over group. Every Sunday morning we’d drink Folgers and nibble donut holes with them and listen to their aches and pains, joys and sorrows. Every week we’d sing hymns with them, us with our noses pressed into our hymnals reading every word, them with their hymnals closed, singing every verse by heart.
I still remember when we first began and we were asking around to learn what to expect and how things were run. The self-appointed leader explained, “After the first three hymns there’s usually some silence and then after awhile Clyde always leads out in The Old Rugged Cross. It’s not planned that way but he always does it, so don’t change things up because he’ll be upset.” And sure enough, we’d wait long enough to start to feel awkward, and then lo and behold Clyde would pipe up from the back and the congregation was off to the races in their traditional hymn.
I loved it. I loved them. Because we were young everyone always assumed we should be youth pastors. They always thought that we’d be drawn to the middle schoolers or high schoolers. No way. Give me the 80-somethings and I’ll feel right at home.
Today we had the privilege of being with another sort of SonShiner group. Jeff had the honor of speaking at a Multnomah Seminary benefit banquet held especially for all the long-time donors who have written Multnoman into their wills or made some sort of planned giving commitment for their estates after they go to be with Jesus.
Let’s just say these are the faithful of the faithful. Not a soul under seventy, the room was full of a collective probably thousands of years of missionary work, ministry, faithful giving . Many graduated from Multnomah in the 50s, one couple had met at Multnomah and been sweethearts there, and were now approaching their 60th wedding anniversary. Precious.
So it was a joy to be with them. For some reason older folks seem to be drawn to Jeff and we enjoy listening to their amazing tales of ministry, loss, victory, triumph, perseverance. We sat at a table and listened to each person share how they came to Christ. Every story made my eyes fill with tears because they all point to a relentless Savior who goes to great lengths to reach His children. Trends change, fads come and go–Our Savior’s love never changes.
Jeff’s message was ABIDE: life on the vine. The gist of it was that when we are connected to the vine we cannot help but bear fruit. We don’t have to manufacture it, stress over it, come up with it on our own. It just grows, and all those around us can feast on the fruit of our connection to Christ. These faithful saints have followed Christ for many years and their lives are just teeming with fruit.
No matter how old their are their fruit is always fresh.
Jeff and I both personally feasted on their fruit simply in that we both received scholarships to Multnomah… made possible through these generous donors. But I also feasted on their fruit today–listening to their stories, learning from their experiences.
I love old people. Especially faithful ones. I hope to be one someday.
—
Thanks for reading.
By grace, with joy,
Kari
Gifts with skin
“Hey!”
I looked up from swinging Heidi at Sunset Park to the dark-haired woman approaching me. “Yes?”
“Are you Kris Zyp’s sister?” I smiled and nodded.
Of course that’s about the billionth time I’ve been asked that in my lifetime. Twenty-five years ago it made me cry, twenty-years ago it made me feel insecure, and fifteen years ago it just made me roll my eyes. Now, it makes me feel proud. The good kind of proud.
Yes, I am Kris Zyp’s sister.
You see, my brother is a crazy Doogie Houser child prodigy. No really. My mom has the little baby book journal filled with all the cute things that we said when we were little. Mine are googoo gaga and Kris’s were computations of the distance between planets and probability equations and something or other about Halley’s comet. He used to read Hoyle’s book of rules and the Guinness book of world records just for fun (just now I had to look up how to spell Guinness). When I was a baby just learning to sit up he was playing with his chemistry kit (at 3 1/2 years old!) and made cyanide. We had to call the High School chemistry lab to determine if baby Kari was going to die or not. Fortunately he only made enough to kill a lab rat.
At 9 he taught himself trigonometry (I spelled that right on the first try, by the way) and scored a perfect 800 on the math portion of SATs when he was 12. We spent my childhood traveling around to Johns Hopkins Award ceremonies and Science Bowl competitions. I clutched my dolly under my arm and smiled. Yup, I’m his sister.
Oh, but not just smart. But crazy athletic too. This is the kid that traveled the country playing on All-star basketball teams. (I was the cheerleader) The guy who was all-conference in every sport playing quarterback, point-guard and short-stop. The guy who held school records without trying. How can so much excellence be all tied up in one person?
Of course being cut, handsome, and sandy blond is a nice addition. Because if you’re going to dump all this excellence into one person you might as well make it a good-looking one, right?! I mean seriously, come on.
And then, above all, he has the audacity to be humble beyond words. That is really what marks his life. He seeks God’s glory. Pores over God’s word. Serves selflessly. Gives sacrificially. Loves his family. I’m not saying he’s perfect, but I’m saying he’s one of of the most character guys I’ve ever met. Recently their small church was bereft of the bass player on their worship team and had no one to take his place. My brother? “Sure I’ll learn to play bass.” He started from scratch and learned how to play a musical instrument just to fill the need. Do you see what I mean?
Of course he went on to marry an extraordinary wife and has two extraordinary kids.
The guy is just so stinkin’ extraordinary.
—
Can you see why I used to cry or feel insecure or roll my eyes just a tad? This is all I had to compare myself to growing up. This. Of course the problem wasn’t him it was comparing. But how wonderful is it when we finally realize that we don’t have to impress God because Jesus impressed God for us. And how wonderful is it when we realize that God has more than enough love for all of us! Someone else’s awesomeness doesn’t take away from our awesomeness in Christ.
And where competition ends love begins.
For so long I felt that being ordinary was a curse because all I ever saw was how extraordinary my brother was. But of course that’s like a toe lamenting because it doesn’t get to do the typing or the wear the earrings or speak the eloquent words. Toes matter. And so do ordinary people.
And that includes me. (And you, all my beloved ordinary readers :))
But most of all, how blessed are we when extraordinary people come along our path? We should praise God for them, learn from them, watch their example (more on that coming Thursday). How dreary would the world be if we were all identical?
I love my brother so much it makes my heart feel like it’s going to explode. I admire him, learn from him, brag about him. He’s taught me about giving, living sacrificially, about humility and grace, about asking tough questions and challenging the status quo. And he’s taught me all these things by example.
That is a gift. He is a gift. He is a gift to me.
And today he turns thirty-four. I wish he were close enough to hug, but this post is my best attempt at saying, across the miles, I love you. I’m thankful for you. I’m sorry for wasted years way back that I spent comparing and not loving. I can’t imagine a better brother. You’re the crazy coolest person ever. I’m so proud to be your sister.
The greatest gifts in our lives are always people. Today I pray that we stop, look around, and begin counting the gifts that have skin. We all have so many. I have so many, and my brother is one of the best.
Happy birthday, Kris. And here’s to all our gifts with skin. Let’s celebrate them today.
By grace, with joy,
Kris Zyp’s sister
What Love Looks Like
When I woke this morning at 6am, he was already gone. My dad, that is. I don’t know what time he left to get back to the hospital with mom. The night before last he slept here until 12:30am and then was back by her side by 1am to be sure she was alright. There’s no extra bed in her hospital room, so he just sits in a chair by her side. He helps her go to the bathroom. Cleans her up, gets her water, makes her laugh. He challenges her to do one more leg lift, insists she do 10 “windshield wiper” exercises and then produces–to her great delight–a dark milky way candy bar from his jacket pocket. Her reward.
The truth is that he is her reward.
My dad is the greatest earthly gift my mom could ever imagine. This year my he will turn 69 years old. He and mom have been married for 40 of those. He is the hardest working man I have ever met. When he was 15 he wanted his own bedroom so he built one on to his parents’ small house–by himself. Bought the materials and built the whole darn thing all by himself. That tells you a little bit about my dad. He once wanted to repaint his car so he converted an old shop-vac into a paint sprayer and did it himself. He played college football at Linfield. He served in the Vietnam War. He was Athletic Director and coach for more years than I can count. He built all three of our homes with his own hands … after getting home from work.
But now is the real work.
The toughest coaching job he’s ever had.
The greatest battle he’s ever fought.
Mom’s battle is his battle because they are one. My mom has Parkinson’s, as many of you know, and just recently had her second hip replaced. She’s having some trouble recovering, so she’s still in the hospital doing rehab. Because it took so long to get into surgery, she spent the last 3 months unable to walk at all. Dad, the man used to having dinner served to him for the last 40 years, jumped in with both feet–the only way he knows how too–and learned how to do it all himself.
He cooks. He cleans. He grocery-shops. He gets up multiple times at night to take her to the bathroom. He dresses her, cleans her, and kisses her while he’s at it. He scrubs floors, does dishes, pays bills. He loads her in and out of the car, driving to doctor appointments. And now he sits by her hospital bed, quietly coaching: lets do 10 leg lifts, 5 more windshield wipers, no don’t go to sleep Karen, keep at it, we’ve got to get you home. He’s spent his life with a clipboard in hand and whistle in his mouth, shouting plays and running drills and pushing athletes. Now he sits holding her hand, no whistle, no shouting, but still the most amazing coach I’ve ever known. Ten more, Karen. You can do it, babe.
He loves her.
While there, a young nurse timidly peaks her head in their hospital room.
“Could I ask you a question?” She looks at dad. “You’ve been married for 40 years. I just got married last year and I want to hear from you, because you obviously know. How do you do it?”
Dad smiled and looked at her. “Pray together every day.” He left it at that. I dare say the rest of the sermon was preached through his 24/7 selfless care of his bride. His life preaches whether he knows it or not.
Yesterday he asked me to stop on my way to the hospital and get her some new clothes to wear while she’s there. I prayed my way through Target and found the perfect thing, in her favorite color. Today on the phone dad said, “She’s wearing her new outfit and she looks hot!”
That’s love.
Not just to serve, but to lift up. Not just to coach, but to inspire courage. Not just to sleep at her side but to assure her that she’s beautiful in the midst of a most unbecoming circumstance.
This world offers us very few glimpses of true love.
But this is one.
The 4-West wing of SW Medical Center has seen a little glimpse of Jesus this past week.
So have I.
Thanks, Dad, for showing me what love looks like. You’re amazing.
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*Good news! Mom is coming home today!