Thursday, June 11, 2009
I Love You Today (Forever)
I fell in love with Lisa on July 25, 1975 --- and every day since then.
I was 18 years old when I met an 18-year-old who is now my wife. I was impressed: Amazing smile, quick laugh, cute face, very pleasing shape. That was enough to get my attention, but it was her Christian character and her high intelligence that made me keep coming back.
I fell in love with her on July 25, 1975 --- and today --- and every one of the hundreds of days in between. I love her today (forever).
We spent several hours tonight counseling another married couple, also in ministry, both needing some healing after a bad experience in a church. The stress of that toxic, unhealthy congregation has taken its toll on this marriage. Yet as we peel back the layers, stripping away the surface hurts and recent arguments --- the core of their relationship is solid and strong.
Love is a choice, not a feeling.
Has it really been three decades since the two of us, attending the same college, began to realize we shared the same values, dreamed the same dreams, and even grew up in similar families? Both of us grew up reading, our noses buried in books, emptying out the library for the trip home.
Three decades later, books that we've written are in the U.S. Library of Congress, and at our local WalMart store, and staring at us (just tonight) from the shelves of our neighborhood Barnes & Noble. Who knew, all those years ago, that two 18-year-old wannabe writers --- would end up writing?
We're still going the same direction, hand in hand, still moving forward.
We've watched a lot of our friends split up across these years. He found someone 'more interesting.' She found someone who would really listen. Both of them moved on to other relationships and began new families. How did we miss alll that trauma? How did we stay together?
I love her today (forever).
Marriage is a daily choice, a fresh decision each morning. Marriage is dying to self, honoring your partner, putting someone else's needs and wants ahead of your own. Time to become a doormat? Not ever. But definitely time to offer and serve, help and hold, support and encourage. Guess what: Life is definitely not about 'me' --- it's more about 'u' and 'us.'
Every day is today (forever).
All those years ago, did I realize that love would cost me this much, require this much, yet somehow be so valuable? No. I just knew it was real, and worth giving up my freedom for. It was, so I did.
Three decades later life is richer and more fulfilling than my most extravagant ideas. The marriage of my dreams? It's the one I'm living in today, right now --- a summer evening spent counseling others and then driving home together, counting our blessings.
We are crazy in love, or maybe just crazy.
We can't wait to get home tonight, and luckily for us there is absolutely nothing to watch on cable. We call that a perfect evening...
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Happy Trails
Today is our 31st anniversary; both impossible and surreal. We’ve been married for 5 or 10 minutes, maybe 5 or 10 months? We are still on our first honeymoon.
31 years? Random. But so far God has taken us to 50 US states, 9 provinces and 2 territories of Canada (territories are provinces by another name, eh?), and 42 nations of the world.
31 years? Unlikely. But so far God has granted us 10 published books; we just learned that Book #11 has been approved by the editorial team at Harvest House. Let’s get writing!
31 years? Survivors. So many of our friends have loved and lost, experiencing brokenness in their marriages. We are ordinary people – no different, no better – blessed to have somehow escaped the trauma of a fractured family.
31 years? Workers. Everyone wants to know if we’re taking a cruise or jetting off to Europe. Not exactly. We’re both working today, blessed to be employed in a global economic meltdown. Four words of advice for aspiring writers: Keep your day jobs.
Today is our 31st anniversary; we had planned a nice dinner but a pastoral couple has asked for our help. Instead of dining out by candlelight, we’ll gather for 90 minutes of counseling others; helping a pastoral marriage heal, recover, and grow.
Happy Trails. Although it’s always nice to come home, the truth for us is that home is a suitcase, a new destination, making new friends and visiting old ones, getting video e-mail from grandkids and just being together. Home is being together.
We wish you many happy trails in the days ahead.
31 years? Random. But so far God has taken us to 50 US states, 9 provinces and 2 territories of Canada (territories are provinces by another name, eh?), and 42 nations of the world.
31 years? Unlikely. But so far God has granted us 10 published books; we just learned that Book #11 has been approved by the editorial team at Harvest House. Let’s get writing!
31 years? Survivors. So many of our friends have loved and lost, experiencing brokenness in their marriages. We are ordinary people – no different, no better – blessed to have somehow escaped the trauma of a fractured family.
31 years? Workers. Everyone wants to know if we’re taking a cruise or jetting off to Europe. Not exactly. We’re both working today, blessed to be employed in a global economic meltdown. Four words of advice for aspiring writers: Keep your day jobs.
Today is our 31st anniversary; we had planned a nice dinner but a pastoral couple has asked for our help. Instead of dining out by candlelight, we’ll gather for 90 minutes of counseling others; helping a pastoral marriage heal, recover, and grow.
Happy Trails. Although it’s always nice to come home, the truth for us is that home is a suitcase, a new destination, making new friends and visiting old ones, getting video e-mail from grandkids and just being together. Home is being together.
We wish you many happy trails in the days ahead.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Ian Campbell: REMEMBERED
A browning leaf, curled against the last breath of winter, flutters at the end of a barren branch. Beneath the same oak a patch of snow hides in the shade of the trunk, fearing the sun. Spring is on its way to New Hampshire, but the landscape is wary.
Our bus bounces across the bridge spanning the Merrimack River. A baker’s dozen of us are sprawled out inside a bus-turned-limo, laughing and remembering and telling stories. Twelve Campbells plus one tall outsider, joined for this evening in tribute to Ian: husband and father, son and brother, uncle and friend.
Laughter is the best medicine. Daughter Heather tells a barnyard story --- she’s attacked by a rooster but saved by Dad. Ian’s broomstick revenge on the rooster has us laughing out loud --- and when Heather tells this same story later tonight over at Shiloh Christian Fellowship in the midst of the tribute to Ian --- the crowd roars in response. We need the healing power of laughter right now: Heather, you’ve given us a priceless gift.
Son Michael runs the family business. Grace Limousine, within whose bus we are chauffeured to the church, is an ongoing success story. Ian built this business from dream to reality, from no fleet to a gleaming group of new Lincoln Town cars and other specialty vehicles. We are riding in style tonight. The pastor and many friends will greet us as we step out of our limo. Although it’s an hour before the service time, the community is already gathering to honor a favorite son.
From memorable moments among many: these few.
Marines unfurl a flag while a lone bugle calls us to attention. Then ever so slowly and with infinite precision, the color guard folds the flag and hands it to the widow of a United States Marine. It is, in an evening of meaningful tributes, a highlight that all 600-plus of us will remember forever. Solemn, dignified, and respectful.
Ian’s son grabs a guitar and approaches the microphone. With Collin are his mother Annie plus brother Mike and sister Shawna. Collin Campbell, musical heir to his parents’ many gifts, leads us in worship and praise as we pay tribute to his dad. Collin’s voice, clear and strong and beautiful, carries the harmonious group through Agnus Dei. “I didn’t know Collin could sing so well,” say many who attend. Back home in Tulsa there are 800 people who already knew that: Collin leads them in worship every Sunday.
Joseph clings to his grandfather, a noble Scotsman who is burying his son with dignity and with great courage. Isaac cares for his mother, checking to see if she needs anything. Son Jeff has brought his own sons, red-haired Scots with the full family DNA; Jeff’s joyous and active boys remind us of the cycle of life.
Shawna and others have prepared a wonderful slide show. Photo after photo shows us Ian as we love him: child, Marine, young wedded husband, doting dad. The birth of each child is celebrated and honored in pictures. The 25th anniversary of Ian and Annie is noted with photographs. One by one the images show us Ian surrounded by his adoring and grateful family.
This evening will end, as all such evenings must, yet the family lingers late and long, receiving each guest with great grace. They are tired, these Campbells, tired after days of watching Ian pass into eternity. But there is no hint of tiredness in their eyes or their words tonight: They are making sure that each guest gets their full attention. Annie, in particular, blesses the multitudes.
Eventually the limo will go home, back toward the house that Ian built, out in the country in Goffs Town. The house will be a little quieter, a little sadder, a bit subdued. Yet somehow everyone in that house knows that Ian has gone to his true home --- and that one day, we know not when, he will welcome us to join him.
Manchester is dark now. Little orbs of light flicker here and there against the ebony hillsides. We ride mostly in silence, watching the flames dance in the video fireplaces of the limo.
There could be no better tribute in all the world than the one Ian has received on this night. His bride, his children, his father, his family and his friends have gathered to remember him. They have gathered to honor his life and to affirm his long walk with God. Then when all is said and done, Ian’s bride and his children turn out the lights and go home, taking Ian’s example and witness with them always.
Ian, you are in our hearts forever.
Our bus bounces across the bridge spanning the Merrimack River. A baker’s dozen of us are sprawled out inside a bus-turned-limo, laughing and remembering and telling stories. Twelve Campbells plus one tall outsider, joined for this evening in tribute to Ian: husband and father, son and brother, uncle and friend.
Laughter is the best medicine. Daughter Heather tells a barnyard story --- she’s attacked by a rooster but saved by Dad. Ian’s broomstick revenge on the rooster has us laughing out loud --- and when Heather tells this same story later tonight over at Shiloh Christian Fellowship in the midst of the tribute to Ian --- the crowd roars in response. We need the healing power of laughter right now: Heather, you’ve given us a priceless gift.
Son Michael runs the family business. Grace Limousine, within whose bus we are chauffeured to the church, is an ongoing success story. Ian built this business from dream to reality, from no fleet to a gleaming group of new Lincoln Town cars and other specialty vehicles. We are riding in style tonight. The pastor and many friends will greet us as we step out of our limo. Although it’s an hour before the service time, the community is already gathering to honor a favorite son.
From memorable moments among many: these few.
Marines unfurl a flag while a lone bugle calls us to attention. Then ever so slowly and with infinite precision, the color guard folds the flag and hands it to the widow of a United States Marine. It is, in an evening of meaningful tributes, a highlight that all 600-plus of us will remember forever. Solemn, dignified, and respectful.
Ian’s son grabs a guitar and approaches the microphone. With Collin are his mother Annie plus brother Mike and sister Shawna. Collin Campbell, musical heir to his parents’ many gifts, leads us in worship and praise as we pay tribute to his dad. Collin’s voice, clear and strong and beautiful, carries the harmonious group through Agnus Dei. “I didn’t know Collin could sing so well,” say many who attend. Back home in Tulsa there are 800 people who already knew that: Collin leads them in worship every Sunday.
Joseph clings to his grandfather, a noble Scotsman who is burying his son with dignity and with great courage. Isaac cares for his mother, checking to see if she needs anything. Son Jeff has brought his own sons, red-haired Scots with the full family DNA; Jeff’s joyous and active boys remind us of the cycle of life.
Shawna and others have prepared a wonderful slide show. Photo after photo shows us Ian as we love him: child, Marine, young wedded husband, doting dad. The birth of each child is celebrated and honored in pictures. The 25th anniversary of Ian and Annie is noted with photographs. One by one the images show us Ian surrounded by his adoring and grateful family.
This evening will end, as all such evenings must, yet the family lingers late and long, receiving each guest with great grace. They are tired, these Campbells, tired after days of watching Ian pass into eternity. But there is no hint of tiredness in their eyes or their words tonight: They are making sure that each guest gets their full attention. Annie, in particular, blesses the multitudes.
Eventually the limo will go home, back toward the house that Ian built, out in the country in Goffs Town. The house will be a little quieter, a little sadder, a bit subdued. Yet somehow everyone in that house knows that Ian has gone to his true home --- and that one day, we know not when, he will welcome us to join him.
Manchester is dark now. Little orbs of light flicker here and there against the ebony hillsides. We ride mostly in silence, watching the flames dance in the video fireplaces of the limo.
There could be no better tribute in all the world than the one Ian has received on this night. His bride, his children, his father, his family and his friends have gathered to remember him. They have gathered to honor his life and to affirm his long walk with God. Then when all is said and done, Ian’s bride and his children turn out the lights and go home, taking Ian’s example and witness with them always.
Ian, you are in our hearts forever.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Looking Up and Looking Around: From Psalm 33
Have you ever tried to picture what it was like when God created the world? I see God in worn and faded overalls, down on His knees in the dirt, prodding the soil with a hand shovel and shaping creation with His fingers.
I love gardening: I assume I get that from my Father.
Meanwhile the Psalmist explains creation differently. “By the word of the Lord” --- the stars and heavens were created, reports the Psalmist. So God was not shaping matter with His hands; instead He was literally speaking creation into being. (Psalm 33:6)
God breathed; God spoke. In the moment of His speaking, God’s Divine words tumbled out into empty space and the stars were born. Planets began their orbit and the energy of matter began spreading out in a beautiful array, in all directions.
I’ve heard a lot of explanations for creation. Big bang. Matter colliding with anti-matter until (luckily for us) there was no anti-matter left. Then matter colliding with matter until an azalea bloomed, a fish swam and an elephant bellowed.
Instead of placing my faith in explosions (exactly what blew up, and what made it blow up, and how did it get there to blow up?) I am more than content to picture a Creative God breathing and speaking. From the words of Moses to the words of David to the words of Jesus I am content to believe in my Creator and my Lord.
I love gardening: I assume I get that from my Father.
Meanwhile the Psalmist explains creation differently. “By the word of the Lord” --- the stars and heavens were created, reports the Psalmist. So God was not shaping matter with His hands; instead He was literally speaking creation into being. (Psalm 33:6)
God breathed; God spoke. In the moment of His speaking, God’s Divine words tumbled out into empty space and the stars were born. Planets began their orbit and the energy of matter began spreading out in a beautiful array, in all directions.
I’ve heard a lot of explanations for creation. Big bang. Matter colliding with anti-matter until (luckily for us) there was no anti-matter left. Then matter colliding with matter until an azalea bloomed, a fish swam and an elephant bellowed.
Instead of placing my faith in explosions (exactly what blew up, and what made it blow up, and how did it get there to blow up?) I am more than content to picture a Creative God breathing and speaking. From the words of Moses to the words of David to the words of Jesus I am content to believe in my Creator and my Lord.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Lessons from Woody
We knew we couldn't keep him forever, but we held on as long as we possibly could. Our good friend and writing mentor, Dr. Sherwood Wirt, has finally departed our San Diego Christian Writers Guild (which he founded) in favor of a higher calling.
Woody Wirt was our friend (here's Woody at 93, with David, attending and teaching at the guild's annual fall conference in Rancho Bernardo) and our mentor in writing and life. We learned so much from his wise example!
Woody taught us humility. He authored 42 books in his lifetime, and was working on book #43 when he passed away. We've seen the notes; that next book would be wonderful just like his others. Our favorite from the entire group? His translation of St. Augustine's "Confessions" which is titled "Love Song." Although the book is out of print, find it where you can and simply enjoy. Augustine's prose may have been beautiful; Woody's is gorgeous. Yet despite all his success in publishing, Woody was approachable and humble, patient with beginners, never condescending or proud.
Woody taught us intellectual curiosity. At age 97, even just before his death, Woody was learning -- learning -- learning. He was always learning! Woody was the last journalist to interview C.S. Lewis before Lewis died; out of those notes Woody wrote articles and taught courses about Lewis. Woody's wide-ranging intellectual curiosity covered all things Christian, many of the great periods of history, anything about words and writing.
Woody taught us personal integrity. Woody was the pioneering editor of Billy Graham's magazine called "Decision." The magazine grew out of Woody's interviews with Billy Graham and his subsequent involvement in the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. Woody traveled the world with Graham and his team, always modeling the highest standards of personal character and personal integrity. Billy Graham surrounded himself with men of exceptional talent: Dr. Sherwood Wirt was one of those men!
Woody taught us the virtue of humor. Positive, encouraging, and always filled with zest for life, Woody survived the death of his first wife, whom he deeply loved, and yet kept his love for life. Eventually Woody married again -- he is survived by his wonderful Ruth, who has cared for him with such tender love in Woody's later years. Woody was always quick with a punch line, quick with word play, quick to laugh! Any interaction with Woody involved a great deal of laughter: Woody knew the value of fun.
Ten books and dozens of articles into our rookie season as authors, our lives have been hugely impacted by Woody Wirt's personal example, his wisdom about words, and his extended ministry through our guild. It's hard to imagine writing without Woody -- but we know he's in heaven's library right now, either reading or writing.
Woody, you continue to inspire us!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Light Snow, Good Friends & Caribou Coffee
Light snow dapples our rented RAV4 this morning; God TP'd our Toyota with his own special blend. Don't worry about us: we'll scrape through this somehow...
We're scraping snow off our frosty hood in the Twin Cities this weekend. It's the world premiere of our new book: The Soul-Mate Marriage: The Spiritual Journey of Becoming One. This book has our voice, our life, our soul in it --- this book is what happens when you work with marriages for 25 years, you pay attention, and you stay awake.
We stay awake with Caribou Coffee, our favorite, available here and in Chicago, plus a few of our most frequent airports. We're lifting a few frothy cocoa mugs this weekend to raise our spirits; we love Caribou! Sadly, Caribou have not roamed in the Pacific Southwest for many years; we lament their absence.
Absent from Minneapolis for so long, we are reminded of what we miss about this frozen forest: Caribou, Byerly's, Target, the Vikings, and fond memories of what once was Dayton's. What's not to love?
Speaking of love: it's these people. We've spent this weekend surrounded by close friends, kids of friends, friends of kids, friends of close friends. Friday night was a blur of handshakes and autographs and camel's breath. (Yes, there was a live petting zoo behind us, and a reptile pit nearby.) Saturday was more of the same, but only after sleepy Scandinavians were awake.
Awake this morning before church, we're dazzled by the sight of snow, counting our blessings that this massive metro area contains so many of the people we most value, cherish and treasure. Our hearts are here; where is Tony Bennett when we need him? We left our hearts in....Minneapolis.
Minneapolis is a multicultural igloo, beautiful and varied, a place where the term 'melting pot' would first be preceded by a long discussion: what the heck is 'melting'? Talk freezing up here: then we know what you mean.
Here's what we mean: we miss this place: not the snow, not the traffic, not the road construction which apparently guarantees permanent employment (it never ends). Just the people. Small and large, all shapes and sizes and races and colors and languages. If we made a gallery of our favorite faces we would frame these! Here are the people we love and here is a culture we understand and celebrate.
Celebrating 30 years of an amazing and God-blessed marriage, we know for sure we aren't worthy of these friends and their families. Yet as winter marches in with relentless Norwegian fury, we're slowly rolling out with our hearts freshly warmed for the season ahead.
Ahead of us: many more roadways. If only we could take the grandkids along, just like we took them to Burger King on Friday -- laughing and joking, pretending to be lost in a neighborhood we served for a dozen of the best years of our lives. If today there are fewer lost kids in that neighborhood, then perhaps those 12 years mattered for eternity.
About eternity: we believe there is a plan for our lives, and we believe we are following that plan. We are not perfect, not always right, sometimes mixed up with our culture and customs instead of authentic faith. But we are, on this frosty Minnesota morning, moving consistently in the direction of what we truly believe: that there is a home for us in eternity, around whose hearth we hope to see all of these faces, plus many more.
From the journey....Dave & Lisa
We're scraping snow off our frosty hood in the Twin Cities this weekend. It's the world premiere of our new book: The Soul-Mate Marriage: The Spiritual Journey of Becoming One. This book has our voice, our life, our soul in it --- this book is what happens when you work with marriages for 25 years, you pay attention, and you stay awake.
We stay awake with Caribou Coffee, our favorite, available here and in Chicago, plus a few of our most frequent airports. We're lifting a few frothy cocoa mugs this weekend to raise our spirits; we love Caribou! Sadly, Caribou have not roamed in the Pacific Southwest for many years; we lament their absence.
Absent from Minneapolis for so long, we are reminded of what we miss about this frozen forest: Caribou, Byerly's, Target, the Vikings, and fond memories of what once was Dayton's. What's not to love?
Speaking of love: it's these people. We've spent this weekend surrounded by close friends, kids of friends, friends of kids, friends of close friends. Friday night was a blur of handshakes and autographs and camel's breath. (Yes, there was a live petting zoo behind us, and a reptile pit nearby.) Saturday was more of the same, but only after sleepy Scandinavians were awake.
Awake this morning before church, we're dazzled by the sight of snow, counting our blessings that this massive metro area contains so many of the people we most value, cherish and treasure. Our hearts are here; where is Tony Bennett when we need him? We left our hearts in....Minneapolis.
Minneapolis is a multicultural igloo, beautiful and varied, a place where the term 'melting pot' would first be preceded by a long discussion: what the heck is 'melting'? Talk freezing up here: then we know what you mean.
Here's what we mean: we miss this place: not the snow, not the traffic, not the road construction which apparently guarantees permanent employment (it never ends). Just the people. Small and large, all shapes and sizes and races and colors and languages. If we made a gallery of our favorite faces we would frame these! Here are the people we love and here is a culture we understand and celebrate.
Celebrating 30 years of an amazing and God-blessed marriage, we know for sure we aren't worthy of these friends and their families. Yet as winter marches in with relentless Norwegian fury, we're slowly rolling out with our hearts freshly warmed for the season ahead.
Ahead of us: many more roadways. If only we could take the grandkids along, just like we took them to Burger King on Friday -- laughing and joking, pretending to be lost in a neighborhood we served for a dozen of the best years of our lives. If today there are fewer lost kids in that neighborhood, then perhaps those 12 years mattered for eternity.
About eternity: we believe there is a plan for our lives, and we believe we are following that plan. We are not perfect, not always right, sometimes mixed up with our culture and customs instead of authentic faith. But we are, on this frosty Minnesota morning, moving consistently in the direction of what we truly believe: that there is a home for us in eternity, around whose hearth we hope to see all of these faces, plus many more.
From the journey....Dave & Lisa
Monday, October 13, 2008
My Next President
My next president will be imperfect, like I am. He or she will make mistakes: mistakes of judgment, mistakes of timing, mistakes of direction, and a few random stupid mistakes also. I expect a president to make mistakes: I think it shows character when he or she admits them. All of us make mistakes.
My next president will need my prayers, just like the current one does. Scripture reminds me (and I need the reminder) to pray for those in authority. Our current president, whose term in office began with a terrorist attack on our nation, is closing his term by facing perhaps the greatest global economic challenge of this generation. Prayer helps presidents: prayer helps us all.
My next president will be immediately loved by some people; immediately hated by others. He or she will face an immediate chorus of criticism, sarcasm, political satire, and late-night-talk-show-jokes. If he or she is a person of faith, this criticism will be especially intense and often mean-spirited.
My next president deserves my respect, whether I voted for him or her, or not. The media’s constant criticism of a president has the powerful effect of lowering respect for my leader: I must not only ignore this largely mindless chatter, I must rise above it and realize that anyone who leads a great nation is worthy of my respect, regardless of his or her political views and personal values.
My next president will lead the nation where I was born. He or she will take actions that he or she believes will advance the safety, security, prosperity, and well-being of this nation. Good people can disagree on how best to achieve these goals: my next president will pursue our nation’s advancement.
My next president will have my support. God knows, he or she will need it. Regardless of whether I vote for the person who becomes my next president, when the election is over my president will have my support, my respect, and my prayers. That, as I understand it, is the key to good citizenship.
My next president will need my prayers, just like the current one does. Scripture reminds me (and I need the reminder) to pray for those in authority. Our current president, whose term in office began with a terrorist attack on our nation, is closing his term by facing perhaps the greatest global economic challenge of this generation. Prayer helps presidents: prayer helps us all.
My next president will be immediately loved by some people; immediately hated by others. He or she will face an immediate chorus of criticism, sarcasm, political satire, and late-night-talk-show-jokes. If he or she is a person of faith, this criticism will be especially intense and often mean-spirited.
My next president deserves my respect, whether I voted for him or her, or not. The media’s constant criticism of a president has the powerful effect of lowering respect for my leader: I must not only ignore this largely mindless chatter, I must rise above it and realize that anyone who leads a great nation is worthy of my respect, regardless of his or her political views and personal values.
My next president will lead the nation where I was born. He or she will take actions that he or she believes will advance the safety, security, prosperity, and well-being of this nation. Good people can disagree on how best to achieve these goals: my next president will pursue our nation’s advancement.
My next president will have my support. God knows, he or she will need it. Regardless of whether I vote for the person who becomes my next president, when the election is over my president will have my support, my respect, and my prayers. That, as I understand it, is the key to good citizenship.
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