Slow Train Coming

Posted on May 29, 2025 by Mark

I was up at 3:00 the other night. Powerful thunderstorms shook the walls and turned window panes into drum heads. Jagged lightning wired the whole sky with light. The wind bent trees and tore off leaves. For a long time, I stood at our glass door watching the rage of the storm.

Through the storm came the throbbing murmur of a train and then the bright blast of its horn. We live near the tracks and a major rail hub, so we are accustomed to the trains. This night I was instructed and finally comforted by its power to push through the wind, thunder, and lightning. Through the storm it rolled down the tracks, unworried, on time, and unstoppable.

Bob Dylan famously compared the judgment day and return of Jesus to a slow train coming.  We are taught by Jesus to pray “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done”, but the kingdom seems slow in coming. Sometimes everything is darkness and storm. The storm feels louder and stronger than anything—God’s promises, God’s power, and God’s kingdom.

I know so many Christian families that have been ravaged by sin, death, sickness, and broken relationships. I just got the news of a friend, a pastor, whose adult son died. He struggled with alcoholism and all the physical destruction it brought. We all pray for the kingdom of light to advance, but it often seems like the darkness is winning the fight.

Almost every Christian friend my age has seen death, sin, or Satan steal someone from their family.  The tomb may be empty but there does not seem to be much resurrection going on in our families or among our friends. Children cry and parents divorce. And the darkness wins.

Yet, in the midst of the storm we hear the heartbeat of God as His kingdom rolls down the tracks. The trumpet of his kingdom rings through the whistle of the wind and rumble of the thunder. Every tear shed, prayer prayed, and command obeyed brings His kingdom closer. It is unstoppable and always on time. The king is coming and, through His Spirit, here now.

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Listening to God (and Teckla)

Posted on May 20, 2025 by Mark

I have, at my pastor’s suggestion, been keeping an Immanuel Journal that emphasizes abiding in God’s presence and listening for his voice. Each day I pour out thanksgiving for who God is and all he has done. I write down the concerns of my heart. I then celebrate that I am God’s child, and a joint heir with Christ who will reign with Him in the coming kingdom. Next, I write down anything I think God is saying to me.

This last part is hard. My mind gets noisy, some voice nags away that I am just a ventriloquist putting words in God’s mouth. It is not much like a conversation. But sometimes out of nowhere comes a thought as fresh and clean as a mountain breeze. It is unexpected and yet obviously true.

For instance, the other day I was explaining to God how hard it is to live with Teckla’s memory loss. God, as often the case, changed the subject and simply said, “Listen to Teckla, she has much to teach you.” God seemed unconcerned with my complaint.

Everyday Teckla forgets who she is, who I am, and how we are related. Daily I explain that I am Mark, her husband, and that she is Teckla, my wife. Sometimes I recite the names of our sons, the places we have lived, the things we have done, and explain that we have been married 46 years. I recite the narrative of our wedding day.

This week in a rush of humbling insight, I realized God, more than anyone, has experience caring for people with memory loss. Every day, sometimes twice a day, God must remind me that he is my father, that I am his child, and that all my life he has faithfully loved me. Patiently, God reminds of the time I knelt and asked him to save me, and all the times he has drawn close through the Holy Spirit.

I am not alone in my dementia; much of the Old Testament is a history of people who suffer memory loss. Again and again, Israel forgot who God is, who they are, and how they are related by God’s covenant. So much of the temple worship and festivals of Israel were designed to help them remember all God has done and who they are as God’s people. Again and again God pleads with them to remember; again and again they forget.

So what can Teckla teach me? First, before God we are all suffering dementia when we forget who He is—his love, power, beauty, and goodness. We all need to reaffirm our identity and relationship every day. Second, the truth about our identity should be embraced the way Teckla does.

On our walks, I often review things with Teckla. After I explain who we are and that we have faithfully loved each other for a long time, she says nothing. She simply holds my hand a little tighter. Sometimes she stops and turns toward me, searching my face, and says tenderly, “I missed you” even though I had gone nowhere. We then walk on together.

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Sidewalks

Posted on May 13, 2025 by Mark

Teckla and I walk a lot. We walk on the sidewalks and on the hiking trails in the local parks. Although falling is a risk for people with dementia, Teckla has almost never fallen when hiking off the paved trails. Over rocks and roots she has proved sure-footed. Yesterday, the trail we hiked was wet and especially slippery under the canopy of oak and hickory. Teckla’s left foot slid down a wet rock, but she kept the right one anchored on the trail. With a little help, she pulled herself up.

Unexpectedly, we have found the sidewalks far more treacherous. Many years ago while visiting Dylan and Vanessa in Portland, Teckla tripped on the sidewalk along Burnside Street. She lunged and stumbled forward about twenty yards, desperately trying to get her legs under her. Finally, she fell hard and rolled into the street. It was terrible, but she had no serious injuries—except our jokes about being a Burnside bum. 

But as we age, both Teckla and I must be wary. The sidewalks will be perfectly clear sailing for blocks, but suddenly a root will have pushed up the cement or one section will have sunk down into the clay. Our walking is the opposite of powerwalking; we saunter along without lifting our feet very high. Next thing we know, we are tripping over the uneven cement and staggering to stay on our feet.

Unlike the trails, the sidewalks allow us to walk side by side, so we hold hands. Time after time, we have steadied each other. Occasionally, we trip at the same place and time, holding each other tightly as we stumble forward and balance each other.

Christian writers have long warned against the dangers of the easy path. We carefully pick our way through the forest trails along the river edges. However, it is easy to cruise down the sidewalk, lulled to near sleep by the ease of the way. But it is here, on the sidewalk, where we most need to hold each other hands and occasionally call out warnings about broken cement.

Believers need to seek fellowship not on just the difficult trails and during difficult times. We need help seeing the things that trip us up when everything is rolling along just fine. In the glare of the Kansas sun it is hard to see raised edges of the cement, but together we can stumble without falling.  

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Washed Ashore in Kansas

Posted on April 25, 2025 by Mark

It is odd to feel washed ashore this far from any ocean. But Peter’s death, Teckla’s dementia, and the burning of our house in Myrtle Point have left me dazed and disoriented—like Robinson Crusoe after the wreck of his ship. We have been here awhile but are still living out of boxes.

We were about to sell the house in Myrtle Point, so the fire may wreck us financially. Even though Robinson Crusoe made trip after trip to the wreck on the rocks of the bay, he was still dismayed when a second storm removed every trace of the ship. I feel that way about the house that was my home as a boy and where Teckla and I raised our boys. 

Although not a tropical island, the climate of Kansas takes some getting used to after 30 years in Oregon. The dusty winds, hard rain, bitterly cold winters, and sizzling summer days are different. We have gone from high surf warnings to tornado warnings.

Like Crusoe on his island, Teckla and I have been exploring the place we have landed. We have walked most of the town, discovering the stores, parks, and restaurants. We have made larger and larger circles around Gardner and hiked the trails at nearby parks. We are learning the flowers and trees each season brings. We are discovering places that nourish our souls with their beauty.

Like Crusoe, we have a lot of stuff that survived the wreck. If all goes well, we will be getting rid of even more stuff when we buy a small townhouse nearby. I once gave a talk about Robinson Crusoe being one of the first post-apocalyptic novels. My focus was on how loss can crystallize our values and help us understand what matters. As we sort and discard things, we are forced to figure out what will be of use in this new place. The things I need here surprise me.

Hymnal: Every morning Teckla and I sing three or four hymns together. Turns out that the melodies are forever etched into our memories—so we can sing a cappella. Sometimes the hymns bring back the old-wood smell of pews or the fragrance of the lilacs that bloomed at the doorway of the church in Milton-Freewater. They are the sounds of sabbath and rest. Teckla and I are made steadfast by the structure of the hymns: thanks for salvation, praise for God’s power to keep us, hope for our resurrection and glory.

Poetry: Increasingly, it seems that the most important things need to be said with sound, image, and metaphor; words striking words for a spark of truth. It is perhaps odd to find poetry in my survival kit. But like Crusoe’s spy-glass, poetry helps me see the world. I see a world alive with beauty and ripe with meaning.

My pearwood recorder: I bought this little flute at a music store on 12th Street in Nampa, Idaho when I was in college. I never, and still haven’t, mastered it well enough to play for others, but I can play tunes on it. I like the haunting beauty of its voice—coming from wood seasoned with the years. Against the depression that lurks in the shadows of old age, “Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee” is a dagger.

The hugs of grandchildren: I have never been much of a hugger, but the hugs from grandkids have been like finding an orchard on a deserted island. Their hugs nourish my soul. Hugging them is like hugging hope itself.

Holding hands: Teckla and walk almost every day. In the neighborhood, we hold hands to keep one another from tripping over uneven or broken sidewalks. Teckla and I first held hands while praying together in college. We are still holding on, still praying. Few pleasures are simpler or sweeter.

The Sacraments: The Eucharist, or Lord’s Supper has been a sustaining help and fountain of grace. In all this wreckage, especially my Myrtle Point home burning, the sacraments remind me of my true home—a home beyond tragedy and cruel ironies. The sacraments, in the midst of so much loss, anchor me in the unchanging love of God. Jesus is all.

Ragtag brothers and sisters in Christ: Although I miss the beauty of Oregon’s mountains, streams, and beaches, I miss even more the church family who surrounded us with so much love and help. Our treasure in Myrtle Point was not the house that burned; it was the faithful love that Teckla and I experienced in the community of believers. 

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A Left and a Right

Posted on March 31, 2025 by Mark

During prayer today a lament erupted in my heart. I cried out, “God save the children. Send a revival of hope, joy, and love into the hearts of the young. Jesus, come.”

I had been praying by name for my friend’s children who have wandered from faith in Jesus. The list was way too long. Researchers and polls confirm that there has been a mighty exodus of the young from evangelical churches. This exodus has broken the hearts of many Christian parents and left them asking what they did wrong or should have done differently.

Although I think there is no single answer or solution, I do think doing spiritual warfare with both hands helps. Evangelical churches often present the Christian faith in therapeutic terms—a relationship with God that will fix everything. At times I saw this in my sons when they complained, “I prayed but it didn’t work.” Sometimes “prayed” was replaced with “obeyed.” They had heard the standard good testimony of those who obeyed and prayed, and then saw God move in wonderful ways.

Sometimes these “good testimonies” come from celebrity Christians who have seen amazing success as athletes or musicians. When following Jesus doesn’t bring the same kind of success, many young people wander away. Some who stay, stay miserable, doubting God’s love and feeling unworthy of God’s help. They “tried God and discovered He doesn’t work.”

All this is the result of one-handed spiritual warfare that only emphasizes the blessings of faith. The left-hand of spiritual warfare is realism and honesty our lives. The left hand is the honesty and endurance of Job when everything goes wrong, when God is silent, and friendship with God has disappeared. The left hand is the cry of the Psalmists, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me? How long will you hide your face from me?” Or “Why do you stand far off, O Lord? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?”

We see this one-two punch again and again in the Psalms. The Psalm that begins with honesty about God’s absence, ends:

But I have trusted in They lovingkindness; My heart shall rejoice in Thy salvation. I will sing to the Lord because He has dealt bountifully with me.(Psalm 13:5-6)

Too often we have built a faith only on the last part of these Psalms; a faith that says nothing about the strength of our enemies, the depth of our grief, or the absence of God in our time of trouble.

More youth pastors need to tell the story of Job. Unfortunately, the church often plays the role of Job’s friends and leaves kids wondering what they have done wrong to miss out on the success others have. And of course, there are enough defiling things in our culture for teens to blame themselves for their failure to walk in joy and triumph all the time. Living in condemnation is exhausting and joyless. Despite the proclamation of salvation by grace from the pulpit, many young people live in condemnation, believing Job’s friends and hating themselves.

Some might think Job and the Psalmists are too “old covenant” to be relevant. We should, however, consider the context of Paul’s mention of weapons of righteousness for the right hand and the left in II Corinthians 6: –10. The whole epistle rests upon the paradox of God’s power perfected in weakness.  In chapter six, Paul describes his ministry as including afflictions, hardships, tumults, labors, distress, sleeplessness, hunger, dishonor, sorrow, and poverty. But it also includes purity, kindness, patience, the Holy Spirit, truth, and the power of God. In chapter seven he says that in Macedonia he was “afflicted on every side; conflicts without, fears within” (v. 6). Paul is honest about his afflictions and his fears.

As a teacher, I found young people open to a faith that is honest about the struggle to believe. Honesty adds power and reality to our testimony that “I know that my Redeemer lives.” Honesty about not always experiencing the warm embrace of God makes the decision to praise God heroic and noble—not a way to manipulate God.

Leaving behind the “good testimony” narrative and transactional relationship with God is liberating. We can stop keeping a record of what we did for God and what God must now do for us. I think many young people are hungry for costly discipleship that takes up the cross. In this age of the “selfie”, leaving self behind sets us free to focus on Jesus and those who need His love. The cure for self-love and self-loathing is self-forgetfulness.

Endurance in the face of hardship, unanswered prayers, and a hostile culture is not popular and doesn’t sell well. Faithful perseverance is the most powerful weapon we have against all the scandal and betrayal in the church. In all the shifting sands of our culture, those who remain faithful are a rock of hope and truth. We need to value faithfulness and humility in leaders more than gifting and charisma.

Fighting with both hands means having the testimony of those thrown into the fiery furnace:

“Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire, and He will deliver us out of your hand, O King, but if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image you have set up.” (Daniel 3:17-18)

We must embrace both the testimony of deliverance and the testimony of faithfulness in the fire.

God works—but not for us. In both hardship and deliverance, endurance and miracle, God is working to make us like his Son, Jesus who prayed, “Father, if thou art willing, remove this cup from me, yet not My will, but Thine be done” (Luke 22:42).

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The Unbroken Circles of Love and Grace

Posted on March 22, 2025 by Mark

A blessing of age is being able to see how life, love, and grace moves in great circles. I noticed this one blustery day on the beach with my mom who was in her nineties. I had reached around her from behind to help her zip up her coat. I came to the front, adjusted her hood, and kissed her on the forehead. We had come full circle.

When Teckla and I lived in Kansas City, we took in a couple who found themselves homeless. Don explained that he was worked in “collections” for a motorcycle gang. Lorae, his wife, had suffered great trauma and heartbreak. Her teenage daughter was in rehab. Lorae had serious back problems from a car accident that took the lives of two of her children. After one night in our basement Don disappeared. Lorae was left broken spiritually, emotionally, and financially. It turned out later that Don had a second wife in Minnesota and had run up huge telephone bills that Lorae had no way to pay. Her life was so terrible that Teckla used “Lorae” as shorthand for any situation that was really bad and then got worse.

For a couple years, Teckla drove Lorae everywhere: doctors, social workers, stores, and church. Teckla was content to give freely as long as we could. I impatiently looked for solutions. After we moved from Kansas City back to Oregon, we lost track of Lorae. Years later we were contacted by her nephew on social media. He sent a friend request and asked if we were the Mark and Teckla that had done so much for his Aunt Lorae. He thanked us and explained that Lorae had died a Christian and never forgotten our love and kindness.

This reminder came at a good time because Teckla and I were now in Lorae’s place. Our son, Peter, was in and out of ICUs with his brittle diabetes, and Teckla had just been diagnosed with cancer in both breasts. We were living paycheck to paycheck. After surgery, Teckla needed to come to Eugene for four weeks of radiation treatments. I was still teaching at the college. Teckla and I were the legal guardian of Ari, Peter’s son. Everything seemed impossible until our friend Rosalie offered to drive Teckla wherever she needed to go—even the two and half hours to Eugene and back five days a week for four weeks. Others watched Ari when both Teckla and I needed to go to Eugene. In the midst of “our Lorae”, we had come full circle and were given the care Teckla had given Lorae so many years before.

Our “Lorae” experience continued for a while with my prostate cancer, Teckla’s gall bladder removal, Peter’s death, and Teckla’s diagnosis with dementia. Just when things couldn’t get worse, they did. But we are now blessed to complete more circles. When we adopted Peter as a baby, my parents stepped in and paid many of our expenses and we have recently been able to cover most of the cost of Dylan and Vanessa’s adopting Ari. Teckla and I rejoice in these great looping circles of grace and love that God weaves into our lives.

This morning after eating breakfast, taking medications, and praying and singing together, Teckla said, “Thank you.”  I asked her what she was thanking me for, she said, “For all you do for me.” For years, Teckla did so much to care for me, our sons, and so many others. It was now my turn, and my blessing, to care for her. I am now doing most of the cooking, cleaning, and management of our finances. Here is another circle of love and grace. None of these circles are simply the impersonal workings of karma. These circles are covered with the fingerprints of God and the fragrance of His love.

Time has taught me not just to love God, but to love His ways. Love never fails. Nothing given in the name of Jesus is ever lost, ever wasted. Even when we are weary, even when we can’t see the good ending for which we long, may the circles of God’s love and grace remain unbroken.     

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Ordinary Sacraments of Extraordinary Grace

Posted on March 19, 2025 by Mark

Ordinary Sacraments of Extraordinary Grace

  • The light in Teckla’s eyes when she worships: a steady distant gaze of glory, electric blue with joy.

  • Acorns: brown potential, fallen, squirreled and lost under snow, alive with hidden hope.

  • Buds: tightly folded, sheathed against the cold, until spring rains light the green fuse.

  • An old dog: the whimper of joy, the slow wag while rising on old legs.

  • Laughing children: Spring sun after a cold winter, untiring play.
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White-tailed

Posted on March 10, 2025 by Mark

Teckla and I take long walks every day. Although Johnson County is blighted with miles of industrial parks and suburban housing developments, it has many amazing parks and miles of bicycle and hiking trails. After a short drive, it is possible to stroll for hours through woods and prairie.

The winter has been harsh, with a couple blizzards, an ice storm, and many days below zero. The eastern cedar is the only evergreen native to this area, so forests are naked. I have enjoyed hiking through the bare bones of woods and limestone ridges. The rocks, cliffs, and gullies will be hidden behind a wall of green this summer, so I am trying to make a mental map of the land.

Yesterday Teckla and I scared up a white-tailed deer while we wandered through a stand of oak and shagbark hickory. The bare branches and bushes allowed us not only to hear the deer bounding through the woods but also see its tail flashing white in the sun. The contrast of the white tail against all the brown and grays of tree trunks was startling.

I suppose there is a survival advantage in the tail flashing like a white flag. It catches your eye and makes you look at where deer was and not where it is going. In the three seconds we watched the deer, we never saw whether it was a buck or a doe. We never saw its head or antlers. The soft grey and brown of its coat blended perfectly with the bare trees and bushes. After each leap, it was invisible.

Yet, it was thrilling to see. The trails were damp from the last melting snow, so we had seen many deer tracks. There was abundant evidence of their presence, but on most hikes, we had not seen any. Seeing the white-tails was a joy.

The white flash of the deer’s tail broke through the barrenness of winter with energy and beauty. I am grateful for how faithful the Holy Spirit is to pierce our barrenness with His beauty and grace. In many small ways, and in hidden places Teckla and I have seen the tracks of Holy Spirit in our lives, but it is wonderful when His beauty blazes bright and strong in the winter sun.  

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Winter Visions

Posted on February 21, 2025 by Mark

The second big snow covers the ground, and it was ten below last night. We moved here in July, so this is our first Kansas winter. At these temperatures, frostbite is a real danger, especially when the chill factor gets to 20 below. The cold wind cuts like daggers through your clothes and your face numbs instantly.

On the southern Oregon coast, the daffodils and crocuses are up. Snow queen is blooming at Euphoria Ridge under the myrtles. After throwing on a jacket, one can walk the Oregon beaches on a sunny February day. Here we have been housebound for a couple weeks, even though we are quick to get out when the temperatures hit the 40’s. People at the stores express how tired they are of winter, but I am patient. I am even patient with the barrenness of winter, the naked branches of trees, and dry rattle of wildflower stalks.

I have memories of spring from when we lived here in the 80’s. Few places have a more glorious spring. In April the redbuds bloom and spring beauty, phlox, and bluebells run riot in the woods. The air fills with living sweetness of spring and all things green. All is lush and alive.

Even now, the earth drinks deep from the melting blanket of snow. Rhizomes and roots stir, spread, and push deeper. Brown life percolates in spongy dirt as last year’s grass and leaves rot and dissolve. The melting snow is even gentler than the spring rains. Fallen seeds awaken. The slow-burning fuse of spring is lit. Beneath the melting snow lies the promise of spring’s green explosion of life and beauty.

Because I have seen spring, I celebrate instead of berate the cold and snow. Even though it has been 30 years since I have experienced a Kansas spring, the memory holds me steady. Just as one never really sees water until one finds a spring in the desert, one never experiences spring until they have had a winter of snow and ice. The certainty of spring and resurrection changes how we see this present winter.

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A Distant Shore

Posted on February 17, 2025 by Mark

In the middle of night, I listen to the rumble of the trains. The sleepy sound carries me away to nights camping on the Oregon coast. When the winds had died down and the traffic on 101 slowed, Teckla and I, snug in our sleeping bags, could hear the roar of the surf from our campsite at Washburn State Park.

Here in Gardner, the Santa Fe, California , and the Oregon trails met and parted. On patches of grass near the edges of farmer’s fields, one can still see the ruts the wagons made. Railroads replaced the trails long ago, killing some small towns and giving life to others, stitching the nation together with tracks.

The railroads testify that we are still a restless nation. Huge warehouses and miles of industrial parks have sprung up at the edge of Gardner. Near my neighborhood is Intermodal, a huge facility for the movement of containers from trucks to trains and from trains to trucks. Our restlessness is now expressed in consumption, not migration. The rail cars are stacked two high with Amazon and Walmart containers.

The trains run through town night and day. I suspect I will eventually cease to hear them, just as people who live near the ocean stop hearing the waves. But I hope not. The rattle, hum, and roar of the trains takes me home to nights sleeping beneath red cedar and spruce. The horn of the train barges through the winter nights like the foghorn at the jetty in Bandon. It calls me to a distant shore.

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