Bruce Fong’s Blog

Scheduling my evening to include a concert at Pine Knob made me hesitate.  The program would last long into the night.  It would a major addition to my calendar.

The deciding factors came quickly.  First, I was scheduled for a radio interview on 1500AM WLQV.  Each week I am a guest on the Paul Edwards Show.  We do “Theological Thursdays” by bantering over issues of theology.  Since Paul was doing an on-site broadcast at the concert, so a live interview made sense.  Besides, Paul was offering me free tickets to the concert.  “Free” is my favorite price!

Second, Steven Curtis Chapman and Michael W. Smith are favorite artists.  While not a fan of crowds, I was drawn to hear Steven’s heart.  The recent and tragic death of his adopted Chinese daughter tugged at my heart. 

Over the years I had heard of Pine Knob but had never been there.  I wasn’t even sure that I knew where it was.  But, with the address entered into my GPS I was following instructions by faith.

The interview with Paul Edwards was fun as always.  He is a good thinker, excellent conversationalist and professional from the start.  It is a priviege to be his guest.

Settled in my lawn chair and surrounded by my wonderful wife and great friends, stimulating conversation and laughter filled the waiting time.  Then the music started.  First, it was Matthew West and his very enjoyable warm up act.  Then, it was Steven Curtis Chapman. 

Steven’s heart led the way.  If you knew some of the details of his recent loss, you felt the realness of his soul.  His first song on God’s blessing was powerful and deeply meaningful.  The rest of the evening however became both very memorable and forgettable.

There was a power failure.  Everything went dark and silent.  Twenty minutes later power was restored and the concert continued.  It continued for at least one verse when the power was lost again.  The crowd entertained themselves.  Again the power was restored to cheers and applause. 

But, you guessed it.  The power was lost again.  For over an hour the cat and mouse game of power restored only to be lost again and again.  Finally, it was late and time to go home while the engineers worked to restore the power grid. 

The arena is owned by Detroit Edison, our exclusive area electric power company.  Oh, the irony!  I wonder if they missed a payment?

Part of the lure of a relaxed vacation is the absence a dress code, right?  In the morning I no longer have to match a tie with the rest of my outfit.  All I need are shorts, a shirt and sandals.  Those sandals proved to be dangerous!

I padded barefoot out on the deck that overlooks Small Traverse Bay.  If I closed my eyes and just listened I could have been next to the Pacific Ocean.  The wonderful smell of salt air was the only sensory stimuli missing.

That short jaunt on to the outside deck should have been a warning of what was to come.  Alert people pick up clues about impending matters of great importance.  This little warning would normally have put me on alert.  But, that’s the problem with being relaxed.  My guard was down!

This deck was beautifully stained to withstand the inclement Michigan weather.  Moisture, sun and changing temperatures wreak havoc on wooden structures.  One of the signs of a deck under tension are the nail heads that pop up from the decking.

Yes, as I sauntered my way out to the railing, one of those nail heads bit the bottom of my foot.  There was no real lasting pain.  I had escaped great pain but greater pain that was on its way.

Later that morning I put on my  casual clothes.  That also included dangerous sandals.  I hadn’t worn sandals for over a year.  Cowboy boots have been my first choice for every occasion for the past ten months.  I have dress boots, work boots, trucker boots and cycle boots.  But, when it’s time to wear shorts fashion rules force me to pass on the boots.

But, todays’ story tempts me to challenge those glamore mores.  I was out for a short walk in my sandals.  My journey took me over a path made of stone slabs.  More interested in my destination, I did not notice a half step up.

My exposed big toe caught the overhanding lip of jagged stone.  I did stumble.  But my highly trained cat-like reflexes developed over years of secret martial arts training kept me from falling.

Throbbing pain, oozing blood and torn skin was the picture of my big toe.  Dumb sandals!  I will no longer be a slave to fashion.  To protect our beautiful toes from harm, cowboy boots are now declared to be acceptable accessories with shorts.

Here I am for a few days of vacation on the beautiful shores of Lake Michigan.  It’s been a while since I have actually scheduled time to “do nothing.”  After a couple of hours of this relaxing stuff and I was itching to do something.

I was text messaging a friend and describing this feeling of aimlessness.  The reply came back offering me any help on how to “do nothing.”  That made me laugh.

So, I stepped out on the deck and watched the seagulls flying to and fro.  Their flight path dodged between trees so I had to bob my head back and forth to pick up their last glide path.  Seagulls may be common but they are amazing to watch.

One took off in flight from the shore.  It powerfully stroked the air and dipped an swooped low over the water.   Quickly, it dropped momentarily and lifted something off of the water.  Then, it landed on a rock and paused to enjoy an early morning snack.

Watching God’s creation is a great.  But, I had forgotten my camera on this trip.  Being out in the wilderness and not having my digital camera to record any such scenes made me purse my lips and call myself a not-so-nice name.

Well, I had slept in for almost an hour.  Then, I read a couple chapters in a good book.  Next, I had text-messaged several friends.   Then, I double-checked all of my email on my PDA.  My gull-watching had come to an end and it was only 10:30AM.

It was only my first day of vacation and I was feeling like a failure in the realm of relaxing.  What does one do when it’s time to relax?  I don’t think I remember if relaxing is all that satisfying or not.

I went for a short walk.  That was nice to take in the fresh air of the Great Lake.  The seagulls didn’t interest me much any more.  I tried to read another chapter of a book that I brought along.  But, I didn’t want to do it any more.

Aha!  My host mentioned that he had wireless internet service up here in his cottage.  So, I grabbed my computer and fired up my blog page.  Sure enough, a familiar screen appeared.  Recounting my struggle, I put it in words.  Now, you are a part of my vacation.  Are we relaxing yet?

There was never a time in my life when I ever thought that I would be making a living by asking other people for money.  My “job” is officially President of Michigan Theological Seminary.  For the uninitiated the title “President” is actually Latin for “fund-raiser.”

On a daily basis I am planning encounters to engage people and asked them for a donation.  If I’m not planning those encounters, then I am out doing the asking.  If I’m not planning on asking or actually doing the asking then I’m in bed praying about it or sound asleep.

Over the years I have developed a habit to make asking others for money easier.  I attempt to be a generous giver whenever God directs me.   My goal is to make a significant impact with the needs of those that God brings into my life.

All of us can learn generosity.  It is not a matter of how much we give.  Those figures are relative.  While institutions and large ministries receive gifts in the millions, sometimes a needy person just needs a meal, rent or a new coat.

Most likely there are many times during any given month that we actually come into contact with someone who is in need.  We just don’t always realize what is going on.

A long time ago someone asked me what it meant in Ecclessiastes 11:1 “Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.”  Solomon is advising to invest in prudent ventures.  Diversity is part of it.  But, the investment component is essential. 

Giving is one of those ventures.  Righteous giving will find a way of returning to us.  Just as we like what business investments do, so our lives in any investment that is wise will bring a wonderful yield.

When we are generous with those that God brings into the circumference of our influence, we will be the beneficiaries of His goodness down the road.  It’s not just the indigent either.  Take a look around your church.  Single moms have it tough.  Those who have lost their jobs are gasping for air.  Someone who’s health has taken a turn for the worse need a leg up.

If we all practice righteous giving, God will show us who to bless.  When we invest in giving without noterity, God gives us something very special in return.  A grateful smile may reveal it all.

I was in a small town in Amish country.  Everything closed at 8PM.  I had no plans for the evening.  So an ad for an evening show caught my attention. 

The receptionist at the hotel directed me upstairs to the box office.  There was no box or office.  It was a folding table with a table cloth and two very nice people sitting next to a cash register.

I read his name tag and asked him, “Ryan, is the show pretty good?” 

With a big teethy smile he swiftly shot back,”Yes, sir.  You’ll enjoy the show.  Do you like Blue Grass music and Country Gospel?”

“Hmmm, ” I thought, “If you were to give the show four stars for OUTSTANDING or one star for GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK, how would you rate the show?” I inquired both with a bit of humor yet serious curiosity.

Ryan thought for just a moment then answered, “I’d give it three stars.” 

There really wasn’t anything else to do for the evening.  Then came the tipping point.  I asked if there was a bargain combination price for dinner with the show.  When the affirmative followed I was pulling out my credit card.  It was a decisive moment for a fun evening.

Dinner was early that night.  The show started at 7PM with a preshow scheduled for 5:45PM.   Ryan recommended that we take our dinner at 4:30PM so that we could enjoy it with plenty of time to make it to the theater.  It proved to be great advice.

Dinner was delicious.  It was a similar family style cuisine like our first dinner in Amish country.  Just as delightful was the service.  Again our waitress had a contagious smile.

Next, we made it into the theater for the preshow.  Kari was a local piano teacher on her way to Graduate School majoring in piano performance.  She played for an hour and she was fabulous on the ivory keys. 

Then, came the main event.  Blue Grass Gospel filled the theater with songs of faith, fun and family.  Besides the singing there was plenty of picking and strumming.  My foot tapped to an amazing rendition of Duelin’ Banjos.

Many of the performers spoke of their devotion to Christ and the One who inspired their music.  It was my first Blue Grass concert.  I still don’t think that I can define it.  But, it has to include a lot of guitar, banjo, foot stomping, hand clapping fun.

My choice for dinner was all based on a picture in a tourist magazine.  But it really did look good.  Even the waitress in the picture sported a welcoming smile.  The ad seemed genuine, so I was determined to give it a try.

I’ve been in restaurants before that touted “home cooking.”  But, once the food was served I was under-impressed.  What does “home cooking” mean anyway?  Everything that is served must be hot.  None of it can be overcooked.  Specialty servings like biscuits must be fluffy and still warm.

Scheduling would be a bit of a challenge.  I could leave for this two day adventure right after work.  But, it would still be a three hour drive.  En route we called ahead to check on the restuarant hours.  We would arrive at 7:30 PM.  That meant that we had a thirty minute window.  They would close at 8PM. 

This restaurant was located right in the middle of Amish country.  We arrived with twenty minutes to spare.  There was no menu.  Family style is the only option.  I could choose between green beans and corn or all chicken or a combination of chicken and shredded beef.  Naturally, I voted for all chicken.  That’s what was in the picture after all!

The waitress was amazing.  She had a cheer about her that made the evening unforgettable.  During our order she was quick to banter, make appropriate inquiries and cheer our adventure in Amish country. 

Evening beverages were simple.  The food came very quickly.  Everyone around us was having chicken.  I was so taken by the experience that I forgot to order dark meat, my personal preference.  No restaurant cooks white meat without drying it out.

Sure enough when the dinner was quickly served, my enthusiasm faultered.  Half of the chicken was white meat.  Groan, I was fully expecting the meat to be dry and to use a glass of any close by beverage to lubricate it down.  I was wrong.  It was not only amazingly tasty but wonderfully moist.

Rarely does a picture promise all of our expectations and accurately deliver.  Yet, marketing people can usually capture my attention with their slick commercials.  This time, however, I was impressed.  Whatever I expected I don’t recall the details, but just like God delivers on all of His promises, this resataurant did the same. Yum!

I listened intently to the well scriptied presentation of Anabaptist history.  Religious persecution is an unforgettable and ugly part of their identity.  Names and faces of men and women who were martyred and tortured because their faith made others feel uncomfortable.

My mind recoils from the dastardly truth of human history.  Those in power who did not like the faith-lifestyle of those who lived differently than them attempted to force changes on the lives of others.  This oppression produced martyrs among the simple lives of the Mennonites.

Some were drowned. Others were burned alive.  Yet, with sad horror I also listened when the narrator quickly added that some were disembowled while alive.  And still others were maimed.

A word of hope came to this oppressed yet gentle people.  They heard William Penn’s promise of religious freedom in America.  This hope attracted whole communities to leave everything and risk a harrowing journey, cross the ocean, start a new life and begin a new legacy for future generations.

There is a caveat of irony in this story of a disaspora.  Russia drove out the Mennonites from their country.  This passive community took their way of life and faith with them.  This hardworking people also took their red wheat.  It was a hearty strain with qualities that resisted the challenges of disease and weather.

In America’s heartland this branch of the Anabaptists, the Mennonites, thrived both as a people and as a successful community of wheat raising farmers.  Their special strain of red wheat was prolific.  In time the bountiful harvest of wheat produced bumper crops. 

That’s where the irony appeared in world history.  Russia experienced disastrous crop failures.  In need of major food supplies, they received food stores from the bumper crops of America’s harvest of red wheat.  The very people whom they had driven out of their own country were now the source for feeding their own country.  The nation that had persecuted them for their faith, now paid dearly for the food relief that they desperately needed to survive.

Beyond the irony of this economic turnabout, is the relative silence of the Mennonites who became a blessng to their once ruthless persecutors.  There was no bitterness.  There was no haughtiness.  Nor could I find any price gouging expressed out of revenge.  Gentle faith expressed itself in generosity.  Historic irony made a difference  for a hungry nation.  Genuine faith made a quiet difference.

There has been a lingering curiosity in the back of my mind.  Occasionally, that curiosity has surfaced from a clip of a movie, an article of interest or in a few cases a brief drive through a special part of the country.  A fleeting look at one of those curious plain black buggies, drawn by a single horse power peeked a desire that I would seek some answers to questions now formed in my mind. 

Who are the Amish?  What prompted their unique lifestyle?  Where did they come from?  When did this culture come to the USA?  Why would they choose to live such contrastive lives? 

Finally, a break in my schedule occurred.  So, I planned a two-day trip to Northern Indiana to visit Amish Country.  I read the background material that I had gathered.  Of all of the options, I only had a priority on two choices.

First, I wanted to experience a traditional Amish family dinner.  One restaurant featured that choice.  That was my first stop.  It was delicious, bountiful and delightfully serviced with remarkably a friendly wait staff.

Second, I wanted to visit a site that would answer my long standing questions about the Amish.  A special place called Menno Hoff, offered a multi-media presentation that promised me all of the answers and background information that I was seeking.

I learned that the roots of the Amish are related to the Mennonites and Hutterites.  All three groups emerged from the Anabaptist movement in Europe.  Faith in God and a real life that lived out their beliefs is at the heart of the Amish people.

Suffering for their beliefs was replete.  Religious persecution drove these people from the lands of Europe to the promise of friendlier shores in the New World of America.  They left everything and risked all because of their devotion to their faith.

Three tenets mark this remarkable community: Faith, Family and Friends.  These values are couched in the embrace of Community and personal humility.  These people aren’t being odd to be a spectacle.  It is a chosen lifestyle that gives them deeply valued satisfaction that their faith is real.  Ultimately, that is a pursuit that I can embrace, can’t you?

I grew up in the beautiful Sacramento Valley.  Like all of the locals I learned to enjoy the evening cooler temperatures and cloud-filled skies.  That time of day welcomed a lazy lay on the backyard lawn.  One such repose became my solitary bee story.

Layin down on the lawn, legs crossed and hand interlocked behind my head was just the position for day time relaxation.  I watched God’s great creation of cumulus clouds float by.  In reflective Charlie Brown and Linus tradition, I saw animals, boats, faces, words and landscapes take on momentary shapes in cotton-like forms.

Like a horse batting away pesky flies with its tail, I swatted an occasional fly the hovered around my head.  At the time I thought it was a fly.  But, one time when I swatted I heard a louder more distinct buzzing.  There was a vibration at the point of impact that was much more than a fly.

Turning my head I saw that around one of our flowering bushes in the yard, honey bees were gathering nectar from the blossoms.  I could even smell the fragrance of the bush that was a beacon to bees busy looking for nutrition for the hive.

Then, I looked over on the lawn to my left.  What I had once thought was a fly hovering around my head, was a bee.  A direct hit with my aimless swat had grounded that flying insect to groping through the long blades of grass.  I made a mental note of its position just to avoid coming into contact with an angry insect with a whopper of a stinger in its tail.

I settled back into my relaxed position and enjoyed more imagination in the sky.  Time passed quickly.  I lost track of it.  Now, it was time to get up.  But, when I put my hand down on the grass to push myself up, I recoiled with the shock of a stinging pain.

There in my left palm was a honeybee stinger pulsating, pumping venom into my hand.  I looked down at the now dying bee, staring at all of its compound eyes.  He was smiling!

I could have called the Fire Department or Paramedics.  But, they would’ve just sent in eight burly guys with loads of equipment.  The look of disappointment on their faces would have been self-evident.  They were hoping to rescue a beautiful damsel in distress but all they got was a very honorable Asian guy.

For most of my adult life I have rebelled against being pigeon-holed.  I have taken great effort to not be labeled.  Whether it is political views, theological opinions, fashion or stereotypical biases I try to live an ecclectic, open and inscrutible life.

My tastes in music is as varied as humanly possible.  I like Christian contemporary, pop, jazz, classical, light rock, marches, elevator music and even country.  When it comes to reading I love to read my Bible, espionage, Westerns, outdoor adventure, biography and most recently Christian suspense thrillers.  Hobbies range from the sedate hike to hunting, fishing, motorcycling, swimming and roller skating. 

But, I will surrender to certain accusations about “guy things.”  I am not keen on shopping malls.  There is a factual demonstrable presence of Kryptonite in the floors of every shopping mall in the world.

Also, I cannot understand the logic of the toilet seat position.  Why do guys get the blame for leaving the seat up?  We guys use the seat half of the time while women use it all the time.  Frequency of use suggests to my “guy mind” that the one who always uses the seat should always check that  it is down first!

There’s another guy-thing that I relate to with great bias.  I like opening the door for my lady.  It’s not a chauvinistic action.  It is a way to honor her.

One other guy thing is one that I relate to as well.  When I’m facing an ailment, I don’t easily go to the doctor.  Steve knows that.  When I come in or give him a call we talk about a lot of stuff.  We check on our families, our walk of faith and the latest pressure of our lives.  Then, as my Primary Care Physician, Steve eventually gets down to business.

He asks me why I’ve come.  While in Africa I picked up a soar throat that hasn’t gone away.  It’s been a week since landing in the USA and it is still hurting.  In addition to that my finger had a cut on it and now the wound has swollen and is sore to the touch.

Steve smiles.  He comments that my handshake was a little weak and tentative.  The rubber gloves come on and he examines my hand.  Then, he looks into my throat, “Yuck! You’ve got Strep!”  Is that a professional expression?  Oh, well, it’s a guy thing.