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The number 42 made me smile today. Today is the anniversary of my wife and my wedding day. We have been married for 42 years.
In all of that time, decades of years and nearly countless days, she never once considered divorce. Now, temper that with the unsurprising reality that murder was on the table many times. With chagrin I will admit that she was justifiably and understandably well within her rights to make that choice! We had tons of adventures that makes us smile more broadly today than we did when we began our journey together.
Just weeks after our wedding ceremony we packed up our pickup truck and drove to Dallas, Texas. Good ol’ Herman, our pickup truck, didn’t even have air conditioning. My wonderful wife melted in the Texas heat but stuck with me.
Then, we packed up our possessions and moved to our first ministry post in Portland, OR. God blessed us with our three wonderful children. Many lifelong friendships began in the city of Roses.
We crated what belongings we could and moved to Aberdeen, Scotland. Our little family had a ball in the United Kingdom. Each of the children picked up a lilting Scottish Brogue. Wonderful blessings and amazing International friends packed in Highland memories for life.
Then, it was back to Portland for season. That was followed by over a decade of sacrificial ministry in Michigan. God then led us to San Francisco, CA for more amazing service. His perfect and divinely ordered journey returned us to Texas, this time in the amazing city of Houston.
My bride has been by my side through it all: blizzards, tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, and humidity. We have clung on to the best Christians in the world. Together we weathered human storms with His grace. I never would have survived without her.
She is my love, my confidant, my greatest fan, and most patient advisor. Happy Anniversary, My Love! May our Mighty and Merciful God generously grant us many more years of being in His service together. Joy!
Curiosity drew me to see this film. The trailer caught my attention several times. It was odd that no one in my circles had been talking about it.
Nevertheless, my far-from-perfect instincts would prove worthwhile on this occasion. I saw the movie on an outbound business flight. It moved me.
During a typical working weekend, I found myself reminiscing over episodes from the story between Dr. Shirley and Tony. Some of those thoughts were reflective. Others were humorous. Yet, others found me marveling.
I deliberately chose to watch the movie a second time, just a day later, on my homeward bound flight. Certain that my initial reflections were reenforced, I recommended it to my wife. We watched it together. That was my third viewing in a week’s time.
When the key characters lived through many life moments, tension ratcheted up. Each individual, except Dolores, had glaring shortcomings. Bigotry was layered in both men. Insecurity leaked out in triggered scenarios. Scarred personal identities became more apparent over time.
Comic relief eased the natural uncomfortable crescendo in this racially charged story. Repeated moments similar to these took a quiet but powerful tone. Relief emerged as transformation. Personal prejudices genuinely eased as friendship emerged. Acceptance was easier than could be imagined. Courage was shared, winning respect. Long suffering grew stronger.
We could only wish for this story line to be repeated as a national or international phenomenon. At least it was true for these two men. It was after all a true story.
Maybe the truth in story on film will touch others to wonder about the possibilities. Perhaps more friendships will stir because of it. Friendship is a powerful human link. There are subtle movements of love, Christmas, letters, and romance that add dynamic texture to the narrative.
I for one could applaud this film and highly recommend it. The story is sure to touch the souls of many. Quite possibly could it shrink the ugly tide of racism to a noticeable degree?
Obviously a film cannot do much to transform the landscape of wicked human behavior. But, people might be attracted to the hope of such change and join in it themselves. Who knows what miraculous moments can happen when genuine friendship discovers true love and righteous people mix it up with a true story.
photo credit: Google image
This movie, Unplanned, was one that I anticipated. Trailers popped up periodically for months. The story was very compelling.
I will admit that I have a strong attraction to movies based on a true story. Real lives, real drama, and real transformation win my attention. Weave in a message that is important to life and I am ready to buy my tickets.
A good person enters into the world of Planned Parenthood. Her personal saga is uncovered and adds to the intricacies of the story. Family and friends and faith all play a part in this narrative.
The movie portrayed the presence of extreme protesters and terse rants on the part of the right to life crowd. The obnoxious ones were a small minority but they were clearly identified in the story. At the same the majority of the life side were depicted as kind, gracious, and helpful.
Thankfully, the side of Choice were also depicted well. They were portrayed largely as good people albeit surrounded in a volatile atmosphere. Desperate young women with few apparent alternatives come to the clinic seeking a solution.
The chief adversary was left unexplained. Thoughts of greed, power, bitterness, and the like were introduced as possibilities. But, more questions than speculation were presented.
The one antagonist was cast well. She displayed and portrayed the intent of the Choice side. It was unlikable.
I liked the movie. Prayer works. Christians need to persevere. Unborn babies need to be protected.
When abortion happens, it is ugly. An innocent life that ends because of human intent, it is heartbreaking. The movie wrencheed my soul.
Reflecting over this film, I have good thoughts that sometimes justice prevails in the courtroom. Family is a genuine support group. Husbands can do well. Forgiveness from a merciful God is wonderful.
brucefong photography
Stepping off the carousel of life is risky. Who knew it was spinning fast? The stationary ground grabbed my feet. The abrupt change was startling. Left knee smashed my right knee. Yeow! That hurt. I stumbled but with cat-like reflexes, my landing was like sticking an Olympic gymnastics landing.
The spinning world of work, obligations, deadlines, and meetings faded away. Family and friends came into view. Our plane landed with a little bounce on the Oakland International Airport tarmac. My bride and I gathered our belongs and stepped into a busting metropolis that many would find hectic, chaotic, and even unfriendly. But, we grew up here. It was familiar. This was home.
A chance to catch our breaths came at the curb. Our shuttle to the car rental pickup area was running slowly. We cashed in on our first chance to run through the schedule. It was like looking at our work planners. There was tons to do just like our careers back in Houston. The activities were just different.
Old friends from decades long ago were part of our Christmas season. Relatives on the other side of the family were on our calendar. Each evening we rehearsed where we would be the next day. Soon we couldn’t remember where we had been or who we had seen. Now, it was just about who we would see the next day and where we would meet them.
It was sheer fun! Old friends had eyes that had not changed over the decades past. Their smiles were filled with eagerness to share. After all we had tons of moments to relive together. Our miles apart had stolen those times to share together. Introductions needed to be made. Children and old friends needed their lives filled in and colorized. There was an occasional pause when we told of sad news, deaths, or abandonment. Why does life always have to include pain?
We talked on and on. Time was no friend to these interchanges. My watch reminded me that we had to be off to the next gathering. We smiled. We frowned. We hugged and shook hands. Promises to keep in touch flowed freely. Hope made us optimistic. Maybe this time we would keep those promises.
Old friendships never die. They never stay the same. Over time life keeps on getting richer and richer. Miles separate us but friendship keeps us together.
photo by bruce w. fong photography
Yes, I along with most of the humans in the Western hemisphere have seen many movies with exotic scenes of Hong Kong as the backdrop. Suave and daring secret agents raced through town wrecking havoc as they chased enemy spies or ran desperately away from blazing guns and razor-sharp knives. Whether it was during the day or night, on land or splashing through the water or flying massive airplanes between tall skyscrapers, this city was the stage for mysteries, adventures and drama.
Now, for the first time in our lives my bride and I are in Hong Kong. We are seeing sites that we only remember from the silver screen. They are spectacular when we are in the middle of those sensational scenes.
It is crowded. Throngs and hordes and crowds of people are going everywhere. The sounds of so many accompany the masses.
Yet, when it is time for many to board a bus, a tram or a subway train, the people are
orderly. They queue up and patiently wait in line. There is absolutely no one cutting into line. Such order in the middle of such chaos is a stunning sight to take in.
Then, of course the city lights at night has to be a famous feature of this city. Whether we gazed at Hong Kong island or took the Star Ferry and looked back on Kowloon, the lights of the city were festive in an unforgettable way. I don’t remember the last time I walked through a city at night and felt no fear, but this was a welcomed experience.
Our hosts told us that we would feel quite secure in walking the city at night. No pick pockets, no racial unrest, there were no shady characters waiting to rob anyone and no dark recesses that hid nefarious activities.
Man-made buildings and transports were features of the city. Now, it was God’s turn. From the top of Victoria Peak we scanned the gorgeous islands that made up Hong Kong. Each protrusion from the waters of the bay were a powerful reminder that God did His handiwork to make this natural harbor a home for one of man’s freest enterprise markets in human history.
Setting aside human structures and stunning vistas the most remarkable feature of this special city are its people. We have special friends here who call Hong Kong home. They welcomed us into their hospitality and we thoroughly enjoyed the embrace of love.
photos by brucefong photography
We are an extension campus. Our Dallas campus is the headquarters of this amazing ministry. Yet, our Houston operation is growing by leaps and bounds.
We have 34 graduates this year. They are mostly local to the great city of Houston and its surrounding region. Most of their friends and family will have a tough time making the journey to Dallas to celebrate their commencement achievements.
To give local family and friends the chance to be a part of this substantial celebration, our extension campus has a Graduation Chapel one week prior to the central festivities up north. We honor each graduate with a brief description of what their plans and destination is after they receive their sheep skin. We fill the chapel service with great worship, intimate prayer, laughter, memories and special recognition of those who stood out with academic and service demonstrations.
I scanned the crowd many times during this chapel service. The smiles were a mile wide and the tears were free-flowing. Trying to imagine all of the answered prayers for the many years represented by these graduates is mind-blowing.
Photographs with special people were endless. The four sheet cakes disappeared as the party spread into the foyer. Guests drank sweet punch, returned endless times for refreshing chilled water and stopped many times along their course of walking to congratulate and exchange hugs with fellow classmates.
Previous graduates returned to cheer on their friends. Current students marveled and told me that they had something even more to anticipate. Relatives were overcome with the joy of reaching this end.
Children were laughing with their parents. One mom told me that she was rehearsing her Hebrew vocabulary flash cards while in labor for the little one that she hugged next to her leg. Life and success cannot get much more precious than this.
Gratitude is over the top on this event. Conversations about calling, dreams about the ministry to come and deep gratitude of God’s faithfulness were common in the crowd. With pride I watched out once students now shine as Masters of Theology, Masters of Arts and Over-comers in all sorts of adversities.
Faithful too are the staff and faculty that I am privileged to call “Team Houston”. They are selfless, persevering and godly men and women who live to serve others. Here on a Saturday, they are going above and beyond the call of duty to make sure that these graduates always remember this day.
photo credit: brucefong photography
Word of my friend Michael’s passing still makes me shake. It was a total shock and surprise. Someone so special in my life now gone.
For some reason I thought that I could reflect on that life-change for at least a little while. Yet, life as meted out by the Great Administrator does not always coincide with human assumptions. Instead, more friends are spending massive amounts of time in the examination room as doctors poke and prod.
An email alert came from Becky. One of my buddies, her husband, and I have shared many moments in the woods open to whatever the wonderful world of the wilds had in store for us. Hiking, gazing and exploring were filled with conversation and laughing.
Richard was in and out of the hospital. Doctors could not figure out what was not right. Yet, Richard knew something was off kilter.
We play tag on email as he keeps me up-to-date with the latest medical guess. He is in pain. Something is wrong and we are praying that the wonderful world of medicine can figure it out.
Then, another email flashed across my screen. Frank was in the hospital. I picked up my phone and gave the hospital a call.
Frank laughed, “Yep, I am in the hospital. I had a few strokes last year and led to a visit to the doctor.
“THREE strokes? Doctor? Like are you for real?”
“Yeah, now the doctors tell me I need a quadruple bypass.”
“Good grief! Dude, you sure know how to surprise your friends.”
“Ha. I told Cindy to trade me in for an upgraded model. She told me she was happy with what she has. Cool, eh?”
The telephone visit was brief but encouraging all the way around. Friendship among guys is like that. There was no denial, no worries, no whining.
Another email alert raced across my screen. This time it was Duane. He was in the hospital.
I picked up the phone and called him. He just got to the hospital that very morning. His internist had been treating him for pneumonia but the treatment was not making Duane feel any better.
When the antibiotic schedule was done, Duane went in to see his doctor. The stethoscope told a very different story. Immediately, the doctor admitted Duane into the hospital.
Duane needed a new heart valve. Yikes! My friends are hurting. I am praying for them, texting them and hoping that next week all will be better, much better.
photo credit: brucefong photography
Three years ago I made this same flight. It was exciting then and exciting now to anticipate hanging out with great friends. There is something extraordinarily special about friendships that defy the test of time.
The last time we gathered to tell stories, laugh heartily, eat voraciously and tease mercilessly I was taking a break from a fabulous but rigorous work in San Francisco. This time I was snatching a respite from the fast-paced quickly-growing ministry in Houston.
As miles passed behind me, I could feel my spirit unplugging while the turbo prop plane flew over the night light lit skies of Laramie, Wyoming. Not even a dozen travelers disembarked the aircraft to be greeted by family and friends. One other couple waited with me outside of the airport terminal, laughing that this was the first time any of us had closed an airport.
My buddy drove up in the official Western rig of the outdoor world, a pick-up truck. We were all smiles and in constant conversation on the drve back to his cabin. I had experienced amazing Wilson hospitality many times in the past and knew that I was in for a treat.
Those who cheerfully serve others are less and less common. To make friends feel at home and enjoy a time away from busy responsibilities is a gift. Ron and Roxanne are very gifted at it.
When I walked into their cabin the conversation that filled the room with laughter and cheer paused with a welcome that warmed my heart. An addition was coming. Friendship among the guys is not real unless it is peppered with merciless teasing and revisions made on our past historical exploits and mistakes in the most exaggerated style.
Years had separated us. There were very rare telephone calls, occasional text messages, sparse e-mail and a Christmas card may have been exchanged. Nevertheless, real friendship picks up where it left off.
Friendships would deepen during the next several days of our reunion. We caught up on old news. Most news we laughed through but some we listened with soberness when life was at risk and trouble was lurking.
Good friends enjoy life better because of whom they have a chance to share it. When the atmosphere of joy is created through the wonderful mechanism of hospitality, something supernatural happens. Joy expresses itself with fellowship that can withstand the test of another set of years apart.
Thanks, Ron and Roxanne. You used the wonder of hospitality just as God showers blessing on those whom He loves. We who have received your expressions of love are grateful and call you, “Blessed!”
photo credit: brucefong photography
Tuesday night there was more than thunder rumbling through my adopted city of Houston, Texas. Michigan buddies rode their motorcycles into town for a visit. That is over 1,000 miles of road warrior travel just for the sake of the ride and good memories.
These residents of the Motor City were introduced to a metroplex with a penchant for individual vehicle transportation. Everyone drives in Houston. You cannot live here very easily without a vehicle, preferably a pickup truck.
Some have even assessed our city culture and suggest that a vehicle equals or in many cases surpasses the choice of a place to live. Is that extreme? Most of us who live here would at least suggest that there is some merit to that assumption.
My motorcycle buddies at least have that thought planted in their minds. They were introduced to Houston traffic after a long day of riding. Add to the stop and go traffic of I-610 a major thunder-storm and it really gets dodgy.
Not only was the rush hour traffic horrendous and the thunderstorm unpleasant but construction with narrow lanes and debris added to the tricky negotiations of motorcycle riding. Of course those occasional out-of-state transplants who speed and cut annoy everyone. Too many in traffic jams are on their phones texting and drift over their lane lines and squeeze a motorcyclist.
Aside from the hazards of riding our fellowship was amazingly fun! The rain kept pouring down so we parked the bikes under the hotel eave and piled into my pickup truck for a tour of the NASA Johnson Space Center. It was a perfect day to visit.
Schools were not bringing in bus loads of children and the tourist season had already ended. Without the crowds we could see everything and did not wait in lines. The displays and historic moments were easy to enjoy and take in for our easy riders.
Standing next to the massive 747 and Shuttle we felt our diminutive size but also sensed our enormous pride in what our nation has able to do. Our smart phones have capacities that old computers in the past could not do. Yet, our nation launched men into space, landed them on the moon and brought them safely home.
Our little band of bikers took in the size and sights of NASA’s greatest accomplishments. Mostly, our time was about our journey through life, friendship, past rides and fun adventures. Ron, Richard and Scott are great friends and even greater buddies with shared memories.
photo credit: brucefong photography
My culture is marked by its cuisine. It is no doubt a favorite take-out choice of many busy Americans and people the world-over. Many of the menu selections of a Chinese restaurant are comfort food for the billions of us who grew up eating that style of food.
Mom’s devotion to her task of feeding the family marked our palates for life. Grandma double-downed on the family recipes. Daughters and daughters-in-law copied, observed, tasted and tested the ingredients for that familiar family smile and reservoir of compliments.
Now, when we celebrate we go out to a local restaurant. On a menu that seemingly needs a magnifying glass to read it, we pick out what we know. Something familiar leaps out from the pages and we wait with expectation to enjoy all the memories of family, youth and legacy.
Once in a while something new happens. It is not a completely new dish but there is a certain twist that captures our creative adventuresome spirits. That happened at a Portland restaurant with my best buddy.
We have joined him there only once before. It was so long ago no one could quite fix their finger on the occasion or date. Finally, we set that thought aside when it was time to give the waitress our order.
Bob asked about our favorites. We told him our short list. He filled in a few gaps.
“You guys like tofu, right?”
“Oh, yeah!” it was a chorus in unison. Comfort food was written all over that interchange.
“Then this will be a real treat,” he smiled broadly. “I have this dish a couple of times a week. You’re gonna love it.”
We have been friends for decades. Our paths in life have covered many adventures. Some have been sad but most were marked with great joy.
When the dish showed up we all took a modest helping. The expectation was reserved. After each one in our family tasted the dish we were stunned.
It was very familiar to all of us. Nevertheless, it was very new. Everyone was eager for a second helping only with a bigger portion this time.
The texture was buttery smooth. It nearly had the similarity with custard. Everyone complimented this dish.
Bob was right. We loved the dish. There was some leftovers that he graciously allowed us to take home.
Excellent leftovers make it to breakfast. After that they are just a memory. Something so familiar with a new twist gave us another great memory to tuck away with a fabulous friend.
photo credit: brucefong photography
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