Tag / Jen

by Greg

The Water Shoe [Memory Lane]

Continuing the series from the last week of July, we’ll been taking a trip down Memory Lane each Thursday in August! I will be posting some of my favorite stories ever published here. Some were taken from books (like today’s) and others have only been published online thus far. There are some funny, some sad, and some heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post to read more. I invite you to enjoy them (all) with me, too.

This was one of the most fun lessons in trusting God that we’ve ever seen actually worked out before our own eyes. It was truly incredible to be part of, and, all for only a tiny shoe.

The Water Shoe

October 29th & 30th, 2003

This collection of articles was written “real-time”, not after the fact (until the fact had actually happened) and so we wanted to present them that way, but we have put them together in one chapter calling it The Water Shoe. We still have the water shoe. It only cost us a few dollars at a Wal-Mart somewhere along the way, but it is now priceless for what—for Who—it represents. So, sit back and read the story of the day we found The Water Shoe…

Flowery Prayers

October 29th, 2003

I was humbled again. By my son Ian. I love it when he does that. Really.

We were praying, and sometimes Ian is a bit embarrassed to talk with God in front of people, even Mom and Dad. Tonight he was again, but He decided to.

A bit of background…

We went to the beach tonight after sunset (yes, the water was still quite warm!) and Ian and I were having a bunch of fun jumping waves. On one jump, over a large wave, Ian returned to the ground quite upset, and finally got out of him that he lost his water shoe!!! I spent 10 minutes feeling around for it, and looking around in the moonlit water. No luck. And all I could think about was the trust of Ian for his Dad to find his shoe (that seemed to me to be quite precious to him) and how I could not do it. So I kept thinking that God is in control of oceans. And I kept asking him to help me find it, wash it up on shore, or put it in my hand. Whatever he wanted to do for my son Ian who completely trusts both of his Dads. Well, no shoe, but I kept thinking that we should just come back tomorrow morning… so, I went back to Ian and told him that. And we are going to go back and look for it tomorrow morning.

So, fast forward to tonight, praying before Ian goes to bed. And Ian decides he can pray without getting embarrassed. He simply asked God to “please put the shoe on the beach so we can find it tomorrow. Thanks.” That was so cool.

The part that humbled me was not that. We continued to pray, and this time I was praying for our friend Kayla who is sick in the hospital with pneumonia. I thanked God for being big and powerful and asked him to help in many ways to heal Kayla, and to help Kayla’s Mom have peace as she trusts Him.

Simple. Plain English. That’s how I would talk to my dad, so that’s how I talk to my Dad.

But Ian wanted to pray for Kayla, too. So he did.

“God, we know that you are mighty, and powerful… and we ask you to… get the… to… uh…. (many words) … help the doctors get medicine to help Kayla’s body to get better. So she doesn’t die.”

Notice a difference? I did. Ian was getting all flowery (in his best four-year-old way… because I guess I do. I try hard to just be real with God. Guess I can try even more. I don’t want Ian thinking God is a distant, unapproachable God who only listens if we use the right words.

Thanks Ian for a fresh perspective.

Thanks Dad for Ian.

You are both awesome. (In different ways of course…)

Ian’s Shoe

October 30th, 2003

The Water ShoeJust a quick update on Ian’s shoe…

We got up this morning at 7am, which is like 3 hours before Ian usually gets up! We walked right out the door (Dad and Ian) and headed to the beach. We asked God as we walked to show us where He put the shoe… and we started looking. We probably looked for 30 min or so, up and down the beach where we had lost it. No luck. I finally told Ian, “Why don’t we go home and we’ll come back and see if God wants to give it to us later. Sometimes God likes us to learn to trust Him by waiting.”

So we did. We made it back to the beach around 1:30pm or so with the whole family, and started to look again. We were just having fun, too… but Ian really wanted to find his shoe. He said, “Ask God again, Dad!” I told him, “Yeah, I can’t do anything about this Ian. If God wants to give you your shoe, He will, if not, then we’ll just have to get another one.”

Within one minute I think, Ian had gone up to be with Mom (out of the water) and they started walking down the beach, and there were shouts of excitement… THEY FOUND IT!!! It was just sitting right in the beach wash (which Ian and I had checked at least 4 times earlier today).

Wow. Thanks God. You are the Wave Maker. The Oceans (and the Gulfs) obey your commands. And you love your children so much. We are amazed at God’s abilities and his love for us.

Hope you know that too.

From My Perspective

October 30th, 2003

I just wanted to add some more on the fantastic faith story of Ian’s water shoe. Just some thoughts from my head throughout the whole thing.

Can God Really Do It?

That thought obviously kept going through my head. In a way. You know, I really had no problem believing that God could bring Ian’s shoe out of the water and neatly onto the shore for us… but where my mind betrays me or gets me into trouble is on the “does he want to” side of things. I mean, what does God care about a shoe?

But He Cares About Ian…

But I kept coming back to the fact that it’s not about the shoe. It’s about how much God loves Ian—and even me—in this. He loves it when we come to him believing that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. (Hebrews 11:6)

Faith Like A Child.

You know, I actually saw Ian’s simple faith waiver a bit. But it wasn’t as insecure as my wavering. I wonder if God would ever do something big and God-like for me… but Ian didn’t worry about that. He just wondered when it would happen. He knew God would do it. That was so cool. I did too actually. It was honestly some of the most confident I have been in a while, and I just smiled every time I was talking to God cause I really knew He was going to do it.

Moments of Doubt.

There were plenty of moments when I had looked and asked and found nothing where I wanted to just give up. And I would talk to God again and ask Him what should I do… lead me to the shoe. (That rhymed…) I knew that even if God did not come through with the shoe, there would be some awesome story of His provision. I was confident in that.

Celebration!

You know, I honestly thought I would celebrate more. But all I wanted to do was smile and worship God. We sang some, we shouted out “GOD IS AWESOME!” and just had fun. But in the end, we were really expecting Him to do it! We knew he could, and we thought he would. Amazing.

I think that is how God wants us to live. Completely trusting Him, even when it doesn’t make sense, or seem possible. There are so many chances we have in life to trust that God is bigger. Sickness being one of them. Our friend’s daughter is really, really sick. And they love Jesus. A lot. They are in a crisis of belief. Can God fix this? Will he? Does he love us? They know all the answers, but now they have to trust him.

God gave Ian his shoe back today so he will have a reason to trust Him in the future with bigger stuff. Our friends are dealing with a very tough situation right now, where they have to trust God. God has given them plenty of shoes. That is what they are holding on to, and taking comfort in right now—the shoes God has given them.

What are your shoes? Can you think of one? Or several? God gives us little markers along the way where we see Him very clearly working or leading in our lives. And it’s when we look back at those that we can look forward in trust. Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. Words of wisdom from the book of Hebrews.

Faith requires action. God gives us reasons to trust him (shoes) and then something happens where we have to trust him. That’s when we remember the shoes, and trust that He has another one for us.

Tonight, celebrate Ian’s shoe, and remember yours. And thank God for his amazing love and faithfulness. And trust him. Really trust him.

Life in the Rearview Mirror: Reflections on Life Lived by Greg CampbellThis post is a chapter in the book A Journey Shared: Selected Thoughts on Life from Greg’s Head from GregsHead.net by Greg Campbell, available through Amazon.com. If you’d like to purchase the book, please click the book title in the previous sentence. Thanks for reading, sharing, and feel free to add to the discussion in the comments below, or wherever else you can reach me.
by Greg

Misdiagnoses [Memory Lane]

This week we’ve been taking a trip down Memory Lane! Each day this week I’ve been posting one of five of my favorite stories ever published here. Some are taken from books I’ve published and others (like today’s) have only been published online thus far. These are some funny, some sad, some heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post. I invite you to enjoy them with me, too.

Today’s adventure was one that little Julia would just as soon forget! What started as a routine, Sunday night visit to the Emergency Room at our nearest hospital, unfolded into a full-blown medical catastrophe! Rather than give away too much here in the introduction, I’ll simply give way to the story as originally told, Misdiagnoses.

Misdiagnoses

August 14th, 2012

It’s been an interesting few days here in the Campbell home.

(I know… when isn’t it, right?)

You see, it all began with a phone call from Grandma. (Well, sort of.)

Last Wednesday, Julia and Dad (that’s me) went out for an OK Night. Just Julia and Dad out on the town. McDonald’s for french fries, games, and play place. Then we hit a couple more places before the night was through. It was a blast!

And the best was still to come!

The next afternoon, Mom drove Julia, her two sisters, and their baby brother, Cam, over to meet Grandma who would take all four youngest kiddos back home with her for three days! They were so excited!

The first night was just wonderful. They love being at Grandma and Grandpa’s house! They even enjoyed a big buffet for dinner. Nice!

(We four back home were having good fun of our own, too!)

But then came Friday.

Now, whether it was the food she ate at the buffet… or the PlayPlace the day before that… or just something else entirely, we still don’t know. What we do know is that that afternoon Julia began throwing up.

(Yes, I said “began”.)

It was probably only a few times, but it was quite unexpected (and messy, according to Julia) so it just caught everyone off guard. Grandma even called us asking, “What do I do??”

“Keep her hydrated and plenty of rest,” was our best advice, not ones to jump to the medicine route. So sad, but Julia wanted to stick it out, and Grandma did, too.

Well, a day of rest on Friday seemed to do the trick. Fever had subsided, throwing up had ceased (though she was still battling the “other end”…) and she even perked up a bit, becoming her regular chatty self.

Whew! Glad that’s over…

NOPE! 🙂

Saturday morning they went to a park. Julia played. And played. When they got back, she was completely spent, hurting, tired, and “out for the count”. She slept on the ride over, and looked pretty bad when she got out to come inside our house. Still had a fever, too.

She went right to the couch and laid down.

We ate dinner (she ate something else… I think?) and made it through the rest of the evening till bedtime.

At this point, as I’m getting everyone ready for bed, Jen comes and tells me that she thinks it might be something more serious than just a little bug, so she wanted to call the doctor and see what they thought. I figured they’d probably just tell us to call them Monday, but it couldn’t hurt. Well, to my surprise (maybe Jen’s, too?) they suggested we bring her to the nearest emergency room to have her checked out, based on what Jen had described to them over the phone.

Interesting. But, they were just thinking it might be some sort of infection thing that could need antibiotics. They just wanted to be sure.

Sure would have been a welcome thing in the hours that followed.

(Yes, hours.)

I’m sure that you, the reader, are aware that late at night on weekends, hospital emergency rooms can have long wait times. Well, as Jen tells it, they actually got in pretty quickly. But, once they did a quick once-over of Julia, they decided (thanks to her not having been “immunized”) that they needed to run every possible blood test. Fun!

No. Not fun.

Jen and Julia left our house at around nine o’clock pm. The hospital is 10-15 minutes drive from our home. They got in rather quickly… but then waited HOURS for the follow up tests.

(Meanwhile, back at home… I have put the other five to bed, enjoyed some quiet reading time, and at this point, started to wonder why I hadn’t heard from the hospital-bound duo. It was 11:45pm and I still hadn’t heard anything! I decided to call and get an update… voicemail! By about 12:10, still having heard nothing, I tried the phone again… and again, voicemail! Worried something had gone wrong, I remembered that I can “Find My Phone” thanks to Apple’s clever technology! I just hoped they weren’t in a ditch somewhere, or worse!! I was relieved to see the phone located in the parking lot of the hospital. 🙂 Jen had left the phone in the van … so a quick call to the hospital and the nurse filled me in.)

BUT THEN…

(I know… how does it always go like this? Can’t it ever just be simple, and go exactly according to plan??? Guess not…)

Around 2:00am, they are still waiting for blood tests, filling Julia with an IV, and now there is some concern that perhaps what she has is appendicitis! In fact, it was such a concern that they ordered a CAT scan for her. That meant, in her very tired, very sick condition, she had to down a large cup of bad-tasting liquid, then wait two hours… and then they would scan her to see if the appendix was inflamed/infected, or whatever it might be.

Two HOURS!? That’s 4am, folks. For my poor, sweet, sick, tired six-year-old Julia!!

At this point, I finally grabbed a few fitful naps… only half-sleeping in case I received a call from Jen, updating me on their progress. I awoke every thirty minutes or so, praying each time I did that Julia could rest, and that God would help the doctors find whatever might be causing this.

At seven o’clock, I awoke again, and found no van, no call.

Time to check in, I thought. So I called our cell phone and talked with Jen, who informed me that they were pretty sure it is appendicitis, and they have scheduled an operation for about an hour from now when the surgeon was to arrive.

!!?

SO, we went from a stomach bug, to a possible minor infection requiring anti-biotics to… emergency surgery???!

It seemed that was the consensus, so I jumped to action.

I definitely wanted to be there—before the surgery—but our van was already at the hospital. And, well, I had the other five kids here! They were all sleeping still, of course, but I couldn’t just leave them, even if I did have a ride!

The wheels were quickly turning in my head. I called Grandma & Grandpa to let them know how the adventure that had begun at their place had escalated. Then I talked with our neighbor about getting a ride to the hospital. Then, deciding to leave the kids in the care of our oldest, Ian, I woke up Alex so that he could stay with Mom while I came back to get everyone else (once Julia was in surgery).

All was going mostly according to plan. We were getting pretty close to eight o’clock. I was hoping that they were running later rather than early.

Alex and I got out and thanked our neighbor for her kindness, bringing us to the hospital so early on a Sunday morning. We rushed inside and asked where to find Julia and her Mom. They said she wasn’t on their list, so that probably meant she was already in the operating room. (No!!) But, they weren’t certain of that, and pointed us in the direction we needed to go.

A brief elevator ride later, we were at the Operating Room area. But… where was everyone? The OR was dark, and there was literally no one in sight?

Weird…

We went down a hall that we knew was not the correct direction or location, but we finally found someone who could perhaps get us to where we needed to go. She tried. She really did. But we kept coming up empty. No Julia anywhere!!

I was really sad that I didn’t get to see Julia before they operated on her! But I just wanted to find Jen at this point, and find out what was going on.

Finally we were sent back downstairs to the ER, where another nurse recognized Julia’s name and took us to the room she had been in that night.

To our surprise—good, happy surprise—there sat Mom, with Julia beside her on a hospital bed. (Looking really, really tired, weak, and sick!)

“Well, hi!” said I. “What is the meaning of all this!?”

I didn’t really say that. But it sounded more fun that way, didn’t it?

Jen explained that the surgeon took a look at the CAT scan results, did his own examination, and he said he was pretty sure it wasn’t appendicitis!

While quite confused, I was certainly relieved. No one wants their six year old daughter to go “under the knife” … do they?

As Jen was explaining, the surgeon returned and explained a bit more that, from everything he observed, and after consulting with another pediatrician that morning, he was fairly certain it was not appendicitis, and that Julia would be able to go home, take a little Tylenol for her fever, and just stay hydrated. “She should be fine.”

Stomach bug… infection… appendicitis/emergency surgery… she’ll be fine.

Hmm. 🙂

And so, we went home. Julia (and Mom!) slept nearly all of the day. As the day went on, she perked up more and more. We finished the day with a movie, and all went to bed feeling very, VERY relieved.

This morning, Julia went back to the doctor to make sure things were progressing as the surgeon had hoped. After her Sunday night experience, Julia was very apprehensive. She really didn’t want to go through all that again!! We assured her (as far as we could tell) it wouldn’t be like that again, and thankfully… it wasn’t. The current diagnosis is some sort of bacterial thing in her intestines.

What will it be tomorrow?!

For now, our little girl had a much better day, was smiling and playing through much of it, and is now peacefully sleeping.

Which is where I plan to be soon…

What a wild, crazy series of events! And all thanks to a handful of well-intentioned misdiagnoses.

by Greg

Messes

The Campbell Kiddos

It’s funny…

I’m really not OK with messes. But, I have kids. Several.

(And they are all really good at making messes!)

Sometimes—after I am able to calm myself down a bit—it makes me smile just to think what a sense of humor God has. He, being all-knowing, must know that I am fairly particular about the environment around me (clutter, noise, odors, textures… you name it!) and yet, I am father to six (beautifully messy) children.

The eight of us reside together in a relatively small home: three bedrooms and one bathroom. (Yes, we have just one bathroom.) Two oldest boys in one bedroom (with lots of other “stuff”), four youngest kids in the other room (with even more “stuff”) and Mom & Dad in the last room, with the rest of the “stuff”.

My wife is an amazing organizer. She loves to do it, too. People seek her advice and assistance when they want to organize things in their lives. And still, we never can seem to keep up. Piles dominate our living space (if we’re lucky enough to have things stacked neatly) and the moments when our floors, counters, tables, and even chairs and couches are not cluttered with various elements of material life are so rare that they are hardly worth mentioning!

Even more humorous, if you go back a generation, my mother-in-law is just amazingly disorganized in her spacial environments. I can’t even describe to you here how impossible it is to navigate her various domains. So, as my father-in-law says, Jen “comes by it honestly”. 🙂

So I have a wife who has a heritage of spacial disorder, and six children who don’t know how to put clothes or toys or books or anything back where it belongs…

This doesn’t seem quite right, does it?

But it is. I am in the right place. God knows me, and he wanted me—particular, obsessive, over-sensitive ME—to be husband and father to these people named Campbell.

I can’t help but laugh as I ponder these things!

So I can walk into the bathroom and find the towels strewn across the floor, bath toys damp from the previous night’s baths and showers, toothpaste over most parts of our small sink, and—more often than not—the toilet holding something that someone forgot to flush. Many times my natural, involuntary reaction is to clench up—OK, probably every time!—but usually I am able to calmly put things back the way I want them to be.

And sometimes, I’m even able to be thankful.

Recently, as I pushed aside soggy toys to get to my toothbrush, I thought, I’m glad for all these teeth to brush. I’m glad for a sink with cold, running water. I’m glad. I took effort, but the corners of my mouth lifted with a smile from deep within me.

Thankfully I do have one space that is somewhat spatially serene. My office is my “sanctuary” because, for the most part, I can keep that relatively organized and clutter-free. It’s a sure sign that I’m overly busy when you see piles or “mess” in my office space.

I really, really, really don’t like messes. Really. I almost can’t handle them.

But I am a blessed man. Surrounded by six children, and a wife who loves me.

Children are a gift from the Lord;
they are a reward from him.
Children born to a young man
are like arrows in a warrior’s hands.
How joyful is the man whose quiver is full of them!

—Psalm 127:3-5

Someday I may have a living space free of clutter. (Though, with Jen’s heritage…) 🙂

But now, even in the midst of the piles of clothes and toys, the sticky surfaces, the dirty dishes and forgotten food behind furniture, the mud, bathroom messes, and everything else—I have an abundant blessing that is worth the messes.

And for me, that’s really saying something!

May your life be full of messes, too.

Mormon protesters, Palmyra, NY during Hill Cumorah Pageant in July
by Greg

Our Experience at the Hill Cumorah Pageant

Mormon protesters, Palmyra, NY during Hill Cumorah Pageant in July

Photo credit: Vasiliy Baziuk/Messenger Post

“You’re all sinners! You are an abomination to God!!”

These words were angrily spit at the thousands of people peacefully passing through the entrance to the Hill Cumorah Pageant’s last showing for 2013—an event which was attended by this writer and his wife.

Friends of ours participated in the Pageant this year. They played various roles up front. We met them after we entered, and they were dressed in their appropriate costumes and headdresses.

Other friends were part of the groups verbally, abusively accosting people as they entered.1

(Fascinating, huh?)

It was truly such a fascinating range of thoughts and emotions as we proceeded from our parked vehicle into the Pageant grounds. You could certainly call it surreal. Many people—many of them families, with young children—quietly progressed toward the entrance. As we walked, the first thing you notice—you can’t miss it!—is a man shouting awful things over a bullhorn. Then, as you reach the entrance, emergency vehicles surround it, lights flashing, since traffic needs to be managed on these nights. At this entrance are a dozen or two folks aggressively passing out literature to everyone who passes by. (I was glad when they did seem to allow for refusals, though.)

Once you have passed through the somewhat foreboding entrance, you are greeted by many friendly, costumed folks who will direct you wherever you’d like to go, if you desire. No aggression here, just welcome.

Yet, the angry, shouting voice marches on. His bullhorn is directed at the seated crowd, inside the event.

“It’s 19th-century fiction! Joseph Smith was a [insert several negative things here]!!”

Jen and I proceeded to the popcorn stand (she loves snacks while taking in a show!) and waited there in line, marveling at the very strange environment. The yelling man (actually, there may have been at least two) continued, audible over the sounds of a passive crowd of hundreds, and thousands.

As the line progressed we noticed that one of the helpers was wearing a baseball shirt from our home school sports league! We did not recognize this boy, but introduced ourselves and had a nice chat with him. He and his sister were helping their grandparents serve the popcorn and Pepsi. (Apparently not all Christians feel the need to venomously denounce every person at this event?)

When the show began, the yelling stopped. I was grateful; several times throughout the night I noticed and was grateful that the grating (degrading?) invectives had ceased being launched from just outside the peaceful confines of the temporary outdoor theater.

The Pageant itself was equally fascinating to me, a non-LDS person. We are perhaps more familiar with the LDS church based on our living in this town, and our friendship with members of that church, but I had never seen that presentation before. The thing that most struck me is how the story seemed to mimic so many familiar Bible stories, but with different names and places. The story’s elements seemed to be “drawn from” (or at least be very similar to) sections of both the Old and New Testaments. The general story is the tale of a family of Israelites heeding the prophets’ warnings of the destruction of Jerusalem (pre-exile2) and eventually finding their way to North and South America, and all that transpired there, all the way up to Joseph Smith being shown the location of the brass plates containing the stories we had just been told of that family and their descendants.

It really was fascinating.

But even more fascinating—and my main point here today—was the angry voice(s) starting up again as soon as the stage show was finished.

Mormon protesters in Village of Palmyra during Hill Cumorah Pageant in July

Photo credit: rochester.ynn.com

I really don’t fault the motives of these folks. They are sincerely wanting to help people whom they see as on the path to hell. In their minds and hearts, it is vitally important for the folks they are “helping” (and maybe for their own consciences?) that they speak out as often as possible against this boldfaced lie.

The trouble is, sincerity and right-motives don’t always align with truth and liberty—not to mention religious freedom that we so value in this country.

C. S. Lewis said the following regarding “having others’ best interest in mind” as the motivation for your actions:

“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.”—C. S. Lewis

I don’t think this need only apply to governments and tyrants. There seems to be a desire to control deep in the heart of mankind. It affects all of us, but perhaps some more than others. And when it is fueled by either a divine directive or just a love for your fellow man …

well, it really gets quite messy.

What I wish I had said to the man with the bullhorn was, “Why on earth are you so angry? What do you hope to accomplish by shouting such nasty things at these people with such audible and visible animosity?” I did not. I honestly was mostly in shock at how anyone could find a logical reason for such actions.

But I do wish I had.

If you are reading this now and you were there this year (2013) or previous years on either side of that protester fence, I’d love to hear your comments as well. I plan to ask our friends who are involved with at least one of the protestor groups how they think they are helping people. They (our friends) were not shouting … so perhaps their group is different?

Regardless, the issue comes down to a religious need to be right.

The article linked below from Slate.com, written in July 2012, posed the same question that I have been asking since Saturday night (my emphasis added):

“The contrast between their messages of intolerance, their anger and hate, and our music, sense of fellowship and community does a lot to highlight our message of Christian love. They say we’re not Christian,” he continued. “But who’s acting more Christian now?”—Volunteer security guard, Hill Cumorah Pageant

Westboro Baptist church is often maligned for its tactics: shouting hateful things, wearing and hoisting those messages on clothing and banners. These people seemed to be doing the same thing.

When will we Christians learn to let Holy Spirit do the guiding into all truth?3

Perhaps we never will.

do what is right, love mercy,
and walk humbly with your God
—Micah 6:84

For further information and research, please click these links. There are articles and videos that shed more light on what I have written here above. Always good to have a bigger picture!

  1. Thankfully, the people who are friends of ours were only handing out literature with one of these groups, they were not shouting angry, hateful diatribes at everyone passing them by. ↩
  2. See Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the stories in the history books, Kings, Chronicles, etc. ↩
  3. 1 John 2:27, John 16:7-9, etc. ↩
  4. Micah 6:8 ↩
by Greg

Jen

Yesterday was not a great day. There was not any one particular reason for it being “not great”; or maybe there are too many to bother with detailed listing.

After all the children were in their beds, I grabbed a book and collapsed in my own bed, allowing the story to distract my mind and heart from all it had toiled over throughout the day.

Not too much later, Jen arrived in our room and asked how I was doing. We talked a bit (which I usually do love) and she shortly thereafter climbed into bed (clumb? clambed?) with me and just gently placed her arm on my shoulder and back, tenderly caressing while she read her own book.

In those moments, and even throughout the day as Jen expressed her concern for me, I was so well aware of how much I love her, and how much I love our life together.

I am so thankful for my Jen.

greg-jen-now

Now, please don’t get me wrong… our life is full of hurt, and disappointment, and misunderstandings, and brokenness, and even pride and selfishness and uglinesses of that sort. Jen is not perfect. Nor am I.

But in the midst of a day with six children to care for, much less of their father helping, and the rest of life to deal with, Jen repeatedly took time to care for me.

You may not realize this, but, being the home schooling mom (or, just… the mom!) to six young people is what some could rightly call and “arduous task”. Not that it’s bad, nor that she’d choose to do anything other than that. But, it’s plenty taxing.

greg-jen-thenSo many long years ago, I got to know this beautiful young woman named Jen, and I loved being with her. The sweetness and depth of her spirit, the glow of her smile, the rich sounds of her frequent laughter, and even then, feeling like she cared about me. She’s quite a good listener. Always has been.

Life has thrown its punches at us, at her. And the amazing thing is, even though we can’t even really count the number of knockdowns anymore, she just keeps getting back up; she keeps pressing on.

I love her. I just wanted to say that here, out loud.

We’ve known each other for a little over twenty years. We’ll be married for sixteen of those this coming October. Not being omniscient, I can’t know how many more we’ll get to enjoy together—maybe fifty, like my aunt and uncle are now celebrating… or sixty-seven like my grandparents celebrated in April? 100?—but however many it may be, I am so glad that God decided to bring Jen to me.

And he brought her to the man. —Genesis 2:22

I love you, Jen.

by Greg

House-i-versary: Ten!

Our House

April 25th is the day that we became home owners. The year was precisely one decade ago: 2003. Ten years of mortgage payments, tax payments, home owner’s insurance payments, home improvement and maintenance projects and cost…

Yippee! 🙂

But, it is still a fun day to celebrate.

This home is the only one that four of the Campbell children have known. Ten years is a long time to live in one place. (I think this might be the longest that I personally have lived at one address over my lifetime?) Much life has been lived in this domicile; and some, over that time, has been lived elsewhere, with Campbell hearts hoping to return to this place we call ‘home’.

The attic remodeling—now my office!

The attic remodeling—now my office!

In ten years we’ve reconstructed and deconstructed, repaired and replaced, upgraded and removed, laughed and cried, and we do not lack for anecdotal evidence of all of those things. (Some of which you can find here at this blog!)

I’m not entirely sure how we will celebrate this decade of residing here. We’ll think of something, I’m sure. (We do enjoy celebrations, commemorations…)

Kitchen Remodeling—Oct 2011

Kitchen Remodeling—Oct 2011

One thing that I love about this little parcel of land and this fairly old edifice is that we are part of a larger history. When we first purchased the home and then obtained the deed to this property, I truly enjoyed reading through the history of our home. Who owned it through the years; the agreement with one of the neighbors that the owner of this land could cross several other owners’ lots to reach the community well—that being, perhaps, my favorite—and just knowing that much more life had happened here at this place we now call “ours”.

Our Yellow House

Who knows how much more life will be lived here in this spot? We can’t know. Perhaps another decade? The rest of our lives on this planet? Maybe just a short while longer? You just never know.

But I do know that today marks ten years in our Little Yellow House. Our ten-year house-i-versary.

I wonder what memories will be reminisced on April 25th, 2023…

by Greg

The Case of the Missing iPhone

iPhone 3GsThe phone rang Sunday afternoon. As soon as it did, I remembered that I had left the handset somewhere other than where it was supposed to be. After a brief search, I located it and saw the call was from my parents home, so I clicked the TALK button.

“Hello!” I said with sing-songy happiness.

“Do you know where your phone is?” asked the voice of my mother.

Taken aback, wondering how in the world she knew that I didn’t answer earlier because I couldn’t find the phone, I stumbled through saying, “Well, yeah… I had just left it… but… yes. I found it.”

“Oh really?” said she, knowingly.

At this point, I’m very confused. I had been watching a very intense Buffalo Sabres game, very much engrossed in that tight contest. Now my Mom is somehow slightly clairvoyant and even challenging my response?

“What do you mean?” I finally managed.

“I just got a call from a man named Wade… from your iPhone.” She let that hang for a minute, expecting a surprised response from me. She got it.

“Uh… what??” That was about it. 🙂

She explained that she had just received a call—from our iPhone—from a stranger named Wade, who explained to her that he had “found” this iPhone, and decided to scroll through the recent call list and try to ascertain to whom the phone belonged, and how to get it to them. She was wary of this very odd set of circumstances, and so got his name (which she later reported was an equally odd name) and said she would call me at home, which she then did.

The rest of the story follows…

Early Sunday morning, Jen informed me that she’d like to let me have a nice, quiet, non-work day at home, so she would take all six kids out for some shopping errands (including a stop at their favorite thrift store) while I stayed home and wrote or read until watching the Sabres game in peace, not needing to tend to many children’s needs every couple minutes. That was so nice and thoughtful! I knew it was really not something she enjoys doing, too, so it was clearly a gift she wanted to give to me. And so, I accepted.

They enjoyed a lunch together at Cici’s Pizza (ever been there? it’s fun!) and then found and purchased the hockey and skating equipment they were hoping to acquire, and then ended their excursion at the aforementioned favorite thrift store.

It was here that the adventure began.

Cam was tired by this point, and so was somewhat cantankerous. Biggest brother, Ian, offered to take him out to the van whilst the other shopped. He asked Mom if he could take the iPhone out with him, so he could listen to the Sabres game out there. Mom approved, and handed him the phone.

Here’s where the details get fuzzy. Ian does not recall where he put the phone down, nor for what reason he might have. Perhaps it even just slipped out of his pocket? Regardless, he somehow made it out to the van sans iPhone; and thus entered Wade into our family’s life.

At some point shortly after the misplacement of the iPhone, Wade and his girlfriend and her daughter, shopping at this very same favorite thrift store, came across this iPhone. (He did not tell me where it was discovered: floor, shelf, etc.) He decided to have a look at the recent calls list, rather than just hand it over to the store employees. (He and the two others with him were reticent to trust the employees, thinking they might decide to abscond with such a nice lost-and-found discovery.)

He told me later that while perusing the recent calls he saw ‘Grammy & Grandpa’ and figured, “Well they should know how to get this phone to its owner, if anyone does!”

He was right! (But it did freak out the Grammy a little bit…)

So he calls Mom, gives her the information, and she calls me. I called him back on his cell phone and assured him that the best option would be to just give it to the store employees, and Jen would get back there eventually, even if she didn’t know the phone was missing until they returned home.

Two important pieces here: one, I couldn’t contact Jen, since she didn’t have the phone, and two, we live about 35-40 minutes from this store. Ouch.

I need to back up once more. I’m not sure of the timing, but either before or after he called Grammy & Grandpa, Wade did alert the store employees that he was “looking for” Greg Campbell. So, at some point while they were shopping, Jen and kids heard a page for “Greg Campbell”. Jen told me later that she responded, but the store employees only told her that someone was “looking for” me, and nothing more. Nothing about the phone, and I don’t think they connected her with this man, Wade, either! Too funny…

So, after asking Wade to leave it with the store, I decided to use the Find My Phone feature to lock the phone remotely, mostly just because I could. It turned out to be very unnecessary, as probably less than ten minutes later, Jen was calling me from our iPhone.

That was the last interesting piece of the story as, Jen later recalled, “When I got the phone back, it said on the screen, ‘This phone has been lost.’ How did it know that?!” Ha! She realized it was something I had done, but it was a funny moment for them all, thinking that the iPhone was a very smart smart phone!

I called Wade back and thanked him for his help in getting the phone back to us. And relayed some of the details of the very interesting day to him as well, which made him chuckle.

All in all, we were reunited with our iPhone, and I believe Ian might now think twice before asking to be responsible for that device. 🙂

by Greg

Growing Up

Campbells long agoWe here at the Campbell home are experiencing the winds of change. I think perhaps we have been for quite a while now, but I’ve been noticing it again lately.

Life moves quickly. In some ways, too quickly.

For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven.
—Ecclesiastes 3:1

Yeah. That’s the other thing that keeps coming up: Seasons.

We live in a climate where the weather reminds us of the benefit of the cycle of seasons. From the snows that bury all of life in a fluffy blanket of white powder, to the beauty of spring in all its colorful splendor, to the heat of summer that produces a bounty of edible sunshine, to the more subdued colorful beauty of fall where we enjoy the harvest, the cooler days, and well… pretty much everything about fall! (Yes, that is my favorite!)

And just like there is beauty in every season of weather and the repeating cycles that are evidence of our never-ending annual circuit around the sun, there is beauty in every season of life in our home.

Campbells nowThe scene above was from another time. Those boys are fourteen and eleven and a half years old now. A decade of life has been lived. I’d have to call it a full decade, though I know that we could not possibly have lived more life than anyone else. But since I am the one who lived it, I have all the memories. I know all that has passed here in those years.

I know of the lives gained. (Do you see all those amazing people in the second picture here?) I know of the losses. I know of the successes and failures. I know of the dreams that were not realized, and the ones that were. (Including ones we didn’t initiate.)

As I pondered the current seasons I saw under our roof, I also thought ahead to the seasons that are now not too far off.

Ian, our oldest, is definitely in a different season—and so, then, are we with him—and in less than two years, he’ll be sixteen years old. He’s already developing his own strengths, and likes, and even goals and dreams for his life. He’s begun the transition toward his own adult life, to be sure. With aspirations of God bringing him a wife, and buying a home, and raising a family… I considered that all of that could quite feasibly occur even in the next decade.

That’s astounding!

I was then time-shifted a decade ahead, pondering that somewhat distant season. Cam, the youngest, would be a teenager. Thirteen years old, and the youngest of four teenagers.

Wait. Let’s let that sink in.

Is it still sinking? Go ahead… I’ll give you a moment. Yes, four teenagers. At one time. Under one roof.

Alright. Moving on …

At the same time, Alex will be about to turn twenty-one years old; a significant age in our culture. (Though we Campbells are not very much bound to any cultural expectations or limitations attached to chronological age. But that’s for another post…)

And Ian? He’ll be twenty-four years old.

When I was twenty-four, I was becoming a father. To Ian. (My dad became a father to me when he was twenty-four.)

So, when Ian has children… that means I will be Grandpa! Wowee!

At this point in my fancying the future, I decided I should slow down and return to the current season. It was getting a little too wacky! Time to return to the present and enjoy the current season!

But that’s just it. That’s the greatest thing about the seasons: we’re not really in one place for too long.

It’s been a (full) short decade since the two tiny boys were the only ones scurrying around our home. (And around the country at that point!) So much life was fit into that short time span. So much more will be lived in the years to come.

And who’s to say what that next decade will bring?

I can dream of what will be, but I can not know it. I don’t know what will happen to us or in us over the next season of life, nor do I even know if we will remain in this world. There’s never any guarantee of that.

So we fondly remember and relive the seasons we’ve come through, and we can even dream of seasons that may be, but with no assurance of what will come, the best place we can be is right here, right now; living fully in the season(s) of life right now.

I feel like this is an ever-present theme in my life, and so on this blog. Don’t you?

Perhaps it’s just the season I am in.

I don’t know what the future will hold, but as I approach the completion of four decades of life on this planet, I do know that it goes fast, and it’s full of really good and also really hard things.

And through it all, Father is with us.

That is our hope, and the one constant we have through all of these seasons.

I actually don’t mind getting older. It’s so amazing to watch life unfold before me. First my own, and all that Jesus wants me to know along my own path. Then in my marriage to Jen, watching him work in her, and in us. And after that to watch the seasons of life develop in our six children. What a privilege to be part of it, and to watch, encourage, train, and cheer on those young and growing lives.

At least, for this season.

And maybe a few more.

by Greg

Christianity, or Jesus? (Aren’t They the Same?)

Our family is currently making our way through the book of Luke together. We’re taking our time, but I do enjoy reading in larger chunks, so we will often read what might be the subject of an entire series of sermons in one sitting.

Tonight, we read through the fifteenth chapter: the three stories of lost and found.

Though we’d often read more than that, it’s such a good three-part story—with the most famous, the Prodigal Son story at the end—that I thought it would be nice to stop and discuss.

The kids are reading and learning about “unreached people groups” with Mom during the school days, and both of the older boys picked up on the “lost” theme that Jesus’ stories held.

When I asked what everyone heard in Jesus’ stories, Ian replied first, “I think it shows that God cares about every single person: if even one in a thousand is lost, there’s a celebration when he realizes he’s wrong and returns to God.”

“Yep. So right, Ian.” I affirmed.

Alex chimed in next, “Or, like if one person in the 10 million in Japan who are buddhists or other things turn to Christianity. It’s like that, even.”

I smiled and affirmed Alex’s insightful answer, too. But something didn’t sit right with me, the way he had phrased that answer.

Ian and Mom both explained what they had been studying—unreached people groups—and I realized what it was that bothered me: the lost returning home story is not about conversions to Christianity, it’s about the Good News that Jesus is life and nothing else.

I tried to lovingly expand on that thought to Alex, but I guess maybe it didn’t come out quite right. Jen didn’t think I was saying it correctly, and by offering further instruction at that time, kinda squashed Alex.

jesus-christ-in-stained-glassAnd, honestly, she doesn’t really agree with my instruction, that Christianity is not the same as Jesus.

I told Alex that the somewhat subtle distinction between someone “turning to Christianity” and someone meeting Jesus (The One true God and Jesus Christ whom he sent) are often, even usually very different things.

One is a religion. Plain and simple, Christianity is not in the Bible. (Really! It’s true!) In this sense, Christianity is no different than Islam, Buddhism, Hindu, and so on. Jesus never talked about establishing a religion (though he did mention building the Church) and I can’t think of anywhere that the word “Christianity” or “Christendom” can be found on the pages of Scripture. (Though other people called the Church, “Christians”—Acts 11, and Acts 26—the only other occurrence of the word is in 1 Peter 4:16.)

Returning to a loving Father is a different story. Realizing our need to be connected to the Vine; understanding the limitless, boundless love that God has for us, wanting from before the foundation of the world to adopt us as his own children; understanding how the cross restores our friendship with God by destroying sin and death and shame once and for all…

That’s a different story. (And doesn’t “sign you up” for anything.)

Now, I’m certainly painting with too broad a brush right now. Firstly, only a chapter or two before, Jesus addressed his disciples and the crowds following him, making sure they understood the cost of being his disciple. The cost is… everything. He said we need to be willing to give up everything (even family, wealth/possessions, a home), even our own life.

But the key is, nothing else matters outside of his Life. Nothing.

And that’s the point. Converting to a religion often satisfies our own accomplishable goals and benchmarks. There are “measurables” with Christianity. You can check things off like, reading your Bible, or having quiet time, joining a prayer group, or some other “small group”, going to services, volunteering for a ministry… or five ministries. All of those things can become “feathers” in our caps.

Jesus asks us to volunteer to be last, though. To not be noticed. To give up our dreams, turn the other cheek… all of that. And all because there is nothing we need or could ever want more than to know him.

Paul knew that, and wrote:

Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ. —Phil 3:8

Honestly, I could be convinced that I’m straining out gnats here. OR, I could be convinced that this is the pivotal, most important, fundamental part of the Gospel: Jesus matters.

It’s him. And nothing else. Not a religion (Christianity), not a building or an organization (First Christian Church of Wherever), and not even a set of benchmarks that you set up for yourself to take your spiritual temperature.

Do you trust him? Then you’re in. And your life will never be the same. If you believe that Jesus is Immanuel, God made flesh, the Christ, the Way, the Truth, and the Life… buckle up!

That might be the same to you as “Christianity”, and if that’s the case, I’m really glad. My experience has been different. We people are good at maintaining control, and I think Jesus wants—longs for—us to relinquish that. Most often systems with fancy names—Christianity—don’t allow any room for that to happen, and even worse, they keep us in the “performance” mindset, where we’re always trying to “do better… for God, of course…

But Jesus’ words were always simply, “Follow me.”

I think it might really be that simple.

by Greg

Please and Thank You

Thank YouOne thing that our son Cameron is good at is common courtesies. He’s very good at remembering to say “please”, and he’s nearly flawless with “thank you”, and he’s famous for his, “Wehcm.” (That’s his version of “you’re welcome”, said quickly with an emphasis on the harder “m” sound to end the word.)

Not sure why he picked up on the practice more than the other children, but it comes natural to him, whereas it’s less so among his siblings.

This past weekend I was talking with our niece about life as a big family. She has said before, and maintains still, that she wants to have lots of kids some day. (And many times hence I have brought up that topic, to ascertain what would create such a desire in her…) 🙂 I mentioned to her that I’ve learned through the years (especially since our family has grown larger) that patience is a huge key to life as a large family.

“Do you feel like you’re a patient person?” I asked her.

“Well, yes… unless they don’t behave,” replied she.

(Now, stop! It’s not nice to snicker!)

She added, “Like, your kids. They are the most well-behaved kids I know!”

After letting a quick laugh escape from my lips, I informed her that they are definitely not always “well-behaved”. In fact, many and sundry images of that non-well-behaved behavior flashed into my mind as I uttered those words. And I remembered why I said patience is very important…

“You know,” I continued, “One thing—maybe, the thing—we really try to stress with our kids is to think of other people: consider others more than yourself. I think that’s probably a reason that you saying they are the ‘best behaved kids’.”

She agreed, and we talked a bit more, but I dwelled on that thought a bit. I wondered if maybe that is the core of what I want to pass along to our kids.

Certainly I want them to know Jesus, and to learn to listen to Father and walk in step with the Spirit. And I want them to understand the Good News, that ‘while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us’; and, ‘So now we can rejoice in our wonderful new relationship with God because our Lord Jesus Christ has made us friends of God.’; and that, ‘Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.’

That’s most important, and I believe when we know that—at our core, as our foundation—then we are more able, more ready to consider others. When we are valued, we can more properly value others.

And, at least in some way, I hope that Cameron’s simple expressions of courtesy show not only his consideration and respect for others, but that it evidences at least the beginnings of a deeper reality from whence such behavior has its source. And similarly that the ‘good behavior’ exhibited by his siblings is a fruit of a deeper root rather than a mere act of habit or will.

That is my hope. And my goal.

As I thought of this today, I decided to make homemade Thank You cards for all of my kids (and Jen) for the Christmas gifts they thoughtfully purchased, wrapped, and gave to me. I drew a little Christmassy drawing on the front of each and wrote a one- or two- sentence personal greeting inside.

Cam has had a really hard day today, so when I first saw him (after a work day in my office) he was crying and very frustrated. After making sure I had his attention, I gave him his card, and asked if he’d like me to read it to him. He agreed, and when I did, a smile came across his face and he asked me to read it again. And then again. His countenance was very much lighter, and I made his day just by saying a personal Thank You. (And I don’t think his card even had a “Thank You” in it! Ha!)

Little things matter, to be sure. And even more so if they come from a bigger, deeper foundation of thinking of others more than yourself.

Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.

Treat others in the same way that you would want them to treat you.

A simple please and/or thank you is a good step in that direction. (Or a good evidence of a deeper peace where such courtesy has its origin.)

I hope you have a chance offer this simple courtesy—or maybe be on the receiving end—sometime soon.

And… Thank you for reading. 🙂