Letters to the Editor: National Geographic

Not that it matters, but I did feel compelled to write a letter to the editor of National Geographic today after viewing their story "Hope in Hell" about humanitarian aid. Here's what I wrote:

The picture of the devastation at the Superdome was an impressive reminder of the suffering that took place three months ago in New Orleans. More recently, I stood at the same site for twenty minutes taking pictures with a team of twelve disaster relief volunteers from Missouri Southern State University on the Friday afternoon following Thanksgiving without seeing a single person or car drive by. We took a group photo next to an abandoned boat, the only vestige of the chaos that thrived there in the days following the disaster, then quietly left the eerie silence of what the 'Big Easy' has become. The sheer lack of any activity was a telling sign of the volume of relief work that remains. Working with the Southern Baptist Convention and the
Red Cross we prepared forty thousand meals for the broken lives that remain... It was a drop in the bucket the size of a city.

My New Travel Blog

My new travel blog is up. It isn't complete, but it does exist. Look for me to archive all my travel journal entries in the near future.

You can find it at Smithing Link 2.

Disaster Relief: Hurricane Katrina

So, I spent the last week on a Disaster Relief Mission to Algiers (New Orleans), Louisiana assisting the Missouri Baptist Convention and Red Cross's efforts to help southwest Louisiana dig out from Hurricane Katrina. My plan at this point is to just start a new blog with all of my mission journal entries for the past 13 years in it, but for now the thing I want to remember (since it isn't in my journal yet) is that I did, in fact, appear on the local Fox TV station and our group got mentioned on National Public Radio. Of course, NPR blew the coverage by refering to our group as "students from colleges around the country" or some such gaff, but ours was, in point of fact, the ONLY student group on site, so we KNOW that we were the people the reporter was talking about. I am especially disappointed since I specifically told her the name of our school. C'est la vie, I guess. Never trust the media...

A letter to my wife

Mandi,

If you've read this, you've read the letter I just wrote to the children. I don't have a bad feeling about the trip or anything like that, I just want to make sure that in the unlikely event that anything did ever happen, that they will know how much I live them.

You're letter will be shorter. Not because I love you less, quite the contrary, I expect more of our love! You are the greatest love in my life. You are the reason I want to get out of bed in the morning, (and get in bed at night... wink, wink, nudge nudge). Seriously though, I love you as much as I know how and I have since before we were married. It is a love that cannot be measured by anything more than time itself and if anything has happened to me then you will know forever that our love is eternal. You make my happy, bring me joy, cause my heart to sing. In the ocean of life, you are my Aitutaki, my Bora Bora. I only wish your life is always as fulfilling as you always made mine.

Love,
Jon

A Letter to My Children

Alyssa, Nate and Anna,

I wish I had time to write you each your own letter...

In less than 48 hours I will be on my way to New Orleans to help out with the disaster relief efforts there. Travelling with me will be 11 students and a van load of people I don't know. Our goal is to help the people who have been so throughly devastated by Hurricane Katrina that even now, more than 6 weeks after the disaster they still don't have utilities. Its a modest mission: feed people DR workers and people whose kitchens still don't work. We've done all we can to ensure a safe experience, but one never knows...

Ultimately, the morbid reason for this letter is to make sure that if anything happens while we are apart, you will know how much you all mean to me. You are amazing children, far ahead of your peers in many areas of life. I love you all. I am proud of you all. I see hope for a bright future in each of your eyes. You have each,since the day you were born, been a source of joy and happiness in my life. You are often the reason I smile to myself when no else is there to see it. You are the reason I come home from work early sometimes. You are a blessing to me that I do not deserve and cannot repay. You are kind and gentle, intelligent and compassionate. My sincere hope is that you continue to grow in those qualities.

Regardless of the strange, sometimes harsh, twists of fate that life brings, I want you all to know that I will always love you. Nothing can change that, ever. Nothing that happens, nothing you do or don't do has anything impact on my love for you. You are precious. Never forget that. You are loved. Never forget that. Always remember, you are mine.

And more than that, you are God's. You will probably soon forget the song you now enjoy, "I am a promise..." But I love hearing you sing it. Your lives are full of promise. Not because of me or any other material edge you may have, but because God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life. He loves you and want to have a relationship with you that will enable you to experience peace and hope and love and joy on a level that I could never provide. He loves you so much that He sent His son Jesus into the world to show you how to live and to be the payment for all the sin in your lives. And He says that you can have a relationship with Him if you just accept His Son into your life...

All you need to do to begin that relationship is accept Christ. Say, "God, I know I do wrong things. I can't stop myself and I know that hurts you, that justice requires me to pay you back for all the pain my wrongs, my sin has caused. And I'm asking you now to bring Jesus into my heart. Thank you for letting Him be the one ultimate payment for my sin. My life is yours, thank you for giving me life in Jesus your Son. Amen."

And its not so much the words of that prayer that count, but the attitude of your heart. Give yourself to Jesus, submit to His authority in life, and watch what God does with you. You'll be amazed. And I'll see you in heaven, my dearly loved ones.

Love,
Daddy

Poop stories

I know this is pretty gross, but 1) I am a guy, and 2) working in missions--collegiate ministry is a mission field--over the years has equipped me with some fascinating scatalogical narrative, which I find a use for at least once or twice a year (usually at a men's retreat or on a mission trip). So, here they are...

Chicken Mole
During my senior year in high school my church, Emerald Bible Fellowship, took the youth group to Mexico for Spring Break. It was a trip the church made every year, this one happened to be my second. For most of the week everything was normal. We went to a missionary compound and did various work projects all day, then hung out with locals at night. We also worked on building a church. The trouble began at the end of the trip...

To show their appreciation for all our hard work, a group of ladies who lived near the mission decided to make dinner for us and several other groups that were woking in the same area. The dinner was served just prior to our leaving the area. Our plan was to eat, load up the vans and head for Anaheim, CA, where we would sleep in before spending a day at Disneyland. That was our plan...

It was Friday night. Dinner was Chicken Mole. The only problem is that mole sauce has to be served immediately after it is made or it spoils, and you can't taste the difference between spoiled mole and unspoiled. The ladies slaved away all day preparing that meal and it was good. Mole is delicious. Then we loaded up the vans and headed North. I'm not sure how far we got over the border, but it wasn't long before the first rumblings of trouble began...

There were 120 people on the trip, travelling in 22 vans. Not long after dark one of the girls in the van I was in complained of a stomach ache (translation: diarhea). We were in the middle of nowhere and she was desperate, so we stopped the convoy so she could scamper out and do her business in a ditch beside the road. (I should mention that we were in a rural area, not on a freeway. There were open fields for miles in every direction at that point.) She was embarrassed, so it took a few minutes. By the time she returned, another person had complained and I knew that I was in trouble myself, although I hadn't mentioned it yet. Still, we needed to keep moving, so we sucked it up, got back on the road and kept driving.

A few minutes later the calls for relief were beginning to multiply with varying intensity. I was the third or fouth to complain, but within half an hour the radios we used to communicate between vehicles were filled with chatter of scatalogical significance. But we were still in the middle of nowhere and toilet paper was at a premium. A decision was made to take the next available exit that offered any kind of civilization. In the meantime, I scored roll of TP from one of the ladies driving our van, Echo Lowery. Echo was like a second mother to me and that night I'd have kissed her. Not every van even had a roll.

The only thing we could find within a reasonable (immediate) time was a church. I don't remember the name or denomination; it didn't matter. All that mattered was me getting out of the van and into nearby bushes. Before we had even rolled to a stop, the doors to many of the vehicles swung open and men, women, boys and girls scampered in the shrubbery in the lawn and flowerbeds around the church building. I was the first one out...

There was an island of shrubbery in the middle of the church lawn. It provided a good 360-degree screen for me as I dropped my pants, prayed not to hit my shoes and let out a monster of a hershey-squirt. (Pardon my French.) I was done in less than a minute. To my surprise, however, I couldn't get out of the bushes; I was completely surrounded by fellow students who had been desperate enough to park their pooh at the edge of the island. I handed off my roll of TP to one desperate soul who hadn't been able to secure anything to finish their business. I can't even remember now if it was a boy or a girl. Our need to "take care of business" overrode any reservations we might have had about pooping in front of the opposite sex. It was dark and we were truly desperate. I will never forget the image of a classmate being chased down the road, pants around his ankles, by a friend who was waving a dollar bill and yelling, "Wipe! Jamie, wipe!"

88 of the 120 in our group were sick that night. Many of them on the lawn of the church. By the time we were finished it looked like vandals had completely defiled the property. The second wave of poopers had to use open lawn, because the bushes weren't safe to walk in any more. It was a sight to behold.

Epilogue: A van of the sickest people was left at the nearest motel, the rest pushed on to Anaheim arriving at 6am. More than six hours off schedule. One girl left a Bible at the church, and was able to explain the situation to a custodian she met there when she went early the next morning to pick it up. The church was glad to be of service, and pleased that there was actually a reasonable explanation for why so many people would poop on their property on a Friday night...

Bolivia
So, back when the earth was young (Summer 1993) I went on a mission trip with Campus Crusade for Christ to Cochabamba, Bolivia. Now, normally when you go someplace where the water is suspect you just drink it bottled. But when you're in country for over 6 weeks, you make mistakes... EIther you brush your teeth to vigorously, or you eat fruit that's been washed, or you take ice in your coke, et cetera, et cetera. In my case it was probably all of the above, but who cares, since we all (there were 14 of us) in the same boat, er, bathroom, within a week. By the end of the second week our normal breakfast conversation centered on the consistency of our pooh, which was usually the color of black ink, had the viscosity of the water that had caused our sorrowful condition, and came out at Mach 1. Before we were done that summer, at least three people had pooped in their pants. I, fortunately, was not among them. However, I came as close as a man can come to pooping in his pants without actually doing it...

I remember sitting at a table about four weeks into our mission, sharing a coke with a Bolivian friend on the campus of La Universidad Mayor de San Simon, when the urge struck. And when I say 'urge', I mean URGE!!! I set my coke down, turned to an American friend named Judson who happened to be nearby and told him to lead me to the nearest restroom immediately. I knew I was in good hands with Judson because he was the first one of our party to poop his pants (perhaps 'oiled' himself' would be better, given the nature of our pooh) and had made a religious habit of knowing the exact proximity and vector of every restroom within half a mile thereafter.

Judson ran. I followed. When the restroom came into view across an open quad I sprinted. As I passed Judson I realized my one problem; TP. Public restrooms in Bolivia do not stock TP. If you go in without any, you won't find any inside. Normal protocol is to purchase TP from the little old ladies who habitually loiter just outside the public restrooms and sell TP on a stick. You don't buy the roll, just enough to get the job done.

Problem: I didn't have time to slow down for the TP lady. Solution: I threw my wallet over my shoulder and yelled at Judson to 'pay the lady' for me and bring in some TP. It was close, but I made it, and eventually Judson came through with the potty paper. What a relief...

Never Trust a Fart
I made Mandi swear she would never share this with anyone... On my honeymoon, sitting in a lounge chair at a resort on Rarotonga, talking with my new bride about who-knows-what, I actually uttered the phrase, "...I just pooped my pants." It wasn't huge, just a little hershey stripe, but it was definitely more than a fart. There, I've said it. I'm not proud of it, but it did happen. I blame the fish...

Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit
When I was very young, perhaps 5 or 6, we lived on a hill in the woods. 834 South 71st St. in Springfield, Oregon, to be exact. And it was a wonderful place to grow up. We could ride Big Wheels down the road in front of the house, wander through the woods looking at nature, play Cowboys and Indians around the yard or build dams in the spring that flowed nearby. Of course, living so close to nature has great benefits for a young boy. For instance, he can snack on blackberries without going in the house, or eat the beans that magically grow in the yard after the deer graze awhile... Yes, I ate deer poop. In my defense, I was very young and at such a tender age poop and beans can look a lot alike. I developed a tapeworm for my troubles, which I pooped out at some point much later. Mom was pretty grossed out by the whole affair, but what's a childhood without magic beans?

Lake Troy
So, after a long march and an even longer drive out of the woods and back home after a weekend camping trip, a friend of mine, Troy Klaus, created perhaps the single greatest toilet overflow I've ever seen. Why he didn't go in the woods, or at the gas station, or at his own house, I do not know. What I do know is that after dropping a prodigious log in our own toilet, he wiped with something like a half a roll of TP and flushed. Water poured out of the toilet, then out of the bathroom. It was amazing how much water came from that one flush. It was as it the valve was stuck. Anyway, we named the resulting puddle "Lake Troy." And as good a guy as Troy was to be with, tenderhearted and considerate, with an easy laugh and an infectous smile, I will remember him more for that one defining, poopy moment.

Ron
For some unknown reason an old college buddy of mine, Kenny Sargent, one day decided that the little piece of poop that just wont flush (you know, the piece that just swirls around, but won't follow the main body of the bowel movement down the pipe). Kenny decided that that little piece of leftover piece of pooh needed a name. And I don't know what philosophic meandering his brain went through to arrive at that conclusion, but once the decision to name the offending particle was made Kenny acted swiftly to cal l it "Ron." I don't know anybody named 'Ron' that Kenny was upset with, and I asked him what 'Ron' had done to deserve such a namesake, but no answer was forthcoming. Did Kenny even know a 'Ron'? I can't say. All I know it that I'll never see the McDonald's clown in quite the same way.

Ordinary Life

I don't have much to say at the moment, but feel compelled to write anyway. Not much is going on in our lives right now other than the mundane. I am working hard at turning the BSU into the 800lb. gorilla of campus ministries at MSSU, Mandi is homeschooling the children, and the kids are just being kids.

Our most recent 'excitement' was Alyssa's Pinewood Derby race at AWANA last night. It was frustrating from the beginning and ended badly. First, the date was changed and we weren't notified until less than 48 hours prior. Second, it was our first effort at doing this together and I don't even have a workbench on which to craft a decent car. Third, I was laboring under the false impression that kids were supposed to do most of the work for the 'kids' division of the race. Most of the cars were CLEARLY the work of skilled men, not 8-year-old children. One idiot went so far as to carve his son a dragon and his daughter an airplane (complete with working prop). Seriously, the cars were beautiful, I mean, magazine quality beautiful. What kind of Jack-a-double-squiggle does PROFESSIONAL quality work, then enters it in his kids' names like that? Alyssa hand painted her car and was crushed to see other kids winning trophies when they clearly hadn't touched their cars (or even seen them?) until their fathers were through. I was embarrassed to be so underprepared, but not as embarrassed as those adults should be who cheated--Yes, CHEATED--in order for their kids to win. I was so proud of Alyssa for doing so much work on her car, and so dissapointed for her when we arrived at the race to find out that the only way to win was for the adults to make the cars, and give them to thier kids to play with.

I was told the race was supposed to foster Parent-Child relations by giving them something to work on together. Alyssa and I did that. We win, yes, WIN. To all the other idiots--Yes, IDIOTS--(and especially the Father-of-All-Idiots, Mr. Dragon/Airplane), I can only say, SHAME ON YOU. I only hope you repent, because you should.

Disc Golf

So, I have been playing disc golf off and on for about 12 years now and it amounts to about 22 courses in 12 states. I'm still not very good, but I did hit my second 'Ace' today. It was a 171 ft. shot on the first hole at Oak Grove Park in Springfield, MO using a yellow 172g Millenium JLS that I've had in my bag since the mid nineties. It was a great shot, pure vintage Jon. I tossed it high left and let it cut back down to the hole. It was sweet. No one else saw it, but a guy named 'Dave' whom I met just a few minutes before leaned back from the tree he on which he was urinating to tell me he heard it.

Letters to the Editor: Joplin Globe: Evolution

Updating the post of 9/27/05...

The Joplin Globe did, in fact, see fit to publish my editorial pretty much as I wrote it. That, of course, makes me very happy. See 'Primates' on A9 of today's paper or click here. It will be interesting to see whether or not anyone responds...

Notes from life

Work, work, work. That pretty much sums up the last month of our lives. Mandi and I continue to search for a church to call 'home,' and it has begun to really effect the kids. No longer are they excited to go to SUnday School, instead they just cry. They NEED the stability and security of going to the same church every week. Since we've moved to Joplin we've visited Journey Church, Forest Park Baptist Church, Fellowship Baptist Church, First Baptist Church-Webb City, First Baptist Church-Carl Junction, Wildwood Baptist Church and Harmony Heights Baptist Church. Frankly, we're about all churched out. The search must end soon, for our sake and the kids' as well. Ministry at the BSU has been booming though. Our smallest weekly meeting has been 55, which we had at both a weekly meeting and Wednesday luncheon. I know this seems kind of like a blah entry, but there's really not much to add at this point. I really don't want to get trapped into simply writing ministry reports, and ministry is all I have to talk about at the moment...

Letters to the Editor: Joplin Globe: Evolution

Once again the force of stupidity are mobilizing across the globe in the mindless pursuit of a world without Christ...

The Joplin Globe today published a column by Jay Ambrose which I quite agree with, except that Mr. Ambrose didn't go far enough. In the article he describes an expreience had at the London Zoo which I can only attribute to atheism run amok. In a letter to the editor of the Globe I added my own critique which is also here...

Regarding Jay Ambrose's column in the September 27 edition titled, "We're
not just another primate."

It’s good to see someone using common sense for once in their understanding of the human species. Mr. Ambrose was not only on-target with his arguments; he also did an excellent job of showing restraint towards those philosophically ignorant enough to disown their special place in creation.

I cannot claim that restraint. The idea that Mankind is just another species is a prime example of what philosophical dead-ends like naturalism, humanism and materialism—all of which stem from atheism—would like us to believe. The fact is however that such baseless and intellectually-challenged philosophy ultimately leads to the demise of morality and proliferation of mindless activity like 'frolicking around in an exhibit' in the London Zoo while scantily clad.

The very idea that we are ‘just another primate’ is morally repugnant not only to
Christians, but to Mormons, Jews, Muslims and other faith groups as well. If it was true that Mankind is just another species, then we would have to accept that nothing spiritually separates us from all other life on earth and we would lose all bases for morality. We would be forced to give credence to such immoral practices as abortion, euthanasia, homosexuality, polygamy, etc., which is exactly what most atheists want.

According to Genesis 1:27 God made man “in His own image…” We are special. We are not like other created life for that very reason. To forget that fact is to ignore
not only the common sense truth that Mr. Ambrose ably pointed out, but our
Biblical heritage as well, and that is much more important.

Archives

RELIGION BEFORE POLITICS
(Originally published 12/9/2004 at www.iuchallenge.org/blog)

As an evangelical Christian, let me just say that I am about tired of being
labeled as a Republican. You talk to people now, in the aftermath of one of the
most divisive elections in our nation’s history, and they automatically slap the
scarlet ‘R’ on you (51% smile as they do it, the other 49% with a scowl). It
taints you, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired because I know for a fact that neither candidate represented a complete set of Christian values, and both parties lied to the public to garner votes (see www.factcheck.org). I was forced this year to vote for a man who I know does not completely agree with my moral convictions. He will NOT support my view, an evangelical Christian view, on important issues. People find out that you are an evangelical and they just KNOW without asking that you voted republican and therefore you believe everything that Republicans have ever mentioned from the party platform.

I am tired of having my worldview assumed by my voting record on one
elected office in one election. It seems that in America today you are red, or
you are blue. There are no other colors. The fact remains, however, that neither
red nor blue is an ideal fit for most evangelicals. (Yes, some will disagree, but we can’t all be intelligent.) Some of us–many of us–are a shade in between.

51%-49%. That’s the approximate split in America’s political convictions, and that does a fair job of describing mine as well, if they must lay along party lines as is too often assumed. Republicrat? Demoblican? What am I? Politically, I don’t really know. What I do know is this: on every issue, environmental, social, moral, fiscal, whatever, I will find the Christ-like position and I will stand there. Rooted in God’s word, I will defend or attack immorality and unrighteousness regardless of what political color it may take, should I be called upon to do so. Will it be easy? Of course not! Does that matter? Of course not. What does matter is that we as Evangelicals do not allow ourselves to be colored by someone else’s brush.

The body of Christ should not and must not allow itself to be defined
monochromatically by an American political process. We are supposed to be light
(Matthew 5:14-16), not red, not blue, not even green, but light (which, by the
way, indicates the presence of ALL colors.)

SO, the next time you wind up talking to a ‘politics-first’ person (and that will probably be sooner than later) try to remember that we are not called to a party, but to a person; Jesus Christ. Remember, too, that that we are aliens in this world, and therefore in this country. (1 Peter 1:1) We have the privilege of voting on its political leaders, but our first allegiance is to the King of Kings, not an elected official.

Jon

Archives

PEANUT BUTTER LOVE
(Oriniginally published 12/7/2004 at www.iuchallenge.org)

I just want it to be known to the world that I love my family. I have a
beautiful, caring, considerate wife and the three greatest kids in the world. My
family is so great that I often shake my head (literally, I do) in wonder at
what kind of cosmic lottery I must have won to get such a great life.

I remember on the day of our wedding (February 1, 1997) that during the
toast my best man said that when my wife (Mandi) and I look back on the love we
had at that moment, it would seem like we had a foundation of peanut butter with
which to start our life together. Now, almost eight years later, I can say
unequivocally that he was right. Our relationship has not been perfect (mostly
my fault), but it is infinitely stronger now than it was back then. We have
lived in three states, had three kids, three jobs and five homes. And although
our marriage has never been in real trouble, it has not always been easy. What
is the source of our strength and stability? Jesus Christ. If I can ever pass on
one piece of advice to my children (Alyssa 5, Nate and Anna 3) it is that apart
from Christ, you have nothing real, just the illusion of a reality beyond your
control.

I love my wife. I love my kids. I love them to the absolute best of my
abilities, but Christ loved them long before I ever knew them. And my love,
compared to his, is a foundation of peanut butter.

Jon

Archives: Rich Man's Rue

(Originally published at www.iuchallenge.org/blog on January 13, 2005)

RICH MAN’S RUE
by Jon Smith

The muse is upon me…

I were a rich man,
once upon a time.
Lived the best a man can;
baubles, games and rhyme.

I skied on sno-capped mountains,
fished rivers in the spring,
was loved through all temptations,
I saw most everything.

Then I found myself in judgment.
Surprised, I was, to die.
Looking back across my memory
(my life without Christ in it)
was just another lie.

I lived!
I loved!
I held my own,
comparing man to man.
But before the throne
I stood alone,
and frozen my heart ran.

Just God demanded judgment,
and truly He was fair.
My sins though small condemned me.
Now I burn in Satan’s lair.

Here, O Death, thy victory!
Here, O Death, thy sting!
Who’d have thought a life like mine
to this estate would bring?

I heard.
Ignored.
Scoffed!
At the life in Christ that’s found.

Embrace Him now! my fervent prayer,
lest, like me, in flames, you’re bound.

Letters to the Editor: World Magazine

So, I submitted an editorial to World Magazine a while back, and today I found out that it was actually published! (Vol. 20 No. 29, July 30, 2005) This is definitely the high point of my writing career. Here's the original article. Its an interesting piece on Moralistic Therapeutic Deism. Here's my response. Of course, this is the edited version (published under the heading 'Cultural Novocain'), for the full submission, see my June 27 blog entry.

In my ministry to students at Indiana University, I am daily shocked at the
ill-conceived and unbiblical worldviews held even by the evangelicals on
campus. Christians taught in public universities are experiencing the
systematic erosion of their faith and, worse, they seem numb to it. Deism
is the Novocain of the university culture. Christian students are soothed
by the "presence" of God even as they are spitted on the moral fork of a
tolerance that is intolerant of their faith.

Life verses I

So, the Lord has seen fit over the years to provide me with a verse here and there that captures my life in some key way. This morning the verse that struck me like a thunderbolt was 1 Thessalonians 2:8. "We cared so much for you that we were pleased to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own lives, because you had become so dear to us." [CSB] THAT is how we feel about the students God has so graciously brought into our lives over the past three years. As we move on to a new life and ministry in Joplin, MO, it struck me that I really hope that the students we have had to work with understand that simple truth...

Moving from Bloomington

I am swiftly losing my mind. Between dealing with the realtor in Bloomington, the realtor in Joplin, the moving company, the mortage company, the insurance company and all the other pieces of the transition puzzle, I am about ready to shoot someone. Not that anything is going horribly wrong, yet... I am just tired of dealing with it all. Waiting for phone calls, sending faxes, tracking down last year's tax returns, etc., etc., etc., is driving me crazy. The latest headache: the independent inspection on our Bloomington home. I've never met the man, but he has to be the most anal retentive human being on the face of the earth. NOTHING on this house is below code, but according to Mr. Grumpy Pants we have 10 repairs to make. I called the builder, James Baird, and although he's very understanding of the nature of the concerns, even he sees the petty and at times errant nature of some of the flagged items. For instance, although we live on top of a hill, the inspector flagged us for not having adequate drainage. WHAT A CROCK! We have perhaps the best drainage in the entire city of Bloominton! Anyway, the frustration is mounting, but God is ultimately in control. THAT is the only key fact in all this. He knew we'd get those ten flags. He knew we'd have trouble getting the house closed in time to move. He knew all the problems we're experiencing before they we knew we'd be moving. And, truthfully, as anxious as we are about it all, nothing major has happened. There aren't any large or insurmountable issues we're facing. Its just the cumulative weight of all the little stuff... God is good. He is in charge. That is enough.

2914 North Hickory

God is good. Knowing we had sold our home in Bloomington and were moving in two weeks, we more than a little concerned about the fact that we had no place to live in Joplin. When the realtor, Cherlyl Chandler, became difficult to reach (she had jury duty) we got dwonright panicky. So we got some friends to watch the kids and flew to Joplin on Wednesday morning. Our realtor met us there at 4:00 and we spent the rest of the day and most of the evening searching for our new home. It went well, but we were stressed out, exhausted and in a hurry. Late that evening we decided on a house, 2914 North Hickory. Right price, good location, huge. The floorplan wasn't the best, but it would do. Since it was new construction we put insane riders on the bid and offered 4 thousand dollars less than the builder wanted. (I figured he would at least know what we wanted then and as a builder might work with us to provide it later). Then we went to Jack and Jane's to sleep.

The next morning we went to the realtor's office at 9am. If we were exhausted before, we were positively zombified the next day. Neither Mandi nor myself were able to sleep at all. Maybe I got an hour, maybe less. Cheryl took us to look at two more homes and we also visited the top two from the previous day. All four would have been a good fit for us and we began to rethink our decision of the day before, anticipating that the lowball crazy offer we'd made would be rejected and we would have an opportunity to choose another house if we wanted. Problem (blessing): the offer was accepted unconditionally. I wanted to test the builder for drugs. We came in low, asked for serious upgrades, and his answer was yes.

We're still not crazy about the floorplan, and its not the fanciest house in the world (one step above rental quality), but 3200 square feet on a good sized lot, in town and at $188,000, is enough to offset any concerns we might have. He even went ahead and put sod in the back yard! I just assumed he'd use seed and straw, like most other builders do, particularly when they're getting lowballed on the house. What a blessing! Cheryl's response to it was that she wants me along next time she has to buy a house for herself.

Thursday afternoon we boarded the plane for home, satisfied that we had seen God's goodness at work in our favor again. Then the last leg of our flight, St. Louis to Indianapolis, was cancelled. Our first thought was for the kids. Would the babysitters be able to stay that much longer? While we pondered our situation in the line for the courtesy phone that the airline, American, uses to reschedule flights for its stranded customers, the man in front of us, Paul, mentioned that its only a four hour drive between the two cities. Immediately you could almost see the lightbulbs going on over people's heads. We joined Paul and two others, Jamie and Michelle, and agreed to split the cost of a rental car. We would make it home after all, another blessing.

While we got ourselves organized I spoke with the American representative on the courtesy phone and the company agreed without discussion to refund half of our tickets. Another blessing.

On the four hour drive to Indy we shared about our respective lives and someone asked me about our ministry with students. A 2-3 hour witnessing session was born. About halfway through I was so tired of answering questions about the Bible that I told them all it was okay to change the subject because I didn't want to just dominate their time or offend anyone. Their response was that it was the most civil conversation they'd ever had about religion and they wanted to keep talking. I shared more. No one was converted, but I know that they heard the truth, that they understood the message of the gospel, and they heard it in a loving, non-contentious way. When they went to bed that night I'm sure the Holy Spirit was still whispering in their ears. What a blessing!

Finally, because we got the house so cheap we decided to use the professional movers we'd had give us estimates earlier in month. Why that constitutes yet another blessing is this: When the second estimate came in, we showed the man our copy of the original estimate and he almost choked on how cheap it was. He literally could not understand how we could get such a deal. (It should be noted here that the moving industry is very competetive. The sales reps from each company know the sales reps and rates of their competitors. And, moving is NEVER cheap.)

At the end of the week we have accomplished a lot, and we have again been blessed far beyond all we could ask or imagine. Why God continues to shower us this way is still beyond my ability to comprehend. This, however, I do know: allow Him full creative control of your life, and you will be constantly amazed by the power of God to turn your mundane journey into a divine odyssey.

Letters to the Editor: World Magazine

The following is a letter to the editor of World Magazine submitted June 27 and in response to several recent articles therein...

'Ignorance is bliss,' as the saying goes, and it seems as though state institutions of higher learning leave college students closer to that euphoric condition every year. In my ministry to students at Indiana University I am daily shocked at the ill-conceived and unbiblical worldviews held even by the evangelicals on campus. Christians taught in public universities are experiencing the systematic erosion of their faith, and worse, they seem numb to it. Like a frog in a kettle they don't realize the danger they're in until they've lost that which they once claimed dear. Daily their faith is undermined by well-meaning professors and graduate assistants using the bully pulpit of the university classroom to teach art, science and values from secularist, or worse, deistic perspectives. (Deism is the Novocain of the university culture. Christian students are soothed by the 'presence' of God it offers even as they are spitted on the moral fork of tolerance intolerant of their faith and diversity exclusive of Jesus Christ.)

The vast majority of college graduates attended state universities. That is not likely to change. And there are campus ministers at virtually all of those schools dedicated to offering spiritual shelter in the hurricane of unbiblical dogma foisted off as moral virtue. Yet we, the Body of Christ, are failing miserably to feed the flock at their hour of greatest intellectual need.

That is why I enjoy World Magazine so much. I sincerely hope that the students to whom I minister realize the value of a news source willing to demonstrate Christian values across the broad spectrum of issues that comprise modern life. My only criticism of your publication is that it isn't often read by those who need it most: collegians.

The Honeymoon Shell

So, we have this shell. It sits out on display at our home, usually in a prominent space, and people often wonder where it came from. Its a nice shell, I don't know what kind exactly, but its a soft peach-colored spiral about the size of a baseball. Mandi and I found it on our honeymoon...

After our engagement as Mandi and I made preparations for the wedding and subsequent honeymoon, we made the decision to let Mandi focus on the first while I focused on the latter. Now, it should be mentioned that we had a little money saved up and I determined to use it to give my bride a real first-class trip to somewhere exotic. I looked at brochures about tours of Asia and Africa and Caribbean Cruises, etc., until my eyes were tired of looking. Then as I was strolling through the Valley River Mall (Eugene, OR) on my way home from some inane errand I saw it...

It was a kiosk run by a travel agency that had a video playing over a TV that you could eyeball on your way past. They showed videos of various tropical locales to which they catered., and the video I saw was of the Cook Islands. IT WAS AMAZING! I knew at once that that was where I wanted to go.

Of course, in 1996 everyone still pretty much booked their trips through an agent, not the 'Net like we do today, so I rushed over to the travel agency I normally used and harried the agent into telling me all she could about the Cooks. Amid the brochures she gave me was one with a picture of a bikini-clad woman lounging on a spit of sand under the tropical sun. There was a shallow beach that ran back aways and faded into a line of palm trees. It was beautiful, and I told the agent, "That is where I want to go. Exactly to the spot where that woman is sitting in this picture. Find the resort, that's where we'll stay."

Well, we couldn't locate the exact spot, but we did book a nice trip to Rarotonga and Aitutaki. And we had F-U-N. We were married on Februaly 1, 1997 in Grove, Oklahoma. It was cold. The Cooks, however, were brilliant; warm, beautiful, full of great food, great snorkelling and no commercialism whatsoever. We couldn't even find any really good souvenir stores.

Then one day, near the end of the trip, we took a day cruise around the lagoon at Aitutaki. It included a BBQ on a motu at the edge of the lagoon, snorkelling, and a generally great time. The day began perfectly with a cruise around the lagoon in a motor boat, then as we cruised back to the motu (a small island at the edge of a lagoon) for lunch I noticed a great looking spot about a hundred yards off the channel we were in and pointed it out to the skipper. It was a sand bar that dropped off at the edge, but stayed just inches above water most of the way to the motu. The skipper's response was, "Yeah, that's where they take the pictures for all our promotional brochures." He was pretty laid back about it, but Mandi and I about jumped out of our skin. I told the rest of the people on the boat and as the excitement spread the skipper decided (at our behest) to drop us off right there and let us walk along the spit to the motu where he'd meet us for lunch. Mandi and I were the first ones off the boat, and that shell was just laying there in the sand, like a wedding gift from the Lord.

I've been on a lot of beaches in my time, but I've never found a shell that even comes close to this one for size and beauty. Oh, sure, you can buy nicer ones at tourist shops and you might even get a local conch diver to give you one for free if you catch them at the right time, but to just step off the boat onto the sand and find that thing was truy glorious. It was the only shell on the beach. Big as a baseball. I can't look at it without remember the story of how we came to be at that place. And now, more than eight years later, it is still in perfect condition; not a scratch, not a chip. It is one of our most treasured belongings. It is our honeymoon shell.

1159 West Twin Oaks Ridge

The moment we decided to stay in Bloomington, Mandi and I determined to live as if we would be here forever. It is for that reason that we decided to build our dream house, 1159 West Twin Oaks Ridge. It is a beautiful home and was an amazing confirmation from God that we were moving in the right direction. The builder, James Baird, was new to the area and trying to get his name out, so he undercut the market on pricing. Then, throughout construction he offered us free upgrades on items like the jetted tub (Jacuzzi), the water heater (ex-large capacity), the paint (8 colors), and etc. Every time there was a mistake in the plan or a sub messed up, we came out ahead. That's just the way James does business, and why I'd use him again in a heartbeat. When it was finished the house was beautiful. It had a complete wrap-around porch, grand entry, four bedrooms, a formal library, 2 1/2 baths, a sweet master suite, recirculating hot water, instant hot water, great views, a laundry room, a bonus room-unfinished-, a formal dining room and an open floor plan. Mandi actually cried when she saw the colors on the walls for the first time; they were that good. More than a year after it was built James would still occassionally call us to ask if he could show it to prospective clients. Everyone who saw it was amazed. It is a thing of great beauty, and we got it cheap.

When we decided to take the position in Joplin, we knew it meant selling our dream home. We may never find one quite as nice. The realtor talked to James about it and he told her it was the best house on the block. He's right. Maybe that's why it sold so fast. It went onto the Multiple Listing Service on Friday the 17th, and we had an offer on Saturday night. Did we price it too low? Not really. Given that we have to move in less than a month, we priced it at the high-middle of the market and hoped we wouldn't have to wait for it to sit empty like our house in Eugene (2708 Frogs Leap Lane) did six years ago. Clearly we benefitted from a red-hot market, but still, two days? We countered the offer, which was low with one that was fair, and the deal was done by Monday night, even though the buyer had flown back to California. We close on August 12.

All I can say is that its a total GOD thing. What a great God we serve, and how well does He care for those who are His completely. Our God is an awesome God.

Now our hope is to find an even better home in Joplin. It won't be easy. We will be tentative at first, living in a rental until we know for certain that we are meant to stay for a while. Then we will build again whatever dream we are led to claim our own in the land that God calls us to serve.

IU to MSSU transition letter

The following is a close copy of the email sent out to students informing them of our decision to move from IU to MSSU. It greives me to have sent it, although I know the Lord is at work...

College is a great time of life, and just when you get used to it, it ends. At least that's the way it was for me. After more than 5.5 years (yeah, I slacked more than a bit) I was forced out of the warm confines of academia into the harsh reality of the post-college world. Although I had a plan, I wasn't sure where I was going or what I was doing. Where would I live? How would I feed myself? Where would I be in five years? Ten? Twenty? Like any intelligent human being faced with that kind of uncertaintly I did the most logical thing I could... EUROPEAN VACATION!!! Actually, it was a mission trip, but it served the purpose.

As it turned out for me, I was actually moving on from college to meet the love of my life, Amanda Trask (now my wife of 8 years, Mandi Smith). We began to fall in love in Romania and life has only gotten better since. Life after college, it seems, isn't so terrible after all. My point is, everyone moves on. From high school to college, from college to career, from single to married to parent; transitions are myriad, and usually they're good even if they are kinda scary at the moment.

And transition is come upon me again. After praying and seeking wise counsel and searching our souls, Mandi and I have decided that I should accept a position as the Baptist Collegiate Minister at Missouri Southern State University (MSSU). We are leaving Christian Challenge, IU and Bloomington, on July 14th.

The decision has been difficult. We like it here. You all are just AWESOME! The campus, the city, the people, the work that is not done, all weigh on our hearts. Still, MSSU is just 30 minutes down the road from Mandi's family in Oklahoma, and with three small children at home we have to consider their needs as well.

A very Godly man once told me, "The most important thing most people will ever do is raise their children." He was right. Read Deuteronomy 6:4-9 and tell me otherwise... The most important thing most of you will ever do is raise your children. That begins by choosing wisely whom you will marry. It continues as you consider what to name them. The name you give your child is the first gift they will receive from you. Consider it carefully. Then there are their physical, emotional, social and spiritual needs as well; needs that change as they grow. For Mandi and I, that made the difference.

Thank you for your prayers. We pray for you. Pray now for the right person to come in to this ministry to expand the Kingdom of God and His glory in B-Town.

Until July 14th you can reach us at the usual contact points.

May the Grace of God dwell in you richly,

Jon

What I did on my summer vacation

The Jefferson National Expansion Memorial (the St. Louis Arch), the Oklahoma City National Memorial (Oklahoma City, OK), a wedding (Ardmore, OK), fishing at Lake Eucha (Oklahoma), fishing at Grand Lake o' the Cherokees (Oklahoma), a bass tournament (Grand Lake, OK)... Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument (Washington), fishing at Wickiup Reservoir (Oregon), fishing at South Twin Lake (Oregon), Crater Lake National Park (Oregon). AND ITS ONLY JUNE! Not bad for two weeks, eh? Somewhere in there we even squeezed in time to get a new job. Pending a vote of the Spring River Baptist Association, as of July 15th I will be the director for the Baptist Student Union at Missouri Southern State University (Joplin, MO). Now all we have to do is sell our house in Bloomington, pack everything we own, find new digs in Joplin, move our belongings and unpack...

With all that's gone on during the past few weeks, I could write forever. The highlight of the trip though might have been the time I spent with my father and Nate fishing at South Twin. Nate was the fourth generation of Smith to dip a line in the water there. It is a place of cherished memories for our family and I hope we can continue that tradition for many years into the future. Of course, at 4 years old, Nate isn't exactly a pro yet when it comes to fishing, but he was brave enough to hang out there in the boat even though he was afraid of the water it was in. I am proud of him.

Notes from life

So, last week our ministry, Christian Challenge hosted a concert event in Dunn Meadow on the IU-Bloomington campus called 'Hullaballoo.' Although we didn't set the world on fire, I thought it was great that we played across an open field from the Sigma Chi fraternity, which recently lost a brother to the war in Iraq. Now, normally that would be cool in itself as a witness, but this particular brother was also an outspoken Christian, a member of Sherwood Oaks Christian Church and Campus Crusade for Christ. The 10-15 Sigs that sat on the steps and chilled while the bands (there were three) played on definitely knew where their brother would have them be. I can't say that we got to tlak much with them, but I suspect that the Holy Spirit was saying plenty through the music and attitude of our event. We hosted three bands, Jonathan Pettigrew (the BCM Director for IUPUI) spoke, and we gave away nachos w/cheese, soda pop, water and sno-cones. It was fun for everyone who dropped by.

Evil-ution I

Evolution v. Creation, the ultimate debate... Of course, being an intelligent human being, I recognize that bias is part and parcel of either side of the debate. Being a Christian with a brain, I further recognize that both sides have serious problems and ought to stop calling one another names and start talking about the issues. That not being really likely to happen, I will occassionally include a few tidbits herein that pertain to my side, the Christian side, of the debate. Yes, a number of people (mostly Christians) will disagree and say something indefensible like, "evolution and the Bible don't disagree," but they are wrong. Fortunately, Jesus won't keep anyone out of heaven based on whether or not they got their cosmology right.

So, here's the latest installment from Charles Colson as published in Christianity today... "Verdict that Demands Evidence."

Weddings

So, on Saturday (March 26th) I officiated at my first wedding. I was the minister of record for Randi Denise Swann and Shaun Aaron Kun. Let me just say that standing between the bride and groom is a little disconcerting at first, but highly rewarding. Randi was a student in the Batist Collegiate Ministry (now Christian Challenge) at IU, of which I am the director. The wedding itself was wonderful, and the reception was the most lavish I have ever been to... Of course, I only been to about a dozen wedding receptions, so I'm not exactly an expert in that area. Talking to Mandi (the beloved bride of my youth) about it afterwards, we are convinced that it was a good thing we were there. The couple had very little help in coordinating the affair and we were able to provide some last minute organizational and creative help. I.e., Mandi was available to open the back doors of the church so Randi could enter the building on cue. That may seem small, but it was a small ceremony (about 30 people) and there was NO ONE ready to perform that simple task. Also, we brought one of the bridesmaids and she wound up spending the night with Randi before the wedding. No bride should have to spend the night before her wedding alone! SOMEONE needs to be there to help her stay calm, do her hair, say encouraging things, run errands AND interference, etc, etc, etc... I was really surprised at how few people were there to help out. Oh well, all's well that ends well. And I'm sure Shaun and Randi Kun will live happily ever after. That at least is my hope and prayer for their new life together.

Zzz

Nothing really to say at the moment, just wanted to get connected in preparation for the unlikely event that I have something important/thoughtful to say.