Happy New Year!

As the sky writer hovered over head in his airplane and slowly but surely spelled out his message for the one million plus people gathered in the Sydney Harbour below, one thing became very clear: Australia is not afraid to use the name of Jesus. "The . . . creator . . . is . . . Jesus," the message declared. Yes, truly, the heavens declare the handiwork of God and the heavens speak a continuous, silent message that there is a Creator. And as we enjoyed the $5 million fireworks spectacular last night, I talked with a woman from Fiji who was raised a Hindu, but married a Muslim, so she became a Muslim. I shared with her about the God who thinks more about her each night than the grains of sand on the seashores. I gave her a small bible and challenged her to get to know this God in 2009. As we left, the presence of this God in our midst was clear, as Susan gave away a pair of her sandals to a young, intoxicated woman whose shoe had broken. It was a touching sight. Yes, 2009 is here. It will be filled with its challenges and blessings (in no particular order, for it rains on the just and the unjust alike), so let me challenge you to resolve to know God more. For you were designed to know God, and once you start doing what you were designed to do, your life will be invigorating. Happy New Year!

365 Days, 66 Books, 1 Goal Accomplished

In October last year, Tyler told me that he wanted to read his Bible through in a year, for he noticed that his Bible had a schedule to do so. Needless to say, it was a very moving moment for me. As such, I tried to immediately get him to start, for I figured that there was no reason to wait until January 1st. But Tyler had his heart set on starting on January 1st, so he did. Susan immediately decided to join Tyler on his journey, so they both got One-Year Bibles and started their quest. At times, they would get behind a day or two, but they diligently continued reading the Word of God. And, today, two days ahead of schedule, they finished reading the entire Bible. We celebrated their accomplishment by eating out for dinner for the first time on our trip. We went to . . . Outback Steakhouse (what did you expect?). "Thy word have I hid in my heart that I might not sin against you." Psalm 119:11.

Merry Christmas!

Somehow it came. It didn't come in the usual way. There was no living tree. There were very, very few Christmas lights in the neighborhood. There was no gathering with extended family. There was no Christmas Eve celebration at church. There was no chance for snow in the nearby mountains (let alone on the continent). There were but a few small gifts and dinner was not served until 9 p.m. But Christmas came nonetheless and it was beautiful. It was very different, but it was very familiar. We celebrated Jesus' birthday, the day God became a baby boy with a destiny to save the world from sin. We enjoyed one another's company as we ate, opened presents, listened to Christmas music, talked to family on the phone, ate (some more), and entertained some of our new friends, John, Tina, Fritz, and Nora. And then we ate some dessert. And then we ate dinner (yes, in that order). Yes, Christmas in Australia was beautiful. In fact, we'll never forget it the rest of our lives. May God richly bless your Christmas too.

The Little Drummer Boy

We had dinner with some friends the other night. We met these new friends at a small home bible study group. What is so amazing is that the wife, Nora, used to live (literally) right across the freeway from us and attend our church. Needless to say, we had never met her before we came to Australia. Anyway, before we went to their house for dinner, Susan previously had given Nora a copy of the Oasis 2 Christmas CD, which has on it the song, "The Little Drummer Boy." The song was played on the album by Cesar Gervasi and his band and was sang in English and in Spanish. As we were talking, Nora, who is Hispanic, told us that the song had so moved her when it was sang in Spanish, for it was her mother's favorite song, and her mother (who spoke Spanish) passed away earlier this year. What's truly amazing about this story is that we only got those CDs just minutes before we left for LAX. In fact, David and Grace Chu went out of their way to pick them up from our church and bring them to us at our home, for we did not have the time. Truly, God, in His goodness, saw to it that Nora had a beautiful memory of her mother at Christmas time.

I'll Be Home For Christmas . . .

"I'll be home for Christmas . . . if only in my dreams" the popular Christmas carol declares. At times, I'm utterly amazed at the longing I have in my heart to be home for Christmas to experience all the "usual" things that we experience at Christmas time. You never realize your affinity for the "usual" until you are removed from it. Thankfully, however, Susan has repeatedly reminded us to enjoy the experience of an Australian Christmas, instead of complaining about what we are missing (and, yes, I have been guilty of complaining about what I miss). To that end, our Christmas tree (all 3 feet of it (and all plastic--there are very few real Christmas trees in Australia)) is decorated with koala ornaments and has a small plush koala with a Santa hat underneath it. Our birthday cake for Jesus will be Lamingtons, which is a traditional Australian dessert. And we will be having a barbeque (yes, you read right!) on Christmas Eve at some friends' house. And after reading some from the book of Colossians last night, I've vowed to stop my complaining and start thanking God more for this opportunity, for it truly is a unique opportunity with which He has blessed us. And, next year, I'm sure that I'll be dreaming of an Australian Christmas . . . including the shrimp on the barbie.

Christmas at the Sydney Opera House

Last night we went to the Sydney Opera House to enjoy "Christmas at the House." Like most of you, the Sydney Opera House always has been one of those places that I've always wanted to go to. But we figured that it might be prohibitively expensive to see a play. So when we found out about their Christmas production, which cost us only $25 each, we bought tickets immediately. Because the tickets were all the same price, we ended up with some of the best seats in the house. Although we knew that there would be Christmas carols sang, we had no idea that it was a world class, top-notch event, complete with five opera stars. About two-thirds of the way through the production, one of the stars of the show sat down in a chair on stage and read Luke 2 verbatim. It was simply beautiful. The orchestra then began playing "Silent Night." As Susan stated afterward, if we lived here, then this would become an annual Christmas tradition for us.

What's That Green Stuff?

Last night I started praying about doing more while we are here, so this morning we prayed about it and offered ourselves afresh to any opportunities that God may have for us. To that end, we hopped into the car and headed for a local university to see if there might be some opportunities there. But then the car started to get hot, and hotter, and hotter within a half-mile. As such, we turned around and headed for the local grocery store to pick up some antifreeze. When we came out of the store there was green stuff all under our car. As such, we are taking the subway to a different location. This obviously was not our plan, so let's see what happens.

A New Perspective

Belonging to a church whose vision is evangelism, I've been around a lot of missionairies (where's spell check when you need it). Yet, I've never really understood what missionairies actually do or what they go through, even though I have heard their stories. Hence this experiment in a foreign land has been extremely enlightening, but also frustrating. For starters, I've learned that things don't go the way that you anticipate or plan. In fact, things often seem to happen in a spontaneous manner, rather than in a planned fashion. Next, I've learned that you don't have to leave the country to be used by God. For most of the ways that I've seen God use us here have been the exact same ways that He used us in the U.S. But even though you do not have to leave the country to be used by God, leaving the country helps you to focus on Him and His affairs, for the normal cares of life (thankfully) do not accompany you to a foreign land, although new "cares" try to immediately cram their way into your new lifestyle. Third, a mission trip tests your motives: I constantly find myself asking: why am I doing this? Am I trying to please someone back home? Am I trying to impress people? In spite of this, one of the greatest things about going on a mission trip is that you get to know Jesus Christ in a deeper way, for you have additional time to crack open your bible and pray. You get to pray about your motives and ask God to reveal new things to you. Moreover, you get to simply make yourself available to be used by God. With that said, let me encourage anyone who wants to be a missionary to go for it, particularly if you are single. Through all the ups and downs, it's a great life, and I assure you that you'll never regret it.

You'll Have to Look Up My Sister

If anything has been constant for us in Australia thus far, it has been the unexpected. In a nutshell, nothing has gone the way that we anticipated. Take, for example, our desire to take a two-week road trip at the end of our 90 days in Australia to see the Great Barrier Reef and the Outback. When we mentioned this to our hosts in Newcastle, they promptly said, "You can't wait until then; it will be the rainy season and everything shuts down up there." To make a long story short, we found ourselves packing for our trip the following morning.

Initially, I wrestled with the thought of "vacationing" before having "earned" it. But then I quickly realized that God had His schedule and I had mine. While I have relayed a couple of things that God did while we were out on the road, I neglected to share the one below. I think you'll enjoy it.

The second morning of our road trip, we found ourselves overlooking the ocean. Something was different, however. As I looked over the blue waters, the rolling waves, the birds flying above, and the beautiful sand, Susan pointed it out to me: there was absolutely no development. There were no roads, no houses, nothing. It was, in a word, natural. The view was gorgeous.

Up on the bluff, an elderly man and his wife were taking in the view. We started talking with them about where to find koalas, etc. Susan then mentioned to them that we intended to go to Lightning Ridge to look for black opal. Lightning Ridge is in the Outback (about 500 miles away!) and apparently is the only place on the globe where black opal is found. "Oh," replied the elderly man, "you'll have to look up my sister when you are in Lightning Ridge. She and her husband used to mine black opal. Their name should be in the phone book." We had nothing with which to write, so we attempted to memorize her name, Robin Hutchinson. "There is no 'n,' in her last name," the elderly gentleman corrected me. To be brutally honest, I didn't care if it were Batman & Robin, I was just pacifying him. "Oh, okay," I replied, "H...u...t...c...h...i...s...o...n...." "Right," he replied.

When we reached the car, Susan wanted me to write the woman's name down. To be frank, I had no intention of looking up some lady and her husband, but I wrote her name down anyway.

(Fast forward about ten days.) We arrive in Lightning Ridge, which is as attractive as Trona, California. (Note: for those of you who have not been to Trona, you are missing out on a good laugh about now, so just go ahead and yucked it up for a second and then get back to the story.) We pull up to the visitor center and Susan asks the woman at the desk if she knows Robin Hutchison. "Yes, I do. She is a lovely woman." And, what do you know, she also had her phone number. Sometimes I can get my mind set on doing one thing (and nothing else) and I don't care to change my plans. This was one of those times. I just wanted to search for some black opal with the kids, get a Coke, and go camp. I was NOT in the mood to visit anyone, let alone a complete stranger.

But God had a different plan. Lightning Ridge has a population of about 3,000 and daytime temperatures reach about the same. As such, when we were driving around the town and I saw an Olympic-sized pool, which was open to the public, I quickly pulled to the side of the road and stopped to see how much it cost to get in. "$3.50" stated the clerk. With that wonderful news, it was not long before Amy, Tyler, and I were in our bathing suits.

The pool was truly Olympic-sized: 50 meters long with ten (or more) lanes. No wonder the Aussies are so good in Olympic swimming. We were in heaven. Susan, however, was on the phone with the woman, Robin. Before long, Susan informed me that the lady was coming to the pool for a visit.

When the woman came, she and Susan hit it off immediately. The woman looked at Susan's cross necklace and asked if she were a Christian. Before I knew it, Mrs. Hutchison was taking us for a tour (in her four-wheel drive) of the opal mines in the Outback. I have never seen a grandma so comfortable driving through pot holes!

After our two-hour tour of the opal mine sites, Mrs. Hutchison took us to her house. We met her husband, Ken, and sat down for tea. Two hours later, we had seen numerous beautiful paintings that she had painted, eaten fresh honey (straight from their backyard beehive), and learned that Ken was once an avid surfer. In fact, Ken so enjoyed talking about surfing with Tyler and me that he gave us a color photograph of the surfing spot at which he used to surf. It is located about 40 miles south of Sydney. Tyler and I promised to go surf the spot for him.

As we left their home that late afternoon, Susan and Mrs. Hutchison exchanged addresses. Who would have thought that we would drive 500 miles from the place where we first met her brother to her home? Not me. Who would have thought that Amy and Tyler would have discovered a new hobby (involving opals) only weeks before we left for our trip that would cause us to go to Lightning Ridge in the first place? Truly, God is directing our steps, even when I (in my ignorance) don't realize it.

A Visitor!

Shortly after we decided to go to Australia, we learned that some friends, Hank and Candy, would be coming to Australia on December 5th for a cruise. Ever since that time, I have eagerly waited for that day to come, so that we could show them around town. Well, that day finally came the other day. The only thing, however, was that we had never been to Sydney since the first day that we arrived, so we didn't know our way around town. As such, as we weaved our way through the maze that is known as Sydney, and we arrived at the cruise line dock with only ten minutes to spare. And then we got to see one of the greatest sights since we arrived: a friend, Hank. Hank, however, was alone, for his wife, Candy, was not able to make it. Hank treated us to lunch and we talked about all that has been transpiring since we left a month ago. You'll never quite know what a treat it was until it happens to you. Bon voyage, Hank; we'll see you in a couple months.

I Boxed a Kangaroo

When I saw the sign, I couldn't resist: "Box a Kangaroo: $40." I always chided anyone who actually lost a boxing match to a kangaroo. Who couldn't beat up a kangaroo? I grew up watching Muhammed Ali, Joe Frazier, George Foreman, and all the rest, and once owned an authentic pair of Everlast boxing gloves, so I knew that this kangaroo would be no problem. Or so I thought.

"47-0," the sign by the window boasted. "Is that his lifetime record?" I inquired. "No, that is his record for the month (it was still November at the time)," replied the vendor, who reminded me a bit of Don King, the famous boxing promoter. "Wow!" I thought, "47 times $40 equals $1,880! I ought to buy a kangaroo and teach him how to box." Okay, so that isn't what entered my mind right then, but now that I'm writing . . .

"Who decides who wins the match?" I asked, for I'd been around boxing (and seen enough Olympic ice skating) long enough to know that scoring was critical. "It's easy," the promoter replied, "the first one knocked down twice is the loser."

It sounded fair enough, so I strapped on my head gear and two boxing gloves. As I laced up my boxing gloves, I immediately checked to see if they were SPCA-approved (that's Society for the Protection against Cruelty to Animals). I was sure they were, for there was so much padding that I started to fear that my blows to this kangaroo would never hurt it. I started to wonder if the deck was stacked against me. But my $40 already had changed hands, so I vowed to fight my heart out.

As Don King announced to the crowd of three (Susan, Amy, and Tyler) that the match was for the World Kangaroo Boxing Association (yes, there is a WKBA) championship, I felt a little stupid. Beating up on Garrett is one thing, but beating up a helpless kangaroo?

The bell rang and I fearlessly (okay, I wouldn't believe me either!) moved toward the center of the ring. I held my gloves high in front of my face and started to bounce (okay, bad word choice)toward the kangaroo. Sugar Ray Leonard would have been proud of me. But then something happened. Something I never thought possible. Quite frankly, I didn't even see it coming and I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit it. You could say that it was an uppercut of sorts. But whatever it was, I ended up on my backside. Thankfully, the only thing injured was my ego, so I scrambled to my feet. "7!, 8!, 9!" No, I wasn't being counted out. Rather, I was thinking about how quickly my $40 were almost gone.

With a trickle of blood (yes, the blood actually may have been from my scratching one of my 1,000 plus misquito bites, but it sounds better) coming from my nose, I was now over my fear of hurting this kangaroo. It knew what it was doing to me. It wasn't helpless and it wasn't nice. And it was payback time.

Rather than hop back out to the center of the ring, I decided to stay in my corner and play rope-a-dope. Who says you can't learn a thing or two from TV? And, believe it or not, the kangaroo came at me, but rather than try to hit him, I simply covered up and braced for his blow. "Slam!" I heard his back feet hit my arms. But since I was up against the ropes this time, I didn't get knocked down.

Clearly, the kangaroo was surprised that I had not fallen. So as it stood there, I (brace yourself, particularly if you are an animal lover) clocked him right on the jaw. "Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!!" I could hear Howard Cosell shouting from times passed. In my ear, however, I could hear Amy saying, "Daddy! You hurt the poor, little kangaroo!"

Now, with my ego hurt by the first blow from the kangaroo, and with my image as a father hurt by my blow to this cute looking beast, I had a choice to make: Do I try to win or do I throw in the towel in hopes of winning Father-of-the-Year? One glance over at the WKBA championship belt, which, strangely, was sized to fit a kangaroo, and I knew what I had to do--promise Amy an ice cream when it was all over!

For a second, I thought to ask Susan to film the rest of the fight, so that we might put it on You-Tube, but then the thought of being either: 1) the doofus who got beat up by a kangaroo; or 2) the newly-found villian of Green Peace. My senses got the best of me and I said nothing.

"Ya, ready, mate?" asked the Don King wannabe (come to think of it, maybe it was Don King! The kangaroo looked awfully poor for all his winnings!). But then Mr. King did what only boxing promoters could do: he changed the rules midstream. He brought out a new, humongous, red kangaroo. It was more than double the size of the other kangaroo, which I later learned was only a wallabee (please, don't look up how small it was, lest you think I'm an absolute wimp).

"Hey, that's not fair," I objected. "What are you, chicken, mate?" (They say "mate" all the time over here . . . mate.) Apparently, even in the outback, they know the universal insult to manhood is to be called "chicken." "No, but . . ." I started, but couldn't think of any good excuse why the wallabee should stay in the ring. "Besides, it would be cruel to the roo (he obviously knew that I was clueless as to what kind of animal I had been fighting) to let him stay in the ring; he might get hurt." Clearly, Don King had a satelite dish somewhere on these remote premises, so I was no match for his politcally correct concerns. And, quite frankly, I'd rather fight a kangaroo than engage in some p.c. battle any day.

Mr. King rang the bell and the big roo just stood still. 20 seconds passed and neither of us moved. "Uh, oh," I thought, "rope-a-dope isn't going to work this time." "C'mon, mate, get boxin'" hollered Mr. King. About then, my common sense really kicked in: what in the world was I trying to prove here?

Before any more common sense could kick in, the roo charged me. I wanted to run and hide (Did I just write that?), but it was too late. As the roo jumped in the air to kick me in the face, I ducked, and the roo missed my face, but ended up on my back. The thing weighed a ton.

As I tried to push the roo off my back, he twisted and ended up around my neck. (Yes, I was now giving a kangaroo a piggy back ride.) But then the roo pulled out one of the dirtiest tricks in the book: he pulled the wool (or whatever his fur is called) of his pouch over my eyes. I couldn't see anything, so I ended up tripping and falling to the ground. The match was over. "48-0!" shouted Mr. King as he began to laugh. What did you expect from a boxing match? They're all fixed. And if you don't believe me, then just ask my great, great uncle, Mark Twain.

Go Steelers!

Recently, we were out on the road and got lost (imagine that!). As such, we stopped to ask a tatooed man in his 60s, who was walking his dog, for directions. It was a hot morning, so he had no shirt on. Before long, he was telling us of his affection for gridiron (that's what they call the NFL). His favorite team, he quickly let us know, was the Pittsburgh Steelers. So I asked him how he had become a Steelers' fan. "When I was in Vietnam, I met a U.S. soldier from Michigan. He was a big Steelers' fan and he taught me all about American football." He then proceeded to tell me about his recent visit to the U.S. (he had been there within the past few weeks) and how he had flown to Michigan, rented a Corvette, and driven to see the Steelers play a game. Thankfully, for his sake, the Steelers won the game. He then excitedly told me about how he had watched Michgan beat Iowa in a college football game. It was so fun talking to this guy that I shared with him my love for Husker football and thanked him for his service in Vietnam. "You know," he said, "when I got to Michigan, some gentlemen thanked me there too for serving in Vietnam." He was obviously touched. He then proudly showed me his Steelers' tatoo. Eventually, he gave us the directions we needed and we headed off. But then it hit me, so I turned around and drove back to the gentlemen. "There is something greater than American football," I started, "that I'd like to share with you." I then told him of a challenge that a friend of mine, Mike, had given to me: he challenged me to read my bible for five minutes a day for a week and guaranteed that it would change my life forever. With that, I gave him a bible and challenged him too. He was open to my challenge. As we drove away we looked back and saw the man reading his bible as he walked along with his dog. Influence is a beautiful thing when used for good. How is your life influencing those around you? Go Steelers!