P Rock

P Rock

Interstate 15 stretches from the Canadian-Montana border all the way to San Diego, California. This four-lane highway takes you through some of the best scenery in the Big Sky state. Living here allows us a never-ending panoramic drive through the heart of Montana.

Some years ago, when we lived in Havre, our family would travel a section of this Interstate from Great Falls to Helena. While Judy and the kids slept, I reveled in watching the meandering Missouri River flow through the mountains. From Square Butte to the Sleeping Giant, there is one breathtaking scene after another.

Heading south near mile marker #245 there is a small rest area. Actually, it’s a short side off that gives opportunity to visit the P Rock. That isn’t its official name. It’s the name my boys and I gave it. Getting out of the car and climbing the hundred steps to the top, you have a spectacular view of the river and the steel bridge that became famous in the 1987 Sean Connery movie The Untouchables.

When it was only the boys and I who made the climb, we found that it was the perfect place to relieve ourselves. We made it into a contest as to who had enough pressure built up to shoot the farthest. Soon it became our favorite stopping place to enjoy the view and heed nature’s call. Several weeks ago, driving to Havre, I passed marker #245 and chuckled at the memory of three young boys running up those steps to win the “P” contest.

I hope this doesn’t offend anyone’s sensibilities. I realize that it is not culturally correct to muse on masculine memories these days. I just can’t help but believe that life is full of memories, especially those enjoyed by the participants. If you ever happen to drive by the P Rock, give a chuckle to what the Semsch men enjoyed there.

Thanks Shaun, Tim and Nick for the memories!

Ticket Counter

Ticket Counter

It was early morning when we arrived at the Mombasa International Airport. Our ministry team had spent a week in East Africa teaching at a Pastors Conference. Eager to begin the journey home, we were the first to check in for our flight to Nairobi and on to Amsterdam and then USA.

International travel is an exercise in patience, especially in Africa where the love of bureaucratic procedure is an art form. The number of rubber stamps needed to get through Immigration defies common sense. The next step was baggage screening through an outdated X-ray machine. Then on to boarding passes.

At the check-in counter, upon submitting my passport, the agent began a computer search for my reservation. After twenty minutes, I was told that my reservation could not be found. Not too surprised, I submitted my printed itinerary. This further confused the agent. I politely asked if I might step over the counter and join her in the search. Shortly my reservation was found with a sigh of relief.

The next step was to have my luggage weighed. Apparently, the flight from Mombasa to Nairobi had weight restrictions. When told that my suitcase was five pounds overweight, I was in a quandary as to what to do. So, while the agent was glued to the computer, I took my bag off the scale put it on the floor and took out a handful of dirty laundry. Placing the suitcase back on the scale, the agent said I passed the weight test. While the agent was printing my boarding pass, I replaced the dirty laundry and gave the bag back to the agent and proceed to the gate.

My traveling companions were amazed at my ingenuity. As the plane took off for Nairobi, I prayed that the extra five-pound of dirty clothes would not cause a crash in the jungle. Over the years, I have learned to never leave home without a paper copy of every reservation be it airplane, hotel or car rental. Computers are not always reliable and sometimes they don’t tell the truth.

Travelers beware!

Coming Home

Coming Home

I wondered if there would ever come a day when my children would be grown up, leave home and start their own families. Looking back, it seemed like only yesterday that one by one they left home venturing out on their own. Eventually there was just Judy, the dog and me. It wasn’t like I thought it would be.

Not long ago, returning from a ministry trip with the two elders of our church, I listened to their excitement to be heading back home to their families. Both spoke with a father’s heart about their children. One said his son was sick with the flu and probably would give it to everybody else by the time he got there. The other commented on upcoming doctor, dentist and school appointments for his kids that clogged the calendar.

Their conversation triggered memories of the past wondering what I would find when I got home. Hugs at the front door. Toys and messes accumulated while away. Dishes and unwashed clothes forsaken for a weekend of frivolity while dad wasn’t there to bring order and discipline.

At the time I was sure I would not miss it. The dog still barks when I arrive and Judy hugs me and says she missed me. But the joy of little faces welcoming dad home isn’t there. Now if I want little kid hugs, I have to track down the grandkids who are busy with school and friends.

I didn’t realize back then that when the kids left so did the vibrancy of our home. Oh, I still see our grown kids but it’s not the same. Those days are gone and now only brought to mind by listening to two dads eager to end a road trip and be with their family.

On my nightstand I have a small, framed photo of our family taken at a time when there was real excitement as I walked in the door. The house is quite now and only interrupted when the doorbell rings and in comes the grandkids. Peace and quiet come at a cost.

Hero

Hero

Several days ago, I read that one of my heroes was near death. I knew he was not doing well at the age of 85 but that his life was near the end was disconcerting to me. Even though I had never met him in person, his writings affected my life and ministry.

Last evening, I read that Eugene Peterson: pastor, theologian, biblical scholar and mentor had gone home to be with the Lord. According to his family, his final words were “Let’s go” and “Oh yea!” It was a sacred time as he was ushered into the presence of the Lord.

I don’t remember how I was introduced to his writings but once I started, I devoured all of them. The practical, pastoral insight into the workings of God’s Word into this man’s life was simply amazing. He spent thirty years as a local church pastor, baptizing, marrying and burying people. All the while translating the Bible from the original Hebrew and Greek into colloquial American English, so people could easily read and understand.

 His book Reversed Thunder, a study of the book of Revelation, took all the scary out of one of the most misunderstood books of the Bible. His autobiography, The Pastor, encouraged me to pay attention to the simple and mundane in the ministry of a pastor. Tell It Slant, Run with the Horses, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction and a score of others disciplined my mind and heart in the ways of God.

There is a You Tube video of a conversation between Eugene Peterson and Bono. That was an eye opener. A rock star who had been touched by The Message translation. Several people familiar with Bono’s concerts told me that he uses the Psalms in his concert.

Hero’s without baggage are a scarcity these days. If you aren’t an athlete, movie star or politician you don’t get much attention from the media. Every hero has clay feet. I am sure those close to Pastor Peterson could list his shortcomings. Yet, what makes a hero is a combination of warts and halos. I am sure Eugene had both.

Paul, the New Testament apostle, as he drew near the end of his life wrote to Timothy these words: “The time of my death is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me: the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return.”

Coffee

Coffee

I didn’t start drinking coffee until I was twenty-one. Come to think of it, that was about the same time I started drinking beer. There may be a corollary there, but I don’t remember. I considered coffee to be an old man’s drink: something you did in the morning to wake up and get the bowels moving. That’s why I stayed away from it for so long; I didn’t have trouble with either.

Now I have a daily habit of one cup of coffee right after I get up. While I am waiting for our dog to finish his breakfast, Purina with a little fish oil in it, I fire up my Keurig coffee maker. One cup with my Bible reading is just enough to get the day started.

I like my coffee dark roast with no sugar or cream. I have tried all kinds of fancy coffee drinks: Cappuccinos, Lattes, Mochas and Expressos. Just plain dark brew is fine with me. Besides being convenient right at home, it is also a lot cheaper.

Speaking of which, there are as many coffee shops in Bozeman as there are brew pubs. Not long ago if you wanted Starbucks coffee you had to drive all the way to Seattle. Now there are at least a half dozen in town. Also, there is City Brew, Cold Smoke, Zocalo, Rockford, Wild Joe’s, Wild Crumb, and Café M to name a few. I have been to them all, but none is as good as my cup of home brew.

I still do a fair amount of visiting at local coffee shops. At least once a week I meet someone to catch up on life or hand out free advice. I know which places have the best pastries and are quiet enough to hear what my friend is saying.

Recently I saw an online quote that sums up my long-standing relationship with coffee. It has the ring of truth to it. “Sometimes having coffee with your best friend is all the therapy you need.”

Well said!

Good Grief

Good Grief

Charlie Brown was fond of saying “good grief” whenever life started going south on him. Whenever he was at logger heads with Peppermint Patty or Linus, this was his mantra.  Charlie Brown became the poster boy for good grief.

Although it’s a little outdated, the phrase is uttered when one is surprised, alarmed, dismayed or shocked at an unexpected situation. For those who have some religious sensibilities it is an acceptable substitute for “good God” or “good Lord.”

There is another meaning. What brought it to mind was the recent news that Maggie, our grandkids cat of many years, died. Those of us who were raised with pets know that they are as much a part of the family as any sibling. When a pet is sick or dies, it is a family crisis and a season of grieving begins.

As a child, I grieved over the loss of my pets. Entering into the life-death cycle at an early age teaches valuable lessons that pay big dividends later. I learned about grieving, the good grieving, at the back-yard burials of Pooka and Bandit, the parakeets, cats, rabbits and gerbils who were my childhood friends.  Experiencing those losses helped prepare me for bigger losses later in life.

No grief is fun. It is the hard reality of living. Whenever I stand over a grave praying for my own or someone else’s loved one, I experience a measure of grief all over again. Grief is the God given emotion that purges the soul when loss comes our way. I have learned to embrace the good grief.

I share the following as a postscript. “Grief never ends. But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It’s the price of love.” Author unknown.

Autumn

Autumn

This is the most beautiful time of the year in Montana. Oh, spring and summer are fine, winters are a bit long, but autumn is the best. It can be the shortest season of the year squeezed between hot summer and cold winter. This precious time with its warm days and the cool nights are a welcome transition.

With the first signs of the season changing, I start thinking of all the needs to be done to prepare for winter. The patio furniture put away, the retractable awning covered, flower gardens cut and raked, extension cords set up for outside Christmas lights, screens stored, and hoses drained. The list goes on and on.

There are other autumn chores that are more fun than work. It’s time to get my hunting gear organized: clean the rifle, find the binoculars and hunting knife, run to the sporting goods store to purchase licenses. I need to be ready when the snow flies and the deer are in the rut.

My favorite autumn chore is when a friend calls and says the time has come to lay up some wood. He rents a hydraulic splitter and it’s to work we go. Watching that splitter do its job and tossing those chunks of wood and stacking in the garage gives me a sense that all is well. On those cold winter nights with the fireplace aflame, I am thankful for our labor with the splitter.

I can’t forget to mention the beauty of the leaves turning. Aspens changing from summer green to autumn yellow; maples shining bright red. A sure sign that life in Montana is heading for winter. Once the leaves are raked and the snow shovels are made ready, it is time to welcome winter.

Feeling nostalgic about the fleetness of autumn, I came upon a quote that gives expression to this time of change: “The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let things go.”

 I am watching.