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Celebrating 25 Years of Marriage!

We celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary on July 9, 2008. Ironically, we chose to go on our first hike of the summer season a day earlier in the Columbia Gorge, with temperatures pushing 90 degrees. I should have taken the "difficult to very difficult" rating level on the Dog Mountain trail a little more seriously. We were certainly rewarded with a wonderful view of the scenic Columbia River Gorge, but only after consuming mass quantities of water, sweating like overwrought beasts, and grumbling over the aches and pains in our joints and muscles. (By the way, don't you just want to slap those twenty-something hikers who zoom up the trail past you while you imagine yourselves doing battle at Bastogne just to ascend a few miles?!)

On our way up, both of us were musing over how our hike was a fitting allegory of our 25 years of marriage. We started out young and naive, seemingly ill-equipped and oblivious to what would lay ahead. If someone had sat us down in July of 1983 and spread out the timeline of the next quarter century of life together, I think I would have collapsed with fright and looked to make a date with the nearest piece of porcelain. God has been so faithful and good to us, though, shaping his vessels into--hopefully--more responsive and useful bondservants as we've trudged up and down the trail of tears, laughter, and abiding joy. I have grown to love and appreciate Sabrina with a depth I could never have imagined twenty-five years ago. She has become more physically and spiritually attractive to me as the years have rolled on by. Many of the trials we have faced and are facing have, at times, seemed beyond our ability to cope with. The odyssey would have been unbearable without such a loving and spiritually sensitive partner at my side. It may sound cliche to say it, but it has truly been by the Lord's grace--and His grace ALONE-- that we have been able to survive (and even thrive) through the trials and tribulations of the past twenty-five years.

It is impossible to distill all that I'd like to reflect upon in a modest blog entry, but I like how Proverbs concisely expresses the value of a great wife:

"Who can find a virtuous wife?
For her worth is far above rubies. The heart of her husband safely trusts her;
So he will have no lack of gain. She does him good and not evil all the days of her life." (Prov. 8:10-12)

"Her children rise up and call her blessed;
Her husband also, and he praises her:
'Many daughters have done well,
But you excel them all.'
Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,
But a woman who fears the Lord,
She shall be praised." (8:28-30)


Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove,
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark.
(Wm. Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.2-7)

Farewell to Loved Ones

After a long hiatus from blogging, I'm grieved to report that my dad, William (Bill) Paul Black, passed from this earth on Friday, June 13th. He was born on August 6, 1942 and was just shy of his 66th birthday. The cancer that had originated in his lungs moved to his brain and kidneys a couple of weeks ago, he was transferred to in-home hospice care, and his wife Lori took care of him to the end. Sabrina and I were able to join my younger brother and his wife in Redmond, Oregon right after he started getting hospice care at home. I'm very thankful I was able to spend some time with him while he could still recognize me with his eyes and ears. I also have fond final memories sitting in his living room with my three siblings and putting on a little musical "concert" of sorts, playing everything from Coldplay, Eric Clapton, and John Denver songs to much of my worship music repertoire from Athey Creek Christian Fellowship. I have my dad to thank for playing the guitar. He used to have his nylon string guitar sitting around the house when we lived in Orange County, California. I picked it up when I was in middle school and started playing songs from his folk music chord sheets--stuff like "Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley," "The Banks of the Ohio," and "Sloop John B." I also have great memories of being coached in Little League by my athletic dad, watching him play golf and lob ball, and fishing together in the lakes and streams of the Beartooth Country in and around Cooke City and Silver Gate, Montana (just outside the northeast corner of Yellowstone National Park). Above is a picture of my dad as we returned from a fishing trip on our trusty 15 m.p.h. "tote-goat." The pic below was taken last summer, just after my son Chris and I returned from a backpacking trip in the Three Sisters area. You can check out more pics in the "Black Family Potpourri" photo album on the right sidebar.


We also had to say "good-bye" to our precious yellow lab, Bahkit. He was nearly ten-years-old and a true and faithful friend, hiking buddy, water-lover, mountaineer, and family member. In recent months, his hips were really bothering him and, despite the pain and hip medication, was going from bad to worse. His entire hind end was fairly well immobile by the time I took him in to the vet to be put to sleep. I will miss kissing the top of his cute little head, petting his soft, velvety ears, looking into his faithful eyes, and having the best of all hiking and backpacking companions. We have wonderful memories in the Mt. Hood and Three Sisters Wilderness areas, hiking around, chasing butterflies, crashing through streams, and swimming for hours in the high lakes of the Oregon Cascades. Bahkit is a word that means "joy" in the Kazakh language, and he indeed lived up to his name!

Beyond a Doubt...He is Risen Indeed!

One of my personal traditions during Passion Week is to place various paintings on my desktop screen to visually remind myself of the myriad of scenes that make up the incredible week that spans Palm Sunday and Resurrection Sunday. One of my favorites is this painting--entitled The Incredulity of Saint Thomas--by Italian artist Caravaggio (1571 –1610). I like the look in the Apostle Thomas' eyes as he is invited to place his fingers in Christ's pierced side and confirm the historicity of the resurrection for himself. There's something very personal about this scene, especially as the Risen Savior tenderly guides Thomas' hand. This year I noticed something new: the torn sleeve of Thomas. Just a guess here, but I wonder if the artist wanted to symbolically allude to Jesus' shared humanity as the Son of Man. Perhaps it was a precursor of Thomas' own martyrdom years later in India where, as tradition would have it, he was stabbed with a spear for his witness on the subcontinent.

A few weeks ago, Sabrina and I had the opportunity to attend a Michael Card concert in Portland. A couple of his guests were from the Seattle area, and one of the musicians shared a song I have been working on the past couple of weeks. The lyrics tie into the scenes and themes of Passion Week so well, I wanted to share them. You can check out this website (http://www.byfor.org) and click on the "Sweet Sacrifice" link to download the song for free via something called the "By/For Project." Michael Card plays the banjo on it!

The Father's Love Is Deep and Wide
Artist: Brian Moss

The Father's love is deep and wide
For the Son and for His Bride
And His grace has been outpoured
Through the passion of our Lord
Down the road and up the hill,
Letting go of His own will
For the sake of all the lost,
Grace not cheap, but with a cost

The truth of God was tested, tried
Flesh was torn, they pierced his side
Through the crown his blood did flow
Going where we could not go
Savior God, the wounded King
Sings the song we cannot sing
Adam died, but Christ now lives
We have sinned still He forgives

The Savior calls our souls to bend,
Not to our will but to His end
And while His grace does satisfy,
He bids us come to come and die
The table stained with truth and grace,
The chalice poured and set in place
Hold the cup and lift it high,
Now drink with me we go to die

Not by our life, not by our death,
Not by the words we fill with breath
Not by the work our hands have done
Not through our daughters or our sons
Not by the treasure that we give,
Do we gain the right to live
The only way we will know life
Is through the One name Jesus Christ

On the home-front, my mother is doing relatively well. She had an upper body scan a couple of weeks ago, and the results were very encouraging. Basically, the cancerous spots throughout her body have either stayed the same size or have been reduced in size. Thanks to all of you who are praying, calling, writing cards, and emailing. It means a lot to all of us!

We hope all of you have a great Resurrection Sunday tomorrow, giving praise to the Father who was willing to pour out his grace through the precious gift of His Son: "Up from the grave He arose, with a mighty triumph o'er His foes..."

Are We Living an Epic?

In Leif Enger's novel Peace Like a River, one of the characters asks this question: "Is it hubris to believe we all live epics?" That question resonates with me perhaps because, in my general estimation, our lives are really rather drab and meaningless without some adventurous or "odyssey-driven" context to place them within.

In my midlife years I find my fingers flipping back to the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes more often than they had in my salad days, sometimes to frankly whine along with Solomon in his sardonic musings concerning the meaning of life. Though, in my better hours, I fall into the invariable and more predictable safety of the conclusion that, apart from God, there is only bitterness, a misty vanity, a chasing after the elusive soap bubbles borne on the winds.

Over fourteen years ago, our family moved to Almaty, Kazakhstan. Historically, this was an incredible time in the world. The Berlin Wall had just come down, and vast areas of the "Evil Empire" were now open to the advance of the gospel. In the pre-9/11 days, reaching out to Muslims with the love of Christ was an easier sell than in the heat of today's blast of cold-hearted assumptions and limited missiological horizons. Initially, it seemed I was on the crest of some wave of warrior service for God, slaying dragons under the banner of "Timurzhan." (A family we worked with had a housekeeper and language helper who gave us all new names upon our arrival. Mine could be translated "Iron Soul" in the Kazakh language, I was told.) After the trials of three years of cross-cultural living in Central Asia and spiritual immaturity took their toll, I came to discover I was composed of far weaker metal. As Dickens would put it, these were years best characterized as "the best of times and the worst of times." They were rich times because God was doing His faithful work as the Refiner of His children as we experienced an awesome and undeserved privilege; they were painful because I left that "warrior service" disappointed in myself and extremely ambivalent about what it meant to hitch your star to His clarion call to "stretch your tent curtains wide, to lengthen the cords, and strengthen the stakes" (Is. 54:2-3), merely to arrive at a soul-aching barrenness which only additional wilderness wanderings with my Shepherd could assuage.

Commenting on Jesus' first miracle at Galilee (the changing of water to wine), Michael Card makes this observation:

"When we examine the miracles, a consistent image of Jesus of Nazareth comes into view. It makes sense that the One who refused to grasp equality with God would perform most of his miracles in such an unmiraculous, almost hidden way. It fits the paradox of his life. Power through weakness, wisdom through foolishness, total victory through bloody defeat...The wedding at Cana teaches us that he is ready to transform every ordinary element in our lives into the glorious stuff of miracles. But this first miracle prepares us for the fact that the world around us will usually fail to appreciate or even see it at all."

I guess I'm taking the epic route, as Odysseus or Frodo would, to simply say I'm learning to accept the mundane reality of the journey for what it is. There is still wonder and splendor in a quiet prayer or a small fraction-step towards humility and contrition in a strained relationship. It may not bear the sweaty scent of "warrior labor," but it is nevertheless epic in its scope. The warning to the prophet Zechariah to not despise the day of small things (Zech. 4:10) still rings true today...even for a sardonic Timurzhan!

New Year's Greetings!

Happy 2008 to you all! We welcomed in the New Year with Amanda and Chris by dressing up as historical figures and attending the annual Costley New Year's Eve Party. You can undoubtedly figure out that you're looking at a suave William Shakespeare, an "80's chick," and one of the Bard of Avon's literary creations--Titania from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Our wonderful evening was filled with a mega-game of Bunko, a white elephant gift exchange, and engaging and witty conversation with our newfound family members. Needless to say, the evening served as an intriguing and exciting precursor of things to come in the Black-Costley clan.

On New Year's Day, Momma June, Cortni, Sabrina, and I traveled over to Sunriver and enjoyed several days of cross-country skiing, snowman construction, reading, rock-wall climbing at Maverick's (the new fitness center at Sunriver), and much more. I think my mom's favorite part of the trip was sitting in front of the beautiful fireplace and watching Cortni best her dad on the rock wall.

On the health front, there's not much new to report with Mom's cancer. She hasn't had a check-in with the oncologist for about three months, so she is due for one in the next week or so. She has been spending much of January traveling between Eugene and Vancouver, with a recent stay at Cannon Beach. She also recently purchased a Wii, so all her kids and grandkids are fighting for more "Grandma Time" as never before! (Mmmm, what's with that?!) My dad is currently in Kauai, having recently completed a dose of chemo and no doubt laying in a lounge chair somewhere soaking in some tropical sunshine. He told me he was REALLY looking forward to getting out of chilly Central Oregon and heading to the islands!

One of my favorite things about having time off in the winter is the time it affords for reading. This Christmas I received about $200 in combined gift cards from my own family and Bridlemile students, so I had a great time shopping at Powell's, Borders, and other bookstores around town. I'm certain it'll be August before I've ploughed through all of my new reading material.

I recently read a book by Walter Wangerin, Jr.--one of my favorite authors (I highly recommend his The Book of the Dun Cow, by the way)--that was entitled Paul. Wangerin is such a great storyteller, and he really has a way of sweeping you into the life and times of the man who brought Christianity to the world. The unique thing about this book is that he tells the epic story of Paul's life through the eyes of the apostle's coworkers and contemporaries. Timothy, Priscilla, Barnabas, Luke, James, and Seneca (the Roman tutor of Nero) all speak in the novel. Aside from the fact it is just a great book, the novel created a thirst to delve into the Book of Acts and the epistles as various episodes occurred in Paul's life. If you're looking to gain an even deeper appreciation for what the early church went through in the first century, this is definitely the book for you! You'll come away with a real sense of the true cost of discipleship and Paul's brutal battle to preserve the simple message of grace through Christ.

Another great discovery I made at the bookstore was Abraham J. Heschel's The Prophets. I've only just gotten my feet wet with this one, but if his introduction and his chapters on Hosea, Isaiah, and Amos are any indication of things to come, I'm really in for some very deep and rewarding stuff. Our pastor at Athey Creek Christian Fellowship has been preaching through the last half of the Old Testament for some time now, so my Bible reading and personal meditation has been right up this alley. Here's just a taste of some of Heschel's work on the prophets:

"Prophetic utterance is rarely cryptic, suspended between God and man; it is urging, alarming, facing onward, as if the words gushed forth from the heart of God, seeking entrance to the heart and mind of man, carrying a summons as well as an involvement." (pg. 7)

"The prophet is human, yet he employs notes one octave too high for our ears. He experiences moments that defy our understanding. He is neither 'a singing saint' nor 'a moralizing poet,' but an assaulter of the mind. Often his words begin to burn where conscience ends." (pg. 12)

Merry Christmas!

Ah, it's that time of year again. I must admit, I've been so busy with our Shakespeare on Broadway production at Bridlemile I've hardly had time to reflect too much on all that lies ahead for our family around this time of year. Our tree is up, the house is decorated (inside and out, mind you!), gifts are accumulating under the boughs of the noble fir, and I have one more week of teaching left for 2007. I can hardly wait to STOP and SAVOR the true meaning of Christmas, worship the King of kings, read about three or four books I'm halfway through, and just hang out with "the fam."

Chris and I recently celebrated our 22nd and 47th birthdays, respectively. Amanda (Chris's fiance and seen in the photo above), her parents Susan and Greg, Momma June, and Sabrina's parents and her sister's family joined us for a great celebration a week ago. Charlie taught us how to play Hearts, and we had a great time together. One of the supreme blessings of this year has been getting to know Amanda more and more, and experiencing the process of merging two families together as Chris and Amanda move closer to their July 19th wedding date.

On the health front, Momma June has finished her chemotherapy for awhile, and the oncologist will make a determination after the holidays whether or not she'll need a regiment of radiation treatments. At this point, surgery doesn't appear to be the way they are headed. It seems she is getting her strength back a bit and I'm sure longs for spring and summer to come so she can get back to her flower gardening and all that she enjoys doing when the weather is better. If you would like more specifics on how she is doing physically or otherwise, I'll leave it up to you to communicate directly with her.

As for my dad, he recently received some discouraging news with his lung cancer. According to the doctors in Bend, it has spread from its origin in the pleura of the lung to the liver, pelvic region, spine, and ribs. We continue to invite you to pray for both of my parents during this difficult and often depressing time in both of their lives.

With all the mix of emotions we can feel during this time of year, especially when serious health issues are an abiding reality, I'm comforted in knowing I have a Rock (Psalm 62) to stand on during life's tempests. Recently, I dug up this encouraging and inspirational quote from Malcolm Muggeridge; it's a reminder of the significance of the Deliverer who was born a child and yet a king:

"We look back on history and what do we see? Empires rising and falling, revolutions and counter-revolutions, wealth accumulating and wealth dispersed, one nation dominant and then another. Shakespeare speaks of 'the rise and fall of great ones that ebb and flow with the moon.'

In one lifetime I have seen my own fellow countrymen ruling over a quarter of the world, the great majority of them convinced, in the words of what is still a favorite song, that, 'God who's made the mighty would make them mightier yet.' I've heard a crazed, cracked Austrian proclaim to the world the establishment of a German Reich that would last a thousand years; an Italian clown announce that he would restart the calendar to begin his own assumption of power. I've heard a murderous Georgian brigand in the Kremlin acclaimed by the intellectual elite of the world as a wiser than Solomon, more enlightened than Ashoka, more humane than Marcus Aurelius. I've seen America wealthier and in terms of weaponry, more powerful than the rest of the world put together, so that Americans, had they so wished, could have outdone an Alexander or a Julius Caesar in the range and scale of their conquests. All in one little lifetime. All gone with the wind.

England part of a tiny island off the coast of Europe, threatened with dismemberment and even bankruptcy. Hitler and Mussolini dead, remembered only in infamy. Stalin a forbidden name in the regime he helped found and dominate for some three decades. America haunted by fears of running out of those precious fluids that keep her motorways roaring, and the smog settling, with troubled memories of a disastrous campaign in Vietnam, and the victories of the Don Quixotes of the media as they charged the windmills of Watergate.

All in one lifetime, all gone. Gone with the wind.

Behind the debris of these self-styled, sullen supermen and imperial diplomatists, there stands the gigantic figure of one person, because of whom, by whom, in whom, and through whom alone mankind might still have hope. The person of Jesus Christ."

Come Thou long expected Jesus,
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us;
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel's strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of every nation,
Joy of ev'ry longing heart.
(Charles Wesley)