Field of Dreams

Yesterday, we went up to Dyersville, IA with Amber's parents to visit the Field of Dreams movie site. I gotta admit, I was happier than a kid in a candy store and even got a little sentimental. Not that I'm a big Kevin Costner fan (who is?), but it's one of my all-time favorite movies of my all-time favorite sport. So, I was ecstatic to get out there and play some ball. On the downside, the corn wasn't very tall at this time of year. Nevertheless, with my Sandberg jersy on, I guess it was appropriate that I played some second base (if the Iowa Cubs had been playing home games this weekend, we would've been in Des Moines instead of Dyersville!), and got a hit as well. Man, I miss baseball...

In Memoriam: Mark Zonneveld

This past weekend, I had the honor of officiating the funeral of a high school friend of mine. In addition to a couple songs and a few wonderful testimonials regarding Mark's life by family members of friends, I was privileged to speak on behalf of Mark and his family, to share some of my own remembrances of Mark, and invite the packed chapel hall to invite God into their suffering. It would be an understatement to say that it was a memorable event--anytime one is involved in a funeral, it is. The bond created between me and Mark's extended family as a result of sharing this day goes beyond words, and as much as the family was so happy to have me there, I am truly grateful to have been asked to perform the service and be a part of such a special (though bittersweet) day.

I began the service with a reading of Psalm 139:1-3, 13-18 (as requested by one of Mark's uncles) and then prayed:

Father God, we are gathered here today, wishing it were under better circumstances, but here to celebrate the life of Mark Zonneveld nonetheless. We lift our eyes up to you, for our help comes from the Maker of heaven and earth. You who neither slumber nor sleeps, look on us with favor today. Help us feel the string of death and be reminded that there is something terribly wrong with this picture. Assure us that it is OK to mourn for our friend and even that it’s OK to smile, and perhaps even laugh, as we remember him. In your Son’s name, Amen.


After a number of people shared memories about Mark and thoughts regarding his death, I read some testimonials of people who could not be at the funeral. Then I spoke:

I want to being by saying that it's an honor and privilege to stand here today and speak on behalf of the Zonneveld family. Mark and I were friends from high school. And though our contact with each other became periodic over the years as we went off to college, moved, and got jobs, he's one of only a handful of individuals in our graduating class I have kept in touch with.

We met on the first day of our freshman year in German class (and since I know there are a number of people in the audience who are fluent in German, I ask that you please not test my knowledge!). I sat down in the back of the room next to an extremely tall (well, compared to me!) but friendly guy. Mark was, as I quickly found out, extremely smart. I found out too that he could be quite stubborn, and when he was, he knew how to be a really good pain in the ass. But he was also kind, sympathetic, and was particularly sensitive to people who had physical restrictions or who didn't quite fit in as a result of his own struggles with epilepsy.

I’m sure we looked like an odd couple given he was literally twice my size, but we hit it off quite well, and for three years we saw each other every day in German class. I’d say we sat right next to each other all those semesters, but if I remember correctly, we got split up at some point because we talked too much in class.

Mark loved trying new things and having fun, and for him it didn’t require having exceptional skill at something to have fun at it. It was Mark who convinced me we should sing some karaoke while we were at the Noah's Ark water park the summer Mark asked me to go along with his family's annual vacation to the Wisconsin Dells. There were were, two high school kids hanging out with a bunch of people much older than us drinking Budweisers. Mark appropriately sang the Beach Boys song, “Fun, Fun, Fun,” while I, not knowing many songs on their playlist, I must embarrassingly admit, sang Garth Brooks's “The Dance.”

Then, there was the spring break just the two of us took a road trip up to Racine, Wisconsin to meet up with some friends of mine. I drove while Mark gladly counted the changes for the tolls around Chicago, and he always swore he counted corectly when the 50 pennies we threw in one toll never made the light turn green. We drove through anyways, but during the entire trip I wondered if cops would show up behind me.

And there was the day, after a fight with his mom and dad, Mark ran out of the house and took a long road trip of his own—the fight had to do with his driving privileges—all the way to the place he used to live in Illinois. On the way back, Mark pit stopped at my house, knowing it was a safe place to talk out loud and vent his frustrations. Of course, he knew at some pont he’d have to return hom and face the warranted disciplinary measures. But for now, he just need a safe place to talk and he knew I wouldn’t rat him out to his parents. We took our anger out on a bunch of pile of wood that needed to be chopped into firewood.

Perhaps my most embarrassing memory with the Zonnevelds was the morning of December 28th, 2003. Why do I know the exact day? Because that was the morning after my wedding night and we just happened to run into each other at the breakfast bar at the Homewood Suites in Lafayette! I assume the Zonnevelds were in town to see people over the holidays but I was too focused in sheepishly hightailing it to the door to remember our conversation!

Over the years, Mark and I often had conversations about God, about the Bible, life, and death. He was brave enough to go with me to church and a myriad of youth group functions. In fact, one summer he went to church camp with me and other kids from my church. One day that week, he and I and his counselor sat down to chat after a chapel service and Mark decided he wanted to commit his life to be a follower of Jesus. One could say that was a decision made at an emotional moment or amidst the pressure of peers and authority figures, but it was also a decision made after nearly four years of conversations Mark and I on the subject.

Now, I do not want to paint a rose-colored picture of religion, as if praying a prayer makes all of one's cares just pass away. Quite the contrary, Mark’s relationship with God was a very difficult relationship—one of struggle—as it was intricately tied to his own struggles in life. Mark wondered why God made him the way he did, why he had to have embarrassing seizures in front of classmates, why he had been made to feel so childish because he wasn’t allowed to do something as minimal as drive a car.

As a result, over the years, long after that church camp decision, one could say that Mark distanced himself from God, wondered if God was even worth believing. I prefer to say that Mark's faith was honest, open, and raw. Mark was human—which is all God asks of us, to be truly human—and he was courageous enough to ask the difficult questions that many of us are afraid to ask. He struggled physically and emotionally in ways that many of us will never have to struggle. And perhaps as a result, his faith—even when it seemed like there was none at all—was more real than the majority of what we call reality in our everyday lives. As one thinker [Thomas Merton] has said, “God may be most present to us when he is absent than when he is present.”

This story may not resemble the Mark you remember—you may not have had such conversations with him. But I think it is an important part of his story and a part that I want to remember. But it is important for me because I sympathize with Mark’s story because I too have often quiestioned God, have called into question my particular religious upbringing, and remain skeptical about many of the claims people often make in the name of God or in the name of religion. But I also resonate with Marks’ struggle with god because I believe it more accurately portrays what this journey of life is all about. Far from those who reduce religion to a crutch for the weak or those who reduce it to a three-step self-help program to obtain personal happiness, the narratives we find in the Bible depict people engaged in struggle and raw honesty. They asked the tough questions. For instance, King David, who penned the words we read earlier, which beautifully depicts how we are “fearfully and wonderfull made” ends this prayer with an honest desire that his enemies would be destroyed. That’s an honest cry from a human who knows there is something wrong with the world.

But what I want to say to you today is that the God I believe in—the God Mark believed in—suffers with those who suffer and weeps with those who weep. As we mourn today, God mourns. And today as we struggle with the all-too-pugent reality of death, God beckons us to seek him who promises to be close to use, who promises that he rewards those who seek him. He asks us to take from him the grace we need to get through this day, and the next day—which may be even harder than today—and the next. And he invites you to start up a conversation with him, even if that conversation starts with, “God, I’m not even sure I believe in you.” God wants you to invite him into your struggles, into your life, to be willing to ask the difficult questions.

I want to end with a benediction. You may recognize it but it is a combination of a couple passages from Scripture. This is may prayer for all of you, but especially for the Zonneveld family:

May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
May the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.
And may those who sow in tears reap songs of joy.

We left the chapel listening to "Learn to Laugh," a song I introduced to Mark and afterward became his favorite. It might not have fit the mood, but it certainly was fitting for Mark. For those who attended the service, packets of Mark's favorite Jelly Belly's were available along with packets of sunflower seeds, which were to be planted and once reaching to their full height, would remind people of Mark. Finally, people were able to write messages to Mark on helium balloons which were then let go outside to make their way up into the heavens. I was struck with the powerful symbolism--not of sending a message to Mark up in heaven, but of the significance of the event for the person letting go of the balloon (funerals are always for the living). At this final moment, we have to let go of the one we love, who has gone on ahead, and move forward with our lives.

Fevers, Flights, and a Funeral

Simply put, this past week was absolutely insane. Actually, it began late last week when Emerson had a temp of 102.5 on Thursday night. He was obviously not feeling well since he refused to eat anything (nothing for nearly three days!) and did not sleep well. Friday, I stayed home to monitor him and make sure things didn't get any worse, but after two full days of watching a sick kid on my own I was about to jump off our balcony. Thankfully, life was made a bit simpler by ordering pizza for dinner. But of course, fevers of our own kindly followed suit, and I spent the first couple days of the work week having chills, hot flashes, dizzy spells, and the worst sore throat I can remember since high school.

Then on Monday afternoon, I received a phone call that an old high school friend had died over the weekend. Mark struggled with epilepsy throughout his life, and it appears he suffered a massive seizure in his sleep on Sunday night. After the teary phone call, I asked Andrea, his sister, to keep me posted on the details and then made some phone calls of my own to notify some other friends of the news.

Tuesday, I took Emerson to the doctor just to make sure that whatever he had and gave to me wasn't strep (thankfully, we both tested negative). Then that night, Andrea called back to ask if I could officiate the entire funeral ceremony (I've spoken at two funerals before but never organized the entire thing). The Zonnevelds had never been connected with a church and felt really uncomfortable with a complete stranger involved with the service, so they asked me to officiate since I had been such a spiritual influence in Mark's life. I gladly accepted and quickly (a little too quickly it seems) bought tickets for a flight to Atlanta on Saturday morning.

On Wednesday, I was still really sick, but in addition to work, an unusually busy work schedule for Amber (we swapped Emerson in the middle of the day and I took him home on the bus), and a number of other to-do things that had to get done (the grass still needs mowed!), I now had to begin gathering thoughts on a eulogy. Thursday, I watched Emerson, worked on details for our summer vacation, and discussed details for the funeral with Andrea and her Uncle Rob. Things were finally starting to shape up. Then off to the salon to get my first really short haircut in 3 years.

On Friday night, I finished my draft on my actual message and figured I'd have to make time on the flight to give thought to my opening prayer and benediction. After Emerson went to bed, I went to print off my flight ticket to discover that somehow I managed to book a flight not for the weekend but for March 2011 (@*%#!!!!). Seriously, I'm not sure how that happened, but I immediately called Delta to see if I could get my flight switched. The guy told me I should call Expedia first (since I bought my tix through them), and then explained that if I were to switch my flight to the times I wanted it would cost about $400 more than the $300 I had already shelled out, and if I were to take one flight later it would still cost me $300 more. So, I called Expedia and after being on hold for a very long time, they told me I could get a flight for Saturday morning (not the flight I wanted but good enough) for an extra $129. So, I gave them my credit card number, received my new itinerary from Expedia, and went off to bed.

Saturday morning, I got up at 5:30AM, and I knew something was fishy when I couldn't print off my e-ticket (I had not been given a Delta confirmation code...). I went to the airport with my new Expedia itinerary (for a flight supposed to leave at 7:50), and the lady at the Delta desk tells me I'm not in their system and they only have a record that I inquired into the flight with the Delta guy from last night. Baffled as I was, I show the supervisor my receipt from Expedia, and after 10-15 minutes of going around, the supervisor says, "Well the flight has plenty of seats--but its now delayed for 9:15--but you didn't pay for this ticket." I insist that I gave the man from Expedia my credit card and paid extra to get my flights changed. The Supervisor finally prints off a ticket that has bold letters written on it: TICKET COUPON REQUIRED and attaches what obviously is whatever a ticket coupon is (I assume details regarding my switched flights??) and tells me that I did not pay for this ticket.

Upon arriving in Atlanta around 11:15 (at least the delay gave me good time to work on the funeral details!), I'm greeted with an "urgent" cell phone message from a supervisor at Expedia detailing to me that whatever the guy did for me the night before in transferring my tickets was not allowed since I had already been issued a ticket (which doesn't make sense since I didn't get my ticket until I got to the airport) and that I would have to work out my ticket situation with someone at the Delta counter at the airport. In short, I had no idea if I had a ticket to get home. Of course, I was happy enough that I had made it down there on time!

At this point, my first priority is to be there for the family and then to perform a funeral. When I got to Mark's parents' house, they greeted me with great bear hugs and tears. It is a bittersweet moment to mourn the loss of a friend, yet at the same time, feel so honored that people are so appreciative of your mere presence (It also changes the way you hug your own child after you hug the father of the person you're doing a funeral for). There were also relatives who had flown in from Germany, Holland, and China, and old friends from Illinois, all who welcomed me and treated me as part of the family (and while I was there it was not at all uncommon for table conversation to move seamlessly from English to Dutch to German (amazing!)). It was such a rich and profound moment--we were on holy ground--and it had never been more real to me that my calling right now was to be the body of Jesus to these people simply by being there, offering a sympathetic touch, a kind word, and a mournful tear.

The funeral was just wonderful [more on that in another post as this one is already quite long!], and I was in awe of how many people were there. Aside from family and close friends, dozens of coworkers of Mark attended as well as scores of parents and children who had been in one of Carla's (Mark's mom) elementary school classes. It truly was a diverse mix of people, and yet as various members of Mark's family shared memories and I spoke, an amazing sense of camaraderie and unity of spirit could be sensed. These people had gathered to remember a person they loved and to show their love to a hurting family. Everyone afterward was truly appreciative of what I had said, and I was just thankful to be a part of this special moment, despite how unfortunate it was.

I didn't get around to calling Expedia again until around 6PM (and checked one-way flights on someone's IPhone if it came down to just getting an altogether new itinerary to get home). Still at this point, the Expedia website and their phone tree are reading my itinerary as if my flight tomorrow is a "go." Then, the lady from Expedia proceeds to also read through my itinerary but explains that I must work out my ticket with the Delta counter. Since her explanation still did not tell me whether or not I actually still had a ticket for Sunday morning, I finally said, "So are you telling me that I have a confirmed ticket for tomorrow morning or not." After being on hold for a good while (she obviously needed to confer with her supervisor!), I was given a Delta confirmation of my flight itinerary.

So, by this point, I'm happy that at least I'm in Delta's system which is more than I could say the flight before. Then, I get an email from Delta confirming my flight and they have me on a different flight than what Expedia had told me ten minutes before. I went with Delta's information, printed off all the material from their website that showed I had a flight with them, and headed off to the airport Sunday morning. I can tell you I was more nervous going up to the Delta ticket counter than I was preaching at the funeral! Thankfully, I got my ticket, again with big words: TICKET COUPON REQUIRED. But the lady didn't staple anything onto my ticket. Through security and on to the gate, and let's just see what happens. The guy scanning tickets at the gate asked, me if I had a ticket coupon, and I tell him, "This is all the lady gave me." He shakes his head and types on half a dozen different windows on his computer screen and out comes an identical ticket with no big words typed on it. Finally, home free. And despite the fiasco, at least I got a couple extra packages of Delta's tasty gingerbread cookies from the nice flight hostess!

Communicating With a One Year-Old

We've been absolutely amazed at how much Emerson is really developing an understanding of communication/language over the past couple months. No doubt, for months now he has found ways to tell us what he wants by fussing and staring at an object (when he's hungry or thirsty), reaching out for us (when he wants to be held), squirming (when he wants down), having a trantrum or pushing on us (when he wants our attention or wants to wake us up. If we're at the computer, he'll even turn our swivel chair!), or making one of his many facial expressions (to show he's frustrated, upset, got hurt, etc).

No however, its really clear he understands a lot of the things we are saying and has figured out that the use of words and signs is a real productive way to tell us what he wants too. Over the past few weeks, I can't remember how many times, I've pointed at something and said, "Can you bring ___ to Daddy?" and he does it. One of the blessings of this kind of communication is that he becomes a little helper and (at least a little) less of a deterrent when doing a chore. For instance, he loves it when I sweep the floor, and now he's been assigned to carry the dustpan from room to room and hand it to me when I'm ready. But he still loves to walk right through my pile of dirt too :).

There seem to be so many terms he's grasping that there's no way I could list them all. He clearly knows what shoes are and will sometimes even go pick his up and bring them to you when he knows its time to go. He knows what "outside" means, or at least, he knows it means doing one of the things he absolutely loves to do (and these days, we can rarely get him back in without him screaming bloody murder!). On the other hand, "Night-night" is one of the words he dreads (I can hear him yelling upstairs as I type!). And when I'm pretty sure he just did his business in his diaper, I ask, "Emerson did you stinky?"--typically, when the answer's yes, he'll contort his face and wrinkle his nose (although, this morning he had a "guilty as charged" look and just laughed at me).

As for the sign language he's finally managed to incorporate, he now signs "more," "please" (this is one's quite an accomplishment since before when we'd ask him to say please, he would just get even madder, as if to say, "You know what I want, now just give it to me!! Sometimes, its really cute when he says please, and he signs it with both hands, as if to say, "Yes!!! I'll do anything for a saltine cracker!"), "milk," "ball" (which looks a lot like "more"), "hat," "eat," "finish" (all done), and of all things, "toothbrush" (one of our babysitters got him a book with a number of signs, and somehow this one caught on when others didn't!). He signs toothbrush now every morning when we're in the bathroom, so we finally gave him one of his own (without any paste, of course) and he clearly knows how to use it (and it doubles as a teether!).

With regard to words he now uses, or at least is trying to imitate, he often says "up," which can mean that he wants up onto the bed or couch, wants us to wake up and get out of bed to play, wants out of his highchair, wants picked up, or even that he wants to go downstairs. He learned "hop" from a kids video and even bounces up and down, but it often comes out as "bop." "Banana," which is one of his favorite foods is "ana." "Outside" sounds like "ow eye." "Hobbes" (his stuffed lion) is "opf." "Hat" is "at." From time to time, he even says "irt" (dirt), "og" (dog), and "ock" (rock) when we're outside and pointing out different things we see. Additionally, "mmmm" has become a regular when he takes a bite of something (even before he's had a chance to taste it!) , and he says "ahh" after he's had (refreshing) drink of water (and if you haven't seen this video, go to my facebook page or perhaps i'll have to post it here too). Then, of course, there are the many other "words" he uses when he wants us to do something, but we haven't been able to decipher those yet. And then there's the nonverbal communication, like the habit he's now gotten into, when we're taking a shower and we won't let him in, to throw things into the tub (his toys, my clean boxers, etc) out of protest.

Among other things, Emerson's memory is simply out of this world. If he has been someplace, he remembers whatever it was he liked about it. For instance, a few weeks ago, Amber's parents were in town and Beckie (Amber's mom) took E up and down the escalator while we were at Borders one day. This past Tuesday, I stopped by Borders to look for something, and Emerson darted straight for the escalators and that was all he wanted to do. At church, he knows exactly where the steps to the stage are and darts and heads for them every week. At home, all of a sudden, E will go up the stairs and into a particular room to find something as if he was thinking about the entire process from the very beginning. And he's figured out which cabinet door leads to the cereal boxes and has even managed to open them from time to time.

Every day is a new journey with new surprises and new frustrations as our kid is constantly on the move, which makes it exhausting and hard to get anything done (try planting flowers when your kid is either playing in the dirt, pulling off flower petals in an attempt to imitate you pulling weeds, or picking up garden tools that are likely to impale him and running in the opposite direction!). But no matter how badly we'd like to tie his legs up and duct tape his mouth some days, his cute face, smile, expressions, and many antics always make us laugh. Like my mom said, no matter what it is that kid is doing, you can't deny that he sure is cute!

C.S. Lewis Look Alike

So Amber got this on camera today and I just had to post it and make a comparison. And yes, I know a real update is in order since the school year is now down and I have "so much time" to blog.