Ages 14 to 24 I call my “decade of acne.” I went to the dermatologist every month, put goop on my face every day, and tried hard to avoid pimple food. This was before “Proactive.” The best we had was “Oxy 10.” The stuff my dermatologist prescribed was a useless, thick white paste that I smeared all over my face every night (and every night it smeared off onto my pillow). Three of those years were my Briercrest years, and the school was small enough that you knew everyone. So I can definitively report that in the pimples category I was top of my class three years in a row. In the 1978-1979 Briercrest yearbook (p.19) there is a picture of me working on my face in front of the mirror in the “B” Dorm second floor washroom. The caption says: “Mirror, mirror on the wall: is it a dimple or a pimple?”
I’m blogging in order to learn from my life’s experiences and from the Bible’s truths—to see how my experiences have bumped up against biblical truths, and how the Bible interprets my life. So now I would now like to share my reflections upon the adventure of a decade lived among the pimples.
I felt bad. This is my most vivid recollection. I felt bad about myself. (OK, I’ll say it again: some of my “hard times” stories are amazingly wussy. This is miniscule when compared to the suffering of so many. But I’ll also say again that my stuff is my stuff. Click away if you want. This is me). I felt bad about myself because I was blemished. When I saw the old movie “The Face Behind the Mask” I could relate to Peter Lorre, who plays a guy whose face was badly burned, and when he eventually meets a kind (and blind) woman he says “My face is aaagly; could you love meee?” I really catastrophized. I let the lowly pimple do a number on my self-worth. (Of course I had them a hundred at a pop). I was aware that I was wrongly judging myself, but I couldn’t shake the verdict. I related to good old Peter Lorre. I related to those Old Testament lepers: “Unclean!”
Of course I understood that God (and anyone else with any maturity) would know that it’s what’s inside that counts. God even said it to Samuel as he sought a man after God’s own heart to replace the superficially perfect man for the job King Saul. “For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart” (1 Sam 16:7). Yes, that’s right—it’s the heart that matters, not the skin. “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life” (Prov 4:23).
OK, my heart was pretty messed up too. The heart is the love zone, and I loved myself a lot. I loved myself according to sin’s normal promptings: pride, comparing, judging, needing to be at least above average. Typical sinful self-love. The flip side of this kind of self-love is self-loathing which I was excelling at it. God looks on the heart. Great. But just because you have an “acne motif” outward appearance does not guarantee you have a great looking heart. I didn’t.
While I was judging myself by my complexion, I was pretty consistent in judging everyone else by appearances too. Even at Bible College, though I knew better, I assumed the best people were the best looking people. I was getting what I was giving. The measure by which I judged others was the measure by which I judged myself.
I learned all the above. I learned how easy it is to catastrophize, making mountains out of mole hills. I learned that even when you understand that “it’s what’s inside that counts,” you can still feel like scum for the most superficial of reasons. I learned that a bad outward appearance does not guarantee a lovely heart. And I learned that if you set up wretched standards by which you judge others, you’ll probably judge yourself by those same standards.
But here’s my favorite thing that I learned: be loved. I’ve mentioned my sinful self-love. OK, so biblically, how should I love myself? Accept God’s love for me. Bask in it. Embrace it. Receive it. I don’t deserve his love but he loves me anyway, and I shouldn’t waste his good, good love. So I’ll open up my messed-up heart and be loved. When I was yielding more pimples per acre than anyone else at Briercrest, God loved me. A bunch of neat people loved me. Anne even fell in love with me. (I’d tell her in my best Peter Lorre voice “my face is aaagly—could you love meee?”)
Pimples became a love story. Just be loved.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Briercrest
Does God use places? Well, he uses people and he uses events. Like a shepherd, God gathers his people. Once gathered, God’s people engage in Spirit-prompted action and interaction. Suddenly, things happen. Wonderful life-changing things. Events about which we find ourselves saying “this is a God thing.”
So if these “God-things” are the events that change us, and if these events are simply God’s people in action, and if these actions are Spirit-prompted, and if the Spirit-prompting happens when we are gathered, and if we are gathered because God has gathered us in certain places, then I’ll say yes, God uses places.
Maybe certain places have such a concentration of God’s people engaged in Spirit-prompted action, that the place becomes a “hot spot” of changed lives. For me, Briercrest College and Seminary is one of God’s hot spots. Here are the “God things” that have happened to me at Briercrest.
The Bible became part of my life at Briercrest. When I was a Briercrest student from 1978 to 1981, three of my teachers were Dr. Henry Hildebrand, Dr. Henry Budd, and Mr. Orville Swenson. The strongest lasting impact of those three men was the unshakeable biblical basis for what we believe and how we are to live. Years later as I worked on my Doctrinal Statement for ordination in the Baptist General Conference, I had earned a Master of Divinity degree at another school, but found myself continually remembering my theological foundation established at Briercrest: never let go of the authority of Scripture.
The Great Commission became part of my life at Briercrest. World missions was the air we breathed. We heard from at least one missionary each week in chapel, and there was a strong “Student Missions Fellowship” program that we were all to have at least a minimal involvement in. Some of us jumped in with both feet. In my second year I led the “Africa Prayer Band” which was a weekly gathering of students who wanted to pray for Africa. There were 6 or 7 other prayer bands focused on other regions. We students covered the whole world in prayer every week. For my entire adult life, I’ve had a strong sense of accountability to the task of making disciples of all nations. That started at Briercrest.
Ministry became part of my life at Briercrest. My leadership in the Africa Prayer Band was hugely formative. The following year I was asked to coordinate the entire prayer band program. Other ministries that were part of my Briercrest years included children’s Bible clubs, a witnessing group, helping with a Youth Quake missions session, teaching Sunday School to college students, my first preaching experiences, and one summer of involvement in an inner city multi-racial church. I searched for and tested my spiritual gifts at Briercrest.
Anne became part of my life at Briercrest. In our second year, when I led the Africa Prayer Band, Anne was our guitar player. During that year, Anne and I grew from teammates to friends to a “couple.” The next year was our senior year, and the year after graduation we got married. After seminary in Minnesota, a stint as a health care chaplain, and pastoring a church in Maine, the Paulson family came back to Briercrest in 2003 so I could work on a Master’s degree in Old Testament. Since 2004 I have had the privilege of serving as a “Faculty Adviser” (part teaching; part advising). Anne is the manager of the Briercrest Bookstore. We love our life among Briercrest students.
Each of our three sons has seen their Caronport experience become a “God thing.” Steve and his wife Kara found each other here, and are currently blessing both sets of grandparents by living in Caronport with baby Ella. Mike has found his way to the University of Waterloo through the influence of his good Caronport buddy Chris (and in Waterloo God is doing very good things in Mike’s life). Eric is going into grade 12 and has found a niche in which he can thrive—the arts—thanks to faculty and friends at Caronport High School.
God gathers his people, God’s people engage in Spirit-prompted action, and things happen that can only be called “God things.” God uses people and events in the places to which he calls us. He has profoundly used Briercrest in the lives of the Paulson family.
So if these “God-things” are the events that change us, and if these events are simply God’s people in action, and if these actions are Spirit-prompted, and if the Spirit-prompting happens when we are gathered, and if we are gathered because God has gathered us in certain places, then I’ll say yes, God uses places.
Maybe certain places have such a concentration of God’s people engaged in Spirit-prompted action, that the place becomes a “hot spot” of changed lives. For me, Briercrest College and Seminary is one of God’s hot spots. Here are the “God things” that have happened to me at Briercrest.
The Bible became part of my life at Briercrest. When I was a Briercrest student from 1978 to 1981, three of my teachers were Dr. Henry Hildebrand, Dr. Henry Budd, and Mr. Orville Swenson. The strongest lasting impact of those three men was the unshakeable biblical basis for what we believe and how we are to live. Years later as I worked on my Doctrinal Statement for ordination in the Baptist General Conference, I had earned a Master of Divinity degree at another school, but found myself continually remembering my theological foundation established at Briercrest: never let go of the authority of Scripture.
The Great Commission became part of my life at Briercrest. World missions was the air we breathed. We heard from at least one missionary each week in chapel, and there was a strong “Student Missions Fellowship” program that we were all to have at least a minimal involvement in. Some of us jumped in with both feet. In my second year I led the “Africa Prayer Band” which was a weekly gathering of students who wanted to pray for Africa. There were 6 or 7 other prayer bands focused on other regions. We students covered the whole world in prayer every week. For my entire adult life, I’ve had a strong sense of accountability to the task of making disciples of all nations. That started at Briercrest.
Ministry became part of my life at Briercrest. My leadership in the Africa Prayer Band was hugely formative. The following year I was asked to coordinate the entire prayer band program. Other ministries that were part of my Briercrest years included children’s Bible clubs, a witnessing group, helping with a Youth Quake missions session, teaching Sunday School to college students, my first preaching experiences, and one summer of involvement in an inner city multi-racial church. I searched for and tested my spiritual gifts at Briercrest.
Anne became part of my life at Briercrest. In our second year, when I led the Africa Prayer Band, Anne was our guitar player. During that year, Anne and I grew from teammates to friends to a “couple.” The next year was our senior year, and the year after graduation we got married. After seminary in Minnesota, a stint as a health care chaplain, and pastoring a church in Maine, the Paulson family came back to Briercrest in 2003 so I could work on a Master’s degree in Old Testament. Since 2004 I have had the privilege of serving as a “Faculty Adviser” (part teaching; part advising). Anne is the manager of the Briercrest Bookstore. We love our life among Briercrest students.
Each of our three sons has seen their Caronport experience become a “God thing.” Steve and his wife Kara found each other here, and are currently blessing both sets of grandparents by living in Caronport with baby Ella. Mike has found his way to the University of Waterloo through the influence of his good Caronport buddy Chris (and in Waterloo God is doing very good things in Mike’s life). Eric is going into grade 12 and has found a niche in which he can thrive—the arts—thanks to faculty and friends at Caronport High School.
God gathers his people, God’s people engage in Spirit-prompted action, and things happen that can only be called “God things.” God uses people and events in the places to which he calls us. He has profoundly used Briercrest in the lives of the Paulson family.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Meeting Olivia
If this wasn’t our greatest teen-age adventure, it is certainly the most fun to talk about. To the best of my memory, the facts of this story are true. The reflections are my own. The adventure was real.
It was the summer of 1975 and Olivia Newton-John was coming to perform at the Minnesota State Fair. One August evening with the Fair a week or two away, Brian, Bob and I were hanging out, pondering the wonder of seeing Olivia live in-concert. The three of us shared a yearning for Olivia that psychology has undoubtedly categorized for accurate diagnosis and appropriate treatment. But in simple terms, we were just goofy about her.
It had to be our buddy Bri who had the wild idea of trying to meet Olivia. Bri always was the perfect combination of wizard and scientist: first imagine the impossible, and then figure out a way to make it happen. Bob was real practical, so he was good at getting things off the drawing board. My usual role was to anticipate how we might get in trouble and suggest alternatives. I was the self-appointed wet blanket. But tonight’s idea carried a mandate like none other. If there was a way to meet Olivia, we must find it.
Obviously we couldn’t sneak back stage of the state fair grandstand because they’d throw us out. And we couldn’t break into Olivia’s hotel room, because we would get arrested. But there was one opportunity and it was genius in its simplicity. We would meet her as she arrived at the airport.
We knew from Billboard Magazine that Olivia was on tour that summer, and Toronto was her concert date immediately prior to the Minnesota State Fair. The very night that our scheme was birthed, we jumped on our bikes and went out to the airport. I think we got there about 11:00 and the airport was pretty quiet. But international airports never close, so we went to the booths of all the airlines, collecting their flight schedules. We looked for all the flights arriving from Toronto on the day we knew Olivia would be traveling. We knew that the potential of a private jet could mess with our plan, but important adventures carry such uncertainties. The plan was in place, and we waited for the big day.
On the day Olivia would be arriving, one of our parents gave us a ride to the airport. We were wearing our better school clothes. Our buddy Mark was the fourth member of our team. He looked older and more mature that Bri, Bob and me, and we thought we needed an air of respectability. We also had worked up a bit of a ruse. We were going to present ourselves as reporters. We didn’t want to flat-out lie, so we were prepared to say that we were from "The Standard” newspaper, because our high school paper was “The Roosevelt Standard.” Being reporters would also explain the cameras (a couple Kodak instamatics), Mark’s movie camera, and Bri’s tape recorder. We had prepared some questions if we could actually get an “interview.”
As we were loitering around the airport, suddenly it occurred to us that if Olivia was flying in from Toronto, she would need to go through customs. So we raced over to the customs area. This was a stroke of luck. Somehow we confirmed that the four young musician-types goofing around in the customs parking lot were indeed Olivia’s band! One of them actually asked us if we were their drivers! We did not dare have much of a conversation with these guys. They were too cool – way out of our league. Somewhere in our sick little minds, we thought we’d have better luck with the world’s most popular female vocalist.
The customs building was not conducive to us barging in. We waited right outside the door. After a few minutes, Olivia’s main dude (we assumed her road manager) came outside, saw our cameras and recorder, and said to us “We’ve had a difficult time here. When we come out I don’t want any filming or taping, do you understand?” We were intimidated. He was treating us like kids—we were being scolded by a grown-up. We said meekly “OK.” The dude went back in the building. We conversed quickly: “He can’t stop us from saying ‘hi,’ and we’ll get it on tape! Mark, you be ready to film, and Jim you try to snap a picture.” We were ready to be “paparazzi” before we’d ever heard the word.
In a couple minutes, the dude was back outside and in our face again. “I said no filming or taping!” And to Bri he said “You take that recorder out of record mode or I’ll take your cassette!” Bri held it up in the dude's face and clicked the recorder off. Now we were really whipped pups.
The dude went back inside, and immediately came out with Olivia. She was wearing the typical celebrity disguise: big sunglasses and a big hat. She looked at us and smiled and said “Hi” as the dude whisked her passed us and down into the waiting limo. I didn’t even have the nerve to snap a picture of the limo as it drove away.
We went to Olivia’s concert that night, and then because there was a second show, we hung around outside the grandstand fence where we could listen to the whole thing again. Outside the fence were some girls our age. We bragged to them about what we had done at the airport, and they were very impressed. That made us feel pretty good.
And that was that.
My greatest adventures have been adventures of the heart. While mentally we grow and mature over the years, the heart is always young. Feelings never grow old. I think far differently now than I did as a teenager. I think back to those adolescent days and I hardly recognize the way I thought about life. But I still recognize the feelings. Without effort, I feel those feelings again. Wow – memories and feelings. Today I’m remembering the day in 1975 when I met Olivia Newton-John.
I remember you, Olivia – do you remember me? Yes, I think you do. I feel it.
It was the summer of 1975 and Olivia Newton-John was coming to perform at the Minnesota State Fair. One August evening with the Fair a week or two away, Brian, Bob and I were hanging out, pondering the wonder of seeing Olivia live in-concert. The three of us shared a yearning for Olivia that psychology has undoubtedly categorized for accurate diagnosis and appropriate treatment. But in simple terms, we were just goofy about her.
It had to be our buddy Bri who had the wild idea of trying to meet Olivia. Bri always was the perfect combination of wizard and scientist: first imagine the impossible, and then figure out a way to make it happen. Bob was real practical, so he was good at getting things off the drawing board. My usual role was to anticipate how we might get in trouble and suggest alternatives. I was the self-appointed wet blanket. But tonight’s idea carried a mandate like none other. If there was a way to meet Olivia, we must find it.
Obviously we couldn’t sneak back stage of the state fair grandstand because they’d throw us out. And we couldn’t break into Olivia’s hotel room, because we would get arrested. But there was one opportunity and it was genius in its simplicity. We would meet her as she arrived at the airport.
We knew from Billboard Magazine that Olivia was on tour that summer, and Toronto was her concert date immediately prior to the Minnesota State Fair. The very night that our scheme was birthed, we jumped on our bikes and went out to the airport. I think we got there about 11:00 and the airport was pretty quiet. But international airports never close, so we went to the booths of all the airlines, collecting their flight schedules. We looked for all the flights arriving from Toronto on the day we knew Olivia would be traveling. We knew that the potential of a private jet could mess with our plan, but important adventures carry such uncertainties. The plan was in place, and we waited for the big day.
On the day Olivia would be arriving, one of our parents gave us a ride to the airport. We were wearing our better school clothes. Our buddy Mark was the fourth member of our team. He looked older and more mature that Bri, Bob and me, and we thought we needed an air of respectability. We also had worked up a bit of a ruse. We were going to present ourselves as reporters. We didn’t want to flat-out lie, so we were prepared to say that we were from "The Standard” newspaper, because our high school paper was “The Roosevelt Standard.” Being reporters would also explain the cameras (a couple Kodak instamatics), Mark’s movie camera, and Bri’s tape recorder. We had prepared some questions if we could actually get an “interview.”
As we were loitering around the airport, suddenly it occurred to us that if Olivia was flying in from Toronto, she would need to go through customs. So we raced over to the customs area. This was a stroke of luck. Somehow we confirmed that the four young musician-types goofing around in the customs parking lot were indeed Olivia’s band! One of them actually asked us if we were their drivers! We did not dare have much of a conversation with these guys. They were too cool – way out of our league. Somewhere in our sick little minds, we thought we’d have better luck with the world’s most popular female vocalist.
The customs building was not conducive to us barging in. We waited right outside the door. After a few minutes, Olivia’s main dude (we assumed her road manager) came outside, saw our cameras and recorder, and said to us “We’ve had a difficult time here. When we come out I don’t want any filming or taping, do you understand?” We were intimidated. He was treating us like kids—we were being scolded by a grown-up. We said meekly “OK.” The dude went back in the building. We conversed quickly: “He can’t stop us from saying ‘hi,’ and we’ll get it on tape! Mark, you be ready to film, and Jim you try to snap a picture.” We were ready to be “paparazzi” before we’d ever heard the word.
In a couple minutes, the dude was back outside and in our face again. “I said no filming or taping!” And to Bri he said “You take that recorder out of record mode or I’ll take your cassette!” Bri held it up in the dude's face and clicked the recorder off. Now we were really whipped pups.
The dude went back inside, and immediately came out with Olivia. She was wearing the typical celebrity disguise: big sunglasses and a big hat. She looked at us and smiled and said “Hi” as the dude whisked her passed us and down into the waiting limo. I didn’t even have the nerve to snap a picture of the limo as it drove away.
We went to Olivia’s concert that night, and then because there was a second show, we hung around outside the grandstand fence where we could listen to the whole thing again. Outside the fence were some girls our age. We bragged to them about what we had done at the airport, and they were very impressed. That made us feel pretty good.
And that was that.
My greatest adventures have been adventures of the heart. While mentally we grow and mature over the years, the heart is always young. Feelings never grow old. I think far differently now than I did as a teenager. I think back to those adolescent days and I hardly recognize the way I thought about life. But I still recognize the feelings. Without effort, I feel those feelings again. Wow – memories and feelings. Today I’m remembering the day in 1975 when I met Olivia Newton-John.
I remember you, Olivia – do you remember me? Yes, I think you do. I feel it.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The First Kiss
Anne and I had our first date serving at the Briercrest graduation banquet for the class of 1980. We were juniors – next year would be our graduation. All juniors had to serve at the grad banquet, and we needed to be in guy-girl pairs. Our friend Gowmatie told me that if I asked Anne to serve with me, she would say yes. After a year of working with Anne in Africa Prayer Band, I was seriously interested in her, so Gowmatie’s words were from Heaven. I asked Anne, she said yes, and we served together.
Not many days later on Good Friday, Anne and I got together to show each other some family pictures. We sat on the lawn in front of the Admin Building, facing out toward the athletic field, and after sharing our pictures, I made a little speech about how I could see myself marrying Anne, and that I would really want to pursue that possibility. Would she want to “go” with me? In briefer, less torturous words, she said yes.
It was Spring, and close to the end of the school year, but we were now a couple. We only had one or two actual dates before school was out, but we took walks around town and ate most meals together. People got great entertainment out of seeing me every day at suppertime standing outside Anne’s dorm, waiting for her. Then it was summer vacation, and a long summer of being apart. We wrote letters, and talked very rarely on the phone. There didn’t seem to be cheap long distance rates back then.
Senior year we were an obvious couple. But I was very cautious on two fronts: saying “I love you” and kissing. I did not what to mess things up; I believed in the dangers of “too fast.” Sometime pretty early in Fall semester I said the first “I love you.” I remember the thrill of seeing Anne’s breath catch when I said it. Anne also got the nickname “Twinkles” from her dorm buddies, because her eyes twinkled when she talked about me.
But the first kiss: when should it happen? Anne eventually got tired of waiting, and took the initiative.
We were double dating with our friends Sandi and Gerry, all 4 of us squeezed into Gerry’s pickup truck. We pulled into the crowded parking lot of the restaurant. Gerry backed into such a narrow spot that we knew the only way out of the truck would be through the windows. Gerry stopped the truck. All three had goofy grins. Sandi said she and Gerry would head in and get a table, and Anne and I should stay in the truck and talk for a bit. Gerry and Sandi wriggled out the driver’s side window and were gone. Anne was grinning. I was confused.
She turned to face me and put one hand on each of my hands. She said “Once there was a boy turtle (tapped one hand) and a girl turtle (tapped the other hand) who had gotten lost from each other at the foot of a mountain. But they had wanted to climb the mountain and enjoy the view anyway, so from opposite sides of the mountain they each started climbing.” And Anne’s fingers started climbing up my arms. Then all I remember is “blah blah blah turtle this turtle that” as her fingers kept climbing up my arms and shoulders until the turtles were reunited behind my neck. Then Anne said “But who wants to talk about turtles, anyway?” And she kept grinning, with her hands around my neck.
That’s how we had our first kiss.
Not many days later on Good Friday, Anne and I got together to show each other some family pictures. We sat on the lawn in front of the Admin Building, facing out toward the athletic field, and after sharing our pictures, I made a little speech about how I could see myself marrying Anne, and that I would really want to pursue that possibility. Would she want to “go” with me? In briefer, less torturous words, she said yes.
It was Spring, and close to the end of the school year, but we were now a couple. We only had one or two actual dates before school was out, but we took walks around town and ate most meals together. People got great entertainment out of seeing me every day at suppertime standing outside Anne’s dorm, waiting for her. Then it was summer vacation, and a long summer of being apart. We wrote letters, and talked very rarely on the phone. There didn’t seem to be cheap long distance rates back then.
Senior year we were an obvious couple. But I was very cautious on two fronts: saying “I love you” and kissing. I did not what to mess things up; I believed in the dangers of “too fast.” Sometime pretty early in Fall semester I said the first “I love you.” I remember the thrill of seeing Anne’s breath catch when I said it. Anne also got the nickname “Twinkles” from her dorm buddies, because her eyes twinkled when she talked about me.
But the first kiss: when should it happen? Anne eventually got tired of waiting, and took the initiative.
We were double dating with our friends Sandi and Gerry, all 4 of us squeezed into Gerry’s pickup truck. We pulled into the crowded parking lot of the restaurant. Gerry backed into such a narrow spot that we knew the only way out of the truck would be through the windows. Gerry stopped the truck. All three had goofy grins. Sandi said she and Gerry would head in and get a table, and Anne and I should stay in the truck and talk for a bit. Gerry and Sandi wriggled out the driver’s side window and were gone. Anne was grinning. I was confused.
She turned to face me and put one hand on each of my hands. She said “Once there was a boy turtle (tapped one hand) and a girl turtle (tapped the other hand) who had gotten lost from each other at the foot of a mountain. But they had wanted to climb the mountain and enjoy the view anyway, so from opposite sides of the mountain they each started climbing.” And Anne’s fingers started climbing up my arms. Then all I remember is “blah blah blah turtle this turtle that” as her fingers kept climbing up my arms and shoulders until the turtles were reunited behind my neck. Then Anne said “But who wants to talk about turtles, anyway?” And she kept grinning, with her hands around my neck.
That’s how we had our first kiss.
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