Atheism

Beginning the conversation. Christianity does not hold the moral majority.

how to wrap bike handlebars

for me, for later https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MzIiv7pewE

WHAT IS FELICITY

not even sure what I want to say except that maybe I've been watching a little (a lot) too much Felicity and I think that I can make coherent sense of my brain if only I ramble enough. I spend so much time trying to have my cake and eat it too. I am pre-occupied with trying to keep all options open that I am not really sure what I want. Is it that I'm too afraid to go for it, whatever "it" is? I don't want to be afraid. I want to be fearless. (Not attempting sexy vagueness here. I really don't know what "it" is in this sense. I'm thinking about career and potential, imaginary life partners and houses and pets and careers-- I said that already-- and kids. I guess careers. Nursing. Nursing?) Felicity has this eerily recent quality about it... even though it was filmed 20 years ago. How is it that it makes the 90s look fashionable??? Also my enter /return key is definitely kaput.

Memories of George Whyte

I have many good memories of my friend and former colleague George Whyte, who died in a car accident a long time ago now, just before Christmas in December 1996. Here are some of them. I still take the time every so often to remember a great person to know. 

George found the world a funny place and he tried to make it funnier. When I was first new to Labé, Guinea, where we lived and worked together, he was showing me around town when we came to a field with piles of laterite boulders. George explained to me in all seriousness that those piles were altars and that we hoped to convince the people here that such altars weren’t necessary anymore. The boulders were really waiting to be loaded by hand onto dump trucks because there were no loaders available. 

In those days in the late 1980s, the road from Labé to the capital Conakry had lots of old road equipment abandoned along the road, just left to rust by the side of the road wherever it had broken down. George would explain to anyone in the car with him that in French these pieces of equipment were called “bornes” and there were a thousand of them along the road, and that this, in fact, was the origin of the card game Mille Bornes (Touring). 

George didn’t like having to stop too often to have people use the bathroom while he was driving. He explained to me, “I just thank God I have a 500 kilometer bladder.” 

The following is a story about George that language helper Oury Pilimini would tell. One day George was driving Dr. Hannes Wiher and Oury from Labé to Conakry. George was driving quite fast on the very curvy road and was also swerving around the potholes on the road between Labé and Pita. Both Oury and Dr. Wiher were getting somewhat carsick. Finally, Dr. Wiher said to George: “Monsieur, il faut choisir le bon trou ! (Sir, just hit the right pothole!)”

In the early days when we were in Guinea, the police in Conakry were continually stopping us for some supposed violation of the law and then asking for some terribly small bribe of 50 cents or a dollar’s worth of local currency. George said that one day they stopped him and told him, “Monsieur, your car is TOO DIRTY!” Later, when local kids in Conakry were continually offering to guard your car against theft and also to clean it while you were in a store or business or restaurant, George would warn them, “This car must be kept DIRTY!”

George and C&MA missionary Jack Campbell became good friends and were always together when they were in Conakry. The C&MA mission director Mel Carter found tall and eyes-wide-open George and short and droopy-eyed Jack an odd couple and called them “Mutt & Jeff.” 

There were often groups of missionaries from other countries who would, of course, speak in their own languages when they were together. I don’t remember any phrases from other languages, but George would learn some sentence in another language and then interject it into their conversation with no warning and no explanation. One such sentence in German was “Der Taschendieb ist hinter dem Bahnhof (The pickpocket is behind the train station).” He had another sentence in German about a helicopter that I’ve forgotten. 

West Africa in the 1980s was full of Peugeot 404 sedans and 405 station wagons, many being used as group taxis both within and between towns. We soon came to expect that in the taxis at least the door handles would be broken off on the inside of most doors, so one would have to open the door from the outside. 

George told a story about how he and Rhonda had gone out for dinner during their time in Abidjan with a French couple. George said he asked the Frenchman what he did for a living, and the Frenchman replied that he designed door handles for Peugeot. George would get a very strange look on his face, and after a long and pregnant silence, just ask, “What can you say?”

Once George and I traveled together to Freetown, Sierra Leone, for a conference. Assemblies of God Missionary Pastor Eli Chiarelli, a Canadian, rode with us. George put in a Willie Nelson cassette tape. Pastor Eli listened a bit and then said, “I don’t think he’s a Christian.” George changed to another cassette tape of Mozart’s Requiem. After a few minutes Pastor Eli asked what music this was, and when George told him that it was Mozart’s Requiem, Pastor Eli wanted to know if we prayed for the dead. We didn’t play any more music after that. 

George was the Field Director when I was first in Guinea for this combined Christian Reformed World Missions and Christian Reformed World Relief Committee joint effort. We had a meeting to make the CRWM budget for the next year, and George suddenly said, “Something’s wrong here! Someone has spent $10 on Evangelism!” (We were all in language learning and little else.) 

George did an excellent retelling of a sermon by one of his seminary professors at Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia, a “Just by chance” version of the story of Esther that started each new turn in the story with the phrase “Just by chance” to counter the claim that God was not present because the Bible didn’t mention him. 

George will always be missed. I look forward to our reunion. --Dave Wierda 

least fave holiday

I just found out I am NOT Irish so I would like to un-celebrate all prior St Pat's days and also take back any unwarranted pinches directed towards my arms BECAUSE I AM NOT HERE TO PLAY.

Also, I've chosen to embrace my mere 338 miles away change-of-heritage (British) by reading a very sad blog tonight and crying a lot.

No wonder I like tea.

off to bed, off to a better life tomorrow.


(My grandmother's father was adopted off the orphan train and we always thought he was Irish. However. His only surviving offspring just took a DNA test... and no Irish was found. Half Brit, half Dutch-- the Dutch part would be from his mom, my great-grandfather's wife. At least I have one-quarter proof of myself. Mom and I spent a bit puzzling over this. Who are we, really? Does it matter? We didn't get full-existential but we did agree to hold off DNA testing ourselves for now.)

They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
-William Penn

what to say when your grandpa dies

Hello,

I am Hannah, Rhonda’s daughter and Bob’s granddaughter.

Although once in a while Grandpa would mix us up and called me Honda. He always did love cars.

Grandpa had the brightest blue eyes and wit to match. He was an upstanding man. Punctual, exact, cautious yet confident— he seemed to be at ease in any situation. This is not to say he was perfect. He did have a temper, though his grandson John seemed to witness it more than the rest of us. He also loved to talk. A lot. But he knew so much, no wonder it was difficult to stop when he got started. I was older when I learned the term “Dutch bingo”, but I had witnessed Grandpa and Uncle Marlowe in action enough to know no one else was as much a champion at connecting dots.

He had a soft side. He grew roses. I think one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life was watching him break down in tears while praying shortly after my dad and sister had died. It was hard watching adults cry, but it was hardest watching Grandpa—a man who seemed so collected at all times—be overwhelmed by grief.

I talked to a dentist last night whose practice has burned to the ground a few years ago. “How’s it going?” I asked. “Well, I’ve had no bad days since then”, he said.

Today is a good day. Grandpa lived a full life. I am grateful for Grandpa’s diligence. His faithfulness to his faith, to his family and to his community was quiet yet steadfast. He adored my grandmother and I hope to have a marriage like theirs in the future.

Grandpa Pranger is not gone. He lives on. I see him in my mom’s dedication—to everything. Between Grandpa and my mom, the apple did not fall but was practically grafted onto the tree. I see him in my own stubbornness. And I see the fruit of his life’s labor in all of you gathered here. Thank you for coming to remember with us.