Loud and Clear

God is good. All the time. 

I prayed last night for the Lord to speak to me loud and clear about my video mission work. I want him to help me discern between opportunities and obstacles. This morning, he spoke.

How does he do that? How do I know when he is speaking to me? Well, it unfolds. 

The day dawns. It is quiet. Clear.  A beautiful sunny day is ahead. It is peaceful and calm on the Lord's palette.

There are other channels and instruments God uses to speak to us: his people. My brothers and sisters.

In a span of about 10 minutes, I got an email from a professional photographer I just met and a phone message from a friend and spiritual advisor. Each expressed an eagerness to talk with me about my work and ways to go forward.

My spirit soars at these coincidences. Certainly these communiques have been in the works, even before my evening prayers, but they are enfolded in the plan that God has set in motion for me. My wonder and amazement never cease.

My faith is often weak. I sometimes doubt my purpose. Another source shared with me that the issue isn't if God will accomplish his will. The real issue is will you accept it, or reject it.

I pray for it daily but I just can't recognize it in the awesome silence of the day and the night.

The Lord stirs, he encourages me, reminds me he is near. This is the day he has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Wholly Discontented

I made an appointment to meet a pastor friend today to discuss my spiritual aches and pains in the wake of my mind-blowing, three-month mission trip to Africa. I shared with him how things seem different since my return, from relationships to corporate worship. There seems to be a gulf, or distance, between me and the people and things that were formerly so close to my heart.



I shared with him how I think and pray constantly of my next trip abroad, to renew beautiful relationships with selfless servants in Uganda. I've kept up the email chatter back and forth across the continents and the ocean. They await me. They want me. Sounds good.

Amazingly, there are even more opportunities for good video ministry in the Pearl of Africa. I recently met a friend of my Mother's at her church in Montclair, California. She helps support a mission in Uganda which battles poverty and the scourge of HIV/AIDS. There is mutual interest in how I can help her organization.

Once again, a video ministry opportunity opens up before me from my own sphere of influence.

Today I wanted to sort out with Pastor John the sense of conflict that it is inherent in my soul. Do I go, as I'm called to do, and as I want to do, to far off lands for mission and service? Or do I stay in my secure, ungated community, on the proverbial treadmill living a life of quiet desperation? Obviously, there is no question for the answer is obvious.

Pastor John clapped his hands and praised the Lord for what he called my "holy discontent."

We agreed that it marks a healthy process wherein my faith is tested and courage is summoned.

It's not unusual for us to be in conflict with the Lord. It's in our DNA.

Why I Give

It seems I’ve been going to church and building my faith my whole life.

My late father was rector of All Saints’ Church in Carmel for 24 years, so initially there was a duty to go to church. As a boy, I had the run of the house in the parish and church rectory.

So many memories of potluck suppers and the smells of the parish hall and the mystery of the back stairways to the sanctuary.

I experienced a few black-out years while in college in Reno and through my early years in TV news.

When our son, Daniel, was born almost 21 years ago, my wife Virginia and I set out to honor the gift we were given and have him baptized.

I contacted priests who I’d known for years, a former headmaster at the church day school, and the priest who married us in Reno. I wanted some familiar faces.

To their credit, they said the same thing. Each declined and urged us to find a church community in which to raise young Dan.

Dan was baptized at St. Clement’s, Rancho Cordova, and in 1995 we moved to El Dorado Hills and began attending Faith Church in the storefront.

But the importance of belonging to a church community had been planted. For me, it meant more than belonging....but contributing--my time, my talents and my finances.

Kent spoke last week about living in Faith. He said it’s like part of our DNA to live in community. Ours is a healthy church and it’s good to worship and serve together, among other things.

I’ve reached a point in my life where--for the most part--I do the things I want to do, and I don’t do the things I don’t want to do.

When it comes to sharing what I have or what I can do, I love to do it. Not because I earn favor from God, but in response to God’s faithfulness and love for me.

This gift that we have, Faith Church: the community, has Sustained and grown my faith and encouraged me to serve in ways that bring me great joy.

My response is give back....not because I want to....but because I love to.

Sudan Appeal

I am excited to begin a third career in what I’m calling “video ministry.” I will document the work of missionaries, nonprofit and charitable organizations to help others.

In May, in cooperation with Hope for Humanity, Inc., of Richmond, Virginia, I will join a team of volunteers for 12 days in South Sudan. Hope for Humanity built and operates Hope and Resurrection Secondary School, one of only 22 high schools in South Sudan.

Motivated students

Students range in age from 15 to 41 years and are grateful to continue or resume their education following years of civil war. Their motivation to learn is evident as the majority walk or ride bikes two to three hours to school. These youth look to education as the tool to lift themselves from poverty.

Students are provided a lunch of porridge or rice and beans, which may be their only meal for the day. With a hot meal, textbooks, a permanent structure and trained teachers, they are provided a safe and focused learning environment.

Hope for Humanity was founded to create educational opportunities for the future leaders of South Sudan. It is committed to the idea that education is the best way to help the Sudanese to grow and become self supporting. It is an uphill battle.

Southern Sudan

• Only 20 percent of the children in the region attend school because there are so few facilities available
• As a result of two civil wars spanning nearly 50 years, any infrastructure, including the education system, was destroyed
• Eighty percent of Southern Sudanese cannot read and 82 percent of girls currently do not attend school
• The literacy rate of 20 percent is among the lowest in the world
• There is a severe shortage of English teachers and English-speaking teachers in the scientific and technical fields
• The Republic of South Sudan, about twice the size of New Mexico, became an independent country in July 2011

My role

I will use video production to document the work done by the volunteers and meet some of the students there. I will produce video pieces for the Hope for Humanity organization to help show the progress at the school and the ongoing need for educational efforts there, using popular social media channels.

For more information on how you can support education efforts in South Sudan, contact me at dry_wit@mac.com

In Hoc Anno Domini

When Saul of Tarsus set out on his journey to Damascus the whole of the known world lay in bondage. There was one state, and it was Rome. There was one master for it all, and he was Tiberius Caesar.

Everywhere there was civil order, for the arm of the Roman law was long. Everywhere there was stability, in government and in society, for the centurions saw that it was so.

But everywhere there was something else, too. There was oppression -- for those who were not the friends of Tiberius Caesar. There was the tax gatherer to take the grain from the fields and the flax from the spindle to feed the legions or to fill the hungry treasury from which divine Caesar gave largess to the people. There was the impressor to find recruits for the circuses. There were executioners to quiet those whom the Emperor proscribed. What was a man for but to serve Caesar?

There was the persecution of men who dared think differently, who heard strange voices or read strange manuscripts. There was enslavement of men whose tribes came not from Rome, disdain for those who did not have the familiar visage. And most of all, there was everywhere a contempt for human life. What, to the strong, was one man more or less in a crowded world?

Then, of a sudden, there was a light in the world, and a man from Galilee saying, Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things that are God's.

And the voice from Galilee, which would defy Caesar, offered a new Kingdom in which each man could walk upright and bow to none but his God. Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. And he sent this gospel of the Kingdom of Man into the uttermost ends of the earth.

So the light came into the world and the men who lived in darkness were afraid, and they tried to lower a curtain so that man would still believe salvation lay with the leaders.

But it came to pass for a while in divers places that the truth did set man free, although the men of darkness were offended and they tried to put out the light. The voice said, Haste ye. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness come upon you, for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth.

Along the road to Damascus the light shone brightly. But afterward Paul of Tarsus, too, was sore afraid. He feared that other Caesars, other prophets, might one day persuade men that man was nothing save a servant unto them, that men might yield up their birthright from God for pottage and walk no more in freedom.

Then might it come to pass that darkness would settle again over the lands and there would be a burning of books and men would think only of what they should eat and what they should wear, and would give heed only to new Caesars and to false prophets. Then might it come to pass that men would not look upward to see even a winter's star in the East, and once more, there would be no light at all in the darkness.

And so Paul, the apostle of the Son of Man, spoke to his brethren, the Galatians, the words he would have us remember afterward in each of the years of his Lord:

Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free and be not entangled

again with the yoke of bondage.

This editorial was written in 1949 by the late Vermont Royster and has been published annually since.

Losing Life, Winning Joy

If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it.

Matt 10:39 (New Living Translation)

I'm pretty stubborn. I keep insisting that I know best. The evidence shows, however, that I am misguided in my opinion of myself and that God's plans for me hold much more purpose and promise.

In short, it's not about me.

I came home from Cursillo 103 in Jackson where, as a team member, I contributed to the spiritual renewal of nearly two dozen candidates. It was my third turn as a team volunteer and, paradoxically, the easiest and the most difficult.

Every step of the way was filled with conflict for me. When contacted by the rector last fall, my first reaction was to say "no." But the stirrings of the spirit moved me from the obstinate toward the affirmative.

Our team meetings began in January. I relinquished my cherished two-wheeled weekends for fellowship and planning in Davis. Daydreams of Saturday bike rides were replaced by songs, prayers and table craft activities in preparation for the three-day retreat.

Just a week before the planned event, it was cancelled by diocesan leaders in March. Six weeks of sacrificed cycling days went for naught.

By mid-summer, a new date had been set. The team was being reassembled. Energy was rising. Those who dropped out were replaced by newcomers.

My thoughts again turned to whether I should participate. Was I still on the team? I called the rector and hoped that he would release me from my commitment. He said I was still onboard and he looked forward to my participation. I endured a few weeks of indecision on whether to fulfill my assignment or to sneak away through a resignation letter.

If I were to drop out, I should do it right away, I was told by confidants. Otherwise, it would be improper and unfair. So I procrastinated some more. In the end, I was left with no choice. I had to stay on the team.

I really can't help myself. I obsess about my need for experiences and exercise. Resuming the planning sessions before the rescheduled weekend in October, I would drive to Davis on Saturday mornings, thinking of the other activities I would prefer to be doing.

I also realize, however, that hours spent in community, in song, prayer and fellowship can change a person. Self-imposed walls will fall, and selfishness turns to selflessness. It can be an amazing transformation, and it has happened many times for me. It's just not my default position.

What's in it for me? One can't predict how Cursillo will impact them. When I showed up to prepare for the start of the weekend, I was determined to shed my selfish self and embody a generous one. As Rick Warren, one of my favorite pastors, wrote, "if you think you're too big for a small task, you're too small for a big one."

It felt good to check my ego at the door for the weekend. My job was to serve and support, to share and to listen. Through God's grace, it came naturally for me, though it wasn't so simple.

I have to be intentional about giving up, or releasing myself, at least at first, until the momentum of my ways can help me along. God granted me a break from my daily activities, and filled me with faith, love and hope that I shared with my teammates and newfound friends.

I wouldn't have experienced the joy had I said "no" earlier. That would have been shortsighted. Fortunately, for this weekend, it wasn't about me.

Angels on the High Way

Miles from home and nearly alone on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada, I was in the middle of a difficult cycling climb. From the floor of the high desert near the Nevada border, I had followed my buddy, Marc, about halfway up Monitor Pass, California highway 89.

We had already spent several hours on the road. Riding up the western route from Markleeville, we stopped at the summit before heading down toward US 395, hitting speeds of more than 44 mph, and coping with vicious cross winds.

Marc and I have cycled together for more than a year, up and down foothill and mountain roads. Habitually, before we clip into our pedals, we ask for God's protection from inattentive or mean-spirited drivers, and for our own heightened awareness of people and vehicles we encounter. We also give thanks for our strong bodies and the wonderful creation that God has put before us to enjoy. We know that we're never alone on these rides.

About 4 miles up we encountered two couples parked on the side of the road.

Marc was ahead of me and stopped between their two cars. They offered him an ice cold Diet Coke, which he and I happily shared. We chatted about our day and difficult return leg; the Bay Area couples were headed to Bishop for the weekend and stopped along the road for a picnic. They were interested in our story, asking lots of questions, including why we were doing this ride and whether it was part of a longer trek.

Moments later, one of the women brought us some sliced walnut bread, which also hit the spot.

To me, they were like good samaritans, helping us strangers up the hill, and I said as much. As we shoved off up the remaining slope, the Diet Coke and its modest caffeine had a great effect as we both felt rejuvenated.

But it was more than that. I felt the presence of my late father, David+, and longtime friend/mentor, Peter+, were present in the form of those two men. It really buoyed me and we charged up the back side. The Diet Coke and bread kind of symbolized an impromptu eucharist of sorts.

On this exposed mountainside, under a bright sun and swirling winds, a chance meeting among six people can be taken for granted, or it can be cherished for something far sweeter: God's angels met us on the road to lift our spirits.

A friend shared this with me: Black Elk, the 19th century Lakota holy man, became a Christian in his old age. One day a Methodist and an RC were arguing a point in the Gospels. Black Elk strolled up and said, "What are you arguing about? Even if it didn't happen, it's still true."