Fighting Pornography Everywhere: From the Internet to Washington to Fox News

In March 2011, the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN), which oversees much of the World Wide Web, voted 9-3 to allow a new top-level .xxx domain. Widely seen as a victory for the global pornography industry, websites that contain pornographic content will soon be able to use .com or .xxx as part of their basic site address and homepage name.

Stuart Lawley, whose Internet Content Management (ICM) Registry has led the drive for the domain, hopes to open a “progressive new home for adult entertainment online…out of the reach of minors and as free as possible from fraud or malicious computer viruses.” By July 2011, ICM had received 900,000 expressions of interest from a myriad of sources, some for as little as $60.

Each site will have built-in components that block viruses and allow for child-protection with “100-percent efficiency,” Mr. Lawley claimed. Meanwhile, the Associated Press found that ICM “stands to take millions” of dollars with the new approval.

Leading opponents of the pornography industry object to the .xxx domain. Craig Gross—pastor and co-founder of XXXChurch.com, which aids people and families hurt by pornography—states that the domain “just adds more porn to the web and makes the web once again known for porn.” He says this domain could be a “great thing” if regulators required pornography websites to move from .com to .xxx. Unfortunately, no such mandate exists.

Patrick Trueman—CEO of Morality in Media, which uses education and jurisprudence to fight obscenity and indecency—agrees. He believes the .xxx domain will cause “even more harm to children, families, and communities, and make ICANN complicit in that harm.” He adds that the new domain is “overwhelmingly opposed by the public and governments throughout the world.”

A former top official in the Justice Department Child Exploitation and Obscenity section, Trueman says the Supreme Court has never protected “obscenity.” Yet, he notes, “The U.S. Department of Justice has given pornographers a green light by not enforcing federal laws which prohibit obscene hardcore pornography on the Internet.” This has been the case under Presidents Barack Obama, George W. Bush, and Bill Clinton.

Popular arguments for and against pornography are well known. Proponents claim rights to free speech and free enterprise, noting billions of dollars and millions of viewers, websites, and other medians. Opponents cite free speech limitations, addictions, abuse, broken homes, and biblical morality. (Peter J. Leithart makes a convincing case for promoting “biblical morality” rather than merely “traditional values.” He warns against settling for what he believes to be a non-existent “universal code of sexual morality” rather than “Christian sexual morality.”) Pornography foes also cite correlations between pornography and societal, church, family, and personal crises.

Other important topics include the harms of practicing pornography, the failure of the executive branch to enforce “anti-obscenity” legislation, and the destructively relative definitions—or lack thereof—of pornography by leading conservative and liberal sources alike. It also is noteworthy that help is available for people with addictions to pornographic material.

In 2010 the Christian Post reported on a new television show, “Footnote.” The premier shared a true story about a “young girl who was curled up in a ball between takes in the production of a porn film, sucking her thumb because her mind was so blown by what she did.” The reporter also cited a porn actress who said her work “actually hurts but we have to make it look good because we have to sell the product.” Former pornography producer Donny Pauling recalled seeing “the lights go out” in the eyes of women who worked in the industry too long.

A few years ago, some 110 groups across America formed a coalition called “The War on Illegal Pornography.” The largely Christian group included congressmen from both political parties, including Sen. Orin Hatch, Rep. Mike McIntyre, and Rep. Randy Forbes. They want the Justice Department to enforce federal laws designed “to curb the production and distribution of obscene pornography, including on the internet,” since “a consistent and strong commitment to enforcing these laws can have a significant impact.”

Two major information outlets—Fox News, in an article on the history of pornography, and the Encyclopedia Britannica pornography entry—claim the definition of pornography is “famously subjective” and “subjective,” respectively. But is pornography itself subjective, or its appeal? If pornography has no objective meaning, then it cannot be regulated or even critiqued (as being “obscene” for instance). But if it is defined as morally reprehensible and legally inappropriate, despite having a subjective appeal to many—like a criminal who may be a willing burglar but not a robber—then offensive and dangerous pornographic content must be restricted.

Finally, resources abound for those who want to stay away or get away from pornography. First, the Bible is a key aid in any struggle. Second, parents or spouses can offer strong accountability. Third, helpful websites exist, such as: xxxchurch.com, pornharms.com, moralityinmedia.org, porntopurity.com, and waronillegalpornography.com.

One pastor’s wife says that her husband’s former pornography addiction was their mutual marriage problem, not just his problem. Her husband decries it as a “silent sin,” and she says she feels so relieved to be “living in truth.” She concludes, “Without Christ, our situation would have been helpless. But because we know the Great Physician…who can make all things new, we had all the hope of Heaven.”

Please pray for:

• God to rescue those involved in the pornographic industry.
• Grace for spouses, children, or parents who struggle with pornography.
• Government leaders to deal with the issue of pornography responsibly.
• God’s moral standards to prevail upon American society.

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(Originally published by The Presidential Prayer Team.)

Fifteen Trillion Dollars and Counting: No Easy Constitutional Solution

You can guess that freshmen congressmen have experiences similar to those of first-year college students. They get teased, have a lot to learn, and need to determine their role. Freshman Senator Mike Lee (R-Utah) began his new position by targeting deficit spending. His weapon of choice: amending the U.S. Constitution.

In late 2011, the national debt passed the $15 trillion mark for the first time, rising $1 trillion that year. The debt doubled from $7.5 trillion in 2004, swelling $4.5 trillion since 2008.

With noted interest from other senators and congressmen, including Denny Rehberg (R-Mont.), Sen. Lee sought to propose a constitutional Balanced Budget Amendment (BBA), with the goal of preventing Congress from settling on an annual budget that spends more than it receives. Of course, a BBA might sound good to many people (up to 83% of Americans in one Gallup poll), but actually amending the Constitution would be among any politician’s greatest challenges—or accomplishments.

Constitutional amendments are rare. In has been 220 years since the Bill of Rights was ratified under President George Washington. Since then, the “Law of the Land” has been amended just 17 times, or approximately once every 13 years. Moreover, 12,000 amendments have been proposed, meaning that less than one in 700 is actually ratified.

Another problem for Sen. Lee is that his BBA idea is not original, and every prior BBA proposal has failed. Over the past 30 years, at least 10 attempts have been made in Congress to propose a BBA for three-fourths of the states to ratify, as required by the Constitution. Several attempts came close to passing—twice falling only one vote short in the Senate, and sometimes getting through one house, but not the other.

Key factors preventing passage of past BBAs have included weak provisions for enforceability and the possibility of sky-rocketing taxes “in order to balance the budget.” Some argue that the judicial branch may have to step in to break up political fiscal stalemates unless a fail-safe BBA were adopted.

Balancing the budget and eliminating the debt are dissimilar, as Sen. Lee himself acknowledges. Congress has a hard time cutting spending, let alone balancing the books for long enough to shrink the debt to manageable levels. A workable BBA could just be the first step toward a solution.

Despite these challenges, many aspects of the BBA issue are in Sen. Lee’s favor. First, a BBA may pass precisely because of the exploding national debt in recent years. Political demand for change, even imperfect change, is increasing. Popular rhetoric surrounds the BBA, too. Proponents argue that since families and states have to cut back in hard times and balance their budgets, Washington should as well.

Also, Sen. Lee can likely count on bipartisan support. While Republicans traditionally champion BBA efforts, a number of Democrats have voted “aye” in each case, too. In addition, a bipartisan “BBA Caucus” swelled to more than 60 congressional members in the first year after its inception.

Ultimately, principles are on the side of the BBA supporters. Limited spending, debt, and taxes are virtues that ring loud and clear in the hearts of millions of Americans. Hardships in life are seldom resolved quickly or easily. But every resolution begins sometime. Maybe $15 trillion is enough to convince this country’s leaders that the time has come. If so, then obstacles and odds aside, Utah’s freshman senator might get the last laugh after all.

Please intercede for all of your elected officials, both at the federal and state levels. Legislative bodies across the nation will be part of any possible constitutional process. Pray that they support policy that is morally and fiscally sound, and that they do not succumb to the temptations that surround them each day.

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(Originally published by The Presidential Prayer Team.)

Light in the Darkness

It was late at night as we rushed through the dark tunnel, not knowing what lurked around the next bend. Yet an equal uncertainty of what lay behind us drove us forward. We sought a way out of the maze of black corridors, but had been wandering around for some time. At last, we perceived noise up ahead, and even spotted a little light.

We moved more slowly, quietly. Then abruptly we were in a dim room. Before us stood a platoon of enemy soldiers. Along the right side of the cave were thirty male soldiers with AK-47s leveled at us. Disconcerting, yet normal. But to our left, a dozen armed uniformed women also sighted us in. Not so normal. This was Russia in 1984.

We entered the small chamber all at once, and were immediately face to face, gun to gun, with our enemies. The Russians outnumbered us, but they knew we numbered enough to make any mishap bloody for everyone. We could feel their feelings, and they could feel ours. No soul present wanted a violent engagement right there, right then. But it felt unavoidable.

The world seemed to stop—there was no sound, no movement, no distraction. The strangest sight was the women soldiers who faced us, their expressions full of hatred and fear. They stared at us as hard as we stared at them. Their eyes seemed colder than the eyes of their male comrades.

All this passed in what seemed like an hour, but was only a few seconds. We would have no chance if a battle began. But we could not just succumb to being prisoners, either. Darkness overwhelmed every soul. Suddenly, I felt a strange tug at my deepest will and emotion. I have no idea what I was thinking, nor why I acted on the impulse. Yet by God’s grace, I did act.

I slowly lowered my rifle. “You ladies are beautiful!” Their eyes were like ice. I repeated, louder, “You are all very beautiful…God must have spent extra time creating you!” I glanced around as a few seemed to twitch. Did they understand? “For the love of God, enough blood has been spilled in this war! Do any of you speak English?” After a long silence, a woman gazed straight into my eyes and quietly said, “I am British; I speak English.” Her eyes softened briefly, and I almost sensed in her a yearning for this horror to cease.

My heart was pounding. Why on earth was a Briton fighting for the Russians? But I felt eternally grateful to this woman, and to God. I quickly responded to her, “Will you please tell these other women what I have said?” She stalled as her pride fought her conscience. My pleading eyes never left hers. Finally, she broke our stare and looked about. She spoke in a low tone to her companions. I could tell she was repeating my message to them…twice. Upon hearing, there was a moment of temperance in the hands holding the guns and in the eyes waiting to kill. A short pause ensued.

To this point, I had focused fully on our enemies. I glanced at my own peers and commander. They were afraid, and could not believe what I was doing. Yet they clung to hope amidst hopelessness.

Suddenly, they all laughed! “There is no God! There is no God!” they cried aloud, mockingly. This English phrase had been drilled into them, and their taunts were overwhelming. They raised their guns once more.

In a final attempt to prevent slaughter, I begged the woman from Britain to address her allies once more: “Fine. You’ve been told there is no God! But if God does exist, just if, then He neither wants us to hurt you and destroy your outward beauty, nor does He want you to hurt us and destroy your inward beauty! Please, take this chance to establish peace and preserve life for just one more day!”

My translator blinked. Our fates hung on her decision of whether, and what, to speak. Everybody watched her. Then she gave me a slight nod of her head. She turned to her friends and translated verbatim. At first, no one moved. Then two women on the end stepped back, dropped their eyes, and lowered their firearms. Others followed suit, and a tidal wave of relief began overwhelming us all. It seemed the room was spawning its own redeeming light.

Only two did not budge: the British woman and the Russian commander. He kept watching her, then me, his gun ready. In time, he quietly addressed her. She looked placid as she listened, then she turned and relayed his message to me.

“My major admires your courage. He believes in what just happened: that life and peace are more important than war and captives. He adds that you are a better man than he. But he says Moscow will never tolerate him releasing enemy troops. For the first time, he is placing his convictions over his government. Consequently, he must flee. His last words are that maybe one day, when all this is over, he will think more on the God of whom you spoke tonight.”

I could only say “Thank you, Sir,” before he conferred hastily with three of his subordinates, then disappeared down a side tunnel. Meanwhile, I thanked the British woman for her help in our crisis. She thanked me for reminding her that God and souls supersede victory and power. I asked about her future, and she said she hoped to return to her homeland soon.

We all put down our guns, and shared our remaining rations—enemies extending peace. We lit a fire after midnight, and went above ground for the sunrise—enemies sharing memories. Then we returned to our own camps. The war was still going on…

But for us it would be different. Our enemies had hearts, minds, and souls. Pointless killing would cease, occasions for mercy would be sought. Our duties remained, as we had to stop evil foes. Yet we no longer mechanically viewed all our opponents as such. We knew there were exceptions.

Years later, I somehow got a letter from the Russian major. He was in prison for his conduct that night, and soon would be executed. But he bade me to take heart, for he had found God, and knew that fighting against evil through faith in Him is the most important war in the world.

For myself, this truth has become more pronounced since that bloodless night. God’s grace saves us from our own destruction—whoever calls upon His Son Jesus Christ. All the world’s darkness will be engulfed someday, as it was in that tunnel, by the eternal, glorious light of Almighty God!

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(Originally published by Yahoo! Voices.)

A Minuscule Taste of the Middle East

Ahlan w sahlan! I never guessed I would spend one of my college semesters in Egypt, but God led me to do exactly that in my junior year. Here is a fraction of the highlights, as well as a few of the lessons I learned on my amazing trip—four of the best and most challenging, inspiring, fulfilling, and life-changing months of my life!

I arrived in Egypt in January 2004, joining twenty-three other students from Christian universities across the U.S. for the Middle East Studies Program. We lived, studied, and traveled together until our program ended in April. We studied Arabic, Islam, people and cultures of the Middle East, and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Based in Cairo, our flats were three blocks from the River Nile in a traditional district of Africa’s largest city. We engaged the culture, practiced the language, fell in love with the food, and made many friends with Muslims and “Coptic” Christians.

Egyptians are known for being very friendly and hospitable; late-night folks who usually smile and always have time for tea! Most were kind and cordial to us, whatever their economic class (usually poor) or religion (mostly Muslim).

We explored greater Egypt on weekends—oases, cities, beaches, famous sites, and not-so-famous sites (which were just as memorable). We got to stay with Egyptian families for a week. We toured Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan for three weeks, which ten articles could not adequately describe. Our program closed near Alexandria on the Mediterranean Sea. We enjoyed many late nights together, which frequently included hearing the beautiful pre-dawn call to prayer! We grew very close.

Hundreds of specific stories formed the real, life-changing parts of our semester, far beyond mere sight-seeing. We were blessed not only to see the cultures, but to engage them and invest ourselves in them, not just milk them for ourselves. Dialogue occurred and relationships formed, all of which helped us learn that our culture is not completely or inherently better or worse than others. Rather, we informed and learned, talked and listened—and many Middle Easterners humbly bestowed on us the same respect.

Someday, I hope to write more of the many lessons and blessings God gave me on my journey, and how He has helped me incorporate them into a more holistic lifestyle since then. Until then, I thank Him for letting me visit such a marvelously different culture and meet such marvelously different people.

And yet…the Middle East is not so different. People there are still people, with the same spiritual and physical needs that we all have. God loves them just as much as anyone else. He forgives them just as readily as any other asking soul. And His Great Commandment and Great Commission are just as prevalent there as any other place. I pray that I can follow those two “Greats” everywhere I go. And I hope “everywhere I go” will someday again include the Middle East—“insha’allah”! (if God wills!)

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(Originally published by Cedars.)

Strange Encounters in Uganda

Part 1

8 March 2005

After about half of our four or five mile trek, we rested for a time overlooking the majestic valley and lake below. Our hosts were socializing with some of their friends. One of the girls and I each had to relieve ourselves, so we asked where to find the nearest latrine.

Most Ugandans use latrines as their toilets, even in the cities, unless they are rich. Latrines are of kindred spirits to our outhouses—only they are permanent, and generally made of mud with a tin roof. They rarely have a seat. Moreover, we always had to carry toilet paper with us because few latrines ever had any. It is a different and generally smelly way to go—but then again, they never have to unclog their toilets, repair their pipes, or empty their sewers or septic tanks!

Anyway, Cassie went to the latrine first. When she returned, she told me I was going to have fun in there! When I found it, I was dumbfounded to see a four-foot high latrine. I not only could not stand up inside, I could not pee in any upright position whatever—I had to squat like a girl!

Most men in that neighborhood, I suppose, simply used the outdoors for number one. This would be no problem at home on my family ranch or hiking in the mountains. But here, it was not really an option. Plus, to cap off the event, ten or twelve youngsters were lined up nearby as I came out, shyly watching my every move. Ah, Uganda!

Part 2

27 February 2005

Most of the Ugandans I have met are fabulous folks. But there was this one guy…

My good friend Cassie and I were talking late one evening, sitting in the middle of the university basketball courts on the edge of campus. We had not been there long when a random, seemingly drunk man approached us out of nowhere.

He began telling us about how impoverished and run-down Uganda was. He told us to tell others in our home country about these problems. We already had witnessed a great deal of deprivation all over Uganda. Also, we had been planning to share with people back home about the plight of many Ugandans. This man was simply ordering us to do this for him.

He pointed randomly to the patched asphalt basketball courts as evidence for his case. This was a legitimate example, for Uganda Christian University was one of the finest in the country, and yet for its three thousand students it could only maintain one outdoor basketball court, complete with cracked asphalt and cement.

The man almost acted as if he had planned the entire show, as if he knew that two white students would be right there at 11:30 pm! He spoke loud, and sat close. But he was not mad or bellicose, and he stayed where he was. He was creepy, but probably harmless. I was on my guard the entire time, mostly for Cassie’s sake. She was, too, she told me afterward.

But nothing happened. Eventually, he got up still gesticulating wildly and talking with increased nonsense. Finally, he wandered off into the darkness and disappeared as quickly as he had come. You just never know who you might meet in Uganda near midnight on a basketball court!

Sleeping in Kampala

26 March 2005

One day I wandered all over the capital of Uganda for ten hours, starting around 11 am. I already had spent several afternoons in Kampala. But this was my first all-day and overnight excursion.

I was by myself, and my goal was just to see—and learn my way around—as much of the city as I could. My second goal was to try many different restaurants from many different cuisines. But I quit after getting sick at my fourth restaurant, fourth country, and third continent!

Late in the evening, still rather sick, I trudged around trying to locate my hostel. I considered just going back to my dorm an hour outside of town. But I was on an adventure, and I was staying on it!

A nice man helped me find my lodging by going almost an hour out of his way to ensure my safe arrival. I felt exhausted after hours of walking under the African sun and eating too much diverse food. But this was precisely where God graced me with humor to get through the night, although the events seemed so typical of Uganda.

I entered the gates of the hostel and met three guards lounging there—as in lounging! They were eating, talking, and leaning back in what vaguely looked like lawn chairs. One easily could have grabbed one of their guns before any of them could do anything. I also wondered why three were there, all apparently doing the same thing: nothing!

I greeted them and announced that I had reservations for the night. Three blank stares. I repeated with a patient, annoyed sigh, “I have experienced this before in this country!”

They dryly asked, “You want to stay here tonight?” I thought, “Shall I repeat myself again, or do random white people often show up with backpacks at the entrance to the ‘Backpacker’s Hostel,’ alone, tired, in the dark, at 9:30 at night?!” But I answered, “Yes.”

Again, silence. “So…can I go in?” “Yes.” “Um…where do I go?” It was not like a big, or small, “Office” sign stood right in front of me, or anywhere in sight for a hundred feet in any direction. One guard pointed toward my left, but silence reigned. So I sighed and went in, barely stumbling onto the correct path to the distant, unmarked office building.

To perfect the evening, I went in and gave my name, having made reservations that morning. But whoever I had talked with in the morning did not record my reservation! Yet after insisting that I would not leave at this hour or in my weakened condition, they provided me a better room at the same price.

I went in, lay down on my bed, and just thought, “Ah, Africa!”

A Tire in the Desert

7 February 2004

Transportation stories often etch themselves permanently into one’s memory—especially if they take place in Egypt’s Western Desert.

At least a dozen of my fellow American college students had journeyed with me into far western Egypt for several days. We visited the small, yet magical and lovely oasis called Siwa.

We returned to Cairo in three different groups. Mine took the boldest, longest, and most exciting route—an overnight desert safari!

The main bus route went north from Siwa and followed the Mediterranean to Alexandria, then it cut south along the Nile to Cairo. We, however, went straight east through the Sahara on a safari vehicle—a covered long-bed pickup truck—and we slept out under the stars.

During our 24-hour trip, our two Bedouin guides, who also served as drivers and cooks, allowed us to climb out the back of the truck and onto the roof—while we were still driving! We went up there two, three, even four at a time and just let the wind blow in our faces as the countless miles of sand flew by beneath us. At least one of us was up there half the time, hanging on for dear life.

We had a splendid evening with a fire, food, fellowship, and a full moon. Unwilling to sleep, my blanket worked its way over to the cute, shivering girls in my group. Then I strolled in and out of camp the rest of the night, praying, reading, and pondering. I also observed the sun set, the moon rise, the sun rise, and the moon set all on one night for the first time in my life.

Next morning, our escorts offered us hardboiled eggs. I made myself eat them, enjoying them for the first time in my life. Then we took off again.

After a while, four or five of us clambered up to the roof of the safari vehicle. We barely fit—but we barely cared. We were shouting over the wind, laughing whether we heard anyone or not, and enjoying to the fullest all that God had given us.

Suddenly, we heard a sound and felt the truck veer sharply off the “road,” which really was just a two-wheel track. By God’s grace, we were all gripping the roof rack tightly when this happened.

As we ground to a halt, we watched in disbelief as our whole rear left tire raced on ahead of us at top speed. After rolling a hundred yards or more, it finally plopped over along the desert floor. It had snapped off of the axle right through the bolts!

This pit stop cost us about two hours, but our guides said “Mafeesh mushkayla!” (“No problem!” in Arabic). They told us to relax and make some tea! Relax, right. We are stranded in the world’s largest desert!

But we really were put at ease because we were having a great time anyway, and we loved being where we were, and best of all, the skillful Bedouins immediately and cheerfully set to fixing the truck, whistling and joking with each other for the next hour or more! What could we do but just what they had told us? We sat down on a blanket, heated up some tea, and just hung out and had some great talks next to our wounded vehicle in the middle of the desert!

Hikes, Cows, and Tunes near Mount Elgon

Part 1

9 April 2005

These three tales are from the same weekend excursion in Uganda. We were fifteen students from a university just outside the national capital, where I spent my final semester of college.

We visited eastern Uganda, which boasts some of the prettiest waterfalls and foothills I have ever observed. We hiked along one side of a massive mountain, Elgon, whose 14,200-foot summit we neither approached, nor even saw.

Part of the hike was in a national forest, and official guides had to accompany us. Our group size posed a problem for our two guides. They said we had to divide into two clans—one group three to five minutes behind the other. They added that every person in both groups had to walk single file behind our guides on the path. Disgruntled, and curious as to their reasoning, we asked for an explanation.

They politely informed us that their methodology sought to protect the environment. But this was despite two obvious factors. First, all of us would be walking along the exact same route whether we were in two separate groups or one large group. And second, the path was already well worn. There was nothing that walking single file or in separate groups could do to the environment that one group walking two abreast would not also have done.

But they insisted!

Part 2

9 April 2005

Later that day, after we left the national park and could trek with more liberty, we were treading through villages and on paths through local farms and fields. A few of the people on this hillside kept a small number of cows—an uncommon, valuable commodity in East Africa. For myself, I grew up on a cattle ranch in Montana. So I like cows, and like conversing with them sometimes.

I was lagging behind my group. And since I had not seen many cows in Uganda, I said “moo” to one lone cow eating separately from the herd. She immediately looked up. Pleased, I said “moo” again, and she looked ever so intently at me. A third “moo” and she started pacing toward me.

She was distant enough that I could not discern her mood. But I was very curious, since a “moo” back home never arouses more than a lazy glance. I half guessed that if eastern Ugandans called their cows this way, perhaps she thought I had food. My speculation soon changed!

I called once more and to my great humor and surprise, she began to charge! I took off, but I was already a good distance from her, so she eventually stopped. I tried one final time and she picked up the chase again! It is quite an experience to run for your life while laughing at the same time!

Eventually she halted, and I pressed on and left the poor beast alone. She watched me closely for another five minutes. I have been charged before, but never for offering an innocent “moo!”

Part 3

9 April 2005

Back in our weekend lodging, we met a small band of British students. They were celebrating the 21^st birthday of one of their members, and spent the evening drinking themselves silly. We talked with them around a campfire awhile, and in time a few of them started singing.

If you have spent much time overseas with Brits as an American, you probably have traded jokes about colonial disobedience, royal tyranny, and the like. Our new friends were singing distinctly American songs, including patriotic songs like Yankee Doodle Dandy or even the Star-Spangled Banner.

Then in strong British—and fairly drunk—accents, one or two began teasing us and calling on us to “Sing us a tune, sing us a tune!” We smiled. Almost like cat calls, they pressed again, “Sing us a tune, sing us an American tune!” We kept chatting by the campfire. One or two of them looked embarrassed and tried to distract them or make them stop.

Finally, the annoyance was bathed in humor as they cried, “Sing us an American tune! Sing us—sing us an anti-British tune!” We still pretended to ignore them, until somebody in our group said quietly, “We don’t have any anti-British tunes...we won the war!”

African Bus Rides

Part 1

15 June 2005

Ethiopia is a phenomenally aged country and society, like that of Egypt. In seventeen days there, God led me to engage the people and culture as much as I could. I experienced some of the most challenging, horrifying, yet also fantastic and fulfilling episodes of my life. Comic relief filled in the gaps.

Halfway through my stay, I took one of my many rough, crammed, and sometimes scary African bus rides. I highly recommend the adventure at least once!

I was in the back row. In America, it would have comfortably fit four people, and tightly fit five. But in most of my travels in Ethiopia and Uganda, “comfortable” meant six, “full” meant seven, and “tight” meant eight! This particular bus ride, counting one or two kids, was “tight.”

Toward the end of the five-hour journey, I discovered that at least some (maybe most) Ethiopian children do not use diapers. I was squeezed in next to a father and his infant son, maybe one year old. I looked down on the floor and saw a small but growing pool of liquid. I thought there was a hole somewhere and water was leaking into the bus—I had seen such holes before.

But then the father reached down and grabbed a small basin about the size of a large cereal bowl. He pulled down the pants of his child right there—who was still urinating—and plopped his little bare butt down into the basin for a couple of minutes!

Afterwards, he apologized to me in his minimal English. Most humored, I assured him it was all right. After all, it was just another of my crazy African bus rides!

Part 2

14 March 2005

I had bus escapades in Uganda, too. My Ugandan friend Jeremiah was driving through Kampala. We were just finishing a tiring day on the road on our return from a ten-day trip to southwestern Uganda. With me on the bus were eleven fellow college students, all studying abroad for a term, as well as our program leaders.

Most of us were likely asleep or snoozing when all of a sudden Jeremiah slammed on the brakes. He just missed hitting a random—but not altogether uncommon—goat sprinting across the road. Wide awake, we all turned and looked to make sure we did in fact miss it.

Well, we missed it. But a cyclist going the same direction we were was not so fortunate!

With a big bus beside him, he could not discern what was coming across our path until it was out of our path, and therefore in his path. The silly goat ploughed right into the bicycle rider, and we looked just in time to see the bicycle wreck and its rider go flying and screaming through the air! I doubt his untimely flight without parachute or wings offered him a graceful or painless landing.

Nothing was stopping that creature from getting to the other side of the road. In fact, it kept right on going after the collision. The poor cyclist, meanwhile, probably had to be taken to a hospital!

Sexual Struggles in Marriage: Finding Help for Marital Intimacy…Is Possible

Life in a university men’s dormitory is lots of things: fun, gross, hilarious, and loud. Friendships evolve through games, studying, pranks, movies, mishaps, thievery, and late-night talks. Typical conversation topics include girls, faith, girls, goals, girls, classes, girls, sports, girls, hobbies, and girls. Subtopics on females include relationships (past, present, and future) and sex.

On a Christian school campus, discussions about sex include temptations, fears, confessions, and desires. Two guys—or ten guys—might spend hours each week covering these issues. They hold each other accountable, offer encouragement, and tease each other. Moreover, their ethics classes may address sexual morality, while their church might stress abstinence and marital faithfulness.

Then they graduate in May, get married in June, start their career in July, and by August some of them are confused or unsatisfied with their new bride in the bedroom. Some do not know how to talk about it with their old friends, let alone their wives, and their churches keep harping on stuff they already know, but which does not apply directly to their situation. They still need help!

In 2008, secular sociologist Sarah Diefendorf began tracing the struggles of evangelical men who commit to virginity until marriage. She talked with fifteen single men who were in a small group together. They grew close and kept each other accountable. But after they were married, they felt they could not discuss issues so intimately anymore, because it involved their wives.

Some still struggled with things like pornography, masturbation, lust for other women, and same-sex attraction. An August New Republic interview with Diefendorf does not identify the source of these challenges, or whether the temptations are new, or whether the men blame their spouses. But she does emphasize that they “no longer have an outlet to work through” their issues.

Diefendorf says some men who commit to abstinence define masculinity differently than popular culture. She cites fellow sociologist Amy Wilkins, who conducted her own research on the topic. The men Wilkins spoke with, states Diefendorf, do not claim to be men because they “engage in a variety of sexual activity.” Rather, they state, “I’m a man because I can avoid that temptation.” They consider sex “beastly” outside marriage and “sacred” inside marriage.

But achieving sexual fulfillment and staying pure in marriage is hard—no matter the age, history, or gender of either spouse. Diefendorf says small groups offer key support in evangelical groups: “They are caring, supportive, and safe space that allow men to have a remarkably open and frank discussion about sexual desire.”

Other resources exist, too. Authors, speakers, and organizations are addressing the subject more. Easy-to-remember phrases are becoming popular, such as “men are like microwaves, women are like crockpots.” Churches are focusing more on the “sacred” joys of sex, and less on its “beastly” dangers. And close mentors can provide honest feedback to the hurting and confused.

Back in the Christian men’s dorm, a respected hall leader graduated and got married. At the start of the next year, he came back to visit. Sex is nothing like Hollywood, he said. It is much harder, but far better. He was right—and with the help of God, a solid church, and close friends, spouses can master the subject. Sex was His idea, after all!

Four Books: Great Journeys through the Human Condition

Book One

These are abnormal book reviews. And Thomas a Kempis was an abnormal religious person.

In his 600-year-old best-seller, The Imitation of Christ, a Kempis seeks to show people how they can follow Christ completely and constantly. Anything less, for any amount of time, he explains, is not only wrong, but it also should be out of the question. Jesus lovingly and willingly gave His all for us, and He asks the same in return. This is certainly not a normal human philosophy.

Highlighting books is a two-edged sword. When I highlight, I feel guilty for reading slowly. But when I do not highlight, I feel guilty for not recalling the book better. Life is hard!

Anyway, without regret I underlined a lot in The Imitation. In fact, my only regret, or confession, about this book is that I turned down a chance to give it to an imprisoned Christian brother in the Middle East. I wanted to keep my underlining for my own future reference. He had not asked for it, and I did give him several other good books. But I should have given him this one, too.

But since I did not, I need to share it with everybody else! Of course, a Kempis is not on par with the Bible, but here are some lines I really appreciated:

“A humble peasant who serves God is better than the proud astronomer who knows how to chart the heavens’ stars but lacks all knowledge of himself.”

 “Be willing to suffer a little for Christ…there are many who suffer far worse things to achieve worldly advancement.”

“I am unable to offer You the praise and gratitude I ought, even for the least of Your benefits.”

Book Two

My most recent reading adventure ended with my second bout with the Russian novel Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I first read it in high school and hoped to reread it someday. At 505 pages, it is the shortest of three great Russian novels I have read, including Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and Leo Tolstoy’s enormous War and Peace.

I am a slow reader, but worse, I can be lazy. I aged eleven months during Crime and Punishment. The exciting part is that I began it on a short trip to Oman with a friend—reading much in the hot hotel room where I could only sleep for one or two hours the second night—and I ended it in my new home in Montana, just miles from where I grew up in the gorgeous Crazy Mountains.

Perhaps my reading journey mimics that of the book’s protagonist: Raskolnikov. After his crime early in the tale, Raskolnikov starts seeing cracks in his worldview which had led him to murder. Someone whose own wrecked life God was redeeming, Sonia, patiently guided him toward truth and repentance.

In a remarkable passage, Sonia concludes reading part of John’s Gospel to Raskolnikov:

“‘That is all about the raising of Lazarus,’ she whispered severely and abruptly, and turning away she stood motionless, not daring to raise her eyes to him. She still trembled feverishly. The candle-end was flickering out in the battered candlestick, dimly lighting up in the poverty-stricken room the murderer and the harlot who had so strangely been reading together the eternal book.”

Book Three

My eight days in Rwanda were wonderful and terrible. It was a gorgeous country, to be sure! But I visited nine years after the 1994 genocide—which killed 1 million Rwandans in 100 days.

The sight and smell of death do not die as easily or as quickly or as human beings. I visited mass graves and killing sites, including churches. In the worst case, hundreds of butchered corpses lay on tables in room after room for all to see. They were preserved with lime powder.

Much of this could have been prevented had Rwandans resolved their own problems years before the outbreak of war and genocide in April 1994. But the international community also had a fatal hand in the catastrophe. Germany and Belgium exacerbated ethnic divides decades earlier. China and France armed those who carried out the decimation. And America refused to call it genocide (and thus respond forcefully) until it was all over.

In particular, the United Nations had troops on the ground when the killing began. But they were largely forbidden from stopping the violence. Canadian Lt. General Romeo Dallaire commanded this ill-fated U.N. force, and he shares his vivid story in Shake Hands with the Devil: The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda.

Book Four

You know a great book when it sways your thinking in specific situations five years after having read it. Charlotte Bronte has led me into, I hope, better living through her classic juxtaposition of honor, heroism, and humanity in Jane Eyre.

The first half of Jane’s life is anything but easy. She suffered abuse as an orphan, lost her groom-to-be under chaotic circumstances, and thereafter lost her job as well. But she overcomes, thanks to her philosophy that morals are worth maintaining—always:

“I will keep the law given by God, sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and was not mad, as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation. They are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigor. Stringent are they, inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth, so I have always believed. And if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane, quite insane. Physically, I felt at the moment powerless as stubble, exposed to the draft and glow of a furnace. Mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it, the certainty of ultimate safety.”

Four Books: Great Journeys through Travel, Marriage, and Faith

Book One

These are abnormal book reviews. And Wadi Rum was an abnormal trip to the desert.

One of my favorite days of 2004 transpired about one-third of the way around the world from my native Montana—in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. Thankfully, I was there in March, so the red desert was comfortable (in shorts and t-shirts), not impossibly hot.

The copper-colored sand, the steep mountains, the lifeless valley floor, the total lack of moisture, the awesome emptiness, the fearsome beauty, the Bedouin smiles and tents, the long saunter, the restful evening in another spectacular place—Petra—the late-night talk on the edge of a cliff, and especially the amazing friends who joined me through it all…Yes, it was a spectacular day.

So when my mom brought me a little book in 2012 by Casa Editrice Plurigraf called Wadi Rum: The Desert of the Bedouin, I eagerly soaked it up, and let my memories flow. Plurigraf obviously spoke English as a second or third language—or else had a worthless editor—but the history and politics and culture of the Bedouins of southern Jordan were clear and intriguing.

I hope to return someday soon.

Book Two

I typically consider myself an optimist, although I can be dreadfully pessimistic, too. So I think it is often better to affirm good things (and good books) more often than avoid bad things (and bad books). That said, one book is atop my terrifying and never read again list: Brave New World by Aldus Huxley.

The only redeeming quality to this tale is its strong warning against cultivating a godless, amoral society—what one could call hell on earth. But for stout and faint-hearted readers alike, Huxley’s famous work just sits in that hell from start to finish and details every aspect of it in a horrifically nonchalant manner.

Not unlike a 9/11 memory, I still recall where I was and what I was doing when I heard the worst part of the book. (Are not unabridged audio books terrific?) I was delivering packages for FedEx Ground on a gravel road, Morrison Lane, on the western slopes of the Crazy Mountains in south-central Montana.

Huxley’s graphic imagination does not merit repetition. Suffice to say that depicting baby torture as morally neutral or even socially good is deplorable—even if only in the eyes of his characters. One part of Huxley’s book echoes back to earlier eras, when real literature, learning, and life still existed. But to me, even this was presented grimly and does not justify another trip into his awful new world. Hell is a hopeless destination, but mercifully God offers His creation eternal hope on this earth.

Book Three

A famous American preacher, Chuck Swindoll, once said he reads a book on marriage each year. He has been married for more than fifty years.

I do not read marriage books every year, and I have been married for just six years. But one book both my wife and I have read is The Five Love Languages: How to Express Commitment to Your Mate, by Gary Chapman.

We learned about the five ways in which humans typically give and receive love, and discovered some of each other’s (and our own!) preferences. We sometimes keep these differences / desires in mind as we seek to grow in our relationship and work through our cold moments. Most people like receiving all five languages of love, but they really only crave one or two.

Sometimes what a person needs the most is what the other person has the hardest time doing, but it is good to learn this for progress to be made. Seemingly offensive words or actions can quickly become innocent if we know more about what is really going on in our spouse’s heart.

So, what are the five love languages? Quality time, words of encouragement, physical touch, acts of service, and giving gifts. Which ones are mine? Ask my bride!

Book Four

Wadi Rum was no best-seller, and as a foreign book by a minor publisher, it probably even lacks an ISBN. Likewise, Alan Stringfellow’s Through the Bible in One Year has acquired a relatively small following. Two friends with Ph.D.’s in religious or theological fields knew nothing of him or it (although Stringfellow just republished it this year under a new publisher—and it does have an ISBN).

So why mention such a little known book?

Before getting to that, more caveats are needed. The book reads like a textbook outline. The very traditionalist approaches to the material are sometimes distracting. And I disagree with the author on several points—though we agree more often than not.

So really, why on earth do I highlight this book?

Quite simply, because of the Book to which it points. Of course, countless books guide readers to the Bible. But for me, Through the Bible in One Year became Through the Bible in Three Years. I used the book as a guide and a companion (but not a replacement) to my reading of the Bible in what became the longest and greatest walk through the world’s best seller so far in my life, from 2008-2011.

I absorbed the Scriptures and Stringfellow’s insights and summaries in exceptional ways. I began taking notes (he provides lots of room on each page), and my use of ink noticeably increased as I charged ahead month after month. My faith in God and enjoyment of His Word changed forever.

Four Books: Great Journeys through History

Book One

These are abnormal book reviews. And North Platte, Nebraska, was an abnormal town in 1942.

You would think that if an army of six million men took on a town of twelve thousand, the larger force would win. But in World War II, one such force never managed to overwhelm the little city it occupied for four long years. Only this happened in the center of the United States of America.

During the war, American troops rode on trains across the continent en route to the East or West Coast. From there they were shipped across the ocean to the Pacific or European theaters of war. North Platte, Nebraska, was right in the middle of all this, and its train depot recorded six million soldiers passing through in the first half of the 1940s.

What the townspeople did for these brave, fearful, eager, green, or experienced veterans brought tears to my eyes. They voluntarily manned and supplied a canteen for the soldiers nineteen hours a day, seven days a week, for more than three straight years. Troops could expect kisses, snacks, letters, and more in this town, which had chosen its own sacrificial path during that abysmal war.

I love to put myself in the shoes—as best I can—of people I meet or learn about. I try to think as they might think; feel as they might feel. Unfortunately, World War II abounded with awful tales to imagine. But this story, captured by Bob Green in his book Once upon a Town: The Miracle of the North Platte Canteen, must still enrich the hearts of those who experienced it.

Book Two

It was some 150 years after the fact, and frankly it was a dry historical survey. But The Civil War by Bruce Catton reignited my interest in that momentous period of American history like nothing else had in a long time.

I had forgotten about many battles, Andersonville Prison, and numerous generals and politicians. Also, I like to buck trends and study the understudied. For example, the Eastern Theater is better known than the Western Theater or the Southern campaigns in America’s Civil War. So a review of these and other lesser known aspects of the conflict was a treat.

Zeroing in on a narrow topic—such as the North Platte Canteen—provides powerful insight to an epic event. But understanding the entire picture—such as America in 1861-1865—is crucial, too.

This seems clearer to me from my last interaction with this book. As I was finishing it, one of my colleagues expressed interest in reading it. I knew he knew little about the war. I knew he was an intelligent person. I knew an overview would be a great place to start. And I felt proud to share it with him. Why?

He is an Egyptian—and the Arab Spring was underway. He really was interested in my country’s history, but I cannot help but think he was pondering his own nation’s past and future as well.

Book Three

While flying to Uganda for my final college semester, I did not guess that a novel about colonial South Africa would fast make my top ten list. But Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country did just that.

I had never heard of the international best-seller, and I knew and cared little about South African people or politics. But I got hooked after I began engaging the story’s forgiveness, integrity, and self-sacrifice.

A favorite passage:

“Therefore I shall devote myself, my time, my energy, my talents, to the service of South Africa. I shall no longer ask myself if this or that is expedient, but only if it is right…I do this not because I am courageous and honest, but because it is the only way to end the conflict of my deepest soul. I do it because I am no longer able to aspire to the highest with one part of myself, and to deny it with another. I do not wish to live like that, I would rather die than live like that. I understand better those who have died for their convictions, and have not thought it was wonderful or brave or noble to die. They died rather than live, that was all.”

The story is somewhat Christological in nature, and it still plays itself out in my mind years after I read it. That reminds me, of the four books in this article, Cry, the Beloved Country is the only one I have read twice…so far.

Book Four

I earned a history degree in 2005. Since then my study and love of history has continued in book after book. One of the best was entitled, simply, Truman. The 1,120-page masterpiece by master historian David McCullough consumed scores of hours of audio-book listening for me in 2009.

But then I moved overseas—halfway through my library’s tapes. I felt flummoxed, but resolute. One year later, on my first vacation home, I re-borrowed it from the library and took it with me to finish it. Have you ever mailed a library audio book back to your local library from the other side of the world? A great book can be worth it!

Truman examines the life and career of President Harry S. Truman. From childhood to marriage, from World War I artillery missions to atomic warfare against Japan, from county courthouse to U.S. Senate, from vice president to whistle-stop reelection campaign as president, from quirks to beliefs, and from heritage to legacy, McCullough portrays Truman as a great, but human, leader.

Oh yes, and Truman was a dedicated, life-long Democrat. I am a dedicated, life-long Republican. But that mattered little as I rolled through this incredible biography.

Oliver-isms: Part 1

So I completely love being a dad...still.  At 12-48 months, Oliver has been simply adorable, sweet, clever, fascinating, fun, hilarious, and--we hope and it seems--on a lifelong pathway toward God.

My beautiful bride captures many of his moments on video.  So I wanted to record a bunch of his phrases so that we don't forget them.  His baby book has space for his first word, which certainly was memorable.  But what he has communicated since then has often caused much admiration and / or laughter.

These are in no special order.  But he has said nearly all of them multiple times -- whether recently or months ago.  ALL CAPS indicate his own pronunciations.  I will write what he says followed by the translation.  Oh, and I may update this from time to time.  :)

(As of his fourth birthday, I will begin a new post of Oliver-isms.)

WORDS:

cow
tracTOR = tractor - possibly his favorite thing in 2014
Goggy = Lamby - his ultimate stuffed animal friend from about 6 months onward, necessary for sleep and owwies
kee-kee = kitty
DAA-dee = Daddy
Ma-MAA = Mama
Oh-we = Ole
yuck = truck
kitchup = pickup
choo-choot = train
yucker = sucker
boagol = bagel
buu-dee = birdie
beep-beeP = beep, beep (car noise)
hay-hay-hay (with head and voice shaking heavily) = neigh
pease = please
yucky = bug / garbage
hay-yo = hello (he says this whenever he plays with a telephone...and every time he sees the scoreboard at the baseball field, as if it's a phone, too)
aay-men = amen (said loudly, with a rising tone and his face lifting higher and higher on "aaaa" and down sharply on "men" -- most frequently follows an adult praying "in Jesus' name")
cow = moon (he had a round white cow clock in his room in Doha, plus he loved the cow jumping over the moon picture in "Goodnight Moon"; he and I would go back and forth, saying cow, moon, cow, moon, when we saw the moon in the sky -- second half of 2013)
HAnim = M&Ms (mid-2014)
Gamma = Grandma
Gampa = Grampa
yay-yer = 4-wheeler / ATV
Nay-Nay = Uncle Nathan
buffaffo = buffalo
yo-yo = radio
bee = bottle / sippy cup (2013 and 2014)
tee = tree
oFF = off (he emphasizes the "f" sound loud, long, and with a great facial expression)
nosy = noisy (many, many things are noisy for him, and get the semi-serious critique quickly!)
sisasaur = dinosaur
'gen = again (said whenever he wants to hear or see or experience something again...which is often!)
fan = the famous clock in the Old Faithful Inn
self / Ole's self = referring to himself -- often in an insisting or frustrated tone because he wants to show that he can do things by himself (mid-2014)
[Mommy] Do you need a spanking?  [Oliver] Yeah!
baboon = balloon
ni-night = goodnight (can also be said to the Sun or Moon when they go behind mountains or clouds)
big = from 18 months onward, he uses the word "big" with intense and hilarious intonation
gun shooters = nerf bullets for his first little dart gun
copcorn = popcorn


PHRASES:

Bye-bye the Mama = bye-bye Mama
Airs-za Daddy = there's the Daddy
Hi the kee-kee = hi kitty
Ear-za car = here's the car
Wa wu = I love you
da potty = the potty

Kee-kyu = thank you

Ezaat? = what's that?

Amen! = let's pray (often several times per meal, and he usually wants to hold hands, and wants everyone to sit down; sometimes he prays softly out loud for everyone, starting with the words "Dear God" and then we cannot understand until "aay-men!")
Prayer update: by 2.5-3 years old, we can understand much of Ole's prayers. It sounds something like "Dear God...babble...doggy...babble...Mommy...babble...Esus' house...babble...tractor...babble...mac and cheese...umm...truck...babble...etc.

E-sus = Pastor Bryan
E-sus' house = church

two, tree, tree, treeee = counting to three

two, tree, twooo = counting to three
Oh wooow = oh wow
Daddy, be hush = Daddy, be quiet (usually with emphasis!)

buttons = Post Office -- which has automatic doors operated by pressing buttons

Ozzie = Adventures in Odyssey
Alldone = all done (he says it so fast it sounds like one word)
Ole laughed and laughed one day when we tried to get him to say "mountains."
Sisasaur nosy, sisasaur nosy = Noisy dinosaur, noisy dinosaur
a, c, d, x = His abc's
one, two, four, six, seven, eight, seveeeeen = counting to eight (or maybe ten)
Kiss...better = I want a kiss...it feels better (he often wants a kiss where he has an owee -- often amid tears -- then his tears end and he quickly informs us that he feels better...yes, it really does work!)

Deers...beep = he sees deer (with an "s" added), and wants me to honk at them...even if we're walking through the woods

Paisey no! = Paisley, no! (Ole often tells our dog no for no reason -- even when she's not in the same location or even the same state!)
Paisey come! = He also tells Paisley to come; this can follow right after "Paisey no!"
Paisey ok? = Checking sweetly to see if Paisley is ok when she whines in the back of the car
Buffaffo come! = He wants a very close buffalo to come to us in Yellowstone, when we accidentally come upon it while walking in the woods!
Moon on / off = The moon is visible / invisible (as in behind clouds)
Oh-we's turn = Telling Mommy and / or Daddy that it is Ole's turn to go down the stairs by himself, turn off the light, shut the door, etc.
Daddy sit! Paisey sit! = Telling Daddy and Paisley (the dog) to sit down before we pray at dinner
Dear God, thank you asdf Daddy, asdf Paisey, asdf eggs, asdf Daddy, asdf, Amen! = Praying before dinner one night (asdf ~ words I didn't understand)
Ar, ar, ar! = Bang, bang, bang! (Ole shooting a toy gun.)
Hap Birdday to you! = Happy Birthday to you!
Ride horsey, Daddy...dis fun! = Him wanting to be a horsey for Daddy, then he says we're having fun
Rub da back a yittle more = Rub my back a little more (typically in bed at night, after I have already given him a back rub and then try to stop and say goodnight)
Ole often says or does something, then immediately tells us what he just said or did.
Oh, my Paisley! (with great intonation)
Berry owwie = Very painful
Yes, but no, but yes! = Often when he's trying to decide something; often just as a joke
Ole: Hey Mommy, you splashed me! Mommy: Oh, I'm sorry. Ole: Do it again!
You're Nik? = (usually with a grin, to Daddy)
Dear God, Thank You for Mommy and toast and Mommy's coffee...and Ole's not going ni-night. In E-sus' name, Amen.
Dear God, Thank You for Mommy and Daddy's toast, and Paisey, and lots of grandmas, and Ole's toast. In E-sus' name, Amen.
A yittle tiny, tiny more. = Often spoken when he's almost done with his sippy or his medicine
Daddy, where's Mommy go? = With a big smirk, when Mommy is right in front of him or next to him.

Take a picture. = I just gave him a bath, and wrapped him up in his favorite tiger towel. This time he requested a picture -- knowing that he himself is so cute!
Look at meeeee! = Multiple times when he's naked after changing clothes or whatever.
Last night / Last year = any event in the past, whether three hours ago, "last night," or three months ago
Oliver always sings songs. Sometimes with a few discernable words, other times with just singing sounds. He often sings whatever song over and over again in the span of 5-10 minutes, alternating words or volume, but not the tune or the beat -- which, by the way, he usually gets quite accurately!
Jesus' house pants/shirt = Church clothes (usually his, but sometimes he mentions it for Mommy or Daddy's clothes, too)
Ole can't [x] because Ole can't, because Ole can't.
I want to not to have.../I want to not to go... = I don't want to have/go (he always says these words rapidly and with determination)
No, it's not pretty. It's bad! = Mommy sang a song in the car purposefully off-key or out of rhythm or something, then she asked Oliver if he thought it was pretty; he gave her more of an answer than she wanted -- though all three of us were laughing.
When's my next birthday? (first time he asked anything so specifically about his birthday -- at 3 years 5 months)
Ole: It's ok Ole has a skittle please? (Daddy: No, not right now.) Ole: Why? (Daddy: Because.) Ole: I can brush my teeth first.
Ole addressed Mommy as "Miss Faye" (his preschool teacher), and burst out laughing.
God's in heaven, God's in heaven; praise His name, praise His name. Thank You for my food, thank You for my food. Amen, Amen. = Song / Prayer Miss Faye taught Ole, and that he taught Daddy on our little boys' weekend trip to the Lewis and Clark Caverns (tent camping) and then Virginia City the next day -- Mommy was in Toronto at her cousin Brittanie's wedding.
My brain hurts / My brain is not on.
Mommy: Bite or bed, bite or bed, bite or bed!
You can sit next to me. / You can play anything whatever you want / You can play with me. etc. (Just him being sweet.)
Mommy, are you pooping? / Daddy, what is that? (in a public bathroom stall!)
Daddy / Mommy, I love you! (All of us always say "I love you" in response to each others' "I love you," And Ole initiates that more than us -- conviction?! -- and usually several times a day.)
Daddy / Mommy, I forgot to give you a hug. (Also frequent and seemingly unprompted -- and convicting.)
She's so, so pretty. = Usually refers to Mommy, but can be other things / people.
Mommy: Are you excited to show [your cousin] Caleb your room tonight? Ole - without hesitation: He's not going to get my [stuffed animal] cow, is he?
Soccer bubbles = bubbles he makes in the bath from tooting
I don't been there in a long time / I don't remember this book in a long time / etc -- or "a long, long, long, long, long, long, long time." Sometimes it was an hour or a day ago, otherwise it was weeks or months ago, and other times it has never happened at all!
This book is too long, because I don't want to read it. (Ole says this sort of thing all the time -- he knows the meaning of "because," but he nearly always says it in the wrong order.)
It looks like a dinosaur. = Four-weeks pregnant Mommy had just shown Ole a picture of what baby looks like in her tummy.
It's a little bit not dark outside. = Ole wanting to come out of his room at first light in the morning.
Uncle Rachel

Give you stuck hug = Ole's nearly nightly ritual -- all his own idea -- of announcing the kind of hug he is giving at bedtime. He locks his fingers around your neck, often tells me to "go night-night," and then insists that you kiss or tickle him until he can no longer hold on.
Daddy, I want you to meet me in Heaven.
It's ok I...? = His frequent, and polite, way of asking permission.
Store clerk to Ole: "See you later alligator." Ole to Daddy as we walk out of the store, somewhat concerned: "Ole's not a alligator. Ole's just Ole."
Mommy told Ole he could learn how to change a flat tire with Daddy because that's what a man does. Ole's response: I'm not a man. I'm a little boy. I'm a little person.
Yes, I am! / Yes, I did! (Often a cheerful response to a compliment like "Ole, you did a great job hiking today," or "Ole, you are being so nice to Mommy!"  The tone isn't arrogant, even though coming from an adult the words might seem so.)
It's ok, Mommy. (In the sweetest possible voice, Ole often tries to comfort Mommy if she's upset.)
Mommy, be nice to my daddy! (or vice versa -- This can come during conflict or even during teasing between Mommy and Daddy)
After Daddy explained what a fire hydrant was, and why one was by the edge of the city park, I asked Ole, "You wouldn't want a fire in a car, would you?" He replied, "No, because it would be hot."
As Daddy drove Mommy's car down a steep hill, Ole reminded me not to fall off..."because Mommy would punish you."
"Dear God, Thank You for our food, and hands, and coffee, and all our body, and apples, and Baby Elliot (in Mommy's tummy), Baby Moses (10 Commandments), and pictures, and spoons.  In Jesus' name, Amen."
(At our supper table on a normal night...i.e., not going anywhere.) Mommy: Ole, where did you get that blood on your thumb? Ole: It was from a big rock. Daddy: Maybe you can go wipe your hands off. Ole: Yes, and then I can get my pjs on and we can go to the big hotel with a clock way up high.
I smiled at you. (and / or) I gave you a kiss. = Ole often tells us what he just did or told us. This seems particularly important (and precious) when he is going to bed, and we leave his room with the door cracked open, and he wants to be sure we know he just gave us one more little love offering.
Ole: Mommy, my feelings got hurt. Mommy: Oh no, I'm so sorry. Ole: Yeah. (His sighing "yeah" face is adorable!) Mommy took a shot in the dark: Where are your feelings? Ole: Right here, behind the ankle (pointing to his knee). They got hurt when I was sitting for so long.
Ole: Is that calf still dead? Daddy: Yes, it's still dead. Ole: I hope it goes to heaven. Daddy: Me too; that would be nice. Ole: Maybe a lion or a bear or a dinosaur killed it.
Ole: Daddy, I want to show you my owwee. Daddy: Ok. Ole: Let me find it (as he looks up and down both arms).
I found an injured owl on the ranch one day, and named it "Jacob." We dropped it off at the vet, then Ole asked, "Why did we leave Jacob there?" I said, "Because he had an owwee." Ole replied, "Is that why he couldn't talk?" I laughed and said, "No, that's why he couldn't fly."
Let's go walk to space. It's going to be a long walk. Let's go find it! And we need our rain hats, and when I see rain we need to put them on. And when I see thunderclouds, we need to put our thunder hats on. Let's go; you're taking a little long time (as I'm typing these exact words). Daddy, Daddy, can you come, please. (repeated, and singing nicely)
I dreamed about dinosaurs, lions, and hoteeeeels -- my hotel -- and about mountains, and more lions, and Boppa, and Mommy. That's all I dreamed about.
On 3/31/16, the day before his fourth birthday, which we celebrated last night in the La Quinta hotel in Billings with kid water slides and pools, rather than doing presents...I told Ole he is four years old now, and I said Daddy is thirty-four years old.  Ole's response: I'm almost your age!

Thank You, God, for my wonderful boy...and for letting me be one of Your boys -- despite all my Nik-isms!