Home again, home again...

Well, it's been a great week in Idaho. Mike and I are sitting in the airport surfing free wireless and waiting for our plane. I am tired and it is a good tired that is born of creative interaction and thoughtful engagement and dynamic conversations. Now the hard work begins.

Beyond the work described above (and below), it was a good week for me personally. Once a quarter I try to take a few days out of my normal routine (which has not been very normal for awhile) for a time of study, personal formation, planning and solitude. That is why Mike and I came out to this consultation early. We were able to stay and work at the Allelon Retreat House. I miss my wife and kids like crazy, but having such a great and productive time has been a consolation.

There were a lot of good things happening here, but a few highlights:

• Two late-night movies...
• Getting time with Malcolm Hawker, Australian missional leader and webmaster extraordinaire, responsible for the Allelon website, as well as the Ooze. Check out Malcolm's blog here...
• Starting to re-engage with Mark's gospel in preparation to begin again our community's journey through that story...
• Hearing Mark Priddy talk about the church as public space, then seeing the way that idea is being fleshed out in Eagle, Idaho in a community center called The Landing and a restaurant and coffee house called Rembrandts, among other emerging ventures...
• Gorgeous, gorgeous weather...
• Discovery a couple new books, one on the arts that looks wonderful...
• Having Mike and Ashley here working alongside me...
• Listening to Alan Roxburgh and Pat Keifert wax theological on the porch late at night

Here's the other...well, highlight is very much the wrong word...maybe activity of note would be a better description. It is 3:30 a.m., the wee-hours of Wednesday morning and I have woken needing to go to the bathroom. I slowly fall out of bed and try to walk quietly to the bathroom on the third floor of this ginormous Victorian home, graciously hoping to avoid waking my room-mate Mike, who happens to snore like a freight train. My business complete, I then go back into the bedroom, which is pitch-black. However, as I get to my bed and begin to pull back my covers, Mike comes flying out of the bed right at me. Contrary to what you might hear somewhere else, I did not scream. It was more of a mid-pitched grunt. Anyway, the freak crawled into my bed and waited for my return so he could scare the living hoo-ha out of me. So much for my attempts to be a good neighbor. Afflicted. He is afflicted and forsaken. And even as he sits here across from me at the airport, I plot, and lay in wait.

Comments

[Daniel Greeson]

i totally "lol"ed about the late night sneak attack.

sounds like a great trip. I look forward to hearing your sermons on Mark, as I have enjoyed the last few.

shalom

[Jessica King]

I feel sorry for you. I know how you feel- staying in the same room when he's snoring so loud. I get so frustrated and want to scream when I'm in the same room sleeping as him. Next time tell him to put in his "Snore Guard!". Hard to believe.. but it actually makes him a little quieter.

[timsamoff]

That is a hilarious story! :)

[jason Clark]

and you know here he lives :-)

[Mike King]

OK, if you want to know how it really went down check out my version (there is such a thing as truth) on my blog. Jessica, blood is supposed to be thicker than the mud! This IS a conspiracy.

[Katy Raymond]

"He is afflicted and forsaken." There's something so poetically desolate about that line... ;)

[Daniel]

Tim,

Even at 3 a.m. this should have been expected, Tim. Micah and I were both genetically predisposed to the practical joke gene. My father, brother and I played them on each other daily growing up. Unlike the two of them, I never got into the “scaring” gag. Since I empathize with you in this most traumatic experience, I will say this about my dad – he is more easily startled than anyone I know. When he is caught off guard he will scream like a siren. I don't have any great stories about scaring him, but I have one you can make fun of him for...

When I was 17 my Dad and I got into a water fight that quickly escalated into a towel whipping fight. It ended because my dad had to take a shower, or so I thought. He came out in his bathrobe and caught me off guard with a towel and since I was defenseless I had to do what anyone would, run! After a series involving me running from bathroom to bathroom trying to take drive by shots at him with the towel I finally found, the final stage for our duel had been set. I had made my way upstairs and locked myself in my brother’s bathroom. My dad stood outside the door trying to pick the lock while I wetted my towel. It was now or never, I had decided. With a burst of adrenaline I blew open the door and engaged the enemy. Remember how I said my dad was wearing his bathrobe? Let’s just say that during our scuffle the robe went AWOL. I manage to position myself towards the door and being the instinctual survivor I am, bolted. I flew through the hall and down the stairs and my father followed in hot pursuit – still, mind you – less than clothed. I had barely made it down stairs when I heard a loud thump followed by a scream. When I looked behind me – a behind, connected to legs and a twisted torso with arms grabbing vainly for anything to prevent the inevitable. I stood on the last step and did what anyone would do when standing in the way of disaster – I got the hell outa the way. He said he tripped on something one of us left on the steps, I think he tripped over his big toe, either way, he tumbled from the top of the steps to the bottom. I couldn’t help but laugh and my mom, who had been in the bedroom (since the stairs end in front of their door he fell right into his room), was laughing. Anyone who would have seen this would have laughed, except of course, my dad, who lay on the floor naked, moaning in agony. He dragged himself further into the room, unable to stand. He won’t admit it, but my mom and I can both testify that we saw him crying. He suffered bumps and bruises but I think he played this up to get sympathy because his pride had been hurt, because after all – I had won the battle.

[Mike King]

Ohhh, it is only my wise maturity that keeps me from responding to Daniel's post with stories that would cause him to curl up in the fetal position and suck his thumb in embarassment. Tim was Rambo compared to Daniel in like situations. What is it with two of my three kids sympathizing with Tim, turning on their own flesh and blood.

[Todd M]

It's good to see through these varied and amusing stories that Mike hasn't changed much since I traipsed through the jungles of Brazil and Jamaica with him more years ago than I care to recall.

Lumber Jack-like Snoring, unfortunate. Practical jokes in the middle of the night, more unfortunate still. Gratuitous nudity of middle-aged (sorry, Mike) men, almost too horrific for words. At least you missed that last part Tim--or I hope you did.

[Tim]

This rich engagement by the King clan is more than I could hope for. I only hope my kids have such great and fun stories to tell. What's even more amazing to me is that from what I know of you two, Jessica and Daniel, the psychological scarring seems very minimal. I hope my kids likewise fare so well with such a bizarre father. :)

And Todd, no comment, ahem.