We had the pleasure of working with two of the most fantastic people on earth for most of this Euro-tour 2008, as we like to call it (actually, I just made that up).  Their names are Peter Mahoney and Erin O’Hagen.  You would think from the names that we stooped down in Dublin on our way in and picked them up at ye local pub, but they are Pacific Northwesterners, born and raised.  When we left Germany, we said goodbye to both of them and sent them back to the States.  We really could not have had a better team, and I’ve been considering the best way to honor them.  Here’s what I’ve come up with…

“Where’s Pete an’ Erin? ”

This was Judah’s constant question.  Pete and Erin became like uncle and aunt to Ariel and Judah, and so I thought the most appropriate “Ode to P&E” would be in the form of memories of the kids and all the bad habits they picked up from these rapscallion role models. 

“He rips the eyes!  Cauliflowers to the ears!”  This was a hand-me-down wrestling demonstration from Pete’s dad that he passed on to Judah with mock moves like a gentle swipe across the eyes and ear rub.  Judah picked it up and this is one of his favorite phrases…”Rips a eyes…fowers a ears!” 

“Rebuke chop!”  This is an OJ original, that has no pertinence to anything except an excuse to karate chop someone and use the word “rebuke” simultaneously.  He put Ariel up to it, and one morning Ariel motioned to Pete to bend over so she could tell him something, and then took the opportunity to chop him between the eyes and say “Rebuke chop!”  He continued to fall for that the whole trip.  Erin got her share, too.  The team took a break on an overnight trip to Edinburgh a few weeks ago, and Judah ended up in the “girls’” hotel room with Erin, me, and Ariel.  He was sleeping in the queen bed with Erin, or so she thought, when he rolled over and whacked her between the eyes, declaring, “Rebuke chop!” 

Ariel and Judah one night were having a classic sibling twilight moment as they drifted off to sleep, and OJ and I heard them going back and forth.  We cannot explain the conversation, because it makes no sense, but Judah was saying the word “clock” and Ariel would yell back, “No!”  Over and over again.  For 5-7 minutes.  We told Pete and Erin about it, and it became a classic team quote.  On the final day in Germany, Pete caught Judah on video by himself, replaying it.  “Clock!  No!  Clock!  NO!”  and so on and so forth, until he saw the camera focused on him, and said, “CHEESE!” 

“Don’t get me, Erin!” was Judah’s constant invitation to Erin to tickle him.  There are so many stories, but I’ll finish up with these fond memories.  Both Pete and Erin were amazing, putting in a bunch of hours of babysitting in moments when OJ and I were needed for ministry.  Particularly, the kids seemed to save the worst of their diaper issues for poor, under-experienced Pete, and it seemed like he could not babysit without Judah filling a doozy of a diaper.  I love to recall Pete reenacting for us when we returned home stifling his gag reflex over one particular masterpiece.  Sorry, Pete! 

We loved being with Pete and Erin for so many reasons.  We were so privileged to travel, live and work with two of the finest people we know.  We heard them preach and teach and, of course, pray their guts out, but this was the topper…the way they loved our kids.  There were several times that we just had to pray as a team for the kids’ freedom when spiritual attacks were strong, and they fought like they were parents.  Pete and Erin, WE LOVE YOU GUYS!

I don’t think Scotland believes in summer.  Spring, yes.  You know, April showers and May flowers and all that sort of thing.  They’re down with that.  But summer?  No.  Sunblock?  Air conditioning?  Swimming suits?  Who needs it?  Wasteful, very, very wasteful.  Leave all that to the Spanish.  We prefer sheep and all the wool that comes with them.

I apologize if that sounded harsh or judgemental in any way.  It’s actually so lovely here, I just don’t want to make anybody jealous by describing it, especially any of you who might be currently experiencing the kind of humid heat that only American midwesterners understand…  It really is lovely, but it’s just not hot.  Nor does it intend to be.  The beach is here, the tank tops are in stores, the people are poised for fun and games, it’s just not hot.  And for intensely pregnant people, that’s a good thing.  Those aforementioned pregnant people should learn not to complain, eh? 

Actually, we just returned from two weeks in Germany, and it was quite hot.  We were just outside of a town called Herrnhut  in Eastern Germany, and to get to town we had to climb a hill nicknamed “Slow Death” in honor of all the farmers who died pulling their wares up it.  That’ll teach pregnant people not to complain.  Or to complain.  One or the other.  

There’s so much to say about our trip to Herrnhut, many long and intensely insightful blogs are in order.  But me and my belly are still at the stage of falling asleep every time I get near any piece of furniture soft and larger than me, so instead of those nice, inspirational blogs, for now I’m just holding off the “blog-guilt” (a term I just stole from my sister) with some comedy at the expense of pregnant people and Scots.  My apologies if you fall into either of those categories. 

Speaking of the belly, an update is in order.  “Angel baby,” who is due some attention, is currently almost 25 weeks old, and according to extensive research on the web, about a foot long and weighing about 1 1/2 lbs.  She (maybe?) is kicking up a storm, and is moving all over the place.  She has an aversion to doctors, and so we haven’t been able to convince her to go yet.  She says she wants to wait til she’s in America, where the price is right, and I quite agree.  On a serious note, a healthy pregnancy is not something to take for granted, as I’ve seen how very hard it is when friends have had difficult ones.  I am so, so thankful to God for the health of this pregnancy that allows me to be so relaxed about it.  It really is a gift, and all those related to Angel Baby can rest assured that if there were any concerns, it would be very easy to address them immediately.  So…there’s the update.  We don’t know if baby’s a boy or girl, and we don’t have a name yet either way.  All reasonable suggestions welcome!

OJ’s dad, Duncan, just celebrated his 60th birthday, and it was so fun to take some time to think about how much we love him and Patty, and to honor him…it got me thinking about my parents, too… so here’s a little blog to you, Mom and Dad!

1) Constant encouragement…one of the most common injustices we find as we pray for folks is the witholding of verbal blessing and encouragement from parents.  My parents let it pour out on me, all through the years!

2) Raising us in the city of Chicago.  My parents are from the part of America everyone wants to go to, not leave, namely California.  Instead of making millions in real estate like everybody who stayed, they left to raise us in the absence of everything that made sense, just out of obedience to the Lord.  They taught us not to figure out the nicest plan, but to obey the Lord.  And in turn, God’s shown their kids more of this beautiful globe than they probably could have imagined!

3)  Mom’s neverending ideas.  My mom’s so filled with passion and ideas, I don’t know anybody who can keep up with her.

 4)  Dad’s joy over his kids/grandkids.  I can’t wait for the look on his face next time he sees Ariel and Judah!!!

5)  Remembering Dad singing, “Trust and obey, there is no other way, to be happy in Jesus, than to trust and obey…”

6)  Remembering Mom’s tall corn, fruit trees, and tomato plants growing in that tiny yard in the middle of the city

7)  Dad preaching the Word.

8)  Mom’s cooking better in 15 min than most people in a half day…

9)  Annie’s driving now, and it reminds me of how normal my parents thought it was to be completely inconvenienced and expensed for our mobility…

10)  Mom’s taste for finer music and pulling out the china and Dad’s Ivy League education, and the flip side…Mom’s tupperware collection of cool whip containers, and Dad licking his plate!  HA!  We certainly must be the whitest folks to find ourselves in that famous work of literature and hallmark of our home library, Sckraight from the Ghetto.  Love you, Mom and Dad!

 P.S.  Sckraight from the Ghetto is a book by Bertice Berry that helps to identify certain traits common to people reared in the American inner city, and explains much of my childhood, and the paradoxes of the Petersons.  It is available on Amazon, and I do not recommend it at all, except for a little bit.