A Giant Man. Remembering The Rev. Robert Nervig.




l to r: Pastors Robert Nervig, Bob,
Rachel Thorson Mithelman, Harry Mueller at Bob's ordination, 2007

"I had a dream about you."

That's what Pastor Robert Nervig said about 25 years ago to Bob (my Bob), who was then a happy bachelor making a good living fitting and fabricating prosthetic limbs and orthopedic braces. Enjoying a peaceful life in Brooklyn, where he was raised.

"I had a dream that you would be the youth director here at church." The church, Trinity Lutheran, was situated on 45th Street in the Sunset Park neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. A community positively teeming with thousands of residents, and hundreds of kids with not much to do and no space to do it.

"Why would I give up a good job to be your youth director?" asked my Bob, who rather liked his quiet, bachelor life, and lucrative paycheck.

"Because I think you'd be good at it," said Pastor Bob Nervig with a gleam in his eye. "And just think of the possibilities. . ."

And many of you know the rest of the story. Pastor Bob and my Bob still keep (kept) in touch with the rascally kids who joined their youth group in that era, who are now lovely adults serving in their own ways as teachers, social workers, doctors, and entrepreneurs. Recently, at age 55, my Bob became an ordained minister and is joyfully serving his first call at St. John's Lutheran in Des Moines, whose people love him back one hundred fold. In some ways it seems so far away from 45th Street Brooklyn. And in other ways, it is a completely natural path for my Bob; yet one that he could not have imagined for himself if for not the dream of a mentor.


Who needs a good salary when you got this?
Seriously, here's the youth group, all grown up,
with Pastor Robert Nervig (making rabbit ears)
 at Bob's ordination in 2007.
Photo courtesy of Emily and Janeen, front row left and middle.

Pastor Bob Nervig imagined possibilities with not only my Bob, but so many other people. You can read the numerous tributes with your own eyes on his Caring Bridge site. "You changed my life" is a common theme. And now so many of us don't know quite what to make of the fact that he died today at about noontime. Apparently, peacefully and with many family members around him. Bob was blessed to see him twice in the past two weeks.

I can't even begin to say in this blog post what Pastor Robert Nervig has meant for my dear in-laws, the Speirs Family, indeed who are my in-laws because of the influence of Pastor Robert Nervig who one day, about 18 years ago, suggested that "Robbie" (my Bob's Brooklyn identity) take in a continuing education conference in the Black Hills of South Dakota (where I happen to be working at the time, and the rest of that is history).

It so it is a melancholy day here today. We think about the influence of one giant man on our lives, and in so many others. And we are so deeply grateful.

Is there really a God? Maybe, maybe not, but if you knew Pastor Robert Nervig, you would be certain that there is a God, and that God is generous, now and forever.

With love, T

The Fantastical and Tonight

I keep thinking about the Egyptian men and boys doing night patrol to protect their neighborhoods. It's about 4:30 a.m. in Cairo as I write this, and I can't wrap my brain around the idea that two boys, Rafi and Wasim (see pics two posts below), are doing night patrol along with their father and other boys and men.

I think about when 4th-grade Wasim first knocked on our door to invite 2nd-grade Amanda to ride bikes together. He was so polite and smiley and elementary-school-handsome, it made us instant believers in the merits of an arranged marriage. It was the first time we let Amanda outside without parental supervision because there is a quality about Wasim that makes you trust him. They rode bikes a lot that summer, the first taste of independence and freedom. The two rode around the perimeter of family housing: through the playground, across the parking lot, up the hill, behind the building, and then circling the same route again. It was almost like their legs peddled in sinc. When I think of the two bike riding together, it plays slow motion in my mind, with a sappy happy soundtrack. It's how you imagine the perfect kind of childhood.

I think about Rafi and Aidan potty training together. Not that it was purposefully together, but we just spent a lot of time together and it happened to be that time of life for both boys. We used words like poo poo, pee pee, poopie or some other brilliant parenting phrase. Rafi's word was kaka. So we also heard that word and in fact, Aidan used all these words interchangebly. But it gets better. Our next door neighbors were from Tanzania and so Swahili was spoken in that household, where Aidan also spent alot of time. Apparently, the Swahili word for brother is--you guessed it--kaka. Aidan thought this was fantastical! How could one word be so naughty yet so nice? And perfectly acceptible to say in front of adults. So Aidan got to work with his bilingual skills, trying out linguistical tricks with his friends such as, "Where is your kaka? Do you have a kaka? Can I see your kaka?" and you get the idea. He considerred himself clever, and to be honest so did I. Still, we instructed him that he could only use words in a way that made sense to the family he was with. "Oh," he said.

If you know me, you know I don't understand how prayer works, why it seems to work sometimes and not other times. I can't help but to ask why would an all powerful God needs human advise to do the right thing. Yet I lean on prayer when I don't know what else to do. Heba and Magdi are full believers in the power of prayer. When Bob's liver failed, they were already back in Cairo, and they told me later that when they heard the news they instantly got down on their knees and prayed for healing.

Tonight, I don't know what else to do. But I do know that I don't like the idea of Wasim and Rafi doing night patrol. I don't like the idea of what could happen tomorrow, given the violence today. And so I pray that Mubarrek would accept a dignified and speedy departure from his position. That this country can start to rebuild. That the forces of goodness will prevail in the short run, the long term, tonight, tomorrow and forever.

And I give thanks for all of you who join me in this call for peace.

With love, T

Heba and Magdi ask. . .

Just heard from Heba and Magdi. . .

First I wanted to thank everyone who has asked about them because today when I got a suprise  phone call (evidently the internet is back on in Egypt) it was wonderful to tell them that "everyone is worried, everyone is praying, everyone is asking about you."

Our connection was not clear at all, but I wanted to convey what I heard from Heba:

They are OK.

The seminary is OK.

They are very worried with how this situation will resolve.

The kids are scared and they're trying to avoid watching too much news.

They are holed up in their apartment and running out of supplies.

Yet they have received deliveries of food and blankets. Heba says she has no idea who is providing these supplies and how they are making deliveries. (>>Please see Heba's clarification in the comments section.)

Magdi and the boys join the men on night patrol to protect the building.

Evidently, Mubarrek is telling people that they must go back to work tomorrow. (I believe Heba is an English teacher and also a host to visitors from outside the country.) She's worried because her commute is through the square and things have turned violent. (Mubarrek has called out his thugs--my words, not hers.) She's trying to decide what to do. Mubarrek says that people who don't report to work will be docked pay.

Heba asks this: She asks if we would all pray. If we could arrange prayer groups and prayer chains. I told her that I would convey this message.

Thanks so much to all. If you'd like to leave a message here that shows your support, I know it would be greatly appreciated.

Peace . Love . Joy . Blessings . Change . Do the right thing . Be kind . Help one another.

Love, T

Heba, Habibi

A couple weeks ago I got lectured on my facebook wall by my friend, Heba. It was after the church bombing in Alexandria, Egypt, and "you usually call to check on me in such times and you did not call!"

She was right. I didn't call. And I almost started facebooking back all my excuses, I'm very busy, I'm really stressed, I'm so sorry. Lame. All I wrote was, I'll call you.

Heba is Egyptian. Raised in Sudan as the daughter of Christian missionaries, she now lives in Cairo as the wife of an Old Testament scholar. But Heba, who graduated from the University of Minnesota with a Masters in Educational Curriculum, is a force all unto herself and I must be careful in the stories I tell lest the revolution be over and she gets back on the internet and reads my words. :-)

These adorable children are the same ages as our children, plus they
used to all play together constantly, hence the intensity of our friendship.
Obviously, the kids are all now teenagers (Wasim has graduated
from high school!), but the rest of us never age.

Heba was the family housing administrator at Luther Seminary and ran that place like she lived there forever. Heba's kids and my kids are the same age so we potty-trained together, we picnicked together, we vacationed together, we cried together and mostly, we laughed together. (photo left: lifted from facebook, taken while in seminary--adorable!)

When they departed Minneapolis, we drove them to the airport and madly helped repack their bags at the baggage check in desk thanks to newly changed poundage limits. Actually, my job was to run after Rafi and Aidan who were playing tag in the terminal. The airline gatekeeper gave Heba and her family the third degree for "having one-way tickets to Egypt." (Um, its called going home.) Bob implored the airline worker that he didn't understand, he was talking to a Doctor of Philosophy and his family. Leave them alone.

Heba has a phone number that connects overseas like a local phone number. And so I was determined to keep my promise to call her, lest I get publicly whip lashed on facebook again. Keep in mind this was all before the popular uprising started last week. Keep in mind that she commented right here on this blog just one day before everything broke loose.

So, a week before the revolution, Heba and I played phone tag and when she finally got through to me I was driving through a snow storm and couldn't pick up. "Call me again same time tomorrow," I facebooked her. And then Mubarrek had to go and shut down the internet so I have no idea how she and the family are doing. It's kind of nerve wracking.

But today I got a sign. The news coverage said today that people of all sectors are showing up to the protests. Teachers, professors, "they're bringing their children," said the coverage, "They're bringing food."  

That's it, they're OK, because that's what Heba would do. She would bring food. She always served food. When we went places we would squish into our minivan, which was one seat short of our two families. This made me crazy as I am a firm believer in one-person, one-seatbelt. No, we gallivanted around the Twin Cities, Cairo-style. I saw bloody accident scenes in my mind's eye. I saw red lights of law enforcement in my mind's rear view mirror. I saw lawsuit papers in my mind's mailbox.

And what did Heba see? Food. She pulled out a tray of Middle Eastern delights and passed it around the van--front seat, middle seat, back seat, another round. I kid you not.

I sat stiff with the assurance that we would crash and die. Everyone else just sat and ate.

"Got any baklava?" Bob asked Heba, as he scarfed down the hummus, pita, feta, cucumbers and what have you, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Oh Bob, I sure do!" and Heba pulled out a party plate of sticky, sweet, flaky treats.

I offer just this one story of Heba's hospitality.

Apparently, according to the news coverage, people are bringing food to the revolution.

I pray everyone is OK. I pray they are safe. I pray for Egypt, for democracy, for peace, for the people who watch over each other. I pray for change.

Heba, Habibi, if you read this, please call.

With love, T