Well all, I know it is past Christmas, but I wanted to share something that I wrote for Christmas this year. Some of you have already read this, but others of you haven’t. It’s long..but in my opinion it is well worth the read.

Greetings from the Pacific Northwest.

Brooke and I are dying to know how you all are doing. And at the same time, I dislike the tedious process of “catching up” and the recounting of time gone by into an itinerary of events. The Christmas letter genre helps, I suppose, but there is usually such a Thomas Kincaid-ian romantic glow to the way stories are told in late December that it’s not always easy to see what is really going on. Sure, it’s fun to share about how the good things have progressed throughout the year. But it’s hard to tell about the dreams that were shattered or the hopes that were lost. We all tell half-stories at best, it seems. We all struggle with the complexity of life and find it hard to hold onto all that makes us who we are. Our minds and hearts forget scenes, forget narrative, and yet, for some reason, we recall the song that was playing when we got our first kiss, or where we sat in second grade, or how many quarts are in a gallon. We search in vain to express a year in words as we all gather around our computers in mid to late December. When all is said and done, when the stamps are stuck and envelopes are licked we breathe a sigh of relief and say silently, “phew, another year in the books.” Three to five days later the mailman delivers the letters and the envelopes are un-licked, the paper is unfolded, and the words are read. Smiles, tears, and laughter quickly invade us as the mystery of the letter is made known. We all respond differently, don’t we? There are always those letters that we dread getting, and there are always those letters that we urgently rip open only to read each word slower than the previous. This is the beauty of the written letter, is it not? This is why we, year after year, continue the tradition – for there is beauty in connection, and beauty in relationship. Without further adieu, I am proud to announce the first official Brooke and Joel VandenBrink Christmas card. Read on, but read slowly, let the stories come to life as they leap from the page, and let the words stir your heart. If you aren’t already you may want to sit, for in the words of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Treebeard character “You must understand young hobbit, it takes a long time to say anything in Old Entish. And we never say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say.”

It was the dawn of a new year…

, a year that was filled with the possibility of hope, and a year that was filled with the possibility of pain. Brooke and I did not know what to expect this year, our third year of marriage and our 24th year of life. Questions were answers and answers were questions as we began to embark the journey that would take us through the year 2005.

A church plant we began, and ended this year. A great job opportunity was given in a conversation and taken away in an email. Friends were lost, friends were gained. A mentor and friend died. An adviser said that his lab was full, another adviser said his lab was not. Small groups were ended, and small groups were formed. A boss was fired, a new boss was hired. A novel was written, a novel was read. A mountain was climbed, and a mountain was descended. A bear said good night to us, and a bear greeted us in the morning. A kitchen floor was ripped up, then the floor under that, then the tar under that, and a new floor was laid down. There has been life after death, and death after life. And now, as we sit only a few shorts days from the year 2006, we can’t help but wonder, where did the year 2005 go?

Did it get thrown out the door with the old linoleum floor? Did it get eaten, along with the blueberries, by the bear? Did it die along with friend, mentor, and theologian Stanley J. Grenz? Did it disappear when the lab was lost or the boss was fired? Or did it simply tick away to the soothing rhythm of the pendulum on a grandfather clock?

Wherever it went one thing is certain – there will never be another 2005. It has come and (almost) gone, and thankfully we can say that it left its deep mark on our souls.

The time was early February – the fourth day of the month to be exact. This day is a day of my birth, a day in the year 1981 where my mother labored to bring me into this world. A day, 24 years ago that I was brought home, for the first time, in a blizzard. This year, 2005 there was a blizzard as well. Not a blizzard of snow, but a blizzard of friends and a blizzard of words. Brooke had planned an evening unlike any other in my life.

I had class all day and so when I arrived home after class I entered into a decorated and reorganized 600 square feet that Brooke and I call home. The smells from the kitchen and the balloons on the walls screamed that there was a celebration to be had. Brooke had labored all day to create an extravagant feast for my birthday dinner – there was more than enough food to feed the 17 people that graced me with their physical presence that night. And as I sat at the table and looked around at the faces that joined me in celebrating I was incredibly grateful for my wife and for my friends.

As the night progressed, and the food got cold, we migrated to the living room. It was here that the evening moved to new territory. It was here where many of you who are reading this had a role in creating. Brooke had slyly recruited my Seattle friends to contact friends and family from Michigan and ask them to write some words about who I was to them. As each word, each paragraph, and each letter was read I didn’t know what to do. I wanted so desperately to hide from the accolades, and at the same time I wanted to sit and soak up every dot and tiddle. I learned a part of who I am that night, and I learned what I mean to many of you. This was a gift that was created on my behalf, and for that I am grateful. It isn’t everyday where a person can feel and see the love that people have to give, but this was definitely one of those days.

But you see, the problem with such a beautiful birthday party is that Brooke’s birthday comes in June. This complicates things, for when it comes to presents, and parties I typically come up short of ideas, and short of energy. Life is not at all about quid pro quo, but in the tradition of ancient Christian communities a gift is not fully received until it is fully given back. This created quite the conundrum for me, for my wife had beautifully called me to such a high level that I felt as though I couldn’t even begin to give back.

Brooke and I strongly believe in the power of story. We also believe that our story has been crafted by our creator, but that we share in the response-ability to co-create along with our creator. In this vain, just like Brooke gave me stories as a present I wanted to give her stories for her present. I began, almost immediately after my birthday working on a novel. A novel the began with the words, “This is the story of Brooke and Joel VandenBrink.” Brooke and I often joke about writing down our story and I thought that this might be a good opportunity to actually turn this joking into something tangible.

June came quickly, and a BBQ on the Puget Sound was planned – but before the BBQ came the giving of the gift. The novel had just been finished the night before, and bound that afternoon. The words that it took to tell the story were assembled in 150+ pages and bound at Staples. I presented the gift to Brooke, she took it, slowly retrieved it out of the bag, flipped it over, and went stone cold. I can’t tell you what Brooke was thinking at that moment, but it was evident that the gift of story had been given back.

Brooke’s best friends were invited to celebrate her life with a bon-fire and grilled food. As a group of us gathered around the fire and stared at the Olympic mountains we laughed and celebrated along with Brooke. Up to that point in the year 2005 Brooke had completed her first year of Ph.D work – something worthy of celebration. One by one people went home, the ranger came around and put out the fire, and eventually we wandered back to our car to head home.

Our birthdays were good this year. We are beginning to learn what it means to celebrate and to honor life to its fullest.

But as the Christmas story informs of, along with the birth of a Savior came the death of many – particularly any baby boy under two years of age. So it was with the celebration of birth this year, there was also the mourning of death.

On March 12, 2005, theologian, friend, and mentor Stanley J. Grenz had a massive brain aneurysm. As brain aneurysms have the tendency to do this one came as a complete shock, and sent the theological community, Mars Hill Graduate School, and myself into the reality that we will all die, and none of us know when. Just a simple five days earlier I had said good-bye to Stan as he climbed into his car to make the trip back up to Vancouver, BC. My last words to him were, “Thanks Stan, I’ll see you in two weeks.” These words are so basic, and so cliché, but as I learned, they are also incredibly foolish words – for I never saw Stan again. Two days after Stan died I wrote these words, “ Stan changed me, and for this the world is changed. Stan changed the way I approach writing, Stan expanded how I view God. Stan expanded how I view the church. Thank you Stan for a life that is worth honoring with my life.” As I re-read them they still hold true, it it weren’t for Stan’s impact on my life I might not be writing these very words. There is life after death – both metaphorically and physically.

Brooke had her own death this year, not a physical death, but the death of a dream. She was nearing the end of her first year of Ph.D work – the time in the program where an adviser must be picked. This picking process is anything but arbitrary, for the first year is spent rotating through labs to find which one works the best for working styles, personalities, and community. After rotating through three labs Brooke had found the adviser. His name was Bill Atkins and he met all the criteria that Brooke was looking for in an adviser. He was the right personality, his lab was fun to be in, he was well funded, and was well-known within his field. Brooke put in her request, and Bill quickly granted it.

A couple days later Brooke received two strange emails. The first was from a different adviser and the second was from Bill. The first was a plea for Brooke to join his lab, and the second was one sentence “Brooke we need to talk on Monday!!!!!” Brooke’s suspicion level rose as she feared the possibility of having to goto her second choice. But you see, there really wasn’t a second choice, at least there shouldn’t have to be – who really wants to go with their second choice when they are going to be spending the next 4 years with it.

Monday came and as Brooke settled into one of the lounge chairs in Bill’s office he began to speak. Immediately Brooke could tell something was wrong, Bill was speaking with much more vigor than normal and his words were truncated. Bill had been blindsided, and so had Brooke. Alan, the chair of the department, had secretly decided that no one could join Bill’s lab this year and had gone around Bill (and Brooke) to try to manipulate Brooke into joining another lab without Bill or Brooke finding out – hence the reason for the plea from the other adviser. Brooke and Bill both fought this, but in the end the dream died and Alan won – and the not so second choice was decided for her.

Near the end of July Brooke and I had a date set, a date with a mountain, a 12,272 foot mountain to be exact. Her name is Mount Adams and she is a dormant volcano with glaciers on all four sides. We, along with two friends had been planning this trip for 10 months and it was hard to believe that it was actually here. We parked our car at lower camp and started the six mile hike up to base camp at 9000 ft. Base camp is a relatively flat spot between the upper and lower glaciers on the mountain. Upon arriving at base camp I felt horrible, the world was spinning, I was starting to black-out, and I was extremely exhausted. Brooke and Tim fired up our stove and as the sun set behind Mount Saint Helens our food slowly got cooked. I tried, desperately, to eat but the more I ate the sicker I felt. I had read a lot about altitude sickness before the trip and so I knew that there were two stages, and I also knew that there is no cure for altitude sickness except to descend down the mountain. I retired to bed and Brooke, Tim, and Josh continued to relish in the spectrum of colors that filled the sky.

Forty-five minutes later I was feeling worse, tunnel vision was setting in (the beginning of stage 2) and I could barely move. I called Brooke over to the tent and told her that I was going to head back down the mountain. But the problem was that we were stuck between two glaciers – and now that the sun had set the top layer had returned to ice – and it was terribly dark. Josh over heard us talking and came over to see how I was doing. I told him my plan and he told me that I was foolish and that I would be ok. He then described how he got altitude sickness of Mount Rainier and how when he woke up in the morning he felt a lot better. His words were just calming enough to give me the courage to stay on the mountain and attempt to fall asleep.

The morning came, and I felt fine as long as I moved really, really slowly. Any quick movements of either my head or body made me dizzy – but I felt good enough to strap on the cramp-ons, grab my ice pick and take the middle of the line. 3200 feet to go, all on glacier, and all one step at a time.

Four hours later we were twenty feet from the top – rather — I was 20 feet from the top, Brooke was 10 and Josh and Tim were already cheering. Brooke stopped, turned toward me, and with smiling eyes and an out stretched hand she invited me to join her, hand in hand, for the last five paces. Through thick gloves our fingers interwove as we stepped together to the crest of the mountain. It was a glorious experience to finish together, and if you have never kissed your significant other on top of a mountain — I highly recommend it.

…But you see, the funny part about these stories that you just read is that they false — none of them are true. Sure, everything you just read happened, but did it happen in the way that I retold it? You see, we all tell half-stories at best, it seems. We all leave out parts that we deem insignificant or unmemorable. I am certain that I did this, I always do, and the reason I know this is that if Brooke were to tell these stories they would be different. Different parts captured her heart, different parts wounded her heart, and different parts were imprinted on her soul. But if I do not tell, if I do not speak, I will forget. And I don’t want to wander 40 years in the desert only to die before reaching the promised land. I want to enter, and the only way to enter is to remember.

So in this Christmas season may be remember how you got to be reading this letter. May you remember how you got to be living in the space that you occupy. May you remember the song that was playing during your first kiss. May you remember where you sat in second grade. May you remember how many quarts are in a gallon.

And, may you remember the image of God that fills us all. And may you remember that God is with us – Immanuel.

May we all remember,
Brooke and Joel VandenBrink
Christmas 2005