Christmas 2022

What a Year!

Dear ones, 

I pray that 2023 will be a blessed year for you and your loved ones. May we all learn from this past year and treasure all the blessings that took place during it. 

Please, allow me to catch you up on what has taken place in our lives during 2022.
 
Our offspring—

Aaron and Denise (Port Orchard, Washington)

Aaron has finished the Apprenticeship program at the Navy Shipyard in Bremerton, graduating on September 23 and is now a bonafide Journeyman Pipefitter. So, if you have a ship that needs to come into dry dock, Aaron can hook you up. Denise, after dealing for many years with mysterious symptoms, had open heart surgery to take out, fix, and put back in an aortic valve as well as fix an aortic aneurism of 6.5cm (normal is 3cm and most rupture before 6cm.). We are praying for and look forward to her complete recovery! Sélah, our seven year old and first grandchild, is a first grader. Emma, our five year old and second grandchild, is in Kindergarten and loves chickens. Jada, our two year old foster granddaughter, is an absolute delight (and a messy eater like her sisters). We are all hoping and praying that she will be legally adopted into the family during 2023!

Shane and Alison (Eureka, California) 

Shane, aka Dr. Calhoun, changed schools without changing anything. That happened when Humboldt State University became Cal Poly Humboldt. He also met the president and has a thriving private practice. Alison continues to raise (corral, herd, shake her head at) our two free spirited California grandchildren as well as navigate the mysterious waters of crypto currency. (I think that is something like real money except when it is not.) Cecilia, our second three year old granddaughter, is a practiced climbing wall veteran, astute mushroom hunter, an egg gatherer, and interior house painter. (That last part is a polite way of saying that no surface inside their house is safe from her “artwork”.) Avery, our one year old grandson, loves his sister and will allow her to do pretty much anything to him with paint or markers.  

David and Jordan (Sellersburg, Indiana)

David is an elder and the Executive Pastor of Discipleship of Graceland Church in New Albany, Indiana. I believe he is very gifted for his calling but do not want to mention it too much because, well, David. He is supposed to be working on his dissertation, too. Time will tell. Besides helping David adjust to adulthood, Jordan deserves high praise and admiration for… Let me just mention my remaining three grandchildren. Levi, our third grandchild and the first to hopefully carry on the family name, has turned five years old and is in Pre-K. Pray for that boy. He shows many traits similar to his dad and he has no qualms about calling his grandparents in the morning three times zones away for a nice video chat. Understand, when he calls us at, oh, say 7:30am, it is 4:30am where we live. Levi does not care. Our sweet Maelie, is three years old and continues to live with Pyruvate Dehydrogenase Complex. She not only responds well to her therapy but absolutely loves her therapists. This year, we have one more grandchild to introduce to you. Hank Stuart Gantenbein was born on August 6. He was supposed to be born later but health issues called for an early arrival and both Hank and Jordan are doing great. 

Us— 

Jim and Cathy (Port Orchard, Washington)

Despite a very cold, wet, and windy springtime and early summer, we managed to salvage a fair garden season. I know, that is all you really wanted to know about so I thought I would just satisfy you and now you can stop reading. But on the outside chance that anyone should desire more knowledge of the mundane…
The most personal detail will be saved for the end of the letter but there are other lesser matters. First, I continue to be amazed at what an incredible grandmother Cathy is. She does not just have patience with our dear little ones, but she goes out of her way to involve them in what she is doing, especially when it comes to cooking. She makes each of them their own apron (as soon as they are old enough to “help”) and when they get started in the kitchen, I find a place to hide. 

Secondly, we took our first real trip in our “new” (1995) motorhome as we attended the Annual Meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention in Anaheim, California. The meeting aside, the trip went very well with only a few minor hiccups. But now that the AC is working, the cruise control is back in operation, the windshield has been reset and sealed, and the steps glide in and out on cue like they are supposed to, we think (hope) we are ready for the big trip we are planning to take this spring. 

A third matter is that of two more Mohs surgeries to remove basal cell skin cancer and reconstruct the areas on my head and face. No, it is not supposed to help my looks so quit hoping.

Fourthly, we enjoyed a once-in-a-lifetime trip in September, beginning with a flight to London, England. At the time, all of Great Britain was mourning the death of Queen Elizabeth. Although our plans were altered a little, we were very impressed by the respect and courtesy everyone unfailingly displayed under very stressful and sorrowful circumstances. I commented more than once that it caused me to want to live there. After a couple of days we were transported to Dover where we boarded a ship for a transatlantic cruise. Before crossing the ocean and arriving at New York City, we had stops at ports in Le Havre (France), Portland/Weymouth (England), Vigo (Spain) and Bermuda. Most memorable was the opportunity to go to Normandy, France, visit several of the beaches of the D-Day invasion as well as the American Cemetery and Point du Hoc. Standing where so many young men gave their lives to defeat the evil goals of Hitler was a humbling experience. Our guide shared that when local citizens see anyone having fun—swimming, etc.—on those beaches, they go to them and tell them that they are being disrespectful toward those from other countries who fought and died on that beach to free France from the Nazis. They ask them to go to another beach. Respect!

The fifth little item is that, as of midnight on October 31, I retired from full-time ministry at the age of 70. That is right: No more vacations for me. From now on, we will just be taking trips. I expect to continue serving God in any way He directs. I thank God for the privilege of serving Him in various capacities including music, youth, education, outreach, activities, and pastor. The congregations included the dear people of: First Baptist Church of Lindsay, Oklahoma; First Baptist Church, Perry, Oklahoma; First Baptist Church, Rhome, Texas; Trinity Baptist Church, Lakewood, Washington; and the wonderful saints of Kitsap Lake Baptist Church, Bremerton, Washington who were challenged by God to call a career youth pastor to serve as their senior pastor.

Now, for that most personal detail. On May 25, Dad, who had been bedridden for a while, walked again. His first step was into the presence of Jesus and I can only imagine he has not slowed down one bit. Some folks may wonder and a few have asked, “What did he die from?” Simply put, he was 97 ½ years old. The WWII veteran was the youngest of five siblings who all exited this mortal life in birth order—the way it’s supposed to be done! To the very end, Dad honored God and pointed others to Him. He exhaled his last in Eugene, Oregon, and inhaled his first breath in Heaven. As many have observed, it was not his end. It was his true beginning. Our sincere appreciation to all the care givers, especially my niece, Renee, who, along with Mom, provided the greatest level of loving care every day.

I appreciate your prayers for our whole family. While we all miss Dad every single day, my dear mother misses him the most. God continues to use her to inspire and encourage the whole family as well as others. So, we want her to stay healthy and happy! Besides, my sister and her clan need Mom to straighten them out EVERY. SINGLE. DAY! It must be a great relief to her to know that her three sons remain practically perfect in every way.

May your Christmas season be filled with thanksgiving to God for sending His Son, love for others, time with family, and treasured memories!

In His love,

Jim and Cathy Gantenbein

Some Things Never Change

It is Sunday morning, November 20, 2022. After two weeks in Indiana with David, Jordan, Levi, Maelie, and Hank, we are about to head out to our first Sunday from home as a retired minister. I am looking forward to it but it definitely is a different feeling. We are not on vacation. We are not going to worship where we are members. The whole thing of having no official responsibility is… nice. 

Pastoral leadership is a privilege and a great responsibility. There are specific responsibilities, such as those identified in the job description, and there are a myriad of other items that default to the pastor because, as is often stated, "I didn't know who to ask and you're the pastor, so…." Those will not be a part of my experience this morning. I anticipate we will be with Aaron, Denise, Sélah, Emma, Jada, and probably Carla as we worship together.

What is God's plan for us in the way of congregational involvement in the future? I do not know. I will just take it one day at a time and listen for His direction.

One thing I do know after twenty days of retirement. The majority, if not all, of the changes that come with retirement do not include my daily walk with God. That relationship has not changed. He is still my Lord and I am still His child 100% of the time. While in vocational ministry, I had various tasks to perform. Those tasks are no longer a part of my daily routine. But the most important things of ministry, i.e. loving God, loving others, and making disciples, will always remain because they are the most important things for every follower of Christ. 

My days continue to begin with a time of prayer and Bible study. My relationships with others still need to reflect God's love. And now that I am retired and continue those spiritual disciplines and others, it is a blessing and joy to have it affirmed that I have not done those things in the past because I was paid to do them but because I love God and desire to draw closer to Him every day of my life! Some things never change.

Toxic People

At a recent retreat for ministers and spouses, a guest speaker pointed out that there are some people who embrace conflict. He said they look for opportunities to be confrontational. They do not enter into a "discussion" with any intent or possibility of changing their mind. They thrive on strife. They are toxic. Our speaker pointed out that we should avoid them. 

I am not one of those people. At least I do not feed on the negativity of conflict. But in a group of over 8,000 messengers here at the 2022 Annual Meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention, there are bound to be some of them present. Whether shouting from the back of the hall or demanding to be heard at the microphone, they make their presence known. I suppose it is easy for them to find a target at any given time since we are a convention of flawed people and a gathering with various opinions.

But it discourages me every single time. There is a characteristic about them that distinguishes them from others who, for any number of reasons, may be in disagreement with something or have a "bone to pick." I think that difference is discerned by the tangible presence or absence of the Holy Spirit.

2 Corinthians 3:17 (ESV) says, "Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." Those poor folks are prisoners of their hunger for conflict. They—their rantings—also instantly become the focus of everything. Psalm 113:2-3 (ESV) says, "Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth and forevermore! From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the Lord is to be praised!" I am certain that they would insist they are glorifying God because they are exposing hypocrisy or are on some other noble quest, but the presence of His Spirit is absence. In its place is disdain, self-righteousness, and arrogance. 

I find that, at least for myself, discernment comes quickly when I filter things through a certain passage. It is applicable to every situation, too, be it a church convention (and I use "church" as a building, place, institution, and those who exercise authority in and through it, i.e. kuriakos as opposed to the word Jesus used which was ekklesia meaning congregation, assembly, called out ones), politicians, or anything else. That passage is Galatians 5:22-24 (ESV): "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires." The fruit is to be understood in its entirety, not just one element at a time. It is a package that cannot be imitated and maintained for any appreciable length of time. Nevertheless, even though it enables me to quickly discern the force behind a person, it does not make it easy to listen to their rants.

Every time I am exposed to this type of person, it should drive me to pray, "God, may I spend less time and energy drawing attention to myself and use more of it to point others to You!" And I do hope to achieve that someday.

Another Close Call

Context is important, so…

Jim’s Surgery Lexicon

• Invasive vs Non-invasive surgery – Invasive requires breaking through the skin while non-invasive does not.
• Major vs Minor surgery – Any surgery you may have is minor. Anything that happens to me, from removing a splinter to… well, everything else, is major.
• Recovery Period – The time required, following surgery, for the patient’s mind and body to heal sufficiently to resume a normal lifestyle and stop needing the pity, sympathy, and compassion of others. In my case, look in a theological dictionary under “rapture”.

The Epic Story

Short summary:

    On January 24, 2022, I underwent major, invasive surgery. Please, it is okay. I survived… so far. You can breathe easy again. It was the most rapid progression from walking into the doctor’s office, receiving his diagnosis, and going under the knife that I have ever experienced. That includes the emergency exploratory surgery when I lost my spleen and appendix in the 7th grade. I am mostly recovered from that trauma, though. Thanks for your concern.

Detailed account (not for the faint of heart):

    Since the Spring of 2021, I had been experiencing an increasing stiffness and pain in my right pollux, particularly the palmar side of the metacarpophalangeal joint and it was even more painful than it sounds. The dolor finally reached a point where I knew a consultation with my primary physician was in order. After examination, he suggested three options, one which had been unsuccessful in the past and another which would have involved even greater pain. The third option involved being referred to a specialist. So, the appointment was made.

    Upon entering the examination room, I was quite pleased to learn that I could remain in full attire. When the surgeon entered, he examined the impaired area, instructing me to move this way and that. Then he shared two avenues of treatment, both mentioned by my G.P. and, fortunately, omitting the one which would have involved greater pain on the uncertain path to possible wholeness. We both agreed that the previously unproductive method was still not preferable. That left major invasive surgery which we both felt was the best option.

    Then, to my surprise, he interrupted himself and said, “We can do that, which would mean having the procedure done downstairs in one of the operating rooms, or…” (This kind of pause always makes me a little nervous and I think he was counting on that, just for dramatic effect.) “I can try sticking a needle in there and blindly probing around until I think I’ve located it and then try to blindly cut through it with the tip of the needle.”

    “I’m okay with that.”

    “Great! You sit right here in this chair and we’ll go get what we need.”

    He and the assistant quickly left the room.

    That was when I realized there would be no future appointment for this procedure but that I would be placing my life into his hands within minutes.

    The surgeon and assistant returned with an array of needles, ranging in size from, literally, thinner than a straight pin to a considerably bulkier one that could sheathe several of the smaller ones inside its shaft. The smaller ones were used to inject me with local anesthesia. While we waited for the numbing to materialize, he sent the assistant back for another large needle, “The dark green one,” and we shared about our faith in God and things the Bible teaches us. It was the best conversation I have had with a Seventh-Day Adventist in years and we both enjoyed it.

    Now, it was time to begin the gruesome but necessary overhaul. Still chatting, the surgeon inserted the big needle through my delicate skin, but stopped abruptly when I “gently” informed him, “I feel that!” Before beginning, I had shared—and his assistant confirmed the reality of the condition—that I needed extra (double?) anesthesia. (Something about an Irish red gene.) The little needle when back to work and minutes later the big needle continued without further interruptions on my part.

Do you know how you can feel something without feeling it? I mean, like when a child sitting behind you in the car kicks the back of your car seat. You do not feel that child’s foot but you do feel and hear the impact. The “blind probing” was like that. It was even more pronounced when the very sharp tip of the big needle began to cut what we both hoped was the intended target. I remembered that he had used the word “blindly”.

    About the time I had experienced enough of the sound and second-hand feeling of that needle, the good surgeon had finished this dangerous life-threatening operation.

    Having not expected all of this when coming for what I believed was just the first visit, I had come alone. Now, I had to find a way to get from Lakewood to Port Orchard while still under the dangerous influence of the anesthesia. 

    They say “necessity is the mother of invention” and that proved true. After a brief stop at the credit union, I drove home. (I am, after all, the product of a rugged and self-reliant generation.)

Epilogue: 

    During the procedure, the surgeon stated, “No pity. This is a ‘no sympathy procedure.’” He explained that when there are no stitches and there is no big scar, no one cares, so I should not expect anyone to care. But I am counting on you, my dear reader, to care. (Chocolate is a good indication of concern, and not the cheap kind, either.) 

    Oh, lest you worry too much, my right thumb seems to be working just fine, again.