Christmas Stinks

Mrs V: 
It's Christmas Day. Our living room is decked with stockings and a brightly colored tree; we have a manger scene on the mantle and Christmas cards all over the walls. My little two are playing checkers by the fire and the firstborn is curled up with a book. It’s a moment to treasure, but what strikes me, this time, with a wave of nostalgia, is the book my daughter is consuming. I know the deep red binding; I know the golden angel that graces the cover. Grief invades my Christmas scene, encapsulates my perfect picture. Of course it'd be this year. Of course she'd pick this book to cling to THIS Christmas when the giver has so recently entered his eternal home.

Despite the fact (or maybe because of the fact) that it’s Christmas Day I let the memories flood my senses ... 

An Angel's Story, the first Christmas from heaven's view, by Max Lucado. A gift to me from Kayleigh's "uncle" Kevin. Kev gave me the book when we were Team8. When Adam, Kevin, Kristi and Jess met every other weekday to discuss our "kids" (not biological but the kids we prayed for, taught and mentored at Kalamazoo Christian Middle School). I don't recall who exactly introduced this book, but I do remember Kevin's passion. Kevin LOVED Christmas. Not Santa, not parades, not gifts (though he did LOVE giving); Kevin.loved.Christmas. 

I have fond memories of my 8th graders eagerly getting up from their desks, laying on the floor, folding their sweatshirts into pillows, and circling up around their teacher for "story time." I  let them pretend it was dorky and childish, but their rapt attention and vaguely concealed eagerness betrayed them. Each Bible class leading up to Christmas we'd cherish this book, feel this story, imagine what the gift of Jesus looked like from Heaven's perspective. It was rich. It was meaningful; it gave me a fresh perspective of that Holy Night. 

The crowning conclusion to Max Lucado's interpretation of Christmas was a full scaled sense-activating experience. This experience was Kevin's pet project - his bounce-as-he-walked, rub his hands together with glee, light up his whole face with excitement - type of project. He called it, “Christmas Stinks…” 

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Mrs. Setsma: 
Spring: 1997: With dusty feet and a sweat drenched t-shirt, I stood in a dirty, poop-filled, smelly, rocky, uneven, gross cave just outside of ancient Bethlehem. My teacher, Ray VanderLaan, was doing a Christmas lesson. He was shouting. “THIS IS WHERE JESUS, THE SAVIOR OF THE WORLD, WAS BORN! Not exactly what I had always pictured as a child, but here we were. This was my first introduction to “Christmas Stinks.” Like me, Kevin had also visited the Holy Land with RVL, and like me, he took to heart the message that was given to us.

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Mr. S:
I remember when Kevin told me about his idea for Christmas Stinks. I told him it was great because there's way too much about Christ's birth that's been glamorized when the King of Kings was actually born on a floor filled with shit.

Kevin was quite excited about the 5 gallon pail o' horse manure that Connor brought in on the bus that morning. We went down to the gym to test things out. I pulled out one section of bleachers for the 8th graders, and then sat towards the top. Kevin uncapped his mother load of olfactory assault and began practicing his message. After a bit I said I couldn't smell anything.

Epic fail.

I quickly ran back to my room and got my industrial floor fan and an extension cord. We hooked it up, and I went back up top. Kev cranked it on and  I was immediately overcome by a wall of pure methane - enough to gag a maggot. After recovering, and laughing, we agreed that this would do the trick. We could effectively drive home the point of exactly what Christ gave up for us.

Glory to GOD!

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Mrs. Setsma: 
Our team’s point, delivered so effectively by Kev,  was this: Jesus did not come into this world like we think he did. The King arrived as humble as he could -- as a babe, in a smelly, dirty, stinky cave with nothing. Christmas, and the entire Christmas season, is not about gifts and santa and perfect family time and food and buying. It’s not about the things that our culture throws at us. Christmas is about  a humble child, born in a manger, in a place that is the antithesis of what was expected..

So I am challenged, and encouraged, to talk to my children about the broken this Christmas. They have seen me cry many tears in this past season. I want them to know that we celebrate Christ's birth by crying with those that hurt, praying with the sick, giving to the poor, being kind to those that are different. Through that I will be able to share the real joy that is Christmas: Jesus came to fix all this! He came to heal the sick; He came to conquer death. He came to SAVE us from all of the sin and disease and brokenness and sadness and hurting and shame. We have hope in our JESUS who was born on Christmas day.

"O Come O Come Emmanuel."

******************************************************************************************As we compiled this memory, this reflection upon what matters at Christmas, we reached out to several students, asking for their contributions. Their memories connected to this event. Every student we asked contributed. Their contributions are included, in FULL, below. These are lives touched, memories felt, grief observed and lessons learned. 

We invite additional contributions in the comments section below, via Facebook, or through email to Mrs. Van Dyk at Kristi@vandyks.net

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Kaitlin
Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Everyone seems to be happier, even when the weather gets colder. Homes are decorated with lights and trees, and families get together to celebrate Christmas; the birth of Christ. As children, we hear about Jesus being born in a manger in Bethlehem, but in a child’s mind it sounds more like a fairy tale than what it actually was. In 8th grade, Mr. Witte couldn’t wait to tell us the truth.

“Christmas stinks”, he told us. He meant it literally, and I have to say that I never thought I would have a teacher get so excited about a pile of poop. This sounds strange, but Mr. Witte wanted us, his students, to experience what that manager might have actually smelled like. Jesus wasn’t born in a warm hospital, he was born outside in a stable where animals lived and yes, pooped. I experienced the telling of this story a little differently than the rest of my classmates. 

In 8th grade, I was in Mrs. Van Dyk’s video yearbook class, and one of my assignments was to film the 8th grade Christmas party. In other words, I was the one behind the camera filming my fellow classmates sitting in front of a pile of poop while an industrial fan blew the stench directly at them. I found that video yearbook recently (I knew my hoarding would come in handy someday) and I laughed at the girls freaking out in the front row and the boys burying their noses in their shirts to cover the smell. My laughter turned solemn when a younger version of a familiar face appeared on the screen.

“Mr. Witte do you have anything to say about Christmas besides that it stinks?” my friend Jenny asks from behind the camera.

“Just that it stinks,” Kevin says, his mouth hung open and typing at his computer. 

“Not Merry Christmas or Happy new year?” Jenny is persistent. Realizing that she isn’t going to go away unless he pays attention, Kevin stops typing, turns toward the camera, and leans back in his chair. 

“Merry Christmas and happy new year,” he says and flashes a purposefully awkward grin. 

The screen cut to black.

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Benjamin

One December morning my best friend and fellow end-of-the-line bus rider, Connor VanDongen, climbed on the morning bus with his sister and a secret, tightly sealed 5-gallon bucket. Little did I know, that bucket was filled with poop. Horse manure from Connor’s grandparents horse barn, to be more precise. And even if I had known the contents of the mysterious bucket, I would have never guessed that Mr. Witte, the 8th grade social studies teacher, was going to open it up and fan its odors onto the unsuspecting middle school assembly.

The smell was surprising, but it was no surprise that Mr. Witte was involved. My most distinct memory of Kevin Witte was a lesson he taught in my 8th grade year—a lesson that also revolved around poop. As the end of the year and the end of my middle school career approached, Kevin taught me and the 20 other thirteen-year-olds in my class about discernment. He posed a question: “If I had a plate of brownies for you to eat, how much dog poop could be in them before you’d refuse?” It might sound like a ridiculous question but he went on to explain that we could choose the tiniest amount—hardly even dog poop at all. And that it would all be baked, so a small amount definitely wouldn’t hurt us. And he promised the brownies would be delicious. Because the room was half filled with 13-year-old boys, the answer came back as “some, maybe, but it would definitely have to be less than half dog poop.” Kevin then went on to tell us that almost everything we take in: food, drink, music, movies, TV shows, games, books, conversation, have at least a little poop in them. That is to say, he explained, that nearly everything we consume has a twinge of falsehood, deceit, or sin. There are, to be sure, plenty of ways to grab the attention of a room full of 13-year-olds, but few more efficient than telling them they regularly consume poop.

The lesson on discernment was a good one, not only because it got our attention, but because it was useful. The conversation, which Kevin started with me in 8th grade, about how much crap I’m willing to consume is one that I returned to over and over again throughout high school and college, and is one that I still think about.

In a way, that lesson of discernment was enveloped in Stinky Christmas. When the middle school student body walked into the gym and into the wall of stink wafting from the VanDongens’ mystery bucket, we had no choice but to confront the typical Christmas story with some skepticism. Rather than carols, cookies, angels, and a gently sleeping baby, Kevin portrayed a scene of hay, manure, and sleeplessness. There are many lessons that could be drawn from Stinky Christmas, but one of the most important for me was a lesson in discernment. If you don’t smell the manure, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. Kevin went out of his way time and time again to meet his students in a place where we’d understand him. He taught us not only to be grateful for the comforts we have, he taught us about the sacrifice God made in coming to this manure filled place, and he taught us to think critically about the stories we’re told and the stories we tell ourselves. Because sometimes when we clean up a story, we leave out important (and smelly) parts.

Why I'm adopting

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This is Madeleine. If you are super cool and know different stores you'll recognize that this is at Meijer. I have to believe it is the Holland Meijer on 16th street, which could potentially be one of my homes away from home, but that is a different story altogether.  

I hope my kids don't read this some day and get the wrong idea, but Madeleine is probably our most "planned" child. It isn't that the others weren't expected, I just think we thought about this one a little bit more than the others. We often joke that her personality and stubbornness puts quite the ! on our little biological family of three, and if you know her I think you'd probably have to agree. In March of 2016 we were a family of five, four of us were happy with the way things were and life kept buzzing along. 

I love business. I'd probably be an awful business person so I'm grateful at this time that I have a boss, but I love business. My bookshelves smell of rich mahogany and I have many paper bound books relating to business. If ever I hear a motivational speech or sermon regarding stepping out in to the unknown I'm always thinking business. My wife, on the other hand, wasn't. She was thinking adoption. For two months we'd leave church feeling excited and challenged and Kristi would mention that she was feeling empty, or like she was missing something, I agreed and thought to myself "Start a business, build a money bin, spend my weekends swimming like Scrooge McDuck". She was thinking adoption (insert face palm). 

Adoption has always been something that Kristi and I have thought about, and it has always been something that we'd do "later". I also seem to remember a parent (one of mine) telling me that they wanted to adopt too but the other spouse didn't think that was a good idea... considering I was something like 18-20 at the time I think that's probably best. Maria is five years younger than I so that could be quite the age gap for the adoptee. Anyway, adoption has been in the back of our minds for a while. I'm just a bit of a chicken and looking at the bank account and the job situation (not a complaint Mr./Mrs. Boss) it just didn't seem like it was going to happen. 

Then one day we went to church. Usually I'd say church is a good thing, but in this instance I have to question a few things. To be fair, our church has been preaching for the last few months on following God's will and doing what He asks us to do. Most of the time we took the message and though oh that's great we should really apply that in our lives... oh look squirrel, doughnuts at Meijer, message forgotten. Then one fateful Sunday in April the message went back to the picture of a raging river that the priests and to jump into prior to God stopping the water and allowing the Israelites to cross on dry ground... picture raging rapids and just jump in to certain death before God calms the waters and your sandals land on dry sandy ground. No trust issues there right? HA! But the Israelites did so, the river stopped, and off they went. They trusted God to make something happen in the unknown because nothing new/good/cool/brave happens in the known. As we walked out of that service Kristi was obviously thinking. I was thinking. I wasn't comfortable, but I knew what we had to do. The time to adopt is never going to be "right", however God told us both that morning that the time is now. 

A good friend asked what I thought about the adoption because Kristi has been the vocal one regarding this. As a good friend should know (YES I'm looking at you when I say this) I'm the quiet one, unless the words that come out of my mouth are ridiculous, snarky, borderline irreverent, or otherwise add nothing but immaturity to the discussion - so OF COURSE Kristi is going to do the talking. That said, I certainly felt the calling that morning to adopt, and while it scares the ___________________ (choose a noun) out of me, this is my (our) unknown that Kristi and I are jumping into. I look forward to meeting the son that up until last month I didn't know was waiting for me. I'm anxious to make a difference in the life of one small child who is currently in a home with other children looking at a life that is finite. At some point he will age out of the system in China. How amazing will it be (ok... let's hope it is amazing for him too since we are basically swooping in, picking him up and leaving*) that a young three year old boy who right now doesn't know life outside an orphanage is coming to Zeeland, Mi. What a shock that will be... 

So why am I adopting? Because God told me to, and until He says otherwise (today's sermon) that is what we are going to do. I guess that little exclamation point at the top is going to have some company. 

* Have you seen Batman the Dark Knight? Because that is how I envision this going. There is a great scene where Bruce Wayne kidnaps a banker from another country and then deposits him at the local Police station. Adopting like that would be cool. Highly illegal I'm sure, but still cool.

What to do when you can't do what you do?

A few weeks ago I think I wrote a post that had many things you could do to show initiative or take risks today without permission. Along the same lines, and perhaps the exact same lines this post is going to address "What to do when you can't do what you do?"

Why waste time on such a pointless title? Well... I work at Egltech, Inc. and this is a bit of a delicate issue since we are supposed to have our stuff in order. The truth, however, is that we are only as strong as our weakest link and even though we have all kinds of great stuff, we are at the mercy of our cable internet provider. Sadly, our ISP has been letting us down. As someone who talks to people on the phone and remotely controls their computers (insert eery music) my team and I depend on a solid Internet connection which has been too sporadic recently to even get caught up on my Amazon Wish List much less consistently help people. 

At one point today someone (innocently) uttered the words "Can't do much without Internet". OHHHHHHHH Really. Remember the dark ages when there was just dial up? Remember when people used to write a letter, lick the envelope a few times (it tasted so good) and actually mail it with a sticky stamp. Or I don't know... going outside? 

So if you ever find yourself with out Internet, or without a machine that you need to produce your goods, or short of a cup of flour for that ever important wedding cake you are baking, here are a few ideas I have for what do do when you can't do what you do. (Although if you really are baking a cake call me. No bride should be without cake because you were short some flour, I'll spot you a cup)

1. Take out the trash. Sure it isn't your job but if you ever want to be a hot shot in the office then you have to do the menial things like moving a week's worth of drink mix packets to the dumpster out back.
2. If it is snowing out you could man up and shovel the drive or sidewalk in front of your business. Again, perhaps a menial task but people notice and if you are smart enough to play the long game it is well worth your time. 
3. Read one of those, um... what are they... oh yeah, books! I have days worth of reading on my shelf at work. Some is work related, some is just to make me a better human being. I'm quite certain if you had training manuals or certification courses to rifle through your boss isn't going to mind using some unexpected down time to educate yourself. 
4. Say Thank You. You have a cell phone right? The one you were just playing (insert hot game here) on? Do you still pay for calls by the minute? No? Great! Use your own phone (again the long game, don't ask for reimbursement) and call five clients to say thank you. To ask how they are going, or even to schedule a meeting in the future. I really wish I had thought of this earlier today when I was staring at the rack hoping my death gaze would bring the Internet back. 
5. Say Thank You again! This is a super stretch, but maybe just maybe you could write a real tree killing paper thank you note to a client. Email is great, phones are great, but if you are like me there is still something special about getting mail addressed to you. If your office has gift cards for clients snag a few and drop on in the thank you note. Personalized mail with gift cards has to be a double or triple win. 
6. If you are feeling super duper social, and your phones aren't dead, offer to sit in for the receptionist for a few minutes. Those great people do a thankless job and if you are not able to do yours for a while, let them NOT do theirs. Just don't make me use the fax machine, they are my kryptonite. Well, fax machines and grammar. 
7. Clean your disgusting desk. Sure it isn't glamorous, but the rest of the staff is mentally begging you to do it. They are just too polite to say it out loud. 
8. Hold an impromptu staff meeting. Set some goals for the next quarter, discuss headaches from the past week, play rock, paper, scissors. Or have a coke vs. pepsi vs. meijer cola (I won $25 this way once) taste test. Anything that builds the team or furthers the business. 
9. Along the same lines, set some personal goals. Use the down time to really evaluate yourself and what you want to accomplish, or what you have accomplished. 
10. Write a marketing plan. Does your office not have a marketing department? I bet they do and I know exactly where they are... go look in the restroom mirror and KAPOW! there they are. Now that you've met, work on telling the story of what you do. Simon Sinek says "people don't buy what you do, they buy why you do it". SO TELL THEM WHY! Then order the book! 

So that's it for now. Just because you can't do what you do doesn't mean you are stuck. Don't be these people: 

I'm sharing this at the bottom so that I can feel honest while at the same time not advertising that I was, in fact, these people. Not today, but in the past I had a similar attitude and though I didn't take the brunt of it, the team was basically told GO SHOVEL THE SNOW. So the next time things were broken, I put my jacket on and started shoveling. Whew. Weight off the chest :) 

Customer Service Done Well

Last week was exhausting, and not necessarily the good kind. I managed to survive Saturday quite nicely, but my orchestra playing this morning was a a blur. It felt like I was in a fog and I just couldn't shake it. I should point out that my driving was still spectacular as always* (most of the time). Some days I'll drive to work and wonder how I got there but today's trips to Church and a few local stores wasn't like that at all. Anything that took brain power, like speaking or reading music, was a fog. Wow, what a long tangent to say I'm beat. Poor me, boo hoo, life goes on. 

In the midst of the week, and to be honest a big part of my late week fog, we (the company I work for) received some bad news from a client. I shouldn't say much more but I will say that it is going to be a learning experience and I hope to be better for it. One thing that came up in conversation with the client, and I believe that Tom Peters says this over and over and over and over and over again, is the idea of listening. Actually a lot of people teach to listen, but if Tom ever had a run in with Maximus from Rapunzel I could totally see Tom grabbing a frying pan and whacking people on the head followed by a firm "listen". 

Listening brings me to the reason I wanted to write this post in the first place. My wife and I are in the process of adopting a young child from China and even though we are blessed with many great things, piles of cash is not one of them. So, I wrote to Lake Michigan Credit Union where the Van Dyk fortune (and mortgage) is held to get an idea of what a personal loan would set me back. A few days later I got a response, cried a little bit, and went on my merry way. I may end up using a personal loan, I may not... I simply don't know. What I do know is that the fine folks at the Lake Michigan Credit Union Services Department were listening. As I hurriedly rifled through the mail while driving the family to dinner with friends I came across this: 

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Unexpected postal mail. Written by real hands! I hope their mother's, and third grade teachers, are all proud. 

The individuals who took the time to write their names on this card all deserve a pat on the back for listening. I don't know a single person who signed, nor would I have though twice if the interest rate email was the last I heard from them. These fantastic financiers took the time to listen, respond, and win (not lose?) a customer for a long time. 

To the Service Department and LMCU, thank you for listening. Thank you for taking the time so show what great Customer Service looks like. I hope to send you a photo in a few months of our new and improved family. Until then, I'll just let you take my mortgage on the 1st.