muse 003: the celebration edition

Muse.Multnomah University Students Engage

ISSUE NO. 003 | A STUDENT PUBLICATION

08 SECOND WOMAN | HANNAH MARIE ADAMS 16 THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATION | KRISTEN LEACH 18 OCCUPY PORTLAND | AARON ESPARZA

28 DOING HIS MAGIC: DAN LOCKWOOD | MEGAN DALINE 32 BEYOND CAMPUS | JARED ISAACSON 25 FROM ADDING TO MULTIPLYING | MONICA WINDERS

The Celebration Edition

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

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NOELLE SCHULTZ AND MONICA WINDERS BASKING IN THE SNOWFALL

THE PRANCING PONY, FEBRUARY 2011

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Last February it snowed.

This day was ultra exciting for me as I woke up and ran to the front door to see Mult-nomah University plastered in white. I could see Sutcliffe in all of its glory from the front porch of The Prancing Pony. The snow cre-ated a majestic scene, a scene you’d see in the movies. I always wondered what it’d be like to see Honolulu covered in snow.

I never knew what Jack Frost nipping at your nose felt like until I arrived in Port-land three-and-a-half years ago. In the beginning of my career at Multnomah, I despised his cold pointers making my nose the coldest part of my face. Along with the cold weather, I did not like the cloudy, rainy days, or the confusion in what sort of clothes to wear. Should I wear a long sleeve shirt and long pants, or could I get away with wearing a skirt?

Since then, I’ve come along way, let me tell you. My skin is acclimating to the mag-nificent Northwest climate. This winter I’ve actually enjoyed the cold weather. Yeah, I know, right? The other day I downloaded the new Michael Buble Christmas album and felt a sort of Christmas spirit that I usually only get while watching movies

like Home Alone and Sleepless in Seattle.I love it when my life feels like a movie.

I love it when my insides tingle with warmth even when my epidermis can’t feel a thing. It brings joy to my soul. I love mak-ing white turkey chilli and white bean soup with kale and chicken sausage from Whole-foods.com. I love brewing tea and order-ing Egg Nog lattes from every cafe I visit. I love visiting with people at their home and feeling cozy in their living room by the fire. I just really love the joy that the cold weather brings. And here I am saying that. Yup. I said cold weather and joy in the same sentence. Monica Winders is changing.

In Hawaii, we never experience weather be-low 65 degrees. I have never had to whip out my credit card to scrape off ice from my windshield. Christmas is sunny and warm. On a few Christmas occasions, we’d head to the North Shore of Oahu and relax on the sands of Waimea Bay. “Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright, Hawaiian Christmas day.” We first open presents, and then “we go beach.” Our laid back Hawai-ian lifestyle carries on all year long, even on the holidays. On occasion, just maybe, we’ll organize unique Christmas parties, but our family and friends will usually just

end up gathering together at one house and we’ll eat tons of kalua pork and chicken long rice, maybe hook up the karaoke ma-chine, and jam some reggae on the guitar and ukulele late into the night.

I have learned to love the differences of both places. There’s a great joy in being thankful for the uniqueness of life in any situation. Being pessimistic about little things adds up, and it does nothing for me. God has given me an abundance of life, and there is nothing to be unthankful for. Even in trivial times, we can rejoice.

I don’t get to go home this Christmas. But this time, I’m okay with it. I’m enjoying the perks of the cold winter season. I’m glad I’m not alone either. There is a community that I call the church that God has given each of us. I like to take advantage of the joy that the body of Christ gives me. We should never be empty of the love from our community and the love of Jesus. Because we are alway filled with goodness, we can be missional in spreading the goodness, be-cause it overflows.

Whether Christmas is 85 degrees or 32, let us rejoice in our Lord -- He is the reason!

BY MONICA WINDERS, CO-EDITOR OF MUSEPHOTO BY CHRISTINA REED

Dear Muse Readers,MY JOURNEY FROM THE ISLANDS TO THE NORTHWEST.

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR | MONICA WINDERS

STAFF

www.multnomahmuse.com4

EDITORSAaron Esparza & Monica Winders

[email protected]@multnomah.edu

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR & FACULTY ADVISOR | Cornelia [email protected]

ARTS & CULTURE EDITOR | Tiina [email protected]

FEATURES EDITOR | Kristen [email protected]

INSIDE MU EDITOR | Liz [email protected]

REPORTERS | Kristen Leach, Laura Stone, Liz Clark, Megan Daline & Tiina Mall

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS | Jared Isaacson, Hannah Marie Adams, Wendy Johnson, Jonathan Myers & Brittany Kramberg

PHOTOGRAPHERS | Cornelia Seigneur, Jonathan Myers, Monica Winders & Aaron Esparza

BLOG DESIGNERS | Laura Stone & Liz Clark

ISSUU DESIGNER | Monica Winders

MUSE is an online student magazine that launched on October 6, 2011. The publi-cation is a collaborative effort between Multnomah’s 2011 journalism depart-ment and the university’s student gov-ernment (STUGO) communications de-partment. MUSE stands for Multnomah University Students Engage. Co-editors are Aaron Esparza and Monica Winders. Reach faculty advisor/editorial director of MUSE at [email protected].

The content published in Muse Magazine does not necessarily represent the opin-ions of the wider Multnomah community or administration.

*Cover photo by Monica Winders.

If you’re interested in contributing to Muse or if you have any questions, please contact our editors.

Contact Monica Winders to advertise.

“I will meditate on all your works and muse on all your deeds.” –Ps. 77:12

Muse.Multnomah University Students Engage

ISSUE NO. 003 | A STUDENT PUBLICATION

CONTENTS | ISSUE NO. 003 | DECEMBER 2011

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08 I AM THE SECOND WOMAN | HANNAH ADAMS

12 CELEBRATING AT THE TOP | JONATHAN MYERS

16 THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATION| KRISTEN LEACH

18 OCCUPY PORTLAND | AARON ESPARZA

34 A TASTE OF MULTNOMAH’S CHRISTMAS AROUND THE

WORLD | KRISTEN LEACH

FEATURES

02 LETTER FROM THE EDITOR | MONICA WINDERS

07 L’EDITOR | AARON ESPARZA

LETTERS24 HOW TO SPEND LESS THIS CHRISTMAS | KRISTEN LEACH

25 FROM ADDING TO MULTIPLYING | MONICA WINDERS

28 DOING HIS MAGIC: DAN LOCKWOOD | MEGAN DALILNE

32 BEYOND CAMPUS | JARED ISAACSON

36 WORLD SEEN | WENDY JOHNSON & JENAE KALDUNSKI

INSIDE MU

38 CELULAR SERIES | MONICA WINDERS

46 I WENT TO THE WOODS | CORNELIA SEIGNEUR

52 REMEMBER ME PART II | BRITTANY KRAMBERG

54 THE ART OF CELEBRATING | CORNELIA SEIGNEUR

ARTS & CULTURE

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THE CELEBRATION EDITION

STAFF

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MONICA WINDERSPsychology Major &

Hebrew MinorSenior

AARON ESPARZACommunication

Studies MajorSenior

TIINA MALLCommunication

Studies MajorSenior

KRISTEN LEACHCommunication

Studies MajorSenior

LAURA STONEJournalism

MajorSenior

LIZ CLARKJournalism

MajorSenior

MUSE STAFF

HANNAH ADAMSSpiritual Formation

M. DIvSeminary

MEGAN DALINELeadership &

Ministry MajorDegree Completion

BRITTANY KRAMBERGPsychology

MajorSophomore

JARED ISAACSONMission Aviation

MajorFreshman

JONATHAN MYERSJournalism

MajorSenior

WENDYJOHNSONElementary

EducationMajorSophomore

CORNELIA SEIGNEURMuse Magazine

Editorial Director &Faculty Advisor

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR | AARON ESPARZA

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Every semester that ends leaves me with a feeling that time went by way too fast. Some of you (like me) have pulled one too many all-nighters. Others prioritize the beauty of a good night’s sleep and are able to wake up early. Some lifestyles are healthier thanothers, but in all these lifestyles, we should find reason to cele-brate life no matter how we stuff celebration into our schedules.

We treaded carefully with our previous edition (Brokenness) be-cause of the heaviness of the topics covered, and we came out of it with excellent feedback. We want to continue the quality of our work and the contributions of our stories from many others around the Multnomah University campus. Because, as each semester passes, different events and worldviews come. The values and viewpoints are reflected individually by the stories of the contrib-uting authors. This helps gauge the relevance of our community.

In this Celebration edition of the Fall 2011 Muse, I want to pub-licly thank the section editors for going beyond and working hard to make the issue go forward: Liz Clark, Kristen Leach, and Tiina Mall. It would be very difficult to continue with the quality of themagazine without their help in making up where my strengths fail and theirs shine.

And also, special thanks to Professor Seigneur for advising, hav-ing office meetings, inspiring, connecting, and providing donuts and candy and pizza (but not at the same time) to celebrate! But, no thanks to the demon squirrels that suddenly crawl inside thewalls of the Journalism House in the darkness of the night while editing to the lullaby of the the micro-filaments burn-ing in the light fixtures. The sound of tiny claws scratch-ing inside the drywall is not the most soothing balm to the ears.

L’editorSTORY AND PHOTO BY AARON ESPARZA

BY HANNAH MARIE ADAMS8

FEATURE | I AM THE SECOND WOMAN

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BY HANNAH MARIE ADAMS


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I am theSecondWoman

BY HANNAH MARIE ADAMSPHOTOS BY MONICA WINDERS

My name is Hannah Marie Adams and I am the second woman. I grew up towing the line. Between black and white, between fear and faith. Two worlds, two struggles, two faces, one mask. One mask is all I needed.It was thick, and it was enough to get by...

Perfect Sunday School KidI grew up in the church – a relatively multicultural, Presbyterian church. My dad was an elder in the church. A charismatic, well respected, gregarious, and kind man…to everyone but his own family. We saw my dad also as an angry, bigoted, and abusive alcoholic.

From him, I learned how to “smile pretty” in public and how to weep and de-stroy in private. Pretending was the acceptable and preferred way of life.

Coming home every day was a guessing game: which Daddy will I get today? I always hoped it would be the one that loved me, but it hardly ever was. And if there was “love” involved, it wasn’t in the way I was hoping to know it. But I was determined. If I worked hard enough, I would figure it out. I was the perfect Sunday school kid. I knew every answer my teacher asked, every verse and every line of every chorus and I could sing a mean “Father Abraham.”

I was the peak performer; performance and I knew each other very well. But what I didn’t know was a father’s love. No matter how hard I tried, it was never


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good enough for him. I wasn’t lovely or lovable. I was only good for a few things and those were against my will.

This was the core of who I was. It defined everything; it was the place I lived out of. Constant guessing and paranoia, constant doubt, constant fear, pain, and confusion. Everyday I told myself to just survive.

What was true? Was I lovable? That question sent me on a wild goose chase for 23 years of my life.

Choose Your SideI grew up in in the heart of Washington D.C., 10 minutes away from the capitol building, surrounded by urban black culture. I would fall asleep to the sound of sirens at night. But in the morning I would wake up and drive out to my private, white Christian school.

My dad, who was born in Dallas, Texas in 1941, decided he wanted his kids to have the best education possible. He didn’t want us to per-petuate his experience and he would do what he had to do to guarantee that. Urban schools were out; suburban schools were in.

I didn’t always notice the contrast. Perhaps my heart did when I would play with my best friend’s long, smooth, beautiful, blond hair. My heart would skip a subconscious beat: Why didn’t mine do that? Eh, but I was okay. It didn’t matter… well, not until the fourth grade.

I was a huge tomboy. I loved playing football with the boys. My dad played football. Maybe I thought if I played too, he would love me. But if he did love me for it, then he was the only one. I was a little too tenacious for my own good. I tackled one of my classmates one day and that was the wrong thing to do; he got really upset and told me that I was dirt. I just stared back at him blankly. But he repeated himself as though I were deaf: “Your skin, it’s like dirt.”

I remember dropping the football and walking away. I went back to my desk and put my head down and cried. My best friend at the time was this little blond boy. He came over and asked me what was wrong. I told him what Richard had said. He confronted Richard and made him apologize to me. And though he did, I was never the same. Now it mattered.

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For the rest of my life, I struggled with how much it mattered, not only to me but to the people around me. Attending college in the south, I quickly discovered that the line was drawn very clearly in the sand. I had to choose which side I was on – black or white. It was us versus them, and if it was “us,” then I would have to change a lot about myself to fit in, such as the way I spoke -- which was “white,” and I needed to stop that if I was to fit in certain circles. I was drafted into a war of assimilation and I never agreed with the fight in the first place.

What about being who I was? What about just being comfortable with everybody? What was wrong with the way I spoke? I simply spoke the way I was educated. But that answer wasn’t good enough for some. Once again, I wasn’t good enough.

These two life scenarios defined me. It seemed as though I wasn’t good enough for anybody. Not my dad and not my culture. If I didn’t belong to the two arenas that should have been natural to me – the two places where we as individuals innately are meant to find accep-tance – then where did I belong? And whom did I belong to?

The first 23 years of my life are a sordid tale describing my desper-ate journey to answer these questions and so many others. As the classic song describes, I looked for love in all the wrong places.

But let’s go back to Richard, to the most essential part of the story. I remember coming home that same day and my mom asked me how

school was (though she already knew -- my mom worked at my school). I mumbled some fake answer under my breath. But my mom knew me and she asked me again, this time catching my eye.

I poured out my little fourth grade broken heart, tears streaming down my face. She sat me down and told me something that changed my life. She told me I was made in the image of God and that my number one identity was in Him. Christ first, culture second. Christ’s love first and all others’ love second. He was enough. He covered culture and He covered the offenses of others. He was enough.

I sat there and listened, and though I have struggled since then to understand that truth lived out, it still cemented in me that day. A seed was planted deep in my heart that never left. And through all of my ups and downs, the Lord steadily watered that seed. No matter how hard I tried to avoid that truth, it never left me.

This was a defining moment. And God has grown this tiny seed into a mas-sive tree within my heart. I determined as a little girl to look at others with that lens my mother gave me that day – regardless of their background and heritage. It has taken me longer to look at myself that way, but God is relent-lessly healing that as well.

What is culture? And why do we cling to it so tightly, especially as believ-ers, when Christ is our culture. When He is first and Lord above it all.

In my life, I have felt a tighter bond to those who have shared in extreme fear and pain, than I do to those who share the same ethnic background. Pain goes much deeper than the common exterior cultural things. Pain is the hu-man experience – it’s not relative to one group or one type of person. We all know it. We are fools to think that God looks at things so black and white. He is not limited like we are. His Word reveals that He cares nothing about the outward appearance, but only the heart. Pain touches the heart and God uses pain.

All of my life experiences are subject to Christ and I bring them under His authority to will and to do what He would with them. He has created me uniquely within a certain culture, but I am not limited to that. He has given me certain life experiences but they no longer define me. God alone defines me. His love alone defines me. I am Hannah Marie Ad-ams and I am the second man and my life is for Christ.

“What is culture? And why do we cling to it so tightly, especially as believers, when Christ is our culture.”


FEATURE | CELEBRATING AT THE TOP

Celebratingat the Top

STORY AND PHOTOS BY JONATHAN MYERS

As the sun began to rise over the rime ice, I plunged the axe into the heart of the mountain. It was seven degrees out, my fingers had been hurting for the past two hours and I could not feel my thumbs.

But the 11,249 foot summit of Mount Hood loomed above us. On Easter Sun-day 2011, a team of six, including my wife, Kathryn and I, summited Mount Hood. This Easter was a celebration. A celebration of life, a celebration of my life, and a commitment to live it.

Nine month’s earlier while heading to Los Angeles for an Anglican church planting conference, I was struck with kidney stones 10 minutes into the flight. What normally requires a few anti-inflammatory and pain killing drugs for me would turn into three emergency room visits followed by a four night stay at the hospital. The kidney surgery and ensuing allergic reaction provoked me to

reflect on life. My life. I was 50 pounds overweight, lethargic, and a slave to the man.

But, I emerged from the hospital with a new resolve: to live well, to get healthy, to reclaim some activities of old and hopefully in the process, live some life. A dream quickly emerged for Kathryn and me. We both love the outdoors and have lived with a view of Mount Hood for seven years. I knew this was the dream I wanted to accomplish.

I’ve always said that, “motivation is the beginning of discipline.” And I now I had the motivation. I decided to make some life changes, to begin to work out three to five days a week – sometimes getting up as early as 5:30 a.m. – and to pay attention to what I shoveled in my mouth in order to be serious about this goal to summit Mt. Hood. I also decided to be more intentional

A MULTNOMAH SENIOR SUMMITS MOUNT HOOD

AND REDISCOVERS LIVING.

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about building rest into my life. As I lived my more disciplined lifestyle, I began getting stronger and losing weight.

Then, along the journey we discovered a friend of ours, Glenn Widener, was a Mazama Guide and had led four trips up Mount Hood before, and he was putting together a team for an early season south side summit. Glenn suggested that we block out four weekends in a row to summit so if the weather broke and the ice and snow stabilized, we would be able to seize the moment. La Nina conditions in the late spring pushed winter farther into the spring. The anticipa-tion of the trip became a bit nerve wracking. Though a few of us on the team had done a few preparatory hikes, it had been years since I had summited a mountain, and it would be my first glaci-ated peak to summit. My last summit had been 10 years – earlier Blanca Peak in Southern Colorado. My bachelor years were spent in northern New Mexico. I lived five minutes from the local ski slope and in 2003 I clocked 37 ski days. In addition, I ran, swam laps, took fitness classes, hiked, camped, went fly fishing, mountain biking and summited nine 14,000 feet mountains.

But all that meant nothing. It was eight years earlier. There was a lingering question, if all the discipline -- waking up at 5:30 am to work out, the diet, and lifestyle change--would work? I was ter-rified of being the one on the team who couldn’t keep up. By the time of our summit I had lost 35 pounds, begun rock climbing, bicycling, and skiing again our trip up Mount Hood would be the culmination of hard work, discipline and training.

So, Easter Sunday, our team of six converged at Timberline Lodge on a cold and clear morning. We loaded up and headed out at 2:30 a.m. after only getting three hours of sleep at the Maza-ma’s climbing lodge at the base of Mount Hood. We climbed with crampons and ice axes up the glacier to a moonlit sky.

For the next seven hours we would ascend the mountain. At the beginning I was functioning on sheer adrenaline; however two hours into it, as the team got into a rhythm, I found myself trail-

ing our troop. When climbing you move around a bit and allow oth-ers to lead as breaking the snow takes work.

While in the back of the pack I fell behind a few paces, and I psy-chologically hit a wall. I began to doubt if I could make it up all the way up the mountain and wondered how long I could go at this pace. My brain began to get the best of me, and I began to fall be-hind. I was nervous that I was holding everyone up, and the cold felt colder, the pitch of the slope felt steeper, the weight of my backpack seemingly increased.

When we took a break to change out layers, grab a sip of water and nibble on a Power bar, I asked if I could hike mid-pack. Every one agreed. My complete focus was to follow the person in front of me, step by step. While climbing in the midst of our team I was able to punch through my psychological glass ceiling. I realized I could keep up with everyone. My doubts began to disappear as I realized I could do this.

The glow of the approaching sunrise began to appear on the horizon as we steadily scaled the glacier; however, the higher we climbed the colder it got. At the Hogsback, a steady ridge leading to several final pitches to the summit, we began to harness up and get our rope teams set. It became so cold my hands became numb as I tried to get my climbing harness on. They went from cold, to numb, and then to on fire in a matter of minutes.

The voice in my head began to speak – doubt, fear, insecurity. I was able to finally get my harness on, but I was concerned my hands would not warm up. Just when fear was its worst the sun split the horizon and illuminated the mountain. Hope rose. And we entered the final stretch in two 3-man rope teams around the Bergschrund, and into the final pitch.

We emerged from the Pearly Gates just after 9 a.m. Easter morning. The world was beautiful; the sun glittered through the ancient wind-blown ice, my breath crisp with fresh air. As the sun began to warm us at the summit our guide Glenn exclaimed “This is my cathedral of praise; this is how I am celebrating Easter.”

We stood in triumph, we stood in celebration – and I had regained my life.

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FEATURE | THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATION

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OccupyPORTLAND

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OccupyPORTLAND

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AN OBSERVANCE OBSERVEDA man wearing a Fawkes mask whispered in my ear. “The Police are covering up their badge numbers so they can do their police brutality and get away with it.”

The mysterious man’s voice was muffled under the mask. It didn’t help that he also was using a fake accent.

I quickly replied, “Really? And why are you here?”

“We are here to end corruption and social injus-tice. The people should be the ones who are in charge of themselves. Not Just the 1 percent.”

I nodded my head in silence as I was drowned out by the chatter of hundreds of people around me talking and listening to Lt. Robert King explain why the Police had to take away some bricks and pieces of concrete from the inside of the camp. The Occupiers were complain-ing that the Police were stealing their property while the Police were saying that it was a safety concern.

The masked man pulled out a Walkie Talkie and quickly listened to a voice on the other line tell him something urgent. “Excuse me. I have to go now.” he said to me.

The mysterious man left me to go across the street to the “Alpha Camp.” Feeling a sense of urgency, I fol-lowed him. The sun was slipping away and the rain started coming down quickly. It was not a fun day to be living outside in a tent in downtown Portland.

I was back at one of the most happiest places on earth in mid-October: My grandparents home in Texas. I see Mom Jean and Dad Pa about once a year. Mom Jean spends her days cooking in the kitchen, making the most amazing Southern meals. Some of my favorite memories are hours of conversation in that little kitchen.

But, my grandpa and I have a difficult time communicating be-cause he is hard of hearing, often claiming that I talk like a Yan-kee. Nevertheless, we’ve shared a deep care and appreciation for one another that words could never bring justice to. My grandpa was a submarine sailor in World War II. He has always been the strong and silent type. Now, as his body has weakened, so have the walls he has always put up.

On a particular visit this fall, soon after my grandpa’s 92nd birth-day, I saw my grandpa in his weakness. Skinny, frail, and hardly able to walk, he had no strength to stand up from his chair or even give himself a bath. This was such a distinct contrast from the extreme that I had always known him as. He was no longer Jack Leach, the tough and stubborn ex-navy sailor. He was my fragile Dad Pa – and he had nothing to offer me but his smile and words of admiration towards me.

On my last night in Texas, I heard Mom Jean helping Dad Pa into bed down the hall. Through the sighs and grunts that so clearly represented the pain and difficulty they were experienc-ing, I heard quite possibly the most beautiful conversation I have ever heard in 22 years.

With his scruffy yet quiet voice, Dad Pa said, “What would I do without you, Jean?”

“Oh, now, you’d be just fine, Jack,” Mom Jean replied.

In his calm and loving voice, with years full of certainty and strength all melted down to this point of weakness and total de-pendence, Dad Pa insisted, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I am so thankful for you.”

That’s it. 67 years of marriage compacted into the most beautiful conversation I have ever witnessed in a most simple form.

After 22 years, I still search for meaning and value in who I am and what I do. I find my worth far too often in being a mission-ary kid, a cheerleader in high school, a Texan, or an RA here at Multnomah. But when I see a couple at the end of all their years, life is boiled down to its essence. Its most meaningful kernel is to love someone else despite the difficulties it may bring.

Will I be any less beautiful when it comes my time to be too old to bathe myself or lift myself up out of the chair? Will I have any worse or better of a reputation when the only people I see every day are those willing to accept me in my weaknesses, when I perhaps struggle to put one foot in front of the other or need help getting into bed at night?

Mom Jean and Dad Pa showed me that night the true meaning of beauty. When every label and role is torn down, what we have left is just ourselves before God.

Who am I? Stripped of everything else, I am a child of God. Though this may be a seemingly simple role, it truly is the most beautiful. Full of weaknesses and a Yankee accent, I stand as a daughter of the King accepted for who I am, as I accept my grandparents. And celebrate their 67 years of commitment. No matter what.

The Most BeautifulConversation

REVELING IN 67 YEARS TOGETHER

FEATURE | THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATION

STORY AND PHOTO BY KRISTEN LEACH

FEATURE

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FEATURE | OCCUPY PORTLAND

OccupyPORTLAND

FEATURE

OccupyPORTLAND

STORY AND PHOTOS BY AARON ESPARZA, CO-EDITOR OF MUSE

AN OBSERVANCE OBSERVEDA man wearing a Fawkes mask whispered in my ear. “The Police are covering up their badge numbers so they can do their police brutality and get away with it.”

The mysterious man’s voice was muffled under the mask. It didn’t help that he also was using a fake accent.

I quickly replied, “Really? And why are you here?”

“We are here to end corruption and social injustice. The people should be the ones who are in charge of themselves. Not Just the 1 percent.”

I nodded my head in silence as I was drowned out by the chatter of hundreds of people around me talking and listening to Lt. Robert King explain why the Police had to take away some bricks and pieces of concrete from the inside of the camp. The Occupiers were complain-ing that the Police were stealing their property while the Police were saying that it was a safety concern.

The masked man pulled out a Walkie Talkie and quickly listened to a voice on the other line tell him something urgent. “Excuse me. I have to go now.” he said to me.

The mysterious man left me to go across the street to the “Alpha Camp.” Feeling a sense of urgency, I fol-lowed him. The sun was slipping away and the rain started coming down quickly. It was not a fun day

to be living outside in a tent in downtown Portland.

As I trailed behind the man, I entered inside the tent village. I approached the middle to hear Occupiers shouting and screaming. A man had over-dosed on drugs and passed out in the middle of the camp. One brave camera man from a generic news corporation came in to capture the story but was stopped by the Occupiers, who aggressively grabbed his camera with their hands on his lens, and pushed him right out of the camp, screaming and shouting vulgarities. They apparently did not want bad media coverage. A man rushed over to me and yelled for me to turn off my cell phone’s video recorder. I quickly obliged.

Seconds later, an ambulance took away the man on the ground who over-dosed. The shouting died down. The rain was pouring harder. I wanted to seek shelter.

I found an open pavilion covering with a curious looking man sitting cross-legged on the ground. Back straight, eyes closed, the man looked as if he was try-ing to absorb his natural surroundings and be at peace with nature. I asked to go inside, and he nodded yes.

“Who are you? And what do you do here?” I asked.

“I’d like to say that I am one of the camp’s spiritual advisers. I feel what’s going on and help to bring bal-ance. There is a lot of anger here on both sides.”

“I see…,” I said, as I looked around to take in more 19


AN INSIDE LOOK AT THE TENT CITY

INSIDE MU | FACULTY

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“The police are going to use their discretion for the best time and best way.” – Amy Ruiz, the mayor’s spokeswoman.

“The youth protesting today are the children of my generation. Rather than parent, we emanated to befriend. Rather than model what was right for the family, we chose what felt right for ourselves. Rather than point to a living and real God, we worshiped the material things and told our kids to go figure it out on their own. We who were lazy, afraid or remiss to stand for something, found our children were willing to believe anything…” – Officer Robert Blanck

“What is shocking to me is the greed of the 99 percent as they have not been able to succeed to that level, refuse to be content within the blessing they do have and pretend they are not really just as self-cen-tered, envious and greedy as the ultra rich. The depravity of human-ity is the issue, not bank accounts or status.” – Officer Robert Blanck

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“

except a Kevlar jacket was pacing in the rain and clenching his fists. His face didn’t look happy.

I turned back to the guru man. “What exactly is going on here? What are you trying to solve in this place?”

“As you can see, we are here to protest corporate greed and give power back to the people,” he said. “I think we need to start over in this country. We don’t necessarily have the answer, but we know there’s a problem. You see over there? We have a medical tent. And over there is our library. We have a food tent, information tent, and many other types of tents. We are capable of running our own communities with consensus. It’s unfortunate though, because for some people, they have nowhere else to go.” He paused for a second. “We need change. We need equality.”

I squatted down to listen and engage in more ques-tions. As we talked for 45 minutes, more people came to join us and listen. A group walked by with chat-ter about building barricades out of plywood to help fend off the police in a couple days in response to the November 14 eviction notice by Mayor Sam Adams. Feeling the energy of the camp, I knew they weren’t just going to leave quietly in the night.

EVICTION DAY - November 14 Thousands were gathering around and in the camp, located on SW Madison Street in downtown Portland. On one side were the Occupiers. On the other side were the Police. And on the sidelines as if getting ready to watch a sporting event were the spectators. Some were even there to make fun and “anti-protest” by holding up signs as well. One prominent sign stood out that said, “Dummies.”

A Cadillac Escalade SUV drove past me with some young guys whooping and yelling out the window:, “We’re the one percent! Mace them, mace them!” Certainly, the night was alive and buzzing with people taking sides. One report stated that there were 10,000 that night.

Police in riot gear; horses in riot gear. The authorities were already in place to break up the camp’s unity. I stood on the sidelines with the spectators from mid-night to 2 a.m. I started talking to a man around my age who had biked halfway across the country to par-ticipate in this event.

“What is it that you want?” I asked him, keeping up

with the theme of questions I had been asking others.

“Man, the system is broken,” he replied. “The banks are taking all of our money because of their greed. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all just live in the same community with free housing and free health-care? I mean, Canada has free health care and they’re doing okay!”

An older gentleman who was listening rebutted his claim. “What if I don’t want to live next to you? And do you even have a job?”

“No. And why wouldn’t you want to live next to me? Errr, but yeah, I’m currently homeless and I have no job.”

“Okay,” the older man continued, “So then, who’s go-ing to pay for your free housing and health-care?”

“Oh... we’ll you have a good point. hmmm...” The Occupier continued to share insights about the prob-lems, but unfortunately there was not much room for positive solutions.

As the night went past 2 a.m., there was no huge clash of Police with Occupiers, as some had thought would occur. There was one arrest made of a man who in-jured a police officer on the head; the officer ended up in the hospital with non-life threatening injuries. As the next day went by and the energy died down, the Police took down the tents peacefully and all the Oc-cupiers were cleared out. Estimated cost of $ 85,000 for clean up of Occupier events. And estimated cost of Police overtime on Occupier issues tops at over 1.2 million dollars.

The week of December 12, the Occupiers have a new goal now: focusing on “shutting down the West Coast ports” in support of the International Longshore Workers Union. They are chanting, “Whose streets? Our streets! Whose ports? Our ports!”

“‘As you can see, we are here to protest corporate greed and give power back to the people,’ he said.”


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INSIDE MU | STUDENT

status.” – Officer Robert Blanck

“People looking to find wealth, fulfillment in this life will always be disappointed, or worse, led astray. My God shall supply all my needs according to His riches in glory.” – Detective Darren Posey

And, regarding the pepper spraying of Liz Nichols in the face incident, viewers seem to be getting one side of the story. According to the Portland Police Bureau, the officer in question was shoved and threatened before Nichols made a movement for the officer’s baton. The woman was given a fair warning, and from a policeman’s perspective, you have every right to fight back, and pepper spray may be their only “peaceful” weapon.

Policemen clearly do not just blindly pepper spray, but use it as a clear defense mechanism. Nichols was given a clear warning from several police officers in that unit, but she refused to back down, acted out violently, and was pepper sprayed for that.

According to Police official, other facts include:

-- One police officer was struck in the helmet by a knife thrown from the crowd and another sustained a leg injury from a thrown object, but they remained peaceful.-- At the beginning of the Occupy removal, there were approximately 50 Police Officers on site attempting to fairly and peacefully as remove the Occupiers from the park. -- Nearly all the East Precinct officers were sent to the park in the early morning hours, leaving a minimum staffing situation -- that is, a lack of patrol cars to roam the streets to protect other citizens. This is a serious issue, notes Officer Blanck. In a dangerous setting, having enough officers available is a necessity which was not available during the time of the Occupy removal.


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JOURNALISM MINOR SARAH BLANCK’S FATHER IS A PORTLAND POLICE OFFICER. SHE OFFERED THE FOLLOWING INSIGHT ON THE OCCUPY PORTLAND MOVEMENT FROM THE PERSPEC-TIVE OF A VARIETY OF POLICE OFFICERS.

THESE ARE WORDS FROM THE CITY OFFICIALS.

“What is shocking to me is the greed of the 99 percent as they have not been able to suc-ceed to that level, refuse to be content within the blessing they do have and pretend they are not really just as self-centered, envious and greedy as the ultra rich. The depravity of humanity is the issue, not bank accounts or

“The police are going to use their discretion for the best time and best way.” – Amy Ruiz, the mayor’s spokeswoman.

“What is shocking to me is the greed of the 99 percent as they have not been able to succeed to that level, refuse to be content within the blessing they do have and pretend they are not really just as self-centered, envious and greedy as the ultra rich. The depravity of humanity is the issue, not bank accounts or status.” – Officer Robert Blanck

“People looking to find wealth, fulfillment in this life will always be disap-pointed, or worse, led astray. My God shall supply all my needs according to His riches in glory.” – Detective Darren Posey

And, regarding the pepper spraying of Liz-Nichols-in-the-face incident, view-ers seem to be getting one side of the story. According to the Portland Po-lice Bureau, the officer in question was shoved and threatened before Nichols

made a movement for the officer’s baton. The woman was given a fair warn-ing, and from a policeman’s perspective, you have every right to fight back, and pepper spray may be their only “peaceful” weapon.

Policemen clearly do not just blindly pepper spray, but use it as a clear defense mechanism.Nichols was given a clear warning from several police officers in that unit, but she refused to back down, acted out violently and was pepper sprayed for that.

According to Police official:

-- One police officer was struck in the helmet by an opened pocket-knife thrown from the crowd and another sustained a leg injury from a thrown ob-ject, but they remained peaceful.

-- At the beginning of the Occupy removal, there were approximately 50 Po-lice Officers on site attempting to fairly and peacefully remove the Occupiers

status.” – Officer Robert Blanck

“People looking to find wealth, fulfillment in this life will always be disappointed, or worse, led astray. My God shall supply all my needs according to His riches in glory.” – Detective Darren Posey

And, regarding the pepper spraying of Liz Nichols in the face incident, viewers seem to be getting one side of the story. According to the Portland Police Bureau, the officer in question was shoved and threatened before Nichols made a movement for the officer’s baton. The woman was given a fair warning, and from a policeman’s perspective, you have every right to fight back, and pepper spray may be their only “peaceful” weapon.

Policemen clearly do not just blindly pepper spray, but use it as a clear defense mechanism. Nichols was given a clear warning from several police officers in that unit, but she refused to back down, acted out violently, and was pepper sprayed for that.

According to Police official, other facts include:

-- One police officer was struck in the helmet by a knife thrown from the crowd and another sustained a leg injury from a thrown object, but they remained peaceful.-- At the beginning of the Occupy removal, there were approximately 50 Police Officers on site attempting to fairly and peacefully as remove the Occupiers from the park. -- Nearly all the East Precinct officers were sent to the park in the early morning hours, leaving a minimum staffing situation -- that is, a lack of patrol cars to roam the streets to protect other citizens. This is a serious issue, notes Officer Blanck. In a dangerous setting, having enough officers available is a necessity which was not available during the time of the Occupy removal.

23


made a movement for the officer’s baton. The woman was given a fair warn-ing, and from a policeman’s perspective, you have every right to fight back, and pepper spray may be their only “peaceful” weapon.

Policemen clearly do not just blindly pepper spray, but use it as a clear defense mechanism.Nichols was given a clear warning from several police officers in that unit, but she refused to back down, acted out violently and was pepper sprayed for that.

According to Police official:

-- One police officer was struck in the helmet by an opened pocket-knife thrown from the crowd and another sustained a leg injury from a thrown ob-ject, but they remained peaceful.

-- At the beginning of the Occupy removal, there were approximately 50 Po-lice Officers on site attempting to fairly and peacefully remove the Occupiers

23

from the park.

-- Nearly all the East Precinct officers were sent to the park in the early morn-ing hours, leaving a minimum staffing situation -- that is, a lack of patrol cars to roam the streets to protect other citizens. This is a serious issue, notes Officer Blanck. In a dangerous setting, having enough officers available is a necessity, which was not available during the time of the Occupy removal.

-Contribution by Sarah Blanck

INSIDE MU | HOW TO

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BY KRISTEN LEACHPHOTO BY LIZ CLARK

This Christmas, I have no money to spend on the most important people in my life. I have found my bank account dwindling each day. When I run my debit card for gas or food, I cringe with the thought that the money I just used could have gone towards a gift for my brothers or parents.

I have been racking my brain to fig-ure out how to spend almost noth-ing and still show my family that they are worth so much to me. I’m learning and seeing that there are ways to give my family meaningful and thoughtful gifts without spend-ing a lot of money.

Adri Thomas, a sophomore study-ing Psychology, has an almost end-less supply of creative juices, and is always making a craft or gift. She said, “You can save tons of mon-ey and make tons of things really cheap....These become great gifts because they’re more meaningful.”

Here’s 5 steps you can take to spend as little as possible this Christmas:

1. Make a list of people you are giving to. Think of their personalities and interests. What may they like? What may they enjoy or use? Keep this in mind for the following steps.

2. Get inspired. Inspiration is often necessary in an endeavor such as this. Look through maga-zines, or online blogs. One of my favorite sources is a website called Pinterest. There are endless ideas for do-it-yourself gifts.

3. Look in your own space. What do you have that you could possibly use? Some object lying around you could work with are mason jars, frames, shoe-boxes, bulletins, fabric, and cardstock. Be creative, and brainstorm possible gift ideas with the things you already have.

4. If need be, shop sparingly. If you don’t find anything poten-

tially useful, there are stores you can shop at for cheap. Stores like Goodwill, Salvation Army, craft and fabric stores, and antique shops all hold endless possibilities for creative and cheap gift ideas. Adri said, “I love mason jars. You can find them at goodwill for 89 cents and there’s so many things you can do with them.” Keep in mind that supplies you buy can most often be

used for multiple gifts. Plus, going to a used items store also helps fight human-trafficking, because you’re purchasing items that have already been manufactured and sold.

5. Create! Start crafting! Let go of limitations and rules, and just do it. Allow your imagination go, and enjoy it. You might very well be sur-prised at the gifts you put together.

Not only can these steps lead to cheaper gifts, but they are also more meaningful because of the time, thought and effort put into them.

Deep down, I know my family will love me just the same if I don’t give them big priced items. I’m not giv-

ing my family nearly enough credit. I’m plac-ing a huge amount of unnecessary expecta-tions on them and myself. I guess I’m afraid of disappointing them and not showing them as best I can, how much I value them.

I refuse to give up. I will not devoid my fam-ily of the deep value and love I have for each of them. But I also refuse to not be subject to the materialistic culture I have already found myself trapped inside. I want to buy things. I admit it. I love spending money on other people. I want to show people how much they mean to me. But if buying things is the only way I can show the most significant people in my life that I love them, my priorities and values are all wrong.

This Christmas, I may not have money for elaborate presents, but I have pres-ence. And am making an effort to show people I care, just in more creative and meaningful ways.

HOW TO SPEND LITTLE THIS

Many churches around the nation and in Portland are fighting con-sumerism with The Advent Conspir-acy, a call to spend less on Christmas gifts by creating meaningful gifts, and using money saved on causes around the world.

Check out what Imago Dei, Mosaic, and Solid Rock are doing for fur-ther ideas.

DID YOU KNOW

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INSIDE MU | FROM ADDING TO MULTIPLYING

From Adding toMultiplying

STORY BY MONICA WINDERSPHOTOS BY MONICA WINDERS & CORNELIA SEIGNEUR

TOM AND BONNIE KOPP LEAVE MULTNOMAH FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER IN THEIR LIFE’S ADVENTURE


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In the midst of praying for their return to South Africa as missionaries, Tom and Bonnie Kopp re-ceived a plaque from a Latin American man that said: “I am envious of you. Up until now you’ve been adding. Now you’ll be multiplying.” Describing the change from making disciples in South Africa to multiplying at Multnomah Uni-versity, their work with students significantly exer-cised the opportunity to make disciples worldwide. Multnomah students would spread out across the globe to add to the kingdom, and Tom and Bonnie would send them out. I ventured upward onto the steep ramp of Upper Sutcliffe, excited for my appointment to meet with Tom and Bonnie. The report that they would leave Multnomah at the end of fall semester was definite-ly news. I came to hear from them about their new journey in continuing to multiply and add to the kingdom. This time they would be moving forward on a larger scale. Now they will be multiplying internationally. When I first came into their office, I wanted to hear about their experience at Multnomah and what they appreciated about this school. One thing became clear is that they learned the art of communicat-

ing in their marriage. They had to. They had to first prepare then teach classes together on the topic of marriage. But what Tom and Bonnie wanted to get down to was the nitty gritty – their new adventure with Para-clete – an association of experienced missionaries and professionals who seek to expand the king-dom of God through assisting mission agencies and churches in their call to reach the least reached peoples of the world. After team teaching courses like Marriage and Family and Social Factors in Relationships at Multnomah, and individually teaching courses

“...what Tom and Bonnie wanted to get down to was the nitty gritty – their new ad-venture with Paraclete – an association of experienced missionaries and profession-als who seek to expand the kingdom of God.”

MUSE CO-EDITORS, MONICA WINDERS & AARON ESPARZA WITH TOM & BONNIE KOPP, DAVE JONGEWARD, AND JEREMIAH FUIMAONO.

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about leadership, missions, spiritual warfare, and world Christianity, Tom and Bonnie’s next journey also requires teamwork, as well as their individual specialties in teaching and helping church leaders all over the globe. “The Lord has been preparing us to do this. Two weeks or so ago, an African from Rwanda who works in eight eastern African countries was in town. We met him and he specifically asked that we would help him train pastors in the newly formed country of south Sudan. He specifically asked that we would teach as a couple because the Africans don’t understand the concept of married couples ministering to-

gether. We want that modeled for them (he said),” explained Dr. Kopp. With several significant confirming events throughout the last year, Tom and Bonnie realized that God had been preparing them at Multnomah all along – all 20 years -- to teach the same things to several leaders of other countries, who in turn would teach the ideas to their people. Who knew that God would allow them to multiply more than they had imagined? “Our salary ends this December, and it’s like, ‘OK, Lord are you serious? You really want us to step out and raise support in an economy like this?’ I am absolutely convinced that this is what the Lord has asked us to do, so we said OK,” said Bonnie. Although the beloved couple will be exceedingly missed by Multnomah students and staff, happi-ness comes in knowing that this is what they have been prepared for. We should, as the Latin Amer-ican man said, be envious of them, in the good sense of the word. After all, they were adding, they were multiplying, and now they will experience a global multiplica-tion. Let us send them out now.

“‘OK, Lord are you serious? You really want us to step out and raise support in an economy like this?’”

INSIDE MU |DOING HIS MAGIC

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BY MEGAN DALINEPHOTOS BY MULTNOMAH UNIVERSITY

Doing His Magic

Magician, and now Author.Multnomah President,

Dr. Lockwood:

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My nine year-old grandson, Colby, burst through the front door. He’d just come from Vacation Bible School at Portland’s Central Bible Church. His fourth summer attending, this was evidently his best year ever, and the magic show on the last day was the highlight – he couldn’t stop talking about it.

“Nana, you should have seen it! Dr. Dan turned a scarf into a bird. It was awesome!

Then, when Colby found out that the magician, Dr. Dan, was Dr. Dan Lockwood, the president of my school, my grandson was even more awe struck. He was sure I got to watch magic shows all the time. (Dr. Lockwood – consider this your official invitation to perform for the Xi cohort of the Degree Completion Program.)

Well, of course in reality, Dr. Lockwood may not be doing mag-ic tricks for his day job, but he still is able to pull a rabbit out of a hat more often than not. Since becoming the president of Multnomah in 1997 he has managed to balance budgets, turn Multnomah from a Bible College into a university, and oversee the development of many new programs, including the Degree Completion Program with a Bible Foundation and Ministry & Leadership major.

“When I began my career, I had two goals. To be the best Theol-ogy faculty member ever, and to never work in administration,” Lockwood said.

Obviously, God had other plans.

“I’ve learned that you just need to prepare and then be open to where God is leading you. Being the President of Multnomah has been one of the richest and fullest experiences of my life.”

In the last five years under Lockwood’s leadership, they began the Degree Completion Program, as well as add psychology and elementary education majors, Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages and an English major to the undergraduate of-ferings.

They’ve also created a Multnomah Graduate School with three Master’s Degree programs: Counseling, Teaching, and TESOL. And for the seminary, they’ve added a Master of Theology. Fur-thermore, they’ve begun online classes for distance education programs and continues to work on adding future programs.

Lockwood has definitely moved the school into the 21st century.

Raised right here in Portland, Lockwood’s mom was very proac-tive about leading him and his three older siblings to Christ. A Christian education was very important to his parents, so much

so, that they were one of the five founding families of West Hills Christian Elementary School. He realizes how blessed he was.

“I used to wish I had a more dramatic testimony, like some of my friends in seminary. But they reminded me that those testimonies come with deep scars. I’m happy with the life God chose for me.”

When asked about other defining moments in his life, Lockwood remembered a debate at Westmont College between his profes-sor and an off-campus liberal scholar.

“It was the first time I had been confronted with the whole world of liberal theology – which rejected the authority of the Bible. I realized the people who propounded these ideas, and some of the arguments themselves, required a level of intellectual power I did not possess. I realized if I were to suspend my belief in the absolute authority and inerrancy of Scripture until all questions – past, present, and future – were answered, I would have to sus-pend it for the rest of my life.

“I made a decision that night to put my mind under the authority of Scripture, trusting that there were answers because God was all-knowing, even if I didn’t know them. It was a real turning point.”

When asked what motivates him, he replied, “The Greatest Commandment, always, but these days, it is also a desire to fin-ish well.” Seven years ago, Lockwood was diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer, and although he is symptom-free now, the cancer has spread to other parts of his body.

It was about the time of his diagnosis that he started writing his first book, “ Unlikely Heroes”, which he is just now finishing, seven years later. Due out the week of homecoming in Febru-ary, the book was written with two audiences in mind: the gen-eral public and his Multnomah family. Designed to give us all a chance to know him better, Lockwood uses the prologue to intro-duce the idea of “unlikely heroes,” like those in Hebrews 11, by introducing one of his own boyhood heroes, Timmy.

“I was in the fifth grade when I met Timmy, and he was one of those older boys, an eighth grader, who was good at everything. Sports, girls, you name it, and Timmy had it covered. I wanted to be just like him.”

Then, when Dr. Lockwood was a sophomore at Portland Chris-tian High School, he was in a singing group called the Continen-tals, which was at Portland’s old Civic Auditorium (now known as Keller Auditorium) waiting to perform. He recalls talking to a girl named Squeak, someone he thought was really nice and pretty cute, when Lockwood’s hero from fifth grade, Timmy, was

INSIDE MU | DOING HIS MAGIC

30

FROSTED LEAVES ON SEMINARY LAWN TABLES

INSIDE MU | DOING HIS MAGIC

there as well, doing his usual thing, which was flirting with Squeak by putting his arm around her and acting “cool”.

Lockwood realized at that moment: Squeak actually liked him better than Timmy. He then began looking differently at Timmy, realizing that he was just a regular guy – with acne even – and he was not this hero he had made him out to be.

Timmy hadn’t changed, but Lockwood had. Many of the great heroes of the faith are like that too – just regular guys who were willing to be used by God in extraordinary ways.

“I open each chapter of the book with a person-al story from my own life that relates to one of the characters in the book,” said Lockwood. “I take a little creative license with the characters too. For example, in the chapter on Noah, I try to imagine what the dinner table conversation must have been like when Noah came home and said God told him to build an ark.”

Since this is our celebration issue at Muse mag-azine, I wondered how the every day guy Dr. Lockwood and his wife, Jani, bring the festive season of Christmas to life in their family. He shared that they decorate to the max.

“We love Christmas, and each ornament means something special to us.”

Having collected ornaments for years from trips, they do a number of themed Christmas trees, including one for golden retrievers and another for sports themed ornaments.

On Christmas day, the whole extended family of over 20 people gathers together and savors oyster stew and plumb pudding. They also read the Christmas story and sing the Hallelujah Chorus.

And, of course, Dr. Lockwood does a magic trick.

And, I am sure it is awesome. Just like the God whom Lockwood trusts – as do the heroes he writes about in his book.

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SECTION | SUBSECTIONSECTION | SUBSECTION

Calling all high school and college age folks: Come get in from the cold and enjoy our first fireside concert featuring three of Portland’s finest up and coming artists Sam Adams, Hannah Glavor, and Siren & The Sea. Bundle up, bring your friends, and get ready for a cozy evening filled with hot cocoa, spiced cider, a toasty fireplace and great music.

December 17thDoors open @ 6:30 p.m.

Ankeny Building, Rm 123 (gym area)@ Imago Dei Community

Featuring:Hannah Glavor

Sam AdamsSiren & The Sea

Imago Dei College Group presents: The Fireside Concert Series

Support Alumni:Hannah Glavor

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INSIDE MU | BEYOND CAMPUS

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INSIDE MU | BEYOND CAMPUS

Beyond Campus

If you have spent any time at Multnomah University, then you know how easy it is to meet new people.Most often in these first meetings you are asked where you’re from, what your major is, or my personal favor-ite, “Why Multnomah?” I tend to ask this question quite a bit myself. I mean, there are students here from all over the world, and you have to wonder how on earth they heard of this small Bible school in Portland, Oregon.

Most people I have met have had parents, relatives, or pastors that attended, or know missionaries in some foreign country that studied at MU.

It appears to me that alumni play the biggest role in the promotion of MU. I know that impacted me for sure. If you were to ask me why I chose MU, I would point to the 10 or so alumni that put this school on the map .

I come from a small town in Alaska named North Pole (not to be confused with the North Pole). At the end of my senior year of high school, I decided I would attend a small Bible school in south-ern Sweden before going to college. The school, Holsby Brunn, is a Torchbearers Bible School, where I spent the next seven months studying the Bible and developing a personal Christian faith.

During my time in Sweden, I met five staff members who had attended MU. I thought this was a ran-dom place to meet so many people from Portland, but figured it was nothing more than a coin-cidence. These alumni would serve as counselors and sources of wisdom for me throughout the year.

It was when Ray Lubeck gave the first week of lectures at Holsby that I remember thinking, “Okay, this guy is awesome. I want to learn the Bible like that!”

One thing I noticed about these Multnomah people is that they really knew their stuff. They each had a well-informed comprehension of the Bible and I respected how each of them had shaped their lives around God’s Word.

What also stood out to me were all the great stories they had of MU. This college just became more and more desirable as I hung out around these people. It wasn’t until spring that I would consider actually go-ing to MU. I had to consider that this school in Portland must be doing something right if the individuals that come from there are this remarkable.

At the end of my seven months of studying in Sweden, I went on a short-term mission trip to Slovenia. I was pushed further in my consideration of MU when I met even more alumni serving in Slovenia. They were just as fun and loving and full of godly wisdom as the ones I met in Sweden. I went home to Alaska and learned that there were even people in my church that went to MU, and I thought, “These people are everywhere!” I would later learn that I have a cousin who went here three years ago and even an aunt that attended some 30 years ago.

I believe I was being divinely nudged toward MU by the testimonies of these alumni. No other school I know of is represented so well. I was seeking to know and mature in the Word and serve in God’s mis-sion, and I believe I have come to the right place. I know that partly because of the company I am in.

STORY AND PHOTO BY JARED ISAACSON

MULTNOMAH UNIVERSITY’S STUDENTS AND STAFF ARE IN EVERY CORNER OF THE WORLD

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BY KRISTEN LEACH

A Taste of Multnomah’s Christmas Around the World

INSIDE MU | MU CHRISTMAS AROUND THE WORLD

MAIMONA SHAFIR: SOUTH OF FRANCEPSYCHOLOGY & TESOL MAJOR

Every year in the month of December, there is a fair downtown with santons, which sell little clay figurines of the nativity. There are many different kinds and characters, and each are handmade and hand painted. The tradition is that you buy a new figurine every year to add to the collection. There is always more to buy because the whole town of Bethlehem is there: townspeople, animals, houses, fountains.

SHAINA DOEHLE: ENGLANDINTERCULTURAL STUDIES AND TESOL MAJOR

In England, there are two main differences from how we celebrate Christmas here: One is we have Boxing Day and the other is the stockings. Boxing Day is the day after Christmas. Traditionally, when the rich celebrated Christmas their servants had to work on Christmas Day and the servants got the day after Christmas, December 26, off. On this day, the rich would give boxes containing food and other items to their servants as an expression of gratitude. Hence, they called it Boxing Day. To this day, it is still a holiday in England where very few stores are open and almost no one has to go into work.

The stockings are very different in England compared with the Unit-ed States. Instead of using socks or pre-made stockings, the British hang pillowcases. I’m not sure where this tradition came from. There is one British tradition my family keeps as part of our Christmas: an orange. The British always have an orange in the bottom corner of their pillowcases on Christmas morning. My family has always put oranges in the toes of our stockings for Christmas morning.

With every glance of the eyes or nod of acknowledgement as you pass fellow students at Multnomah, you catch a glimpse of vari-ous cultures and acknowledge millions of memories. The following are a few traditions that reflect a taste of those who’ve come from across the world to gather at this little Bible school in Portland, Oregon.

I include my own example of one tradition my family held to when we spent five years in South America.

STEPHEN LASU: SOUTHERN SUDANPASTORAL MAJOR

In my country, Christmas is a big day that all my relatives come to-gether to share food, drinks, white beer, and then we enjoy our tradi-tional dances.

Christmas is not our African tradition; it was brought to us by the missionaries. We are celebrating like the Western churches.

KRISTEN LEACH: ECUADOR `COMMUNICATION STUDIES MAJOR

The biggest tradition in Ecuador was passing out “Navidades.” The tradition holds that these are little baggies full of candy. My mom improved upon this idea by putting rice, beans, bananas, candy and a toy in the bags. Ecuadorians would come to our door, much like Halloween in the United States, and we would give them the baggies.

My mom would also keep Navidades in the car weeks before Christ-mas so we could pass them out to the beggars and the poor on the street. On our last day of school before Christmas, we would go to the market and distribute additional baggies to those who sold flowers, fish or handmade items.

PHOTOS BY MONICA WINDERS

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INSIDE MU | MU CHRISTMAS AROUND THE WORLD

MONICA WINDERS: HAWAIIPSYCHOLOGY MAJOR

We say “Mele Kalikimaka” in Hawaii. That’s the way you say Merry Christmas. We even have a little jingle, “Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright, Ha-waiian Christmas Day. That’s the island greeting that we send to you from the land where palm trees sway.” Our Christmas is greeted with a forecast of 85 degrees and sunny with a light breeze.

A tradition is always to see the City Lights in downtown Honolulu. There is a gigantic Hawaiian Santa Claus, along with his Mrs. Claus in a bright red muumuu. They usually relax on the fountain area right in front of City Hall. Santas taken off his boots and has relexed on the beach, almost ready for a tan, since he’s still got his suit and hat on. He greets all of City Hall’s visitors who have come to see an entire strip of the street covered in Christmas decorations.

There are also many lovely renditions of Christmas songs in Hawaiian. Silent Night is my favorite.

My favorite part of our Hawaiian Christmas is receiving boxes and boxes of chocolate covered macadamia nuts from close family friends. Of course, my mom would think of repackaging them for presents for others. These nuts get passed around more than we know.

CORNELIA SEIGNEUR: GERMANYFACULTY ADVISOR/EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

I am from Germany and when I told my husband we had white candles on our Christmas tree each year when I was grow-ing up, he could not believe it. Especially, when I told him we lit them.

That’s right. In Germany, candles on trees. Lit. Real fire on the tree. Ours was actually artificial. On Christmas Eve, all of us children – three of us – had to wait upstairs while my parents put up our Christmas Tree and lit the candles. Then, when we heard a bell ring and my parents began singing, “Ihr Kinderlein Kommet” (“Oh, Chil-dren, Now come all”), we’d know it was our time to go downstairs and join them. Tradition was that the Christ Child had visited us and brought us gifts.

The only lights in the house were those lit candles on the Christmas Tree. It was such a powerful beautiful scene. All of us would join together singing other Christmas carols, all in German, and then we’d read the Christmas story, Luke 2, in German before opening up presents. All on Christmas Eve. No needing to wake up early on Christmas morning for us.One more note. The Christmas Tree originated in Germany, but the pickle did not. People ask me all the time whether we have a pickle on our tree as they say it is a German tradition. We never did that – where a glass pickle ornament is hidden on Christmas trees and the first person to find it gets an added present – and I do not know of any other German family who practices that tradition. Perhaps it is a myth, much like German Chocolate Cake in America is actually not German at all!

INSIDE MU | WORLD SEEN

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BY WENDY JOHNSON & JENAE KALDUNSKIPHOTOS PROVIDED BY WORLD SEEN

WorldSeen

We are two MU students who are blessed to be part of a Multnomah ministry called World Seen. We do a seven-hour multi-me-dia presentation geared to help Christian youth un-derstand the post-modern culture we are living in.

Our incredible team was started in 1999 by our professor, mentor, and mustache aficionado Dr. Ray Lubeck. With each successive cast of stu-dents, the ministry adapts every year. This year our team features several TCKs (third culture kids) who bring unique international perspectives to the table, as well as students who have person-ally experienced the devastating effects that post-modernity has wrought on the American family.

Dealing with difficult issues such as hopelessness, isolation, cutting, eating disorders, rage, abor-tion and suspicion, it has been sobering to real-ize these problems are real both inside and out-side the church. The existentialistic meta-vista of the American dream tells us to rely on ourselves, pull it together, and pretend we have something to live for. This produces a plethora of personal problems that repeat the vicious cycle of shame and regret. Our message through our World Seen presentation is that redemption can be found only in the power of the cross of Jesus Christ and that is truly something worth celebrating.

Our purpose is not to exemplify the flaws of other worldviews so that Christians can refute them and win the argument over whose world story is cor-rect. Jesus did not say they will know we are Chris-tians by our superior arguments; He said theywill

know we are Christians by our love (John 13:35).

This is especially true in our post-modern cul-ture where people are tired of being educated. Rather, the goal of our group is to understand how broken our world is so that we can under-stand people and show them the love of Christ. We believe God is calling us to listen to our world so that we can respond compassionately.

“My life passion is teaching, and World Seen is a fantastic opportunity to gain experience in cre-atively educating youth about today’s culture, while impacting them spiritually. World Seen enables us to combine philosophy, the arts, pop culture, and media to present a holistic summary of the world as seen through various perspectives.” -- Wendy

“I am excited to be on the World Seen team to learn more about the thought pro-cesses of the world around me in order to share Jesus better with people.” -- Jenae

Exciting news – We have a full presentation com-ing up here on campus on Sunday, April 15, 2012. Please follow this link to our website, where we have info about our team, upcoming performanc-es, and summaries of various worldviews. Our website also features media reviews which ana-lyze the worldviews in current movies, websites, video games, and YouTube clips. If you are in-terested in booking for next year, visit our web-site for more information: http://worldseen.org/.

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INSIDE MU | WORLD SEEN

SECTION | SUBSECTION

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CellularSeries

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MONICA WINDERS

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ARTS & CULTURE |CELEBRATING WINTERSECTION | SUBSECTION

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ARTS & CULTURE | CELLULAR SERIES

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MAINTENANCE THUMBS UP

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SAM TAYLOR EMBRACING WINTER


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PINK MIST IS IN 4 MONTHS

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ARTS & CULTURE |CELLULAR SERIES

LATTE ART BY JOSH BAIN


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CONVERSE FOR BROOMBALL

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TWIRLY TWIGS

ARTS & CULTURE | FICTION

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the WoodsI Went to

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ARTS & CULTURE | I WENT TO THE WOODS

the WoodsI Went to

PHOTOGRAPHY BY CORNELIA SEIGNEUR


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ARTS & CULTURE | FICTION

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ARTS & CULTURE | REMEMBER ME

Staring at the dark water of the pond in front of him, the dark-eyed man bent down. Licking his cracked lips, he scooped up the cool water in his callused palm and brought it to his mouth. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes savoring the sweet taste. The snapping of a twig made him pause, his eyes opening as he glanced around. A woman stood by one of the large forest trees. Noticing the spear that was aimed at him, he dropped the water from his palm and slowly stood. She didn’t move though her fierce eyes followed his movements.

“I am not here to hunt you down.” He kept his voice low and reassuring as he eyed the crude spear.

“I know.” Saying this, she lowered the spear. “Malachi, speaker of the King, do you not remember me?” A smile came over her lips as her eyes softened.

Realizing who she was, he took a step back. Everything the King had told him was coming true, Achima had escaped and now must have made the forest her home. Frowning, he couldn’t help but wonder why the King had not informed him of how he would meet Achima again. It has been years since he’d heard the King’s voice, and part of him had begun to question if the King had truly called him or if he’d done something to anger him.

“How did you know who I was?” His voice was still soft as he watched her walk over to him. Her green eyes were light and that of the strange Thano people, yet her facial features were of his people the Nivvkhar.

Raising an eyebrow, Achima put a hand on her hip, “Malachi, you are wearing the skin of a camel and look like something that has been eaten and spit up by a lion a few times. How could I not know who you were?”

Smiling at her description of him, he looked down at his clothing. The King had told him to stay in the wilderness to dress differently then the others and now many knew who he was just by his strange clothing.

“Stay with us.” Saying this, Achima began to move away. Hoping soon he’d hear from the King, Malachi followed.

Finishing the meal that Achima and her mother, Sachairi, had made, Malachi left their humble abode to look up at the clear night sky.

BY BRITTANY KRAMBURGPHOTO BY MONICA WINDERS

“Remember Me”

“You have left me alone, my King.” He whispered to the dark-ness. Feeling a presence, he glanced around. Seeing nothing, he turned away only to hear a quiet voice.

“I’ve been here. You were following my will and now I have more to tell you.”

Malachi eagerly listened to the darkness and waited for the next words of the King.

“It is time for Achima to see the corruption of my people as well as those who lead them now. Tell her that I say she will go to the Castle of Orfeo. There, she will speak to Amara and ask for an audience with Orfeo, the one who enslaves my people.”

Sputtering, Malachi dropped to the ground. “How can I tell her this? She’s an escaped slave and a woman! Why would Orfeo want to see her?”

Only silence greeted his question.

Malachi slowly stood. He could still feel the warmth of the King’s presence and knew that the King was closely watching. Turning around, he gasped as he met the gentle eyes of the King. Bowing, he felt the King’s hand heavy upon his shoulder and heard his powerful voice.

“Malachi, my speaker, you will live through these trials. Though you may face persecution, you will not die. At times, you may wish for it, but I will always be with you. I am always near my people and never leave them. When Achima goes to see Orfeo, I will be with her. As the time for my people to be free comes close, I will be with those who seek me. I have not forsaken you.”

Glancing up, Malachi stared into the eyes of King and felt a peace that he could not understand. It was there covering and calming him. The King nodded and then walked away, van-ishing deep within the majestic forest. Getting up, Malachi quickly went to deliver the message to Achima.away, van-ishing deep within the majestic forest. Getting up, Malachi quickly went to deliver the message to Achima.

Part II

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I celebrate life.

I celebrate building sand castles on slow silver and blue-sky days and seeing my children hanging out with one another. I celebrate decorating the Christmas tree with family and friends where ev-ery ornament tells a story.

I celebrate big monuments and little moments. Large goals ac-complished and small baby steps toward a broader dream. I cel-ebrate the end of the week with my twins sipping mochas before their jazz band class. And we celebrated after their recent Zoo Lights concert with Baskin Robbins sundaes.

Our family rings in Friday nights with 5-meat pizza, spinach cal-zone and cheese pizza, and we continue celebrating the start of the weekend with a family movie night gathering together over popcorn and sodas, which are only allowed on weekends.

I celebrate each member of our family’s birthdays with a party that includes a special homemade cake, candles, and hand-made cards followed by the opening of delicately wrapped colorful presents.

We’ve celebrated baptisms, moving to new Sunday school class, and the start of summer with special meals.

I love to cherish warm greetings and smiles at my kids’ school of-fered by the receptionist and the barista at Starbucks who makes

ESSAY AND PHOTOS BY CORNELIA SEIGNEUR

us feel as if we matter (when I take my twins there).

I celebrate those warm greetings by others. They matter. And, I smile back. It reflects the love of Christ, I believe.

My children have grown up with my emphasis on celebrating every good gift, as God’s Word says, and my husband teases me about how I celebrate every given opportunity.

“You just look for an excuse to have a party,” he says teasingly.

Yup. That would be me.

We celebrated the launch of Muse magazine in October with piz-za from American Dream Pizza company! And, we celebrated November with candy (I am after all on a budget!) and while working on December Muse, I brought in donuts – do you see a theme here- food helps us celebrate!

When I became an American citizen, we had a party with my friends and family. We decorated with red, white, and blue bal-loons and served a Beaverton Bakery cake crafted in the shape of a large Green Card.

And, I celebrate summers by going on weekly adventures with my kids, locating new outdoor places which we discover and explore. And, I celebrate the energy each of my boys has. Twins. Double the fun and twice the craziness, and my youngest is like

ARTS & CULTURE | END PAGE

The Art ofCelebrating

I’D DO ANYTHING FOR A PARTY.

Celebrating

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the twins wrapped up into one with so much drive and enthusi-asm, I love it and cherish it.

I also celebrated finishing my first marathon 10 years ago. Twen-ty-six miles. As a mom of five children, I have a lot on my plate. When I told my friend Paul Linnman that I had a goal to com-plete a Portland Marathon one day yet could not because of my kids, he said, “You use your kids as an excuse.” Wow, now that stung. But, it also jump started my engine.

I am not one to ever want to forget dreams. I got up the next morning and began training for the marathon and completed it that year. I have done six marathons since then, including one with my daughter, and my family has come down to the finish line to cheer and celebrate at everyone of them.

My daughter loves to deliberately celebrate life as well. The col-ors of spring, the first tulip that breaks through the cold, dark earth of winter’s hardness. The Gerber daisies wearing coats of salmon and soft pink and bright orange colors in the summer, and in the fall, we celebrate by cutting tall bouquets of sunflow-ers from our backyard near the trickling of the creek and bring-ing them inside.

We are in awe of the season’s transitions. As fall gives way to winter, shorter days mean longer sessions gathered together in our home sipping tea, curled up under warm blankets, reading while lounging on our favorite L-shaped earth green couch while

smelling melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chip cookies baking. All reasons to celebrate.

And, we celebrated with my oldest son when he earned his Eagle Rank in Boy Scouts. We hosted a party with friends and fam-ily. And, we’ve shared in the celebration of other Scouts’ Eagle awards.

And, I read about what certain people who make the news cel-ebrate: Soldiers returning home this Christmas to see their chil-dren who were born while their dads were dodging bullets on the battlefield.

And, the young woman Laura Scruggs -- injured by the propel-ler of an airplane – smiles for the first time since the accident. The parents of this young woman are grateful for every breath their daughter takes, celebrating by thanking God their daughter is still alive rather than cursing Him for the tragedy.

The family of Lauren is realizing all too painfully that the ev-eryday ordinary gestures of life – even something as simple as a smile – are actually quite extraordinary and something to cel-ebrate. We just don’t always realize this until it’s gone.

As a writer, I stitch together stories that reflect all I see and feel and notice and observe, even about such “every day” events in most households as the family dinner hour. I celebrate the mo-ments that my family carves out together most evenings for

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meals. During this time, we sit around the table passing overflow-ing bowls of spaghetti and pasta while using our “good” china. I savor the craziness and chaos and giggling and teasing and chat-tering and clanging and joking and prayers of my three youngest boys who are home, while missing my two college-age kids!

And, as I think of my college-age kids coming home this Christ-mas, we look forward to celebrating the birth of our Lord Jesus, all of us together in one place.

We will celebrate December 24th by attending a candlelight Christmas Eve service as a family. At home, we will enjoy a sim-ple meal of hazelnut crusted red snapper sautéed in olive oil and butter served with German potato salad, all made by Mama. Af-ter, we will read the Christmas Story from Luke 2, as my family did growing up, and sing “Ihr Kinderlein Kommet” and “Stille Nacht,” but maybe not in German as I did growing up.

As the evening ends we will play games, watch movies and go to bed late and get up early.

On Christmas morning, I will delight in the sweet sound of my 8-year-old son Augustin who truly (still) celebrates every breath of life. Young kids are like that.

Throughout the year, my little Augustin storms ahead of us on hikes up the high hills, and then slows to sleuth a slithering snake. He runs into the back yard and hops onto the trampoline with his friends, bouncing as if he were trying to touch the sky. He darts out during recess at school to chase his classmates on the play structure, sometimes forgetting you are not supposed to “run” on the play structure, and they have to remind him of this, but he is

all boy and he gets lost in his little world and I celebrate that.

Augustin also enjoys – no joke – replacing my vacuum cleaner bags when they need it, and he does it on his own; he is not cursed by the trap of time and the distinction between work and play. He just lives.

Children are the embodiment of celebration. It’s from young children we could learn about life and passion and living every moment in the moment.

The Bible is filled with references to the value of celebration. Celebrating the Feast of the Passover, celebrating the Sabbath, and one of my favorites – the father celebrating the return of his prodigal son with a feast.

And, of course, the greatest celebration of all – the birth of Je-sus – was honored by the shepherds and the wise men so long ago.

They celebrated the birth of a child, the Savior. Our Savior Je-sus Christ.

May we too celebrate well this season.

And, find ways to celebrate all year long this gift.

Of a Savior.

Of life.

ARTS & CULTURE | END PAGE

muse 003: the celebration edition

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