Author: Jon Gauger

Bergen is beautiful.  Like all of Norway, Bergen oozes with a rustic charm, storied history, and luscious landscapes impossible to capture on canvas or camera. But because Bergen is so old, its hotels are often cobbled together from adjacent buildings creating different levels and twists.  For example, our hotel could be entered through a revolving door—or through an alley you might easily overlook. Once inside the hotel, finding your room can be equally challenging. I kept forgetting that I needed to make a left turn off the elevators and then walk past the “ice machine” (about the size of a …

I could almost feel the the tension in my arms, stringing an imaginary arrow and yanking back the bow—as we peered out the vertical slit in the wall. It was easy to “hear” in your imagination the clatter of armor and the pounding of horse hoofs ushering in enemy troops.   But archers crouching in the Chindia Tower—as many have done in the last 600 years—would have enjoyed two defining advantages.  At 89-feet tall, the tower’s elevation made a sneak attack virtually impossible.   And because its walls are so thick and the defensive openings so tiny, protection was virtually…

The gray dumpster appears to squat toward you menacingly when the elevator doors whoosh open.  It's definitely industrial sized.  Apparently we’ve needed the capacity, as we have filled it more than once.  Up there on the 10th floor, the last of us are getting ready to move out of our offices into a new building.  That means stuff has to be sorted, traded and tossed.  As someone who struggles with near-clinical dumpster diving tendencies, I sense my pulse spiking every time I saunter past the dumpster  So it should come as no surprise that I can offer a fairly detailed…

Kids and Bible verses. Put them together and you’re rarely at a loss for smiles.   There’s just something about hearing young voices quote Scripture.  That’s one reason we’re such huge fans of the Awana program.  Nothing like hiding God’s word in their hearts at a young age.  Truth is, though I still memorize Scripture, it’s a bit harder at my age.  And I must confess, the verses that I can recall the most reliably these days are those that I learned in Awana as a kid. Our daughter and her husband are doing a great job of raising their four…

Imagine being a little girl in in a Jewish family in the thick of World War Two.  An impatient knock on the door refuses to go away.  But you do.  Because you know who it is.  You’ve known they would eventually come. You whisper to your mother, “I’m going upstairs to hide.”  Scampering up the steps, you clear the first floor just as a German officer rams his body into the foyer.  You dive into the closet without a sound, buried in the perfect hiding place—the one you’d rehearsed.  But is it truly perfect?  As the soldiers’ boots pound up…

It’s a scraggly line on the map in the back of your  Bible.  The Jordan river.  About 150 miles in length, it trickles mostly north to south through the Sea of Galilee and eventually down to the Dead Sea.   The Jordan River is where Jesus was baptized.  So it’s understandable that many who travel to Israel today want to be baptized or re-baptized in the Jordan.  When Diana and I serve tour groups, I often help with the baptismal service. Would you write me off as unspiritual or godless if I confessed to you that as meaningful as these…

It has been an exceptional year for mice. Out at the camper, we see them climbing outside here, there, and everywhere.  Last week, I yanked off the lid to the plastic garbage can that serves as our wood kindling stockpile and noticed a brown and beady eyed little fellow glaring up at me.  Nothing shy or flitty in his behavior. Fact is, he appeared angry that I’d blown his cover—literally. In smacking the side of the trash can and wiggling it back and forth, I’m sure I gave his tiny ticker the closest thing to a heart attack a rodent…

Mom is gone. She went home to be with Christ earlier this week.  We’re glad for her relief. But losing her feels like the sticky side of a Band-Aid being torn off a deep gash on your arm.  Or maybe your heart. Mom was the first to send a get-well card.  The first to remember your birthday. The first to visit shut-ins.  The first to send a thank you if you did the slightest favor. The first to send an email.  The first to give you a call and ask how your “thing” went—whatever your thing was. Her life was…

When you’re at the same house or the same office for thirty years, you collect stuff.  A lot of stuff.   That’s my situation at Moody Radio where, after more than three decades in a building called Crowell Hall, I’m moving to our brand new Chapman Center, which houses Moody Radio and Moody Publishing.  The new “Smart Studio” which will also double as my office is about a third smaller than my current space.  So instead of two full-size bookcases, I’ll cram everything on to just one. The round table and two chairs I’ve known for three-plus decades have almost become…

When you’re at the same house or the same office for thirty years, you collect stuff.  A lot of stuff.  Too much stuff.     That’s my situation at Moody Radio where, after more than three decades in a building called Crowell Hall, I’m moving to our brand new Chapman Center, which houses Moody Radio and Moody Publishing.     The new “Smart Studio” which will also double as my office is about a third smaller than my current space.  So instead of two full-size bookcases, I’ll cram everything on to just one. The round table and two chairs I’ve…