I always knew him simply as Cousin Del, even though he was actually my mom’s cousin, not mine. He never married and took care of his mother until her death. After my family moved to Minnesota (in the 1970’s) he would turn up at various family functions. He was a pleasant (but quiet) man, with a witty sense of humor.

After his mother died, he stopped coming to family events and became a bit of a recluse. At first he would take phone calls from his cousins, but in recent years had even stopped doing that. Dropping by his home to say hi was definitely not appreciated. The cousins would occasionally drive by his house to see if the lights were on and the lawn mowed, 2 things that would indicate he was OK.

He died in 2013.

In the last visit my mom, her sister, and a cousin had with him he told them (for the first time ever) that he had been captain of a landing craft on D-Day. All day long he transported soldiers from the ships to the beaches, back and forth, knowing that many of them were disembarking to their deaths, and knowing that he could be shot as well. This would have been his view.

The recluse cousin, it turns out, was a hero.

Thank you, Cousin Del.

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Standing before a crowd of 600 people to deliver these remarks was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The first part was written at 30,000 feet above the North Pacific Ocean as I flew home from Thailand.

Today marks the 25th year I have posted this tribute on my blog; it’s my annual tribute. I can’t believe that he’s been gone for 25 years! Despite bone-chilling cold here in Minnesota, we will make a run to Dairy Queen this afternoon so we can raise a Dilly Bar in his honor. If you knew him, feel free to eat some ice cream in his honor as well. 

The photo I chose this year was taken in Karachi, Pakistan, sometime between 1971 and 1973. Lots of memories associated with that little car! Maybe I’ll write about them sometime….

The call you dread and fear and never expect comes. It’s mom. “Joann, your father died this morning. Please come home as soon as you can. I need you.”

Like an arrow out of no-where, somewhere, it hits first the head, then the heart, and slowly the pain sinks into your bones.

One day you’re relaxing on the beach, washing off the stress of a difficult term, and 24 hours later you’re wandering in a daze around international airports—Phuket, Bangkok, Narita—all jammed with people, and yet feeling so incredibly alone.

The words keep shouting in your soul. “Joann, your father has died,” slamming against your bones and your organs and your skin like a bullet ricocheting around a steel cavern. You try to drive them away with polite conversation, with reading, with hymn-singing, hoping against hope that driving the words away will drive the reality away as well.

But then the words and reality force their way back and the pain starts again.

“Joann, your precious father stepped into glory this morning.”

“Joann, your wonderful father went home to be with his Savior.”

With every fiber of my being I believe these words, but don’t want to believe them at the same time. He was a precious father, but now he is lost in wonder, love and grace in the presence of Jesus.

Yet here at 30,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean, I feel just plain lost.

Lost in sadness.

Lost in pain.

I know he’s with his Savior, but I want him here with us.

How will I get through the next ten hours on this plane? How will I bear to see my mom and sister and her family at the end of this long journey?

One hour at a time, one grace at a time.

“He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater; He giveth more strength as the labors increase. To added affliction, He addeth more more mercy; to multiplied sorrows, He multiplies peace.”

Then it hits me.

Despite the pain, I too am lost in love and grace. Sustaining grace.

John Piper describes it like this: “Not grace to bar what is not bliss, nor flight from all distress, but this—the grace that orders our trouble and pain, and then in the darkness is there to sustain.”

Will the sadness and the tears and the pain ever go away?

Probably not. But then again, neither will the grace.

So, my beloved dad is gone. What to say?

The words that scream loudest from my soul are simply, “please come back.” I know he’s in a better placee, but I still want him back here. There are too many words and no words. But following are a few—just a few of the special things I remember about my dad.

He had a sense of humor. He loved to laugh and make others laugh, and he was never in danger of taking himself too seriously.

He was a servant. He would do anything for anybody anytime anyplace, from bringing coffee to my waking mom every morning to fixing church roofs to shoveling neighbor’s driveways.

He was humble. In a stuffy academic world, he was just himself.

He was generous. If there was a financial need, he gave. His giving to us seemed limitless and it gave him great joy.

He was compassionate. His heart was tender and easily broken by the pain and suffering in the world. Last month in Beijing, we visited a clothing market that the government was ready to close down. The peddlers were selling their goods at rock-bottom prices. In a crowd frenzied over the best bargain, he kept asking, “what will happen to these poor people?”

He loved Jesus. Quietly and simply, he ordered his life grounded in that love.

He was a wonderful father and I miss him so very much.

Perhaps the greatest tribute I can give will be when I come to the end of my days and people say of me, simply, “she was just like her father.”

Goodbye Dad. I love you and miss you more than words can express.

Jo

The post A Tribute to My Dad — 25 Years On appeared first on Outside-In.

Theo of Golden is an amazing first novel by author Allen Levi. It tells the story of an old man who shows up in the small Georgia town of Golden and begins to befriend locals whose painted portraits are on display in a local coffee shop. Along the way, we meet some of the town’s most interesting characters. It’s a book about love, friendship, and generosity. It is also about grief, and includes one of the most vivid descriptions of grief that I have ever read. If you only read one book in 2026, make it this one!

Other Rivers: A Chinese Education, by Peter Hessler. In the 90s, Hessler taught at a college in China with the Peace Corps. He wrote about that experience in his book, Rivertown. In 2019, Hessler and his family returned to China to teach at Sichuan University in Chengdu. In this book, he looks at the changes which have taken place in society and education in China since his first teaching stint and tells the story of his family navigating life in China during the three years of COVID isolation. This book made me seriously homesick for my life in China!

Little Soldiers: An American Boy, A Chinese School, and the Global Race to Achieve, by Lenora Chu. Lenora chronicles the joys and trials of enrolling an American 4-year-old in an elite Chinese kindergarten in Shanghai. Talk about culture clashes!!! It’s a fascinating, and sometimes horrifying (at least to an American) window into the central role competition plays in the Chinese educational system. If you teach in China, plan to teach in China, or have taught in China, put this book at the top of your list. It will help you understand what your students have experienced on their journeys to university!

Jingjiao: The Earliest Christians in China, by Glen Thompson. In this book, Thompson argues that China’s earliest Christians were not, in fact, Nestorians. Rather, they were orthodox believers whose influence and impact were wider than has previously been thought. He summarized his case in an article for ChinaSource titled “Jingjiao: Not Nestorian.” It will whet your appetite for the book.

China’s Church Divided: Bishop Louis Jin and the Post-Mao Catholic Revival, by Paul P. Mariani. Mariani tells the story of the rise of the Catholic Church in China after Mao’s death, focusing on the life and work of one bishop, who began his service in the underground Catholic Church but eventually became the leader of the Patriotic Catholic Church (the official and legally recognized church). And I thought the situation for the Protestant church was complicated!!

Lady Tan’s Circle of Women, by Lisa See. Any novel by Lisa See is worth reading, and this one is no exception. Set in 1400s China, it tells the story of Lady Tan, a government official’s wife and practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). We see how Lady Tan navigates a hierarchical world where the status of women is far below that of men, and the status of young women is far below that of older women.

Blood Letters: The Untold Story of Lin Zhao, a Martyr in Mao’s China, by Lian Xi. Lin Zhao gravitated to Communism and the Chinese Communist Party during her time as a student in a Christian school, then later altered course and became a fierce critic, not just of the Party, but of Chairman Mao himself. This landed her in prison, from where she continued to write her anti-Mao screeds using her own blood. Was she brave? Or insane? Perhaps a bit of both.

The Loom of Time: Between Empire and Anarchy from the Mediterranean to China, by Robert D. Kaplan. This is a classic Kaplan book, combining travel writing with cogent geopolitical analysis, two of my favorite genres! If you want a glimpse beyond our current steady stream of headlines out of what he calls the Greater Middle East, then this is the book for you!

Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America, by John M. Barry. During and after our road trip down the Mississippi River last summer, I found myself binging on books about the Mississippi River. This was my favorite (so far — I still have one on hold at the library). It’s not just the story of the flood, but also a story of the river and the culture of the states and towns along its banks.

Sister Sinner: The Miraculous Life and Mysterious Disappearance of Aimee Semple McPherson, by Claire Hoffman. Lest we think that mass media evangelism, megachurches, and celebrity pastors are phenomena of the late 20th century, this book makes us think again. Aimee Semple McPherson “been there, done that” in the 1920s. Along the way, she disappeared for several weeks. Was she kidnapped? Did she run away with a secret lover? Was it all a publicity stunt? Let’s just say “it’s complicated!”

Midnight in Siberia: A Train Journey Into the Heart of Russia, by David Greene. American journalist David Greene tells the story of modern Russia as he travels along the Trans-Siberian Railway, a 6,000-mile route west to Vladivostok. At every stop, he finds adventure and friendship.

What was a favorite book that YOU read in 2025?

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Further down Highway 61, which doubles as the Great River Road and the Blues Highway, is the town of Cleveland. It was there that we made an unexpected and fascinating discovery: The Mississippi Delta Chinese Heritage Museum at Delta State University.

Here’s an excerpt from their website:

Against the backdrop of a rapidly disappearing society and culture, this project will promote local heritage preservation by actively collecting oral histories, memorabilia, photographs and textile materials related to the history and story of the Mississippi Delta Chinese immigration and settlement.The resources developed from this preservation project will promote an environment of understanding and appreciation of our ethnic and cultural diversity.

Our primary goal is to collect objects, photographs and any other memorabilia which would help tell the story of Chinese legacy in the Mississippi Delta.

The story of immigration and assimilation of Chinese families into the rural, agrarian Mississippi Delta is an important one to preserve, respect and share with this and future generations. The history of Chinese people and culture in this area is intricately and inextricably intertwined in the fabric of the Delta’s heritage.

I have read a few things about this community, so I was thrilled to discover the museum. We had a wonderful visit. I particularly appreciated the opportunity to chat with the archivist, who patiently answered many of my questions. He told us that there were not too many Chinese left in the area. Young people tend to leave for school and work, while many of the older residents have moved to larger cities like Memphis and Jackson. Here are a few photos:

If you’d like to explore more about this community, here are some resources to check out:

Chopsticks in the Land of Cotton: Lives of Mississippi Delta Chinese Grocers by John Jung.

The Mississippi Chinese: Between Black and White, by James W. Loewen

Video: The Untold Story of America’s Southern Chinese (via YouTube)

Audio Program and article: The Legacy of The Mississippi Delta Chinese (NPR)

Movie: Far East Deep South (Amazon) Note: You can read an interview with the director of this movie here.

Other than the river itself, discovering this museum was the hightlight of the trip for me.

Bonus: The mascot of Delta State University is the Fighting Okra!! I kid you not!

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But even though Highway 61 ends in New Orleans, the Mississippi River still has a ways to go before reaching the Gulf. We studied our maps and realized that there is another highway that follows the river, ending near where the river spills into the Gulf. It’s an interesting route that winds through suburbs, tiny towns, bayous, shipping docks, sport fishing hamlets, and petroleum processing plants.

And then the road ends.

And the river ends.

We did it — drove as close to the Mississippi River as we could from St. Paul to the Gulf. It was an unforgettable drive!

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On this particular trip, I noticed that the tram was brand new. Having replaced the older and more rickety cars, the new tram cars are sleek and, more importantly, air-conditioned. We were smoothly whisked up to Victoria Peak in total comfort. The bad news was that Disney must have funded the purchase of the new tram cars because all the way up and down, we had to listen to M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E!!!

For those who are unfamiliar, a funicular is a railway specifically designed for use on steep slopes. Wikipedia describes them this way:

“A type of cable railway system that connects points along a railway track laid on a steep slope. The system is characterized by two counterbalanced carriages (also called cars or trains) permanently attached to opposite ends of a haulage cable, which is looped over a pulley at the upper end of the track.[2][3] The result of such a configuration is that the two carriages move synchronously: as one ascends, the other descends at an equal speed. This feature distinguishes funiculars from inclined elevators, which have a single car that is hauled uphill.”

While they are much more common in the mountains of Europe, there are a few scattered around the United States. Pennsylvania has three of the oldest funicular railways in the United States (two in Pittsburgh, one in Jonestown).

And, finally linking funicular railways to my Mississippi River road trip, the fourth-oldest funicular railway is in Dubuque, Iowa, the first stop on the journey.

The Fourth Street Elevator, operated by the Fenelon Place Elevator Company, lays claim to being “the world’s steepest and shortest scenic railway.” No more than 296 feet long, it transports passengers from Fourth Street in downtown to Fenelon Place, perched on the bluff above the city. It was built in the late 1880s by a rich industrialist/politician who lived on top of the bluff. Here’s the story:

In 1882, Dubuque was an hour and a half town – at noon everything shut down for an hour and a half when everyone went home to dinner. Mr. J. K. Graves, a former mayor, former State Senator, also promoter of mines and a banker lived on top of the bluffs and worked at the bottom. Unfortunately, he had to spend half an hour driving his horse and buggy round the bluff to get to the top and another half an hour to return downtown, even though his bank was only two and a half blocks away. Mr. Graves liked to take half an hour for his dinner, then a half an hour nap, but this was im-possible because of the long buggy ride. As a traveler he had seen incline railways in Europe and decided that a cable car would solve his problem. He petitioned the city for the right to build. The franchise was granted on June 5, 1882. John Bell, a local engineer, was hired to design and to build a one-car cable modeled after those in the Alps. The original cable car, which was built for Mr. Graves’ private use, had a plain wood building, that housed a coal-fired steam engine boiler and winch. A wooden Swiss-style car was hauled up and down on two rails by a hemp rope. Mr. Graves’ cable car operated for the first time on July 25, 1882. After that, he had his gardener let him down in the morning, bring him up at noon, down after dinner and nap, and up again at the end of the work day. Before long, the neighbors began meeting him at the elevator asking for rides.

The funny little funicular is still operational, primarily to transport tourists up and down to take in the city’s view. We hopped on, sat down, then pulled the cord. When we got to the top, we gave our two bucks to the jolly CEO – Chief Elevator Operator! That was his joke, not mine.

One of my favorite things about road-tripping is finding the quirky and unexpected. The Fourth Street Elevator in Dubuque is definitely one of my all-time favorites!!!

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The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain (audio version)
“A timeless American classic that follows the journey of a young boy named Huck Finn as he escapes the constraints of civilization and embarks on a raft voyage down the Mississippi River.” (Amazon)

The Great River: The Making and Unmaking of the Mississippi, by Boyce Upholt
“A sweeping history of the Mississippi River—and the centuries of human meddling that have transformed both it and America.” (Amazon)

Wicked River: The Mississippi When it Last Ran Wild, by Lee Sandlin
“A riveting narrative look at one of the most colorful, dangerous, and peculiar places in America’s historical landscape: the strange, wonderful, and mysterious Mississippi River of the 19th century.”

Onward and southward!

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Although it’s beautiful in the Twin Cities (especially in the fall), it is not yet a “mighty” river. Its mightiness grows, however, as other rivers join. The Minnesota River joins just below the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. 25 or 30 miles SE of The Cities, at Prescott, WI, the St. Croix River hitches a ride. Obviously a much larger river now, it heads down through what Minnesotans call Bluff Country (officially called the Driftless Area), forming the boundary between Minnesota and Wisconsin.

A few months back, I said to my sister, “It’s time for a road trip! Let’s drive the Great River Road National Scenic Byway from St. Paul to New Orleans!” Of course, she was game, so yesterday we set out on what I’m calling our Unscripted Road Trip. We have a set amount of time, but no set itinerary. If we see something interesting, we will stop and explore. When we’re tired of driving, we’ll find a place to stay.

Yesterday we drove from St. Paul to Dubuque, IA. The Upper Mississippi River basin is, in my slightly biased opinion, one of the best-kept secrets for scenery in the country. The river was shrouded in fog yesterday (it’s own kind of beauty), but the fall colors along the bluffs lining the highway were gorgeous.

Here are a few photos…

We ended the day in Dubuque, IA!

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