Today I awoke and remembered some folks.
I thought of a mother who most likely didn't have a good night's sleep, awakening every night at 2am to check on her baby girl, who is 8 now but her baby still (as she always will be) and who is fighting diabetes. In the wee hours of the morning a blood sugar reading will dictate if there will be any more sleep that night. To her I say, keep heart, your baby will be fine because God's grace is made manifest in weakness, and though she is weak now she will be strong soon because every night, at 2am, she witnesses her mother's strength and she is learning.
I thought of all the couples at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena who have taken turns by their babies incubator and by the phone (because it's always one or the other, trust me). I think of their tiny preemies and the prayers these parents have offered up, all night long, in total fear, helpless but not without hope. To them I say, listen for God, somewhere between the buzzing of the sleep apnea monitors and the soft murmur of your babies breathing, you will hear Him...whispering blessings as he makes his rounds alongside the doctors and the nurses.
I thought of my newly single friend who's wife recently left him. He's raising his six year old son mostly on his own now, much as my Dad raised me, and I know most of his day's are filled with a father's love and concern for his child mixed with a detached sort of wonder at whether or not he, himself, will ever find love again. To him I say, you will buddy. Give it time. And remember, for what it's worth, my Dad had girlfriends as the years went by and he still insisted until the day he died that the greatest love he ever had was the one he shared with me. I was 30 when he told me that, but still his little boy (as I always will be).
Oh yeah, and then there's you. Today I awoke and thought of you, too. I said a prayer for you. Because I may have no idea what challenges you're facing today, but I sure wasn't going to let you face them without feeling at least one prayer, like a soft breeze, at your back. To you I say, ramble on.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tortillas and Butter
Ya know, first loves suck. We've all had them. I have rarely heard of one of them working out long term (it happens, so I don't need a bunch of emails telling me so, but man is it rare). I don't really think it's fair that we have to experience first love's. I mean, could there be any higher stakes to a "first" anything in your life than the very first time you hand your heart over to someone who is as big an idiot as you are?
Invariably your heart gets busted up. Before long the wheel spins the other way and you are standing and looking at someone who has somehow decided that you, of all people on earth, are the best thing since Mac & Cheese and, yep, you have to bust THEIR heart all to pieces. Blink, blink. Then the tears. Ugh. It's like a trip to the dentist.
I grew up in a mostly Mexican neighborhood in Hawthorne. I learned very quickly as the only white kid at the party that pinatas are dangerous, man, and ya gotta move quick when that stick is flying. But I also learned the simple joy of a tortilla smothered in butter, so it wasn't all bad.
That being said, love has got to be the biggest pinata in the world. We all take a swing at it, hoping for a piece of that sweet candy inside, and instead most of us just end up taking a stick to the forehead. We either whiff and over-swing when it's our turn or get too close when it's someone else's turn and end up seeing stars.
I think the only purpose of a first love (you Romeo & Juliet types out there aside) is to get on with your second true love and maybe your third (if you've gotten past three you have either have loved too swiftly or lusted too easily). That's when you finally learn that lopsided love isn't true love, only when it's shared equally is it real.
For those of you still waiting for love? Hang in there. In the meantime? I suggest tortillas smothered in butter.
Invariably your heart gets busted up. Before long the wheel spins the other way and you are standing and looking at someone who has somehow decided that you, of all people on earth, are the best thing since Mac & Cheese and, yep, you have to bust THEIR heart all to pieces. Blink, blink. Then the tears. Ugh. It's like a trip to the dentist.
I grew up in a mostly Mexican neighborhood in Hawthorne. I learned very quickly as the only white kid at the party that pinatas are dangerous, man, and ya gotta move quick when that stick is flying. But I also learned the simple joy of a tortilla smothered in butter, so it wasn't all bad.
That being said, love has got to be the biggest pinata in the world. We all take a swing at it, hoping for a piece of that sweet candy inside, and instead most of us just end up taking a stick to the forehead. We either whiff and over-swing when it's our turn or get too close when it's someone else's turn and end up seeing stars.
I think the only purpose of a first love (you Romeo & Juliet types out there aside) is to get on with your second true love and maybe your third (if you've gotten past three you have either have loved too swiftly or lusted too easily). That's when you finally learn that lopsided love isn't true love, only when it's shared equally is it real.
For those of you still waiting for love? Hang in there. In the meantime? I suggest tortillas smothered in butter.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Be A Kite
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses,
let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily
entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." - Hebrews 12:1
"In order to get from what was to what will be, you must go through what is." - Anonymous
I was driving to work today and saw a homeless man,
pushing a cart across the street in the midst of heavy winds. I watched him,
hunched over, shuffling his feet, head down, face stern. I wondered at the things and circumstances of
his life that had pushed him - not unlike the wind - to this place, in the
middle of the crosswalk, in the cold. But I did not pity him. Even beneath his
age and weakness his fragility betrayed an inner determination to get where he
was going, wherever that was, and perhaps this is how we all get through life:
by being pushed by circumstances, and pushing back.
I hope that if there are circumstances in your life right
now that are holding you down, or beating you up, or breaking your heart, that
you remember that you are not alone, either on the journey or in the journey. Many of us are struggling right alongside you and others have been sent to help, there in
the crosswalk, holding your hand, getting you from one corner to the
next, even when you think you cannot put one foot in front of the other
anymore.
The winds of life can blow so hard in our eyes sometimes that it's hard to see the love all around us. So take heart, say a little prayer and push on. For as Lewis Mumford once said, "A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a man. Kites rise against, not with, the wind."
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Make A Plan
I can recall being "stuck" in things many times before. Perhaps it was an educational decision or a career decision. For many of us we get stuck in relationships or in moods. The inertia may happen suddenly or very quietly, slowly creeping up on us before we even realize it has happened.
When we get stuck we sometimes can't figure out how to get moving again and we give up. It sounds so simple because it IS so simple. How many of you reading this blog hate your job? Or are single because you still can't get past what happened in your last relationship? How many of you have stopped communicating with your spouse or significant other? Or maybe it's fear and worry for a child who is struggling in school? Weighed down with this or that, the inertia sets in.
If we are not careful that inertia can lead to the outright paralysis of depression. It is estimated that almost 19 million people in America are clinically depressed. That's almost 10% of the entire adult population. 100% of us will deal with depression at some point in our lifetimes. Between now and 2020 depression will be the second largest killer after heart disease. Saddest of all? The fastest growing population of the clinically depressed is preschoolers (over one million and counting).
Xanax is not the answer. Therapy can help but only to a point before it becomes a problem unto itself. If you are stuck in life you have fallen into a hole, that's all. Look around and try to get out. But if you are also fighting depression the most important thing that I can try to convey here is that the hole that you have fallen into? It's only half as big as the hole within you. You cannot fill that hole with anything but God. You can try other things, and many of us do (there are 19 million alcoholics in America, every second 28,258 people are viewing pornography on the internet and currently almost 10 million people in America are addicted to online/television shopping).
You cannot overcome this world with things of this world. Why? Because you weren't created for this world in the first place and a part of you very much knows this. It's why so many of us have a problem with death. It's like the final exam that we know we haven't prepared for. We sense that what created us is beyond that last day of ours, but we who plan our mornings around Starbucks and our weekends around a favorite hobby have spent little or no time on planning our eternity.
When we get stuck we sometimes can't figure out how to get moving again and we give up. It sounds so simple because it IS so simple. How many of you reading this blog hate your job? Or are single because you still can't get past what happened in your last relationship? How many of you have stopped communicating with your spouse or significant other? Or maybe it's fear and worry for a child who is struggling in school? Weighed down with this or that, the inertia sets in.
If we are not careful that inertia can lead to the outright paralysis of depression. It is estimated that almost 19 million people in America are clinically depressed. That's almost 10% of the entire adult population. 100% of us will deal with depression at some point in our lifetimes. Between now and 2020 depression will be the second largest killer after heart disease. Saddest of all? The fastest growing population of the clinically depressed is preschoolers (over one million and counting).
Xanax is not the answer. Therapy can help but only to a point before it becomes a problem unto itself. If you are stuck in life you have fallen into a hole, that's all. Look around and try to get out. But if you are also fighting depression the most important thing that I can try to convey here is that the hole that you have fallen into? It's only half as big as the hole within you. You cannot fill that hole with anything but God. You can try other things, and many of us do (there are 19 million alcoholics in America, every second 28,258 people are viewing pornography on the internet and currently almost 10 million people in America are addicted to online/television shopping).
You cannot overcome this world with things of this world. Why? Because you weren't created for this world in the first place and a part of you very much knows this. It's why so many of us have a problem with death. It's like the final exam that we know we haven't prepared for. We sense that what created us is beyond that last day of ours, but we who plan our mornings around Starbucks and our weekends around a favorite hobby have spent little or no time on planning our eternity.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Hey Old Man...
I distinctly recall being twenty-four and in my prime, in the middle of a glorious summer, having lunch with a good friend at Good Stuff restaurant in Hermosa Beach. He was down. He wanted life advice. He wanted financial advice. Being a "know-it-all" I was willing to espouse opinions on any topic with the authority of a sixty year old. Of course I knew what was best for him, I knew what was best for everybody.
I thus proceeded to advance the notions of free will and self-determination. I gave him a little of Robert Frost and "the road less traveled" with a shot of William Ernest Henley and "I am master the master of my fate, and the captain of my soul". We decide our fate. We decide our future. Blah. Blah.
Have you ever had the feeling that someone is listening in on your conversation? Well, seated at the table next to us was some ancient dude (mid-forties). He listened, I think, until he could take it no more. "Excuse me," he said to me, very politely.
I was a bit put off at being interrupted whilst dispersing my wisdom but I, no brute, allowed him a moment. "Yes?" I replied.
"I just want to know how full of shit you are."
My buddy busted up laughing. I was stunned but I recovered and, being a gentleman, I chose to mock him. "Oh? Really? Please, do tell."
He then continued to explain to me how life was going to start beating up on me, sooner or later, and that when it did all my brave twenty-something talk was going to disappear. "You control nothing or, at best, very little. Remember that."
My buddy grew quiet. The floor was mine now. I remember smiling. I thought of being the bigger man. I remember thinking "let it be", like that Beatles song, but I have always been more Metallica than John, Paul, Ringo and whoever the hell that fourth guy was. So I looked the old man dead in the eye and said, "That's just pathetic, man. Have you just quit on life, or what?"
He smiled, WAS the bigger man, folded up his morning paper and finished off his coffee. "That's not the only other answer," he sighed, before cryptically adding, "You'll see."
My buddy and I finished our breakfast and went off to work. The weeks passed, and then the months and years, and the punches started coming. We all take our hits. Life happens and we go from engaging it to sometimes being subjected to it. Things get complicated. Parents get old and die. Mortgages, careers and sins are all negotiated. Then we realize that the game is a bit rigged by this thing called "time".
Then one day it clicked for me. That day with the old man? I had argued self-determination and then, in my youthful arrogance, framed his argument for him as self-surrender. But he had tossed me a bone on the way out the door. "That's not the only other answer," he had said. What was he talking about?
I think he was trying to tell me that it isn't about "fate", it's about "faith".
For it matters less the roads traveled as how the journey is framed.
And one could never be the captain of one's soul, without being given that soul in the first place.
I thus proceeded to advance the notions of free will and self-determination. I gave him a little of Robert Frost and "the road less traveled" with a shot of William Ernest Henley and "I am master the master of my fate, and the captain of my soul". We decide our fate. We decide our future. Blah. Blah.
Have you ever had the feeling that someone is listening in on your conversation? Well, seated at the table next to us was some ancient dude (mid-forties). He listened, I think, until he could take it no more. "Excuse me," he said to me, very politely.
I was a bit put off at being interrupted whilst dispersing my wisdom but I, no brute, allowed him a moment. "Yes?" I replied.
"I just want to know how full of shit you are."
My buddy busted up laughing. I was stunned but I recovered and, being a gentleman, I chose to mock him. "Oh? Really? Please, do tell."
He then continued to explain to me how life was going to start beating up on me, sooner or later, and that when it did all my brave twenty-something talk was going to disappear. "You control nothing or, at best, very little. Remember that."
My buddy grew quiet. The floor was mine now. I remember smiling. I thought of being the bigger man. I remember thinking "let it be", like that Beatles song, but I have always been more Metallica than John, Paul, Ringo and whoever the hell that fourth guy was. So I looked the old man dead in the eye and said, "That's just pathetic, man. Have you just quit on life, or what?"
He smiled, WAS the bigger man, folded up his morning paper and finished off his coffee. "That's not the only other answer," he sighed, before cryptically adding, "You'll see."
My buddy and I finished our breakfast and went off to work. The weeks passed, and then the months and years, and the punches started coming. We all take our hits. Life happens and we go from engaging it to sometimes being subjected to it. Things get complicated. Parents get old and die. Mortgages, careers and sins are all negotiated. Then we realize that the game is a bit rigged by this thing called "time".
Then one day it clicked for me. That day with the old man? I had argued self-determination and then, in my youthful arrogance, framed his argument for him as self-surrender. But he had tossed me a bone on the way out the door. "That's not the only other answer," he had said. What was he talking about?
I think he was trying to tell me that it isn't about "fate", it's about "faith".
For it matters less the roads traveled as how the journey is framed.
And one could never be the captain of one's soul, without being given that soul in the first place.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Sophia Says...
Sophia says "How time we gonna play Dad?" I say "As soon as I pick you up from school."
I pick her up from school.
Sophia says "I played with Jackson today, and uda friends, but Olivia wasn't there today and I miss her."
I say "I'm sure Olivia misses you too. I'm sure you still had fun today though, right?"
Sophia has a shocked "but-of-course" look come over her face. "Yasure Dad, why woulna-I?"
Ah to be a child again, to make friends and have fun on a minute by minute basis.
"Nevermind," I say with a smile reflected in the rear view mirror.
We drive home.
At home Sophia says "I wanna snack Dad."
"How about I make you a turkey sandwich with mustard?"
Sophia looks at me as if I'm stupid. "That ain't a snack Dad, that's a saaan-wich." She also wants to add "And Dear Man, for the millionth time, I don't like mustard, this has been a trend going on five years now, so please get with the program." But she doesn't because she's sweet that way.
Instead Sophia says "I want chips."
Her highness is seated at the table with a juice and a bowl of chips a few minutes later.
"Dad," Sophia says, "Why you and Mom get married?"
Without missing a beat I reply, "Because Daddy was completely out of his mind."
Her little face explodes in shock and then she smiles and shakes her head. She knows now that nine times out of ten Daddy is going to say whatever he can to get a rise out of somebody. He thinks it's fun. He's a bad boy that way.
"Daaaaaaaaaad! Rally now, tell me." And she says the "rally" just like that, like a tiny Latina Scarlett O'hara.
"We got married because we loved each other, honey."
"Do you still love her?"
"She's alright." I smile and shrug.
"Daaaaaaad."
"Okay, okay. Yeah."
"Then you wanted Anthony, right?"
"Yep."
"How time you wanted me Dad?" I don't know why but she refuses to use the word "what" or "when". We should correct that but it's too adorable, so we don't. A kindergarten teacher in her future will have issues with this, I'm sure.
"That's a loaded question."
"What's a load-question, Dad?"
"Never mind," I say with a big grin. She promptly smashes my finger with the knuckles of her left hand. Her right hand maintains fierce possession of her chips. Because she's both tough and smart that way.
"Okay, okay....we wanted you very much so we prayed for you. Then we waited for God to say yes."
She mulls this over for a minute, guns her juice, and looks me dead in the eye before saying, "And were you happy when he said yes?"
Ahhh...women, little or otherwise. The eyes are all big and innocent, she even blinks a few times for affect, but she hasn't learned to disguise the tone of her voice yet so this question comes off as the five year old version of "Do I look fat in these pants?"
"Of course I was happy that God answered that prayer, baby girl!"
I wait for a scooby-snack in return. I don't know. Perhaps a quick "I love you Dad" or something. But Hallmark has left the building. She simply nods once, smiles and says "Dad, can you put on Zapunzel for me?" And she says it just like that, "Zapunzel", because I think she has something against "r's" too.
So I do.
It isn't until later that night, as I am putting her to bed, giving her a crushing Daddy hug and telling her goodnight, that she wraps her little arms around my neck and whispers in my ear "And Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad God answered that prayer too."
Because she's precious that way.
I pick her up from school.
Sophia says "I played with Jackson today, and uda friends, but Olivia wasn't there today and I miss her."
I say "I'm sure Olivia misses you too. I'm sure you still had fun today though, right?"
Sophia has a shocked "but-of-course" look come over her face. "Yasure Dad, why woulna-I?"
Ah to be a child again, to make friends and have fun on a minute by minute basis.
"Nevermind," I say with a smile reflected in the rear view mirror.
We drive home.
At home Sophia says "I wanna snack Dad."
"How about I make you a turkey sandwich with mustard?"
Sophia looks at me as if I'm stupid. "That ain't a snack Dad, that's a saaan-wich." She also wants to add "And Dear Man, for the millionth time, I don't like mustard, this has been a trend going on five years now, so please get with the program." But she doesn't because she's sweet that way.
Instead Sophia says "I want chips."
Her highness is seated at the table with a juice and a bowl of chips a few minutes later.
"Dad," Sophia says, "Why you and Mom get married?"
Without missing a beat I reply, "Because Daddy was completely out of his mind."
Her little face explodes in shock and then she smiles and shakes her head. She knows now that nine times out of ten Daddy is going to say whatever he can to get a rise out of somebody. He thinks it's fun. He's a bad boy that way.
"Daaaaaaaaaad! Rally now, tell me." And she says the "rally" just like that, like a tiny Latina Scarlett O'hara.
"We got married because we loved each other, honey."
"Do you still love her?"
"She's alright." I smile and shrug.
"Daaaaaaad."
"Okay, okay. Yeah."
"Then you wanted Anthony, right?"
"Yep."
"How time you wanted me Dad?" I don't know why but she refuses to use the word "what" or "when". We should correct that but it's too adorable, so we don't. A kindergarten teacher in her future will have issues with this, I'm sure.
"That's a loaded question."
"What's a load-question, Dad?"
"Never mind," I say with a big grin. She promptly smashes my finger with the knuckles of her left hand. Her right hand maintains fierce possession of her chips. Because she's both tough and smart that way.
"Okay, okay....we wanted you very much so we prayed for you. Then we waited for God to say yes."
She mulls this over for a minute, guns her juice, and looks me dead in the eye before saying, "And were you happy when he said yes?"
Ahhh...women, little or otherwise. The eyes are all big and innocent, she even blinks a few times for affect, but she hasn't learned to disguise the tone of her voice yet so this question comes off as the five year old version of "Do I look fat in these pants?"
"Of course I was happy that God answered that prayer, baby girl!"
I wait for a scooby-snack in return. I don't know. Perhaps a quick "I love you Dad" or something. But Hallmark has left the building. She simply nods once, smiles and says "Dad, can you put on Zapunzel for me?" And she says it just like that, "Zapunzel", because I think she has something against "r's" too.
So I do.
It isn't until later that night, as I am putting her to bed, giving her a crushing Daddy hug and telling her goodnight, that she wraps her little arms around my neck and whispers in my ear "And Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad God answered that prayer too."
Because she's precious that way.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Listen to Your Coach
In my previous blog we discussed going to bat. If sin is the pitch then we know who the pitcher is, right? He's been pitching at people for thousands of years. Don't let the horns distract you...he's good at what he does. We each go to bat and face some of those pitches every day; anger, depression, lust, sadness, frustration, anxiety and bitterness (to name a few). We know the pitches we can hit, and the one’s we
struggle with. Curve balls, sinkers, sliders…whatever. The
pitches keep coming and before long you’re in the ultimate on-deck circle (your
bed) completely fearful of ever going to bat again.
So what are we to do? We are to listen to our coach.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." (Hebrews 12:1-2)
Remember why you are here; to play, to live and to learn. Look around you, enjoy the company of your teammates, smell the grass, feel the bat of your free will in your hands and swing with a purpose. Remember those who have come to bat before you and those that will follow you, including the ultimate batter of them all:
"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." (Hebrews 12:3)
So what are we to do? We are to listen to our coach.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." (Hebrews 12:1-2)
Remember why you are here; to play, to live and to learn. Look around you, enjoy the company of your teammates, smell the grass, feel the bat of your free will in your hands and swing with a purpose. Remember those who have come to bat before you and those that will follow you, including the ultimate batter of them all:
"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." (Hebrews 12:3)
Jesus took the game for what it was and focused not on the "at bats" but on the final score. When we wish to give up, when the pitches are too many and the game has worn us down, remember that He endured and remember WHAT he endured:
"In your struggle against sin, you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood." (Hebrews 12:4)
Jesus died in the batter's box, swinging away, hitting pitch after pitch, for you and me. As God on earth he did not even need to be in the stadium, much less go to the plate. But He knew what we would face in our lives so he gave us an example. Not of perfection, but of effort.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Read the Pitch and Swing
When I was little I learned to play baseball. One thing I always had a problem with was
reading the pitches. There was a science to it that was far beyond my feeble
mind; the way the pitcher released the ball, the way the laces were rotating as
the ball spun one direction or another, all dictated the difference between a
sinker, a slider, a curve ball or a fastball.
You had to learn how to read the pitch and then time your swing, trying
to swing through the ball, not at it.
I was a better
fielder than hitter, but I hit the ball a lot harder than my size seemed to
allow, so it was always with my “supposed” potential promise that I tried to
learn the art of hitting. I fell in love
with football and reading defenses before I ever really got it down, and except
for co-ed softball leagues in my later years (slow pitch, of course, lol) I
never really picked up a bat again.
In our men’s group the analogy that learning how to be a
diligent believer was a lot like being a batter who can’t properly learn how to
hit a curve ball recently came up. If sin
is the pitch and our faith is our swing, then why is it so hard to just get
this Christianity “thing” down? I mean, as children we learn very quickly to
avoid those things which cause us pain. Some of these lessons are very useful
(like not putting your hand on a hot stove) and other lessons are self taught and to our own detriment
(like giving up on baseball because we can’t get the curveball figured out,
which may lead to a life of avoidance of things that challenge us too much).
My logic (emphasis on my) leads me to become frustrated
by my faith which is often challenged and often in a state of flux. Now by that I do not mean that I vacillate
between belief and non-belief. I mean that I vacillate between “getting it right”
for a brief spurt of time and then “not getting it right” for another. I simply cannot figure out why God would
create in me a desire to be saved, only to see me put that salvation in jeopardy
each day. I mean, it seems at times like the baseball coach who watches you
struggle for years to hit the curve ball, sees you finally do it one day, then
sees you go right back to striking out when facing curve balls. What is that coach to do?
I heard varying opinions from the group. A few were depressing
(like the idea that you won’t get it right until you die) and others were more
inspirational (like the idea that Christ keeps working with us to get it right,
that each step toward perfecting our swing cannot come without, well, all the
misses).
But one person advanced a notion that caught me completely off
guard: that God is less concerned with whether or not I hit the curve balls and
more concerned with just keeping me in
the lineup.
I like this idea because, as most everyone who has ever
played the game knows, one must first learn how to stay at the plate long
enough to learn how to get a single before one can ever hope to start hitting
the occasional home run. But do I like this idea because it gets me on base, or
gets me off the hook? All comments from those of you who are bored enough to
read these blogs are welcome, because I intend to tackle this issue more in the
next post.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Expectations
I don't know about you but I am constantly engaging in expectations. For myself, of others, great expectations and small expectations. When we expect things we are often setting ourselves up to be disappointed. There's no getting around it. Why? I think it has a lot to do with the urge that most of us have to control things. We are very good at recognizing controlling behavior that others engage in. Not so much ourselves when we engage in the same practices.
But control is the house that fear built. When we choose to live in it we are making fear our landlord and our rent? It's paid in the currency of expectations. Those that we have of our spouses, our children, our parents, our friends and even our co-workers. When they do what WE expect we are pleased. When they don't do as WE expect then we get upset. I don't know about you but I'm beginning to believe that life is random enough without expectations.
I'd rather traffic in hopes. True hopes lead to faith, and faith is the house that love built. Hopes are innocent and, just as important, they leave the ultimate decision of how things will turn out either in the hands of those we hope for or the God we pray to.
In this way we see others as the wonderful, fragmented, unpredictable people that they are. Which is to say we see them very much as I imagine that God sees us.
But control is the house that fear built. When we choose to live in it we are making fear our landlord and our rent? It's paid in the currency of expectations. Those that we have of our spouses, our children, our parents, our friends and even our co-workers. When they do what WE expect we are pleased. When they don't do as WE expect then we get upset. I don't know about you but I'm beginning to believe that life is random enough without expectations.
I'd rather traffic in hopes. True hopes lead to faith, and faith is the house that love built. Hopes are innocent and, just as important, they leave the ultimate decision of how things will turn out either in the hands of those we hope for or the God we pray to.
In this way we see others as the wonderful, fragmented, unpredictable people that they are. Which is to say we see them very much as I imagine that God sees us.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
He Told Us The Truth
I have read my Bible many times. Maybe you have too. But that doesn’t mean much. Words. Assembled and set forth, by men of God conveying the Word of God. One can read them but never live them, live them but never truly comprehend them, comprehend them but not really believe them. Some of you were so utterly convicted in your first reading of the Bible as to be a forceful convert for life. Me? I approached it in college first, as an act of academic requirement, then later in life philosophically, so as to see how it “measured up” to my studies in both Buddhism and Taoism.
Then one day my father died and suddenly I reached out to my Bible as a life preserver, and there I found my savior, but, but, but…that doesn’t mean I absorbed the Word as I humbly believe it was intended, namely as a catalyst for life as it was meant to be lived; on purpose, for others, with a selfless love that would testify for itself.
In the past three years I have wrestled with writing a manuscript about a man seeking God. Few have seen it but those that have often offered up the notion that it was partly, if not completely, autobiographical. I knew better. My main character, broken as he is, is seeking God with a much purer heart than I have ever brought to the table. As a result the entire process has been an agonizing ordeal. One cannot type words of hope with the fingers of a skeptic, and all too often those fingers were writing scenes that were pointing directly back at me.
I think I have boiled it down though, mostly anyways. It truly is no more complicated than a man from Galilee who did all he could to remind us to quit making the whole thing out to be more than it is. Life is meant to be lived, as purely as possible, with love and forgiveness as the core to a holistic approach to life that takes in the moments of each day and cherishes them. It’s not about being a “Soldier of God” or a “Man With A Mission”, it’s about being saved and saving. Salvation is not a war and it is not a rescue. It is an event, of which any of us may play a part or not.
I have told the guys in my men’s group that there are times when I really, really believe that I have “gotten” it. I recognize when it's happening because – and I mean this – EVERYTHING starts moving in slow motion. As a result things become more visible; the wayward glance of sorrow when the customer service smile fades from the barrista's face at Starbucks, the sweat on the brow of the gardener at work who just wants someone to listen about how tough a seventy hour week is, the tiny voice of my daughter as she grows more confident in her thoughts and ideas.
Jesus demanded us to notice. Just notice…how magical and beautiful and insanely delicious this life is. We get the scares and reminders from time to time, when we are lost, to stay on track. But I can tell you that for me it comes down to this: my son walks, and my daughter talks, and my wife loves me, I have friends and family who stand beside me, and a God who refuses to let go of me.
The rest? The rest is subterfuge.
Then one day my father died and suddenly I reached out to my Bible as a life preserver, and there I found my savior, but, but, but…that doesn’t mean I absorbed the Word as I humbly believe it was intended, namely as a catalyst for life as it was meant to be lived; on purpose, for others, with a selfless love that would testify for itself.
In the past three years I have wrestled with writing a manuscript about a man seeking God. Few have seen it but those that have often offered up the notion that it was partly, if not completely, autobiographical. I knew better. My main character, broken as he is, is seeking God with a much purer heart than I have ever brought to the table. As a result the entire process has been an agonizing ordeal. One cannot type words of hope with the fingers of a skeptic, and all too often those fingers were writing scenes that were pointing directly back at me.
I think I have boiled it down though, mostly anyways. It truly is no more complicated than a man from Galilee who did all he could to remind us to quit making the whole thing out to be more than it is. Life is meant to be lived, as purely as possible, with love and forgiveness as the core to a holistic approach to life that takes in the moments of each day and cherishes them. It’s not about being a “Soldier of God” or a “Man With A Mission”, it’s about being saved and saving. Salvation is not a war and it is not a rescue. It is an event, of which any of us may play a part or not.
I have told the guys in my men’s group that there are times when I really, really believe that I have “gotten” it. I recognize when it's happening because – and I mean this – EVERYTHING starts moving in slow motion. As a result things become more visible; the wayward glance of sorrow when the customer service smile fades from the barrista's face at Starbucks, the sweat on the brow of the gardener at work who just wants someone to listen about how tough a seventy hour week is, the tiny voice of my daughter as she grows more confident in her thoughts and ideas.
Jesus demanded us to notice. Just notice…how magical and beautiful and insanely delicious this life is. We get the scares and reminders from time to time, when we are lost, to stay on track. But I can tell you that for me it comes down to this: my son walks, and my daughter talks, and my wife loves me, I have friends and family who stand beside me, and a God who refuses to let go of me.
The rest? The rest is subterfuge.
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