Differences

This past week was a tough one for my son. He found out that, most likely, he's headed for Special Ed math and, in English, he may need to start using what’s called an ALPHA Smart (a sort of laptop keyboard device to help him take notes in class at the same speed as the other students).

The first blow was expected. He has struggled with math for years. His mother and I tackled the issue like we have with just about every other challenge he has faced in his young life: with full immersion and aggressive counter-measures. He’s had a tutor for most of the past two years and, since math is my own Achilles heel, my wife has spent countless evenings and weekends studying with him, trying to get him up and over the hill, all to no avail. He's dodged the words “Special Ed” his entire life. But now, it’s caught up with him and he’s finding the confrontation intimidating.

The second blow was unexpected. English is his strongest subject. He loves to write and is a voracious reader. But the signals from his brain to his hands are just a few milliseconds off, and it’s costing him during test times and with essays. I’ve told him that nowadays hardly anyone in high school and college goes to class without a laptop or IPAD, so being forced to learn how to type on the ALPHA Smart this soon is actually a good thing. But in an area where he;s always shined, being one of the few kids in class who “gets” to pull out a keyboard during class is making him feel somewhat defeated.

I wanted to tell him not to pay any attention to the sideways glances or insensitive comments of the other kids, to instead just pretend they’re not there. I wanted to console him by telling him that no one will really notice anyway or, if they do, they won’t care. But in the William Golding world of 7^th and 8^th grade, I know better, and so does he.

So instead, I shot straight and told him that now is as good a time as any to embrace his differences. It’s a grown up concept, but he’s an old soul anyway. I told him that those things that make him “special needs” are only a smidge different than those things that make him “special…period” as a person, as a young man, as a friend and as a son. I reminded him that God made him just the way he is for both a reason and a purpose. Then, for good measure, I gave him a little dose of Dr. Suess : "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”

Rivalries

We all have passions. Some are valid. Others, I've come to find out, are distractions. One change I had to accept when I became a believer was a complete change in my perspective. The paradigm shifted. I could no longer live in the comfort of my singular, self-centered world view. I now had a new perspective to apply to every area of my life.

Quite frankly? It's a pain in the ass sometimes. I mean, I'm sorry, but I'd rather just jam people into categories as I've defined them and then praise, accept, bash or dismiss them accordingly. It's so much easier than really getting to know them, or listening to their side of things, or feeling the pain of their rejection if we don't see eye to eye. The problem is, somewhere in the midst of all that defining we start to define ourselves, and the definition becomes less and less flattering.

The examples of this paradigm shift in my own life have become quite numerous in the last decade. The young Republican who despised with a deep, deep passion any sort of social programs? He had to come face to face with the reality of becoming financially ruined if not for some of those very same programs which stepped in to help when his son was born with special needs. The man who looked at political liberals as utter and complete idiots would soon discover a cousin who would become like the sister he never had, even though she leans as far to the left as he does to the right. The early Christian with a deep rooted suspicion of Jews and their treatment of Christ would soon run into a rabbi over bagels, and chat at length of matters concerning the human heart. In short, God gave me eyes to see what I'd never seen before: that people are people, with viewpoints, perspectives and ideas that are just as valid as mine, which blossom within hearts that beat just as passionately.

The truth is that there are rivalries within us at all times, between faith and reason, acceptance and rejection, understanding and misunderstanding, hope and despair. When we engage in the negative aspects of these internal struggles we disengage from love and life. What happens next could be described in a number of ways, but in short? We lose.

Jumping Jacks

I was driving down the road this morning when I noticed a group of kindergarten kids in front of their school, perhaps for a special Saturday gathering or a field trip. One girl in particular stood out to me. At 7:45 in the morning, she was doing jumping jacks with abandon, her long blond hair rising and falling, nearly translucent in the morning sun, at its peak a halo, at its depth a canvas for her face and the open smile that was painted thereon.

I was listening to a song on the radio (Alice, by Cocteau Twins) with the windows up, and the moment was encapsulated in music, the melodies of the piano freezing the gears of time itself. I couldn’t hear the little girl, but the vision of her joy was so complete that the rules of the five senses didn't apply. By that I mean that I could see her laughter. I really could. It was a beautiful thing. It reminded me of Sophia, my own little six year old angel back home, whom I’d kissed goodbye on her forehead on my way to get coffee, and the way that she, too, can find joy in most anything, at any time.

As we grow up we seem to lose that penchant for joy, the simpleness of it, the release of it. Instead we become thinkers. We learn contemplation instead of exultation. Psychologically, as we age I think we become the canaries in our own coal mines, instead of the free birds we were meant to be.

I could expound on what I think we should do about this, but why bother? It’s simple really. We just need to remember to do our jumping jacks each day.

I’m going to go do mine right now : ) How ‘bout you?

More Than A Conqueror

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: 'For your sake we face death all day long, we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.' No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us." - Romans 8:35-37

The whole notion that we are "more than conquerors" sounds a bit foreign, doesn't it? I think that's because most of us go through life feeling mostly defeated, or beaten down, or at a loss somehow.  I mean, if you and I having coffee together what do you think the conversation would turn to after the customary pleasantries were exchanged? Would it be shared stories of how we prevailed or were victorious? Perhaps. More likely, though, we would begin to share our struggles, worries, concerns, and fears.

I'm no theologian, but I did a little research on this passage and it appears that the Greek word used here to say "conqueror" is used in other places in the bible as to "prevail completely over" or as an "overcomer". Regardless, the idea is in being a conqueror once and for all. Not temporarily. Not just for life's particular battles, challenges or struggles here or there (for they will keep on coming, no matter what we do) but over all of them as a whole.

Some non-believers like to criticize believers for thinking they are blessed and better than anyone else, or don't face the same issues as everyone else. Some of this criticism is deserved, especially when believers get the message wrong and advance it too self-righteously. But, the truth is, believers and non-believers alike share many of the same burdens of life. You don't get a free pass on hardships when you walk in faith. If you look closely, you'll see that Jesus didn't either.

The difference is in the hope believers have that, whatever the burden, it will be overcome, if not in this life, then in the next. In this context, every pain is a process. It still hurts. It's still serious business. But it's not ever going to defeat you. Because simply by knowing that it is temporal in nature and by having an eternal perspective on life? You've already won.

Unknown Quotient

"The atheist can't find God for the same reason that a thief can't find a police officer." - Unknown

This week I have twice encountered individuals who don't believe in God. Period. To them life is something to "endure" or "to do your best in" and nothing else. You live. You blink out. There's no need to "make it any more than that". Wow. I mean...it's fascinating.

Ya know, in my politics I am mostly conservative (gasp!) and as much as I say that my liberal friends  baffle me beyond comprehension, that's not really true. I mean...it's politics. At best it's a game of charades, with one party or the other mostly unrecognizable from one generation to the next. Your side wins. My side wins. Nothing gets done regardless (the events of this week pretty much proved that). Politics is temporal and two faced.

But God? God is eternal and of one mind. This whole notion of a cosmos, universe, planet and human existence that is without purpose or meaning is completely and utterly beyond my comprehension. I just can't get my head around this idea, or how anyone could subscribe to it. Creation without a creator? Love as just a chemical romance? A human conscience that is just some sort of synaptic response in the brain? At my core...like WAY deep down...I reject these ideas with prejudice.

Both of these individuals I spoke to ran into a witness this week because, well, I'm tired of not advancing my faith, passionately and without regret. They know I love them. I just can't subscribe to their way of thinking. I keep praying each day that they will arrive at some unknown quotient that allows them to finally include God in their lives.

Because a life of all subtractions and, ultimately, nothing but a zero? That math is just plain sad.

A Visit With Gilbert

"In love he predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will." - Ephesians 1:5

I sat the other day with my daughter before a visit with her birth father, Gilbert. This happens each year. I'd like to say I'm mature about it. That I'm grounded and impervious to the emotions that well up inside of me like a hurricane each time this happens. But I'd be a liar. I'd like to say that I don't go through a hundred different ways to avoid the feelings that cascade over me, but anyone who reads this blog knows that I'm not that good at avoiding my feelings. Never have been.

Adoption is an intricate, wonderful and unbelievably mysterious thing. The bible says that all believers are adopted into God's family through Christ Jesus. Anyone with faith knows that it, too, is an intricate, wonderful and unbelievably mysterious thing. So it goes. Be it spiritual adoption or human adoption, both can be beautiful and challenging.

Here's the thing: I'm not very good at it, this whole "sharing" thing. I don't like it one bit. As an only child it's always been about me. I like it when it's about me. Me is good. I know me. Well, at least I think I do. Actually, me is a stranger sometimes too. But I digress. The point is, as an only child, when something is mine, it's mine. You can't have it. Nobody can.

God knew this about me and He knew very well that this way of thinking would poison my soul. You can't worship a man who was nailed to a cross in the ultimate display of self-sacrifice and then live a life of pure and utter selfishness. It just doesn't work that way.

So, a few times each year, here comes another man to spend time with my little girl. Guess what? He has just as much right to see her as I do. He made her. It might have been in the midst of every guys worst nightmare (a one night stand with consequences), but to put it in Italian terms? He's a "stand up" guy. He isn't bailing on her. Man to man, he shows me nothing but respect. More importantly, he's trying to do the right thing...for her. There's a beauty to it. There really is.

And each visit God walks me in and walks me back out and He whispers in my ear, over and over again, lessons of love and sharing. It hurts like you cannot believe but - and here comes the mysterious part - I am utterly thankful for it all.

Hatch (Part II)

"The majority of my patients consisted not of believers but of those who had lost their faith."
 - Carl Jung

The average egg shell is 1/32 of an inch thick. Still. It's not easy to crack. Even for a baby chick, it takes a lot of work to escape. The shell does its job: it protects what it should for as long as it should, but then, make no mistake about it, even a simple chicken knows that it can become a trap.

When we fail to hatch, to become what we were truly meant to be in this world, we begin to spoil, we begin to go bad. That doesn't mean that we become bad people, it just means that in lieu of developing, growing and evolving, we choose instead a rather slow and laborious process of decay.

One can mark the beginning of this process much as Jung did; by noting the symptoms that accompany someone who has lost their faith. You see, when you're trapped in your shell there's nothing left but loneliness, doubt and worry. You can't believe in a light you cannot see, nor believe in a hope that you have prevented yourself from experiencing. There's nothing but stifling darkness and a lingering sense of dread.  You know, instinctively, just like that baby chick, that you were created to hatch. But you're afraid to.

I loved the picture from last week's blog, with all those check marks inside that shell. But here's the big question: are you marking off your days to a new beginning, or simply marking off the days until your end? What's that? "Oh," you say, "You don't understand! This is hard work. I'm tired. I'm scared. And this God that you keep referencing feels like He's miles away." I know. I hear you. But please believe me when I tell you that, actually, He's not that far away at all. As a matter of fact, I can tell you about how far away He is at any given moment.

About 1/32 of an inch.

Hatch

"It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad." - C.S. Lewis

Each of us is on a journey. For some of us it is a thirty year journey, for others it will be a seventy or eighty-two year journey. There are some kids, right now, at Children's Hospital, who are only on a ten year journey. I have no idea why the journey is so short or so long. I only know that it is. 

We all know that what we make of the journey is entirely up to us but, well, that's a scary thought. There's accountability in that thought, and responsibility, and a whole host of other "not so fun" concepts to that reality. So we play the victim...or the villain...or the hero.  Stuff has happened to us all and guess what? More stuff will happen to us in the future. Some of it will be good and some of it will be bad but, guess what? That's how it's been your entire life. You're used to it by now.

To find peace, real peace, for any prolonged period of time, we must maintain a steady and genuine state of existence. What's that mean? Just fancy talk for "hold the line" and "stay real". If you think about it, we are either thinking too much about ourselves or thinking too much of ourselves. In the process, we begin to play dress up to the world. At work we assume one identity, at home another. Is it any wonder we wake up one day and discover that we don't know who we are anymore? Or are pained that no one else really does either? Our avoidance of the "not so fun" stuff only leads to one neurosis or another, or a dozen or more. In short, we begin to spoil.

I love the above quote by Clive Staples Lewis. Let's just call him "Clive", shall we? Ya know...Clive's got it down. When you see yourself as an egg, all hard shelled and stamped with an expiration date, you suddenly realize the importance of hatching...of breathing fresh air...of taking flight. After all, God didn't create you to stagnate and go bad in this life. 

He created you to soar.

Numb

When I started out with this blog I wanted to focus solely on uplifting and encouraging aspects of life and spirituality. But then I remembered the advice of one of my creative writing teachers, years ago, who had a favorite little saying that he used to beat us over the head with: Tell the Truth.

So, in that spirit, here’s an uncomfortable little truth: sometimes your faith can go numb.

As you might imagine, this is not a good feeling. It’s not that place of utter sin when you know you’re acting completely contrary to God’s will, nor obviously is it that place when you're in sync and at peace with God's will. It’s somewhere in the middle, like that “little football” in the center of a Venn diagram. Except this is not a philosophical situation, but a spiritual one, and the debate is not temporal for affect but eternal for salvation. Because as any good doctor will tell you, if you ignore a part of you that is numb for too long? It will die.

By definition, faith is a complete trust in someone or something. The key word is "complete". It’s not easy. I don’t believe it’s meant to be. But I also think a lot of us, me included, make it harder than it needs to be. Remember that a numb faith is like a limb that’s fallen asleep; it can be worked out in time. There may be some pins and needles along the way, but we need only trust in God to get the blood flowing again and to relieve the pressure we have placed on that nerve between who we think we are and who He wants us to be.

Then? Blissful feeling will return and we can get back to a living faith.

Author, Author

My other godson, The Atheist, who's twenty-eight, told me the other day, "Figuring out God should be an easy thing. I mean, you only have two books to study (the Old Testament and New Testament), so how hard could it be?" I am rarely struck speechless but I was then. I mean, such a statement is akin to saying "Since there are only three primary colors, it should be easy to paint like Monet."

Be it the OT or the NT, anyone who has read the bible knows that the Word of God is a living thing. It evolves and reveals on so many levels that you can easily lose count. There are so many things to unpack, concepts to analyze and mysteries waiting to be revealed that a person who lived a thousand years could die still not understanding it all. But that's not the only reason you read it anyway.

The number of books is not what matters, as much as it is that you simply take the time to read them. There's not a preacher, pastor or priest in the world who hasn't told his flock to read the bible. Is this because they're so wise? No. It's because they're wise enough to know the limitations of their own wisdom. One can preach a message every Sunday and still not accomplish the amount of work that God alone does in a person's single reading of even one part of the bible. For me it was Philippians 4:4-7. I have a friend who cites Isiah 40:30-31. Another was impacted for the first time by Proverbs 3:6 and yet another Romans 8:28. Lives forever changed by mere sentences.

The Atheist has his textbooks. He has Darwin. He has things to study and learn. But here's the important difference: he has read nothing that studies and learns him. The Word, as authored by God, does exactly that. You may not like what it discovers in you, and I often struggle with what it reveals, but I can imagine no greater book than the one that tells you your very own story.

100 to 1 Godson

 "In the tests of your life remember that God is building and strengthening your character, so that your character can support your destiny." - Robert Morris

I went to see my godson’s first football game yesterday. He’s made the freshman team at the center position but he didn’t get to start and, much to his frustration, he didn’t even get to play. I wanted to tell him a few things after the game but I haven’t been around much for most of his young life and therefore I didn’t really feel qualified to start throwing around advice all of a sudden. 

Still, I wanted to tell him how proud of him I was. How I watched him go up and down that sideline the entire game, cheering on all of his teammates. He was itching to go in and that’s a good thing, but I never once saw him stomp off to the bench and throw a fit or hang his head low even one time. After the game he took it pretty hard, but during the game he stood tall, wearing his father’s jersey number and showing a character beyond his years.

I wanted to tell him that this world often bets against you at 100 to 1 odds. That may sound harsh, but it’s true. And you know what? That’s okay. Remember that there are plenty of people in the crowd rooting for you. I wanted to tell him that whether it’s a coach, or a teacher, or a professor, there will always be someone trying to deny you. That’s okay too. As long as you never let them define you. Don’t let this world take away your spirit or your desire to overcome whatever obstacles get in your way. Your chance will come. When it does, it will only mean more because you were man enough to wait for it.

I wanted to tell him that as I watched him laughing and hanging out with all us grownups last night, the sting of his disappointments firmly abated and his personality on full display as he told us stories about one thing or another, I realized something else: sometimes the odds in life swing the other way and you get that 100 to 1 in your favor. Like they have with me. 

Because the odds of me getting such a great godson? 100 to 1, at best. And yet there you are.