Witness

“Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have”  - 1 Peter 3:15

There are three types of witnesses in a court of law: a character witness, an expert witness and an eyewitness.  Each type of witness may be called upon during a trial to take the stand. What they say, what they attest to, what they convey will go a long way to either harming or aiding the individual on trial.

To any believer that reads this you know that from time to time we are each called to bear witness, not to the law of man, but to a faith in Christ.  Life's challenges arise and pass and it is in the midst of these challenges that we are character witnesses. Like it or not it is Christ on trial (yet again). Our words and deeds speak to the character of God, of our Christ-likeness, for by being made new in Him we are now a living embodiment of Him, and we cannot allow others to simply see our circumstances, but the character we display in the midst of those circumstances. Our friends, our family, our co-workers...they are watching.

When we have come through a particular challenge we are now equipped to be an expert witness. We have seen the sorrow, or the fear, or the pain that descended upon us....we bore up beneath it, only by the strength of God...and we should not be surprised if people are then brought into our lives in the months or years to follow who are right then enduring the same types of challenge that we survived. It is now that we are most easily moved to tears, for we have seen the savior as he cradled us and we are now able to assure the hurt person before us that surely they too will be cradled, in due time, by hands that carry love and mercy without measure.

God filters us, purifies us. Scripture points to the process in many instances. Once purified and made an example of God the burden is on us to remember that responsibility. If so blessed we also are given the opportunity to be eyewitnesses of God at work, all AROUND us. In random acts that reveal themselves as anything but.  There is a beauty there we all could see if only we were willing to submit to it and testify to it.

"Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" It's a song. Yes. It's also a question. We must answer it every day. Maybe you stood tall today. Maybe you ran and hid. Maybe you just dropped to your knees and prayed. Whatever. Christ is counting on you. The world, the jury, waits. So take that stand...be a good witness of one  form or another, and testify.

"To Blog, Or Not To Blog..."

I had someone the other day really questioning the validity of blogs. I could sympathize. Starting this one was no small feat for me. The fact that blogs are springing up all over the internet in droves and actually have been for many years (I am, as usual, behind the curve) says something. Of my own friends or acquaintances there is one doing a blog on writing, another on hoarding, one on raising a child with diabetes and yet another on battling depression.  There is a blog on Being A Manly Man, a blog on Living Like Atticus Finch, another on how to build birdhouses, and so on.  I can say with some level of confidence that if you can think up a topic there is probably a blog for it from somewhere in the world.

Those of you that have studied the creative arts (or psychology) in any capacity will be familiar with the concept of a Collective Consciousness, briefly described as “the condition of an individual within the whole of society and how that individual views themself as part of any given group”.  The knowledge one has of oneself (strengths, weaknesses, etc.) is predicated on what one can LEARN about oneself, through social interaction, spirituality and self-study (to name a few). Carl Jung took the concept a step further with his discussions on Collective UNconciousness which is briefly described as “a part of the unconscious mind incorporating patterns of memories, instincts, and experiences common to all mankind." The unconscious mind is a powerful thing and the notion that all of us are operating at some level on a unified plane of thought is provocative.  

What the hell does all of this have to do with blogs? Well…I doubt I’m the first person to have the idea that the internet is becoming, in many ways, a living manifestation of our collective UNconsciousness.  It is a wellspring of human knowledge, thoughts, ideas, concepts, studies, theories and dreams. Social media allows us to stake a claim to a particular tribe or social group (friends/family on Facebook, professional contacts on LinkedIN, celebrities and more on Twitter). But this is not enough.  Our collective consciousness is not satisfied. We as individuals still end up feeling…well, unheard. Hence the creation of blogs which are, if nothing else, an attempt by the individual to say “I am here, I have a unique identity and I want to share it with you so that maybe I will get to see your unique identity as well.”

Could it all also just be about people being afraid and feeling lonely? You bet. Fear is a five knuckled fist and loneliness a hand at your throat. But the Information Age is useless without the informed. We are adrift these days in a sea of information and all these blogs are like flares across the sky reminding us that we are not at sea alone and that our fears are just a few paragraphs away from being banished, if only for a little while.

My Two Divas

Often in life we simply don't take the time to pay attention to the tiny, magical moments that happen. I'm as guilty as the next person of this. I'm always "too busy" or "too stressed" or, more likely, "too full of myself" to catch them.

So I was surprised last night when, sitting at my computer engrossed in some stupid spreadsheet for work, I noticed the sweet sound of song in my ear. I realized that it was my wife and my daughter. Unbeknownst to me, Sophia had wanted a "big girl bath" (otherwise known as a shower) so she had snuck in with my wife. Neither one of them can carry a tune to save their lives but there, from the shower, came Christmas carols, one after the other, and it was amazing. Though their voices may have been a bit out of pitch their love for one another most certainly was not. They giggled between lyrics, they debated over which song to sing next and, like all of us, they made up words to fill in the spots in the songs they didn't know quite so well. My wife's voice and that tiny little five year old voice suddenly became so sweet, so precious, that it almost crushed my heart with love.

I chuckled when the shower was over and the songs came to an end. Before long I had Sophia commanding me to bring her a towel, like the princess she is, and so I did. But not before I took a moment to reflect on my first Christmas gift this season; this very moment from my two divas. It was great.

Today I am amazed at the wonderful amalgamation of blessings and pains that make up the entirety of a human life. We can oftentimes feel a little overwhelmed by it all. We can fail to take notice of the grace that is all around us. Surely though, in those sweet little songs of my girls, I felt a touch of God in the notes they carried.

A Visit With Dad

"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?“ 1 Corinthans 15:55

I went to visit my father’s grave the other day.  I visited him beneath a sunny sky, a half hour before the grounds closed and the dead are left to sleep amongst themselves.  As far as I could see there was only one other visitor, a man somewhat older than I and much closer still to his grief.  He was some thirty yards away but I could tell he was crying. I was not. He had brought flowers, lots of them actually. I had none. I let go of most of the tears and many of the flowers years ago.

Ever since I was young I have felt that our loved ones are allowed to visit us on such days as these, when we come to the place where they have been laid to rest. Many of you will find this silly, I know, but I can’t help it. I just feel that way. I imagined my father sitting there next to me, angel-like, or perhaps standing there, allowed to partake in my one way conversation.  If I take this idea to the extreme I find problems. I mean, how could one be sadness-free, in a heavenly state, and still be able to stand idly by while loved ones come sad and in tears to your grave? I realize there are problems with my notion. I cling to it still. We all grieve differently I guess. And the logic works both ways. My father and I were so close I can’t imagine him happy in heaven without occasionally being allowed to check up on his son (and grandson, and granddaughter).  The difference is now my father has perspective, and a universal one at that, which I also imagine makes the tears and sorrows we create of this life less serious, and far less powerful. 

So we had a chat, my Dad and I. Like we used to.  I told him how much I missed him. He sent a random dog across the cemetery to tree a squirrel. No leash and no owner around as far as I could tell. My Dad loved squirrels. When he was older one of his favorite things to do was to visit our house and sit at the dining room table, early in the morning, over a fresh cup of coffee, and look out the window and laugh at the squirrels moving up and down our old maple tree. I told him that I hoped he was happy in heaven, free of his cancer and so very alive. I was greeted by an eruption of birds, a huge flock of sparrows I think, from a tree nearby. They broke into an amazing cloak of feathers, dark specks against the fading blue of that sunny sky, weaving and bobbing their way to another tree opposite me and my grieving friend, and even he had to stop to take a look. It was beautiful.  I told my Dad that the only thing missing was the sound of the ice cream truck that usually accompanies my visits, from the street adjacent to his corner of the cemetery, out there on “the other side” of the wall. I waited. Nothing. It was a weekday you see. The ice cream man is usually a Saturday or Sunday kinda guy.

I said goodbye and took one last look at my grieving companion not so far away. I thought about how death leaves us all with an immense hole in our lives. Many of you reading this know exactly what I mean, those of you who don’t will someday and it is to you that I write these words. That hole? You have a choice of how you want to fill it. Will it be with the dry dirt of bitterness and sorrow? Or will it be with the rich soil of faith and hope?

As I walked to my car, over the wall, guess what I heard? No, not an ice cream truck. Instead I got one of those car horns that blasts one of those old Mexican dance songs. I smiled and laughed. Dad always told me not to take myself too seriously.  Got me again Dad.

111 Steps

“Walk in all the way that the LORD your God has commanded you, so that you may live and prosper and prolong your days in the land that you will possess.” – Deuteronomy 5:33

In our walk of faith we often find the steps difficult and disconcerting. It doesn’t always come easy, this "one foot in front of the other, God has me, I can do this, I will trust, I will not fall", journey.  We stumble, we wobble, and we get winded.

We have our bibles to remind us that the path which we are on has been traveled before. Look closely at that gouge in the dirt ahead and you may see Paul’s knee print from a time when he fell, or the outline of Timothy’s body from when he laid down one day to take a rest, or Stephen’s hand prints from when he was being stoned to death.  They are road markers, these prints, left to remind us of the sacrifices made by the those who have come before us, and to encourage us to carry on, even when we are tired, even when we don't want to.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, my son had double leg surgery a few years ago.  They cut muscle tissue, and bone above both knees.  He spent two months in casts, and most of the next two months in physical therapy with a walker that he could barely use.  At the age of eight he was basically being asked to learn how to walk again. But each day, no matter how much it hurt, he dug deep and put one foot in front of the other. How did he do this? With will and determination, yes. But also with the love and encouragement of those around him: his mother and I, his little sister (with her two year old “ya-candoooo-it bra, bra” speeches), his physical therapists and many others.

This went on for awhile but I can still remember the the night that I came home from work only to be stopped at the front door by my wife. Across the living room stood my son. “Watch Dad,” he said. Then he proceeded to take 12 unassisted steps to me, arms wide and with a big smile. He was wiped out but it was a great moment. The next morning he took 34. The next 111.

Remember the 111. Why? Because it was nearly ten times the number he took when last he felt he could take no more and it was ten times LESS the number he took a few months later. 

Over the course of his lifetime he will take many more steps, in life and in faith. 

As will you and I.

Let The Rain Fall

 

"Stand still and consider the wonderous works of God." - Job 37:14

There's a song by Dave Matthews that gently encourages us all to let go of things, to erase the pretenses of adulthood and go outside on - of all things - a rainy day and "let the rain fall down on you." He repeats that line softly, over and over again, and it is mesmerizing.

Those of us here in L.A. are seeing some rain today, and after parking my car at work this morning in a bit of a downpour, I remembered that song, got out of the car and - right in the middle of the parking lot - spread my arms wide and turned my face to the sky. Do you wanna know something? It was like a time machine; I was eight again, when such behavior is commonplace, and one has not yet put on the armor of adulthood, when the worries of getting your clothes wet or looking like an idiot take precedence over that absolutely marvelous feeling of raindrops on your face and open hands.  To anyone looking at me in that parking lot I probably looked like a crazy man but somewhere past the Milky Way I'm almost sure the Big Guy cracked a smile.

"We should remember the simple joys of life." You've heard that a million times by now. Why? Because a million people before you have realized it, which probably means it's pretty close to being a solid piece of wisdom. Rain on your face, an extra five minutes of prayer in the morning, intentionally driving in the slow lane to work one day so as not to "feel" the pressure of that fast lane, taking the time to talk with a friend...little things that become big things, in that they help to offset the insidous weight, felt and unfelt, of our daily burdens.

It's amazing how a little bit of rain on your face can actually make you feel weightless. Try it for yourself. You'll see.

A Name

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. – John 4:16

I decided many years ago after reading Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life that perhaps I should volunteer at Huntington Hospital in the NICU as a parent counselor.  The idea was that God does not “waste a hurt” and often the trials we endure are meant to help us to help others who someday face the same trial. Since my son had spent eight weeks in the NICU after he was born and it was, to say the least, the longest eight weeks of my life, I decided I could help serve there.

My intentions were pure but, looking back on it now, I had it all wrong.  I had already taken on a self-centered role as “helper” and/or “rescuer”.  Instead of focusing on how to just listen to people in need, I was already trying to figure out how I could give advice, or offer faith, or encourage them and give them strength, all in the midst of a situation that I had no control over and neither did they.  In other words, I had not yet realized how I could just love them in the purest of ways, just by being present for them.

My second night volunteering I met a mother with a baby who had been born at just under three pounds. She was in shock and in tears. Her baby had already been in the NICU two weeks and had one surgery, with another two surgeries to follow.  My volunteer trainer had been unable to make it that night, so I stumbled and bumbled around but I was in way over my head. So by default I was forced to shut up because, well, I was speechless.  All I could think to ask her was what her baby’s name was.

She blinked and smiled for a second,  “I named him Elijah.”

“That’s a really unique name,” I replied.

“Yeah. I thought it would be a good name for him.”

“Why’s that?’

“Well…” and she paused to look up at me, “Because in the bible Elijah never dies.”

It was as if she had punched me in the chest.  And so the lesson was learned. Here in the midst of all her suffering this woman had been an example to me of what true faith was. It was about being there and believing for someone else, in this case her baby, and sharing that faith with a stranger.  She believed so much that she had even given her faith a name and wrapped it, like a blanket of love, around her child.