A couple of weeks ago, the training wheels literally came off. We decided it was finally time to help Annika learn to ride a bike (especially since we got her one for Christmas. Shhh!). Until recently, she hasn't showed a lot of desire in learning to ride but now other bike-riding kids in the neighborhood have stirred her interest. While she hasn't demonstrated off-the-charts aptitude in coordination and athleticism, I was hopeful we could learn in relative short order.
We did.
Could I get a Woo Hoo?!?! There were wobbles, even falls. We had second-guessing and wanting to "take a break" (aka quit). There was lots of encouragement, if not cajoling. Starts and stops. False starts. And Reminders. I found myself helping her see what I was seeing. "Annika, look how far you just went!" "Annika, You just rode your bike by yourself" (albeit for 5-10 yards). "Annika, think of what it will feel like when we can show mom how good you can ride a bike all by yourself." I was hopeful because this has been done before by countless others. And I was confident that future enjoyment of riding faster, more independently, with friends, etc would far outweigh the immediate struggle.
This week in Advent we're considering Hope. Tuesday's reading from the Advent book says, "Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later. For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are."(Rom.8:18-19). It's hard for me to think about hope without also thinking about waiting. Can you have one without the other? I love hope but not such of fan of waiting. Yet, waiting isn't just idle time (like standing in line or sitting in a doctor's office). Waiting usually involves patience, practice, faithfulness, and commitment.
So, how do we live in a culture that values instant gratification and maintain hope? Hebrews 11:1 says, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hope is different than wishful thinking. It's a confidence of things to come. It banks on Truth and the promise of God. I think the discipline of hope recounts the faithfulness of God and helps us see a better tomorrow. Advent helps us see Christmas as more than a birthday. Advent (which means 'coming') reminds us that Christ came AND ALSO that he's not done yet either. God is actively restoring this good earth to the way he intended. So, hope is not just a feeling we have but a practice. Hope in practice can feel like the training wheels just came off.
Hope-full for what's to come,
David Sunde
Certified Cycling Trainer
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Recovering
When it comes to the challenges we all face in life, I think we sometimes confuse being in a tunnel with being stuck in a cave. It may be dark but you’re not through it yet, either. The difference between the two is that eventually there is light. And, where there’s light, there’s hope. But sometimes it feels like that light can’t get here soon enough. It feels like we end up doing a lot of waiting before we see light at the end of the tunnel.
What does it mean for us to celebrate recovery. I like to think of recovery as healing. I also tend to think all of us are healing from something—substance, control, spending, childhood, eating, or resentment. Yet, it’s our brothers and sisters in formal recovery programs – meeting weekly and working the steps – which we can possibly learn the most from, especially what it means to be “in process”.
I don’t really like the idea of being “in process” because all that reminds me of is that I’m not there yet. It tells me that I still got work to do. It feels like waiting. And there’s nothing I can do to expedite the process, except be faithful to it.
The hard part as a person of faith is that throughout history & Scripture, even personal experience, I’ve seen God act instantly. My heart and faith tend to leap. I love when healing and recovery is an instant success, like when Jesus heals a young man who was blind from birth (John 9:25). When cross-examined by religious elite, this bright-eyed teen gives a simple testimony saying, “…I once was blind but now I see”. Honestly (and I know it’s not true but) it just feels like God’s more apart of that then when we’re in process.
I’ve heard that we don’t lose our sight as we grow old. Rather, we lose our ability to focus. Maybe the best recipe for recovery is keeping focus over time. There’s something God wants us to see when things don’t happen right away. I think it’s that he’s closer than we think.
What if all of us could say, “B/c of my support, my doctor, my community group, my sponsor, my parents, my husband, my kids, or my counselor…I’m less blind than I was last week.”
As a church, we celebrate all people who are recovering, healing, and growing. There’s room to be present and be in process. We call it grace.
There’s another picture of Recovery in scripture that might feel more relatable. The majority of time we don’t have instant success or overnight healing. Despite the Apostle Paul’s impact and influence, his life was continually in process. In his writing to the church in the ancient city of Corinth, he describes a thorn in this flesh (II Cor.12). Despite pleading with God to heal him and/or restore him, he gained no relief. Many interpretations are given of this passage – epilepsy, back, limp, sight, temper, greed. Whatever it was it was a hindrance and apparently humiliating. Yet, there is a divine beauty, maybe God’s wisdom, in that we’re left without knowing for certain what Paul’s affliction is.
He was able to celebrate God in the middle of it even though he wasn’t delivered. I think we want to be like Paul in being able to celebrate while we’re in process, one day at a time. He celebrates it while, like the rest of us, wants the instant miracle.
When it comes to healing - whatever we’re recovering from - God’s in the process as much as he is in the fix. In some cases, God heals instantly. In others, it takes over 20 years of practicing sobriety. Either case is still a miracle. God’s in both!
When we celebrate recovery, what we’re really celebrating is that God heals. When we see people go through recovery, we’re witnessing a miracle regardless of how long it takes. Maybe a miracle is best described – not as something extraordinary – but experiencing the life that God intended.
Heaven is where things are as God intends. When God created the world he said that it was good—not perfect—good. As long as we have responsibility, it will feel like work. But it is good. We celebrate recovery because it looks like heaven on earth.
[Excerpts taken from message given at Riverbend Church, 10/25/09]
What does it mean for us to celebrate recovery. I like to think of recovery as healing. I also tend to think all of us are healing from something—substance, control, spending, childhood, eating, or resentment. Yet, it’s our brothers and sisters in formal recovery programs – meeting weekly and working the steps – which we can possibly learn the most from, especially what it means to be “in process”.
I don’t really like the idea of being “in process” because all that reminds me of is that I’m not there yet. It tells me that I still got work to do. It feels like waiting. And there’s nothing I can do to expedite the process, except be faithful to it.
The hard part as a person of faith is that throughout history & Scripture, even personal experience, I’ve seen God act instantly. My heart and faith tend to leap. I love when healing and recovery is an instant success, like when Jesus heals a young man who was blind from birth (John 9:25). When cross-examined by religious elite, this bright-eyed teen gives a simple testimony saying, “…I once was blind but now I see”. Honestly (and I know it’s not true but) it just feels like God’s more apart of that then when we’re in process.
I’ve heard that we don’t lose our sight as we grow old. Rather, we lose our ability to focus. Maybe the best recipe for recovery is keeping focus over time. There’s something God wants us to see when things don’t happen right away. I think it’s that he’s closer than we think.
What if all of us could say, “B/c of my support, my doctor, my community group, my sponsor, my parents, my husband, my kids, or my counselor…I’m less blind than I was last week.”
As a church, we celebrate all people who are recovering, healing, and growing. There’s room to be present and be in process. We call it grace.
There’s another picture of Recovery in scripture that might feel more relatable. The majority of time we don’t have instant success or overnight healing. Despite the Apostle Paul’s impact and influence, his life was continually in process. In his writing to the church in the ancient city of Corinth, he describes a thorn in this flesh (II Cor.12). Despite pleading with God to heal him and/or restore him, he gained no relief. Many interpretations are given of this passage – epilepsy, back, limp, sight, temper, greed. Whatever it was it was a hindrance and apparently humiliating. Yet, there is a divine beauty, maybe God’s wisdom, in that we’re left without knowing for certain what Paul’s affliction is.
He was able to celebrate God in the middle of it even though he wasn’t delivered. I think we want to be like Paul in being able to celebrate while we’re in process, one day at a time. He celebrates it while, like the rest of us, wants the instant miracle.
When it comes to healing - whatever we’re recovering from - God’s in the process as much as he is in the fix. In some cases, God heals instantly. In others, it takes over 20 years of practicing sobriety. Either case is still a miracle. God’s in both!
When we celebrate recovery, what we’re really celebrating is that God heals. When we see people go through recovery, we’re witnessing a miracle regardless of how long it takes. Maybe a miracle is best described – not as something extraordinary – but experiencing the life that God intended.
Heaven is where things are as God intends. When God created the world he said that it was good—not perfect—good. As long as we have responsibility, it will feel like work. But it is good. We celebrate recovery because it looks like heaven on earth.
[Excerpts taken from message given at Riverbend Church, 10/25/09]
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Being Present
I have these moments - not consistently but with some regularity - that feel like time is just flying by. The pace makes me wonder if I might be missing something along the way. It probably has something to do with my kids. Annika lost, yet another, tooth this week. Bjorn's projected to be Max (from Wild Things' fame), which is a return to his first-ever Halloween costume as a 2 year old. He doesn't remember it. 2002 was 7 years ago! And this week, I'm preparing for this Sunday, which happens to be the first day of NOVEMBER!! What happened to 09?!?!
Life happens so fast. If you’re a parent, our cubs go from teething to crawling to talking. Then Blink, they're starting school. Blink, they start driving. Blink: they're off to college. I'm learning the discipline of being fully present. While they're not driving or heading off yet, I want to be fully engaged today. I think I have to for it to be fully meaningful. Sometimes it doesn't look like a monumental outing as much as it does mundane activity. Sometimes it feels like work. But it is good. I like to think of it as building a life together. For us, it means we housekeep, eat out, run errands, play, entertain, and/or host others TOGETHER. Every meal, bedtime prayer, morning routine, holiday celebration, day off together is a building block.
Peanut Butter toast in the morning as we go over spelling words is something I CHERISH. It's the ministry of presence. It's who God is with me whether I'm mindful or not. But my faith feels way more meaningful when I'm aware. So does family life.
Seems like we're all in a season of life where our margins feel small. Priorities are shifting. Responsibilities are mounting. And opportunities for something else are plentiful. And yet, I find myself...satisfied. I like what we – as a family, as a faith community – are building together. It’s not perfect, seamless, or less of a work out. But, here again, it is good. I think the point of a community of faith is that we walk together in support and solidarity. We celebrate as much as we learn along the way. We give as much as we receive. And, we remain fully present in effort, if not a need, to serve.
Life happens so fast. If you’re a parent, our cubs go from teething to crawling to talking. Then Blink, they're starting school. Blink, they start driving. Blink: they're off to college. I'm learning the discipline of being fully present. While they're not driving or heading off yet, I want to be fully engaged today. I think I have to for it to be fully meaningful. Sometimes it doesn't look like a monumental outing as much as it does mundane activity. Sometimes it feels like work. But it is good. I like to think of it as building a life together. For us, it means we housekeep, eat out, run errands, play, entertain, and/or host others TOGETHER. Every meal, bedtime prayer, morning routine, holiday celebration, day off together is a building block.
Peanut Butter toast in the morning as we go over spelling words is something I CHERISH. It's the ministry of presence. It's who God is with me whether I'm mindful or not. But my faith feels way more meaningful when I'm aware. So does family life.
Seems like we're all in a season of life where our margins feel small. Priorities are shifting. Responsibilities are mounting. And opportunities for something else are plentiful. And yet, I find myself...satisfied. I like what we – as a family, as a faith community – are building together. It’s not perfect, seamless, or less of a work out. But, here again, it is good. I think the point of a community of faith is that we walk together in support and solidarity. We celebrate as much as we learn along the way. We give as much as we receive. And, we remain fully present in effort, if not a need, to serve.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
All Things New
The largely-popular Broadway musical, Rent is a provocative commentary on the nature of community. It seems like community often gets dumb-ed down to homogenous relationships. Rent is anything but uniform. The narrative combines a wide range of personalities, interests, and backgrounds. Yet, void of strong family ties, they create friendship, support, and shelter together. Aspiring filmmaker Mark Cohen, one of the leads, makes a profound statement saying, “War isn’t the opposite of peace. It’s our ability to create.” So, what are we creating with our lives, in our homes, with those that are most near, and in our City with those that seem most different?
In the Hebrew language of the Old Testament, the word for “compassion” comes from the root word, “womb.” The picture is of a birthing. Something new is being born. It seems that are ability to create – or the Creator’s Spirit in each of us – is intended to demonstrate care, offer help, and/or author hope.
If we apply this to our life experience, it means that my compassionate acts gives people the benefit of the doubt. It affords them another chance. I offer a “fresh start.” Compassion requires me to take inventory of what I find most value – my very full calendar, my limited financial means, or my cherished relationships. Typically, it’s not hard to “give of myself” if it doesn’t intersect with those things. But what if what I have is supposed to involve others, even if that means I lesson my indulgence or occupation of those gifts. I think such compassion will dramatically change the way we relate to each other.
In the Hebrew language of the Old Testament, the word for “compassion” comes from the root word, “womb.” The picture is of a birthing. Something new is being born. It seems that are ability to create – or the Creator’s Spirit in each of us – is intended to demonstrate care, offer help, and/or author hope.
If we apply this to our life experience, it means that my compassionate acts gives people the benefit of the doubt. It affords them another chance. I offer a “fresh start.” Compassion requires me to take inventory of what I find most value – my very full calendar, my limited financial means, or my cherished relationships. Typically, it’s not hard to “give of myself” if it doesn’t intersect with those things. But what if what I have is supposed to involve others, even if that means I lesson my indulgence or occupation of those gifts. I think such compassion will dramatically change the way we relate to each other.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Controlling Interests
What do you think brings greater satisfaction/joy/contentment/pleasure: Something you can control OR something beyond your control?
I think most of us, if we are honest, recognize that both can produce desired results. Yet, I’m suspicious that something beyond our control has greater potential for impact in our lives.
Most of us battle a need to control. Or, maybe what we battle is a loss of control. It’s the feeling of being out of control financially, romantically, with our health, in our jobs, among friends, with our reputation, our eating, emotionally, in scheduling our days, evenings, and weekends.
Any one of these can trigger a response to tighten our grip. Certainly, what’s at stake is a motivator. But so is our faith. Grace is God’s invitation to begin again; perhaps to loosen our hold.
So, here’s a thought I’m kicking around: When we celebrate grace, maybe we’re also celebrating something we can’t control.
It reminds of an early church father, Paul the Apostle, words which says, “for God’s gifts and his call are irrevocable” (Rom.11:29). Grace means simply a gift. It comes from the Greek work, ‘Charis’. It’s where we get the word ‘charismatic’ or ‘charisma’. It’s that indefinable, indescribable quality in a person that makes them particularly gifted. In show business and performance art, it’s simply referred to as having (or not having) “it”. And, you can’t control “it”. You either have it or your don’t. Simply put, grace. So then, it’s what we do and how we leverage grace that helps us let go, un-clench our fist, or bite our tongue.
Maybe the question we need to ask isn’t, Do I feel in control? Maybe the question is, to what extent does the Creator have control of me?
I think most of us, if we are honest, recognize that both can produce desired results. Yet, I’m suspicious that something beyond our control has greater potential for impact in our lives.
Most of us battle a need to control. Or, maybe what we battle is a loss of control. It’s the feeling of being out of control financially, romantically, with our health, in our jobs, among friends, with our reputation, our eating, emotionally, in scheduling our days, evenings, and weekends.
Any one of these can trigger a response to tighten our grip. Certainly, what’s at stake is a motivator. But so is our faith. Grace is God’s invitation to begin again; perhaps to loosen our hold.
So, here’s a thought I’m kicking around: When we celebrate grace, maybe we’re also celebrating something we can’t control.
It reminds of an early church father, Paul the Apostle, words which says, “for God’s gifts and his call are irrevocable” (Rom.11:29). Grace means simply a gift. It comes from the Greek work, ‘Charis’. It’s where we get the word ‘charismatic’ or ‘charisma’. It’s that indefinable, indescribable quality in a person that makes them particularly gifted. In show business and performance art, it’s simply referred to as having (or not having) “it”. And, you can’t control “it”. You either have it or your don’t. Simply put, grace. So then, it’s what we do and how we leverage grace that helps us let go, un-clench our fist, or bite our tongue.
Maybe the question we need to ask isn’t, Do I feel in control? Maybe the question is, to what extent does the Creator have control of me?
Friday, September 4, 2009
All Things New
The largely popular Broadway musical, Rent is a provocative commentary on the nature of community. It seems like community often gets dumb-ed down to homogenous relationships. Rent is anything but uniform. The narrative combines a wide range of personalities, interests, and backgrounds. Yet, void of strong family ties, they create friendship, support, and shelter together. Aspiring filmmaker Mark Cohen, one of the leads, makes a profound statement saying, “War isn’t the opposite of peace. It’s our ability to create.” So, what are we creating with our lives, in our homes, with those that are most near, and in our City with those that seem most different?
In the Hebrew language of the Old Testament, the word for “compassion” comes from the root word, “womb.” The picture is of a birthing. Something new is being born. It seems that our ability to create – or the Creator’s Spirit in each of us – is intended to demonstrate care, offer help, and/or author hope.
If we apply this to our life experience, it means that my compassionate acts gives people the benefit of the doubt. It affords them another chance. I offer a “fresh start.” Compassion requires me to take inventory of what I find most value – my very full calendar, my limited financial means, or my cherished relationships. Typically, it’s not hard to “give of myself” if it doesn’t intersect with those things. But what if what I have is supposed to involve others, even if that means I lesson my indulgence or occupation of those gifts. I think such compassion will dramatically change the way we relate to each other.
I was thinking this week, trying to decide, if our past or our future defines us more. You can argue that our past – full of life experience, trials and track records, unmet expectations, regrets, or rewards – shape us most. It would be hard to dispute it. Yet, I often find driven people, relentless in their pursuit of goals. It’s hard not to see how ambition, dreams, and goal setting is defining them. However, maybe the thing that defines us most is the present. Obviously, the past or the future can’t be thought of as mutually exclusive. Regardless of circumstances, we all have a choice in how we choose to respond. And we all have today – this moment – to create a better way, if not a blessing. Through compassion, he makes all things – our homes, our hearts, our relationships, our cities, our world – new.
In the Hebrew language of the Old Testament, the word for “compassion” comes from the root word, “womb.” The picture is of a birthing. Something new is being born. It seems that our ability to create – or the Creator’s Spirit in each of us – is intended to demonstrate care, offer help, and/or author hope.
If we apply this to our life experience, it means that my compassionate acts gives people the benefit of the doubt. It affords them another chance. I offer a “fresh start.” Compassion requires me to take inventory of what I find most value – my very full calendar, my limited financial means, or my cherished relationships. Typically, it’s not hard to “give of myself” if it doesn’t intersect with those things. But what if what I have is supposed to involve others, even if that means I lesson my indulgence or occupation of those gifts. I think such compassion will dramatically change the way we relate to each other.
I was thinking this week, trying to decide, if our past or our future defines us more. You can argue that our past – full of life experience, trials and track records, unmet expectations, regrets, or rewards – shape us most. It would be hard to dispute it. Yet, I often find driven people, relentless in their pursuit of goals. It’s hard not to see how ambition, dreams, and goal setting is defining them. However, maybe the thing that defines us most is the present. Obviously, the past or the future can’t be thought of as mutually exclusive. Regardless of circumstances, we all have a choice in how we choose to respond. And we all have today – this moment – to create a better way, if not a blessing. Through compassion, he makes all things – our homes, our hearts, our relationships, our cities, our world – new.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A Good Line
Probably the best line I’ve heard in weeks came from my 7-year old daughter while attending the Broadway production, Wicked. As the story line unfolded, she/we were drawn into the drama. The “different” sister was being shaped into the outcast image by the meanness around her. Not a kind word or gracious gesture to be found. Hurt was mounting and Annika asks,
“Daddy. Why would she act wicked when she has a friend?”
All I could come up with in that moment was that, “she’s not wicked. She’s good. The people around her are making her out to be something she’s not.”
To my little girl, the power of words is only outweighed by the weight of relationship. We all have bad stuff, mean words, and failed attempts. But we still have a choice, if not responsibility. That choice to do the right thing or to like who you are, at least in the eyes of Annika, is more plausible with a good relationship.
How many of us have relationships that serve as personal barometers for conduct, speech, faith, and service? Relationship that help my attitude, discern my motivations, fuel my desire. I need relationships that encourage and challenge. Ones that bring out the best version of me but not feel I have to perform, either.
This sounds idyllic but, in looking for that in another, I’m realizing something in me. I’m learning who I need to become. And in this moment, Annika’s teaching me. Her question speaks of her reality. It’s how she lives and processes right from wrong, good and bad choices. It’s how she’s deciding who she wants to be in the schoolyard or in the classroom. She has a consistency about her that feels really natural (not obliged).
Oh, but from the mouths of babes…. She had a good line.
“Daddy. Why would she act wicked when she has a friend?”
All I could come up with in that moment was that, “she’s not wicked. She’s good. The people around her are making her out to be something she’s not.”
To my little girl, the power of words is only outweighed by the weight of relationship. We all have bad stuff, mean words, and failed attempts. But we still have a choice, if not responsibility. That choice to do the right thing or to like who you are, at least in the eyes of Annika, is more plausible with a good relationship.
How many of us have relationships that serve as personal barometers for conduct, speech, faith, and service? Relationship that help my attitude, discern my motivations, fuel my desire. I need relationships that encourage and challenge. Ones that bring out the best version of me but not feel I have to perform, either.
This sounds idyllic but, in looking for that in another, I’m realizing something in me. I’m learning who I need to become. And in this moment, Annika’s teaching me. Her question speaks of her reality. It’s how she lives and processes right from wrong, good and bad choices. It’s how she’s deciding who she wants to be in the schoolyard or in the classroom. She has a consistency about her that feels really natural (not obliged).
Oh, but from the mouths of babes…. She had a good line.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Benchmark
I wonder, is it just me or, do other parents feel as melancholy as I do on the first day of school? I don’t like it. It’s not that I don’t like sharing them with friends and educators. Those are good things (or can be, anyway). Yet, I prefer staying up past bedtime without consequence. I like planning our days…together. I enjoy some travel, playing cards, Marco polo, a round of golf, and reading at all hours of the day with them. I like stopping for slurpees with no regard for dinnertime. And I love showing up at Main Event, not for a birthday party, but because we can (Rock climbing and video games are better without an agenda). Most of all, I guess I just love being together and I know this season of life is fleeting.
I work hard at being fully present with my kids. I don’t want to wish this time away believing later or older is easier. The best challenge I have going in my life is cherishing the present. I like who I am as a dad and husband. And I love who they’re becoming as intelligent, artistic, athletic, spiritual, concerned, and respectful people. It’s not without effort. But it’s a labor of love too.
To be sure, the first day of school is one of those benchmark days. Seeing them a grade older fuels my introspection. I watch my 7-year old daughter bound from the front door on her way to the bus stop with a super-cute, brand new pair of tennis shoes, hair pulled back and held in a hair clip, beaming with a nervous energy at what 2nd grade will bring. I look at my son, hair sculpted to perfection. He knows the drill. He’s excited, collected and confident. 4th grade will be good.
Why do they seem more ready than me? How can I not love this, save for the fact that it is also a benchmark for me? They’re growing, learning, and turning out well. Not just that but I like being with them. I’m confident they’d say the same. I feel like I’m growing too and I know we have fun together. But with all responsibilities and mid-life realities of being a grown up, it makes a person wonder. I think the challenge for us big kids is that life can feel less measurable, maybe more routine, the older we get. It’s hard to get excited about more of the same. It’s hard to feel like we’re growing and getting better when we’re constantly stare in the face of responsibilities, obligations, and deadlines.
Perhaps the lure of familiarity breeds comfort and the curse of it breeds contempt.
It is interesting to think that, if my kids are a benchmark in my life…and they keep growing, that I’m measuring myself based on a moving target. What if that’s a good thing? I might never “arrive” but I am learning to find joy in the present.
Growth is challenging. Perhaps for no greater reason than it is revealing. Today, on one level, it reveals that I’m growing older while they’re growing up. But it also gives me a glimpse that it’s working. Our life together is working. I love that but I also want to freeze that feeling. When the present feels good it’s hard to want to leave it. The nervous energy of the first day of school I feel is wondering what next year on this day will feel. (I guess that’s called anxiety.) Truly, I don’t think we ever arrive despite our goal setting and ambition. For me, it’s about having a few folks to take next steps together and not get stuck. It isn’t easy but it is good, like the onset of a school year.
I work hard at being fully present with my kids. I don’t want to wish this time away believing later or older is easier. The best challenge I have going in my life is cherishing the present. I like who I am as a dad and husband. And I love who they’re becoming as intelligent, artistic, athletic, spiritual, concerned, and respectful people. It’s not without effort. But it’s a labor of love too.
To be sure, the first day of school is one of those benchmark days. Seeing them a grade older fuels my introspection. I watch my 7-year old daughter bound from the front door on her way to the bus stop with a super-cute, brand new pair of tennis shoes, hair pulled back and held in a hair clip, beaming with a nervous energy at what 2nd grade will bring. I look at my son, hair sculpted to perfection. He knows the drill. He’s excited, collected and confident. 4th grade will be good.
Why do they seem more ready than me? How can I not love this, save for the fact that it is also a benchmark for me? They’re growing, learning, and turning out well. Not just that but I like being with them. I’m confident they’d say the same. I feel like I’m growing too and I know we have fun together. But with all responsibilities and mid-life realities of being a grown up, it makes a person wonder. I think the challenge for us big kids is that life can feel less measurable, maybe more routine, the older we get. It’s hard to get excited about more of the same. It’s hard to feel like we’re growing and getting better when we’re constantly stare in the face of responsibilities, obligations, and deadlines.
Perhaps the lure of familiarity breeds comfort and the curse of it breeds contempt.
It is interesting to think that, if my kids are a benchmark in my life…and they keep growing, that I’m measuring myself based on a moving target. What if that’s a good thing? I might never “arrive” but I am learning to find joy in the present.
Growth is challenging. Perhaps for no greater reason than it is revealing. Today, on one level, it reveals that I’m growing older while they’re growing up. But it also gives me a glimpse that it’s working. Our life together is working. I love that but I also want to freeze that feeling. When the present feels good it’s hard to want to leave it. The nervous energy of the first day of school I feel is wondering what next year on this day will feel. (I guess that’s called anxiety.) Truly, I don’t think we ever arrive despite our goal setting and ambition. For me, it’s about having a few folks to take next steps together and not get stuck. It isn’t easy but it is good, like the onset of a school year.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Seeing is Believing
The nightly news is a reminder of what’s wrong in the world. Sometimes it’s all I can do to not turn the channel. The issue for me isn’t a lack of care, however. It’s the helpless feeling of not knowing how to be a part of a solution. It’s hard to see and not feel. The challenge is knowing what to do about what we see.
Then there’s the people we come across who are really passionately concerned about something you didn’t realize was a problem? Or, perhaps something affects us that way? Ever have a conviction that seemed like few others shared? We/they want to raise awareness, educate the ignorant, and push for change but often find others less than willing to do something about it. I wonder if, maybe, that’s God stirring in us. I tend to think this is part of how God might invite and involve us in healing the world.
From the Beginning, we discover the nature of God throughout the Hebrew Scripture – God the Creator, Deliverer, Provider, Healing, Protector. The first time we meet the God who Sees – Beer Lahai Roi – is with Abram, Sarai and a servant, Hagar in Genesis16. Taking God’s promise of “you (Abram) will be the Father of many nations”, she expedites the process by inserting her servant, Hagar, as part of the fulfillment of said promise (After all, God didn’t say who the mother of all those nations would be.). It worked but it didn’t feel like she thought it would. From jealousy to resentment to abuse, Hagar finds herself in the desert with child having given up on life. And still God is within reach. God sees the abuse, despair, vulnerability, and desperation. He’s anything but afar, nothing but concerned. Despite being present, they meet. I love her confession, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
I believe that God sees past, present, & future. And because he sees, I believe he hears, cares, acts, and grieves. We often look around at our lives and this world wondering, “where’s God in…?” Or, “If God is so loving, caring, or present, how could he let that happen?” We feel like God should be more active. We are tempted to doubt his care.
But…What if a large part of what we feel about injustice, greed, scarcity, abuse, wealth, accomplishment is supposed to help us see what God sees?
I think our emotions are supposed to help us experience something, something that God already sees and wants to remedy.
God sees the war in Iraq, genocide, child soldiers, human trafficking and child prostitution. He sees the face of poverty and the vulnerable. He sees the activity in Oval Office as well as our home offices, mistakes to be made, careers to be chosen, accidents about to happen, accidents that should’ve happened, runaways living on their own, prodigals far from home. God sees what we see and then some.
God also Sees our debt, our addiction, our hypocrisy, the abuse, lack of care, and our tears. He sees our discipline, extra effort, integrity, anonymous contribution, compassion, and generosity. He is the God who Sees.
Maybe we can say it this way, we see because God sees. The question is, what do we do with what moves us? Perhaps what we see and feel is God’s invitation is to be a part of a solution.
Then there’s the people we come across who are really passionately concerned about something you didn’t realize was a problem? Or, perhaps something affects us that way? Ever have a conviction that seemed like few others shared? We/they want to raise awareness, educate the ignorant, and push for change but often find others less than willing to do something about it. I wonder if, maybe, that’s God stirring in us. I tend to think this is part of how God might invite and involve us in healing the world.
From the Beginning, we discover the nature of God throughout the Hebrew Scripture – God the Creator, Deliverer, Provider, Healing, Protector. The first time we meet the God who Sees – Beer Lahai Roi – is with Abram, Sarai and a servant, Hagar in Genesis16. Taking God’s promise of “you (Abram) will be the Father of many nations”, she expedites the process by inserting her servant, Hagar, as part of the fulfillment of said promise (After all, God didn’t say who the mother of all those nations would be.). It worked but it didn’t feel like she thought it would. From jealousy to resentment to abuse, Hagar finds herself in the desert with child having given up on life. And still God is within reach. God sees the abuse, despair, vulnerability, and desperation. He’s anything but afar, nothing but concerned. Despite being present, they meet. I love her confession, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
I believe that God sees past, present, & future. And because he sees, I believe he hears, cares, acts, and grieves. We often look around at our lives and this world wondering, “where’s God in…?” Or, “If God is so loving, caring, or present, how could he let that happen?” We feel like God should be more active. We are tempted to doubt his care.
But…What if a large part of what we feel about injustice, greed, scarcity, abuse, wealth, accomplishment is supposed to help us see what God sees?
I think our emotions are supposed to help us experience something, something that God already sees and wants to remedy.
God sees the war in Iraq, genocide, child soldiers, human trafficking and child prostitution. He sees the face of poverty and the vulnerable. He sees the activity in Oval Office as well as our home offices, mistakes to be made, careers to be chosen, accidents about to happen, accidents that should’ve happened, runaways living on their own, prodigals far from home. God sees what we see and then some.
God also Sees our debt, our addiction, our hypocrisy, the abuse, lack of care, and our tears. He sees our discipline, extra effort, integrity, anonymous contribution, compassion, and generosity. He is the God who Sees.
Maybe we can say it this way, we see because God sees. The question is, what do we do with what moves us? Perhaps what we see and feel is God’s invitation is to be a part of a solution.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Truth
I believe in truth. I believe in absolutes. I believe that circumstances in life often erode the confidence we have in what is right and true. Because of this, I have a gnawing temptation to question God’s care over the details that are my life.
I like golf. It’s a thinking man’s game and even when you’re a head-case on the course; it’s still a nice place to be. I started taking some lessons in hopes of making the whole experience a little more enjoyable not to mention a greater source of confidence. The funny thing about taking lessons, at this point in my life, is how much I have to unlearn. My instructor says that I have a good swing…BUT…there’s too much extra stuff going on – hips not rotating, heels lifting too much, head moving, hands breaking…blah, blah, blah. My defense is, why be a minimalist when I can pimp my swing with all the extras?
The ounce of hope I operate with is my swing is actually a better swing than my average score indicates. He said the greatest problem with my swing (mostly because of all the extra movements) is that it’s not reproducible, at least in a way that will cause my score to improve and my mind to rest a little easier. Did I mention I’m a head-case on the course? I recently played a round with my instructor and I saw what he was talking about. His swing was so concise and streamlined it looked effortless. The best part about it, though, was that he could reproduce it.
Unlearning what comes natural or what I’ve always known is my greatest problem. It seems natural to look out for me first, to judge others, to fear faith and vulnerability, and feed myself a steady diet of immediate gratification. The security of my life is built on certain reference points – mom makes the best waffles, dad can fix most anything, my wife’s love is without condition, or my kids really think I’m cool, or that God cares about every detail of my life.
The longer I try to follow in the way of Christ the more I find myself re-learning, or reminding, what I cherish about knowing God. In many ways and at this point, my journey is discovering who God isn’t. It’s sort of growth by subtraction, which makes for a better golf score than pleasurable pursuit. It’s not my first choice, mind you. I find myself committed to the way of Christ but minimizing a few of my expectations (ie getting my way, loving the timing, ignoring the answer, etc). This is where I need to unlearn that God is a micro-manager, that he’ll make tough decisions for me, or that he’ll get me out of messes I create. I’m realizing that God does not enable. I’m learning how he speaks in ordinary ways and how all of Creation resounds with God’s whisper…
“Restore. Repair. Grieve. Rest. Forgive. Heal. Help. Grow.
Come closer. Cherish more. Worry less.
Give. Serve. Sacrifice. Listen. Act. Stop.
Yes. No. Maybe. Wait. Not yet…
I will comfort, not make you comfortable. I’ll guide, but you need to step out. You are loved. You matter. You’re my masterpiece and still and work in progress. You are valuable. Have worth. Are missed.”
What you do hear? The Truth is that he speaks, lives, and breathes in us.
“I’m here. You’re closer than you think.”
I believe I’m created to hear and care as much as I am created to wait, give, and be comforted. I think it’s natural for me to grieve, heal, and rest. It just doesn’t always come easy.
And, when things don’t come easy, I tend to wonder “where’s God in that?” I have to learn and remind myself that restoring, repairing, and renewing what’s lost, broken, or regretful is work. But it is good. And God is in it.
What gets put on display is what gets nurtured within. That’s reproducible.
I like golf. It’s a thinking man’s game and even when you’re a head-case on the course; it’s still a nice place to be. I started taking some lessons in hopes of making the whole experience a little more enjoyable not to mention a greater source of confidence. The funny thing about taking lessons, at this point in my life, is how much I have to unlearn. My instructor says that I have a good swing…BUT…there’s too much extra stuff going on – hips not rotating, heels lifting too much, head moving, hands breaking…blah, blah, blah. My defense is, why be a minimalist when I can pimp my swing with all the extras?
The ounce of hope I operate with is my swing is actually a better swing than my average score indicates. He said the greatest problem with my swing (mostly because of all the extra movements) is that it’s not reproducible, at least in a way that will cause my score to improve and my mind to rest a little easier. Did I mention I’m a head-case on the course? I recently played a round with my instructor and I saw what he was talking about. His swing was so concise and streamlined it looked effortless. The best part about it, though, was that he could reproduce it.
Unlearning what comes natural or what I’ve always known is my greatest problem. It seems natural to look out for me first, to judge others, to fear faith and vulnerability, and feed myself a steady diet of immediate gratification. The security of my life is built on certain reference points – mom makes the best waffles, dad can fix most anything, my wife’s love is without condition, or my kids really think I’m cool, or that God cares about every detail of my life.
The longer I try to follow in the way of Christ the more I find myself re-learning, or reminding, what I cherish about knowing God. In many ways and at this point, my journey is discovering who God isn’t. It’s sort of growth by subtraction, which makes for a better golf score than pleasurable pursuit. It’s not my first choice, mind you. I find myself committed to the way of Christ but minimizing a few of my expectations (ie getting my way, loving the timing, ignoring the answer, etc). This is where I need to unlearn that God is a micro-manager, that he’ll make tough decisions for me, or that he’ll get me out of messes I create. I’m realizing that God does not enable. I’m learning how he speaks in ordinary ways and how all of Creation resounds with God’s whisper…
“Restore. Repair. Grieve. Rest. Forgive. Heal. Help. Grow.
Come closer. Cherish more. Worry less.
Give. Serve. Sacrifice. Listen. Act. Stop.
Yes. No. Maybe. Wait. Not yet…
I will comfort, not make you comfortable. I’ll guide, but you need to step out. You are loved. You matter. You’re my masterpiece and still and work in progress. You are valuable. Have worth. Are missed.”
What you do hear? The Truth is that he speaks, lives, and breathes in us.
“I’m here. You’re closer than you think.”
I believe I’m created to hear and care as much as I am created to wait, give, and be comforted. I think it’s natural for me to grieve, heal, and rest. It just doesn’t always come easy.
And, when things don’t come easy, I tend to wonder “where’s God in that?” I have to learn and remind myself that restoring, repairing, and renewing what’s lost, broken, or regretful is work. But it is good. And God is in it.
What gets put on display is what gets nurtured within. That’s reproducible.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Overwhelmed
Pop culture overwhelms us with mass messaging that challenges our levels of satisfaction and our sense of status among equals. Pleas are made for money and time. Simplicity is undermined under the banner of “new and improved”. Busyness gauges one’s worth. Perfectionism is championed as noble. Perception is regarded as truth. Convenience is the new American ideal. Accessibility is expected. And technology is masked as our servant when it is becoming an altar we bow to. With all this surrounding a faith that is unseen, how do we “seek first his Kingdom”?
Monday, June 8, 2009
Killing Self To Live
A while ago I finished reading, Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman, where he visits 50 sites over the course of 3 weeks where rock stars had died. He wanted to experience the connection b/t our mortality and pronounced sense of greatness. He questioned the mediocrity of many of them but, after dying, they became almost a messianic prophet (ie Kurt Cobain). His conclusion was that death only made them dead. Their life was nothing more after they died. Everything else is human construct. It's how we memorialize them they makes them more famous, more talented, or more great. However, there was a parallel story line of his own life and failed relationships, drug use, hopeless, predictably cynical, etc. At the end, he's having a conversation with a friend lamenting about his trip and own life. He makes the statement, "I can't let go of the past. I can't stop loving these women (3 former girlfriends). I can only exist in the past and the future."
To me this was profound. It seems the cry of a generation. I talk with so many people who treat their past with total disdain or intense nostalgia. Either way, they struggle to move ahead. I also see people look at the future with idealism but no real strategy to improve their plight (short of winning the lottery). Many seem to live in the present with really bad habit of wishing their life away. Does it seem like many people live with an unmet expectation, thinking their lives would somehow look different by now?
I believe in the God who sees – past, future, & present. God Sees our debt, our addiction, our hypocrisy, the abuse, lack of care, and our tears. He sees our discipline, extra effort, integrity, anonymous contribution, compassion, and generosity. He is the El Roi, the God who Sees.
And because He Sees, I believe he hears, cares, acts, and grieves. To the extent I understand God’s character, identity, and authority is the extent that I live an integrated life of faith and practice. One observation we could make is that our emotions are never an end in themselves. Much of the way we experience life is our feelings.
But, What if a large part of what we feel about injustice, greed, scarcity, abuse, wealth, accomplishment is supposed to help us see what God sees? What if much of what we feel is more like a road than it is the destination?
Emotions should lead us somewhere, not get us stuck.
I tend to think we see because God sees. The question is, what do we do with what we see? Again, he wants us to see it even if it means sticking around to deal with it. Maybe the invitation is to be a part of a solution, in the present.
To me this was profound. It seems the cry of a generation. I talk with so many people who treat their past with total disdain or intense nostalgia. Either way, they struggle to move ahead. I also see people look at the future with idealism but no real strategy to improve their plight (short of winning the lottery). Many seem to live in the present with really bad habit of wishing their life away. Does it seem like many people live with an unmet expectation, thinking their lives would somehow look different by now?
I believe in the God who sees – past, future, & present. God Sees our debt, our addiction, our hypocrisy, the abuse, lack of care, and our tears. He sees our discipline, extra effort, integrity, anonymous contribution, compassion, and generosity. He is the El Roi, the God who Sees.
And because He Sees, I believe he hears, cares, acts, and grieves. To the extent I understand God’s character, identity, and authority is the extent that I live an integrated life of faith and practice. One observation we could make is that our emotions are never an end in themselves. Much of the way we experience life is our feelings.
But, What if a large part of what we feel about injustice, greed, scarcity, abuse, wealth, accomplishment is supposed to help us see what God sees? What if much of what we feel is more like a road than it is the destination?
Emotions should lead us somewhere, not get us stuck.
I tend to think we see because God sees. The question is, what do we do with what we see? Again, he wants us to see it even if it means sticking around to deal with it. Maybe the invitation is to be a part of a solution, in the present.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Healing a Memory by Cherishing
I have a weird job, which possibly qualifies me a bit of weird person. On the one hand, if you know me, I’m pretty normal, albeit needy at times. But then there’s this part of what I do that throws me into these unique environments as a minister where you have to be freak to be proficient, let alone comfortable.
I remember one funeral service I hosted that came together well. Since he was a local area car club enthusiast president, we had his two mini coopers parked on each side of his casket. I enlisted my wife and friend to sing. And we were able to piece together a nice power point show chronicling the vibrancy of his relationship, efforts, and passions. But it was the benediction that I’ll remember most. We released around 100 helium balloons all with a note and $5 bill inside. The note read, “My name is Keith. Here’s $5. Have a beer on me and take a moment to stop & enjoy your life like I got to enjoy mine”.
Earlier, I met Anne because I was the pastor on call. Her husband was battling cancer and growing spiritually cold. We talked and prayed for their home and his heart. A year later, I got another call about a man in ICU dying of cancer wanting “last rights”. Coincidentally, I met Anne in the lobby. The husband was Keith. Despite his breathing apparatus, he was able to talk but now he seemed open and obviously vulnerable. We talked about pain, struggle, life, and home. We both agreed on how, if life we an end in itself, I want my money back. We prayed together. He surrendered. I think most of us struggle to rationalize God when we’re staring at our own mortality. I guess one way to look at it is how situations like cancer help us see how vulnerable we really are. Most of the time, we see our lives as our own, measuring our own control, and believing in our answers.
The day Keith died was, predictably, hard about a month after our time together in ICU. It wasn’t unexpected but it still stung. What was unusual was the home visit. I seemed to be the only one thinking it odd, yet pleasantly surprised, to be greeted by and sit with three women for the next few hours. I sat with his current wife now widow, his sister, and his ex-wife. All of whom were friends. I’m used to family drama and friction especially in moments like these. The house was like a boarding home bringing together an eclectic group from all over step children, girlfriends, cousins, aunts…but it soon felt normal. I sensed the support and the connections they shared.
In general, I tend to think most of us aren’t good at healing, specifically grieving. Instead, we’d rather move on and think “happy thoughts”. Meanwhile we have grown adults carrying themselves with delayed adolescence b/c of unresolved wounds.
The Israelites were great at grieving. When a family member died, they’d enlist wailers, or professional mourners, because if you’re supposed to be sad you gotta be loud. And if you’re gonna be loud, why not make it a chorus? They wore grieving clothes – sackcloth (aka goat hair, not exactly comfy) and ashes. We, on the other hand, put on the most plush, baggy threads and eat our way toward feeling better. They understood that discomfort – be it emotionally or physically – was assumed. Healing requires it. To know comfort is to know pain.
This whole episode reminded my of the story of Jesus being late to the funeral of Lazarus (Jn.11:1-3, 17-20). I love that he himself was moved by the circumstances. I love the support surrounding the extended family. I even love how they interact with Jesus suggesting that if would’ve arrived earlier he could’ve saved this from happening.
Family and friends gathered for a very intense period of mourning involving loud expressions of sorrow and lament. After the body was prepared, it was carried to the cemetery in a procession, which included professional mourners hired to express the appropriate public grief. Often someone playing the flute joined them. The period of mourning varied. Some believe that it lasted 7 days as it does today in Orthodox Jewish tradition. However, a rabbinical document refers to the mourning period lasting 3 days, possibly because after this amount of time it was certain that the person was actually dead. Following the sealing of the tomb, mourning continued for a total of 30 days.
(One side note worth mentioning, in Jewish culture the issue wasn’t how well they knew the dead individually. But they were a part of the larger community...and no one should suffer alone.)
A friend once said when asked why it hurts so much to remember. “Because it’s in remembering that we cherish. If we didn’t cherish we wouldn’t hurt”. Simple but true. I sat with these grieving women helping them cherish the man they loved as I asked them to help me know him better by drawing out fun memories. We looked at pictures, heard the skinny, even saw his tricked out cars.
Funerals are unique events. We describe them as places to “pay our respects”. While this is true, I think of them as places where we’re publicly allowed to grieve, emotionally bring closure by saying goodbyes, and initiate the healing process. I think people need room, if not permission, to cherish…whether that be crying or laughing out loud. I hear people describe that they “want to be strong…” for their family. I wonder if the ability to show healthy and appropriate emotions is the picture of strength we all need. I just know there’s healing in that when we take the time to cherish.
I remember one funeral service I hosted that came together well. Since he was a local area car club enthusiast president, we had his two mini coopers parked on each side of his casket. I enlisted my wife and friend to sing. And we were able to piece together a nice power point show chronicling the vibrancy of his relationship, efforts, and passions. But it was the benediction that I’ll remember most. We released around 100 helium balloons all with a note and $5 bill inside. The note read, “My name is Keith. Here’s $5. Have a beer on me and take a moment to stop & enjoy your life like I got to enjoy mine”.
Earlier, I met Anne because I was the pastor on call. Her husband was battling cancer and growing spiritually cold. We talked and prayed for their home and his heart. A year later, I got another call about a man in ICU dying of cancer wanting “last rights”. Coincidentally, I met Anne in the lobby. The husband was Keith. Despite his breathing apparatus, he was able to talk but now he seemed open and obviously vulnerable. We talked about pain, struggle, life, and home. We both agreed on how, if life we an end in itself, I want my money back. We prayed together. He surrendered. I think most of us struggle to rationalize God when we’re staring at our own mortality. I guess one way to look at it is how situations like cancer help us see how vulnerable we really are. Most of the time, we see our lives as our own, measuring our own control, and believing in our answers.
The day Keith died was, predictably, hard about a month after our time together in ICU. It wasn’t unexpected but it still stung. What was unusual was the home visit. I seemed to be the only one thinking it odd, yet pleasantly surprised, to be greeted by and sit with three women for the next few hours. I sat with his current wife now widow, his sister, and his ex-wife. All of whom were friends. I’m used to family drama and friction especially in moments like these. The house was like a boarding home bringing together an eclectic group from all over step children, girlfriends, cousins, aunts…but it soon felt normal. I sensed the support and the connections they shared.
In general, I tend to think most of us aren’t good at healing, specifically grieving. Instead, we’d rather move on and think “happy thoughts”. Meanwhile we have grown adults carrying themselves with delayed adolescence b/c of unresolved wounds.
The Israelites were great at grieving. When a family member died, they’d enlist wailers, or professional mourners, because if you’re supposed to be sad you gotta be loud. And if you’re gonna be loud, why not make it a chorus? They wore grieving clothes – sackcloth (aka goat hair, not exactly comfy) and ashes. We, on the other hand, put on the most plush, baggy threads and eat our way toward feeling better. They understood that discomfort – be it emotionally or physically – was assumed. Healing requires it. To know comfort is to know pain.
This whole episode reminded my of the story of Jesus being late to the funeral of Lazarus (Jn.11:1-3, 17-20). I love that he himself was moved by the circumstances. I love the support surrounding the extended family. I even love how they interact with Jesus suggesting that if would’ve arrived earlier he could’ve saved this from happening.
Family and friends gathered for a very intense period of mourning involving loud expressions of sorrow and lament. After the body was prepared, it was carried to the cemetery in a procession, which included professional mourners hired to express the appropriate public grief. Often someone playing the flute joined them. The period of mourning varied. Some believe that it lasted 7 days as it does today in Orthodox Jewish tradition. However, a rabbinical document refers to the mourning period lasting 3 days, possibly because after this amount of time it was certain that the person was actually dead. Following the sealing of the tomb, mourning continued for a total of 30 days.
(One side note worth mentioning, in Jewish culture the issue wasn’t how well they knew the dead individually. But they were a part of the larger community...and no one should suffer alone.)
A friend once said when asked why it hurts so much to remember. “Because it’s in remembering that we cherish. If we didn’t cherish we wouldn’t hurt”. Simple but true. I sat with these grieving women helping them cherish the man they loved as I asked them to help me know him better by drawing out fun memories. We looked at pictures, heard the skinny, even saw his tricked out cars.
Funerals are unique events. We describe them as places to “pay our respects”. While this is true, I think of them as places where we’re publicly allowed to grieve, emotionally bring closure by saying goodbyes, and initiate the healing process. I think people need room, if not permission, to cherish…whether that be crying or laughing out loud. I hear people describe that they “want to be strong…” for their family. I wonder if the ability to show healthy and appropriate emotions is the picture of strength we all need. I just know there’s healing in that when we take the time to cherish.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Present
I’m feeling thankful so I want to write about it. Not that it’s a rare moment but I want to capture it. Gratitude can be fleeting. So can good friendship. I want to cherish both, even if I have to discipline myself. Seems reasonable.
I love that gift that keeps on giving. That sounds like a good marketing line. It is. But I’m becoming a believer. For Christmas, my Dad likes to get me, among other things, a Starbucks Gift Card. While it’s a simple, little stocking stuffer, it carries a $75 value.
And, yet, I’m finding greater value than its monetary worth.
Honestly (and gratefully) I’ve come to anticipate the Card. He’s made this his practice for several years.
Dad remains one of the easiest, enjoyable, and respected people I spend time with. I just like who he is, even if our words are few. And since we aren’t living in close proximity, the gift is a cherished reminder of his presence.
He doesn’t let too many people close, though he’s lived in the same city his whole life. He has lifelong histories with people, is respected, and well liked. But he would still rather do you a favor or feel helpful than ask anything of you.
His present has been his presence. Steadfast. Generous. Accommodating.
I’m traveling in an airport, “alone”. While not hard to do, I spied the well-known green shield. Money’s been tight, schedule is full, and company is scarce but his gift…makes him feel present.
I imagine the conversation. I enjoy the company. Dad pays most often anyway, so this is familiar to let him sponsor my morning indulgence over deeply roasted goodness.
We’re a couple of months removed from Christmas morning. I can still feel the warmth. The social drink of choice in our home growing up was & is coffee. So, part of my enjoyment is sentimental. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve taken my day off to practice renewal. I sit in a coffee shop – enjoying his present, along with a book, and some welcomed anonymity. Again, a reminder of the gift that keeps on giving.
Just a couple of months removed, I spent roughly two-thirds of the balance. That’s kind of revealing. I think that qualifies me as a needy, if not a user. But, thankfully, I think there’s more where that came from.
I look forward to seeing him again soon. And, yet he’s helping me see better.
I love that gift that keeps on giving. That sounds like a good marketing line. It is. But I’m becoming a believer. For Christmas, my Dad likes to get me, among other things, a Starbucks Gift Card. While it’s a simple, little stocking stuffer, it carries a $75 value.
And, yet, I’m finding greater value than its monetary worth.
Honestly (and gratefully) I’ve come to anticipate the Card. He’s made this his practice for several years.
Dad remains one of the easiest, enjoyable, and respected people I spend time with. I just like who he is, even if our words are few. And since we aren’t living in close proximity, the gift is a cherished reminder of his presence.
He doesn’t let too many people close, though he’s lived in the same city his whole life. He has lifelong histories with people, is respected, and well liked. But he would still rather do you a favor or feel helpful than ask anything of you.
His present has been his presence. Steadfast. Generous. Accommodating.
I’m traveling in an airport, “alone”. While not hard to do, I spied the well-known green shield. Money’s been tight, schedule is full, and company is scarce but his gift…makes him feel present.
I imagine the conversation. I enjoy the company. Dad pays most often anyway, so this is familiar to let him sponsor my morning indulgence over deeply roasted goodness.
We’re a couple of months removed from Christmas morning. I can still feel the warmth. The social drink of choice in our home growing up was & is coffee. So, part of my enjoyment is sentimental. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve taken my day off to practice renewal. I sit in a coffee shop – enjoying his present, along with a book, and some welcomed anonymity. Again, a reminder of the gift that keeps on giving.
Just a couple of months removed, I spent roughly two-thirds of the balance. That’s kind of revealing. I think that qualifies me as a needy, if not a user. But, thankfully, I think there’s more where that came from.
I look forward to seeing him again soon. And, yet he’s helping me see better.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Pragmatism
I’m kind of an aesthetic. I notice décor in most environments. It often reflects a distinctive at the same time some current. It’s kitschy yet not uncommon. I appreciate the vibe people can create in street cafés, fashion boutiques, personal living spaces, galleries, gardens, and spiritual life centers.
For the most part, I’m also a fan of body art. The permanent etchings and piercings that further define uniqueness are something I consider often for myself. My practical, understated sensibilities seem to betray my aestheticism.
A friend recently asked my, as we walked through a part of Austin where it appears the base line for local residents, “do you have any tatoos?”. It was at that moment, I realized why I don’t. It’s not that I have a moral conviction, lack the artistic vision, or even the financial capital. My hesitation is that I know myself. I know myself well enough to know that it a few short years, maybe less, I won’t like it. My style changes. Frankly, I don’t trust myself. While I don’t think I’ll end up wishing I never got a tattoo, I know I’ll wish I had a different design.
My style is pretty fluid. It’s that sense you might get that, if you were a rockstar, you’d reinvent your look with every album cover. Even now, I’m writing on nice furniture we bought three years ago. A friend hooked us up with a great deal on nice, some leather, furniture. Problem is, I don’t think it’s that cool, anymore. It’s nice but I’d definitely pick something different I had to do it over again. Am I just fickle or is this an evolution of self. I’d like to think I’m getting cooler but I’m probably just getting older. I find that’s true for many of my clothes but those seem less permanent.
Nevertheless. Let’s return from a self-deprecating tangent.
I think this is also why I walk into some faith communities and feel like I’m suffocating. Something good was started and it got stuck. It never grew into anything but, perhaps, the self-preservation of what is. Problem is, static never thrives. True faith is inherently active. So, what does it say about our faith communities that stagnate.
Faith is a peculiar proposition. To be sure, it is foundational. Yet, I find it more fluid than static. I’m curious about the invitation Jesus gave for a better way of life. It’s seems reasonable and timeless. But as he proclaimed a Kingdom in the here and now, that the Kingdom is within, how can that rest on static arrival of a decision to follow?
I love imagining myself, my family, our faith community being an active part of authoring a little bit heaven on earth.
For the most part, I’m also a fan of body art. The permanent etchings and piercings that further define uniqueness are something I consider often for myself. My practical, understated sensibilities seem to betray my aestheticism.
A friend recently asked my, as we walked through a part of Austin where it appears the base line for local residents, “do you have any tatoos?”. It was at that moment, I realized why I don’t. It’s not that I have a moral conviction, lack the artistic vision, or even the financial capital. My hesitation is that I know myself. I know myself well enough to know that it a few short years, maybe less, I won’t like it. My style changes. Frankly, I don’t trust myself. While I don’t think I’ll end up wishing I never got a tattoo, I know I’ll wish I had a different design.
My style is pretty fluid. It’s that sense you might get that, if you were a rockstar, you’d reinvent your look with every album cover. Even now, I’m writing on nice furniture we bought three years ago. A friend hooked us up with a great deal on nice, some leather, furniture. Problem is, I don’t think it’s that cool, anymore. It’s nice but I’d definitely pick something different I had to do it over again. Am I just fickle or is this an evolution of self. I’d like to think I’m getting cooler but I’m probably just getting older. I find that’s true for many of my clothes but those seem less permanent.
Nevertheless. Let’s return from a self-deprecating tangent.
I think this is also why I walk into some faith communities and feel like I’m suffocating. Something good was started and it got stuck. It never grew into anything but, perhaps, the self-preservation of what is. Problem is, static never thrives. True faith is inherently active. So, what does it say about our faith communities that stagnate.
Faith is a peculiar proposition. To be sure, it is foundational. Yet, I find it more fluid than static. I’m curious about the invitation Jesus gave for a better way of life. It’s seems reasonable and timeless. But as he proclaimed a Kingdom in the here and now, that the Kingdom is within, how can that rest on static arrival of a decision to follow?
I love imagining myself, my family, our faith community being an active part of authoring a little bit heaven on earth.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I Saw The Light On Dirty 6th
There’s no shortage of hole-in-the-wall clubs, bars, and eats that line 6th Street in downtown Austin. In fact, few cites can rival the concentration and quantity of live music venues. Live music is the norm. It’s the destination many a nights for a largely 20-something crowd. East 6th has its own particular grime, reflecting a heavily trafficked college scene. But this was South-by so all bets were off. A stage is a stage and the audience can swell in short order.
Enter the tangent. Jesus came proclaiming the present availability of the Kingdom of Heaven. His declaration inaugurated a new reality by suggesting that this life – this world – can be reclaimed, restored, and reconciled. No longer is heaven an alternative location but a new reality in which he invites creation to live into.
John’s narrative (as in, the Gospel of John) reiterates four themes embedded in the mission of Jesus’ tenure on earth – Light, Life, Love, and Truth. Again and Again, he fleshes out these themes both subtly and pointedly. They are his four descriptors for the incarnation. But it doesn’t end there. The invitation Jesus gives for a better way of life is that, like Christ, we would also become a reflection of that Light, of that which gives Life, of that which resounds with Love, and which shares Truth.
So I’m standing in the back of a tiny club, which means I’m only about 50 feet or so from the stage. It was packed with enthusiasm and bodies. A-listers shoulder to shoulder with commoners gathered under the banner of appreciation.
One after another, emerging talent stepped up, like a musical share fest. Music that felt as accessible as the artists themselves.
It’s been said that art imitates life. I love it when art interrupts life. While enjoying the company of friends, a lyric rung out above the bar chatter that captured me—“the miracle was not walking on the water…”. A soulful black man playing an acoustic guitar sung it out like an anthem. “The miracle was not walking on the water…”. Hardly the place I expected to be reminded of my Sunday school stories but by this point, he was piquing my curiosity. And again, “the miracle was not walking on the water…”. At this point, the singer/songwriter I came to know as Chris Pierce, had my undivided attention. I audibly asked, what is it? He answered me on cue, “…the miracle is walking on the earth…step by step…day by day”.
Light was peeking through.
“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” Ps.139:7-8
Enter the tangent. Jesus came proclaiming the present availability of the Kingdom of Heaven. His declaration inaugurated a new reality by suggesting that this life – this world – can be reclaimed, restored, and reconciled. No longer is heaven an alternative location but a new reality in which he invites creation to live into.
John’s narrative (as in, the Gospel of John) reiterates four themes embedded in the mission of Jesus’ tenure on earth – Light, Life, Love, and Truth. Again and Again, he fleshes out these themes both subtly and pointedly. They are his four descriptors for the incarnation. But it doesn’t end there. The invitation Jesus gives for a better way of life is that, like Christ, we would also become a reflection of that Light, of that which gives Life, of that which resounds with Love, and which shares Truth.
So I’m standing in the back of a tiny club, which means I’m only about 50 feet or so from the stage. It was packed with enthusiasm and bodies. A-listers shoulder to shoulder with commoners gathered under the banner of appreciation.
One after another, emerging talent stepped up, like a musical share fest. Music that felt as accessible as the artists themselves.
It’s been said that art imitates life. I love it when art interrupts life. While enjoying the company of friends, a lyric rung out above the bar chatter that captured me—“the miracle was not walking on the water…”. A soulful black man playing an acoustic guitar sung it out like an anthem. “The miracle was not walking on the water…”. Hardly the place I expected to be reminded of my Sunday school stories but by this point, he was piquing my curiosity. And again, “the miracle was not walking on the water…”. At this point, the singer/songwriter I came to know as Chris Pierce, had my undivided attention. I audibly asked, what is it? He answered me on cue, “…the miracle is walking on the earth…step by step…day by day”.
Light was peeking through.
“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” Ps.139:7-8
Monday, April 27, 2009
"A" Lister
Arriving before the break of dawn to soak up the Austin phenomenon that is SXSW, I found a rising tide of die-hard live music aficionados. KGSR camped out at the Four Seasons to air their morning show for the week. It provided a great indie-music sampler platter. Two songs per artist, with a stripped down set along with some minimal introductory DJ banter provided a great platform to absorb the week’s overwhelming festivities.
Each emerging artist was gaining some attention. 2008 was unanimously a break out year but none of the talent could classify as a household name.
Unexpectedly, an “A” List-er entered the room in the midst of Friday’s broadcast. Austin’s own Matthew McConaughey graced the crowded the room with his presence.
And the room changed.
It went from appreciative, if not supportive, as if the burgeoning young talents had home-field advantage to being awe-struck. As if now we were in the presence of greatness. We were no longer rooting for the up-&-comer, loaded with potential. We were in the presence of the Hollywood’s elite.
Out came the camera phones.
Sly grins and long stares filled the room.
Side conversation unified.
We were in the presence of a household name. An often-whispered, widely-held crush. A recognizable name (and adoring face) changed the whole tenor of the room.
My friend – a devout and pure music fan – experienced this as a distraction. Seated to my immediate right, he leans over with a hooded voice and asked the obvious question,
“What is that about?!?!”
I could only speculate. I began to think out loud for a moment as ideas came. “It’s transcendent”, I said. Everyone’s heard of him, most have seen his work, many have crushed over him, and, living in Austin, you know he’s around but rare is the day this neighbor comes knocking.
A household name is transcendent. It creates a sense of wonderment. The untouchable just became accessible, at least to some degree.
This is where I can’t not spiritualize it. And without being too melodramatic, this reflects our Creator’s pre-wiring. Believing we’re created to declare worth, offer praise, share gratitude, we are drawn to transcendent moments like gravity. Except, in this case, directionality was an issue. A pressing on in this spontaneous stream of consciousness.
With Matthew, being a household name with adoring fans is a horizontal transcendence. Nothing wrong with it but it also points us to a greater reality.
A vertical transcendence that gives us a glimpse of a life source. Truly, it is the Maker’s design and Glory reflected. Equally, it is that same predisposition to be enamored, awe-struck, even reverent.
We were created for worship.
Each emerging artist was gaining some attention. 2008 was unanimously a break out year but none of the talent could classify as a household name.
Unexpectedly, an “A” List-er entered the room in the midst of Friday’s broadcast. Austin’s own Matthew McConaughey graced the crowded the room with his presence.
And the room changed.
It went from appreciative, if not supportive, as if the burgeoning young talents had home-field advantage to being awe-struck. As if now we were in the presence of greatness. We were no longer rooting for the up-&-comer, loaded with potential. We were in the presence of the Hollywood’s elite.
Out came the camera phones.
Sly grins and long stares filled the room.
Side conversation unified.
We were in the presence of a household name. An often-whispered, widely-held crush. A recognizable name (and adoring face) changed the whole tenor of the room.
My friend – a devout and pure music fan – experienced this as a distraction. Seated to my immediate right, he leans over with a hooded voice and asked the obvious question,
“What is that about?!?!”
I could only speculate. I began to think out loud for a moment as ideas came. “It’s transcendent”, I said. Everyone’s heard of him, most have seen his work, many have crushed over him, and, living in Austin, you know he’s around but rare is the day this neighbor comes knocking.
A household name is transcendent. It creates a sense of wonderment. The untouchable just became accessible, at least to some degree.
This is where I can’t not spiritualize it. And without being too melodramatic, this reflects our Creator’s pre-wiring. Believing we’re created to declare worth, offer praise, share gratitude, we are drawn to transcendent moments like gravity. Except, in this case, directionality was an issue. A pressing on in this spontaneous stream of consciousness.
With Matthew, being a household name with adoring fans is a horizontal transcendence. Nothing wrong with it but it also points us to a greater reality.
A vertical transcendence that gives us a glimpse of a life source. Truly, it is the Maker’s design and Glory reflected. Equally, it is that same predisposition to be enamored, awe-struck, even reverent.
We were created for worship.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Our Rhythms
A common idea among this community of faith is that the idea that our faith is best when it is shared and practiced. To that end, we've tried to define ourselves by a shared practice and belief that we call Rhythms. We can’t just talk about the Way or celebrate a similar belief. It’s real whether we live it or not. But we experience it more when it becomes a way of life for us.
LOVE: Inherent in all that we do is a common thread that gives birth to every guiding principle...and is inextricable from each aspect. We seek, in the truest sense, to uphold Love as the source of every rhythm.
COMMUNITY: We perceive Christ in tangible means, through relationship with one another, as He so guided. Through His life and words, Jesus teaches how to love one another and seek a genuine connection with all people. We are committed to take the journey of faith in solidarity with one another and open our definition of family to embrace the world entire. We believe this connection not only helps each of us discover our potential but also realize our greatest contribution.
HEALING: We see the brokenness, pain, and marginalization within the world, and how in need it truly is…but realize that we are not without resources to address such issues. Compelled by the love and model of Jesus, in serving despite his power, we see ourselves as agents of healing by utilizing our personal energy, giftedness, and resources to try to mend a broken world.
RENEWAL: With tendencies that are, at times, self-destructive and/or draining activity, we seek to live sustainably. We want to pursue renewal through practices of rest, solitude, study, prayer, accountability, and health. We see the Creator’s invitation for a better way of life as a responsibility, if not a stewardship of our time, experiences, desires, and relationships.
GENEROSITY: We recognize the abundance of God’s gracious provision in our world, and witness His blessings, unnumbered. As such, we surrender ourselves to a compulsion within, which seeks to counter greed with generosity, scarcity with abundance, and make known God’s blessings by sharing our own.
HOSPITALITY: Central to the expression of Christ is our compulsion to host people. Whether sharing a meal or celebrating life change, we recognize the power of his presence when we gather. It’s in gathering that we’re able to share, reconcile, grow, laugh, and learn. We see hosting people as a means in which God manifests his love in us and through us.
CREATIVITY: We celebrate the revolutionary life of Christ and the innovation He displayed, by celebrating the same within each of us. As bearers of the image of God, we, too, have the Creator’s spirit, and seek the means to express it, in the art and thought that is a part of our innate selves.
LOVE: Inherent in all that we do is a common thread that gives birth to every guiding principle...and is inextricable from each aspect. We seek, in the truest sense, to uphold Love as the source of every rhythm.
COMMUNITY: We perceive Christ in tangible means, through relationship with one another, as He so guided. Through His life and words, Jesus teaches how to love one another and seek a genuine connection with all people. We are committed to take the journey of faith in solidarity with one another and open our definition of family to embrace the world entire. We believe this connection not only helps each of us discover our potential but also realize our greatest contribution.
HEALING: We see the brokenness, pain, and marginalization within the world, and how in need it truly is…but realize that we are not without resources to address such issues. Compelled by the love and model of Jesus, in serving despite his power, we see ourselves as agents of healing by utilizing our personal energy, giftedness, and resources to try to mend a broken world.
RENEWAL: With tendencies that are, at times, self-destructive and/or draining activity, we seek to live sustainably. We want to pursue renewal through practices of rest, solitude, study, prayer, accountability, and health. We see the Creator’s invitation for a better way of life as a responsibility, if not a stewardship of our time, experiences, desires, and relationships.
GENEROSITY: We recognize the abundance of God’s gracious provision in our world, and witness His blessings, unnumbered. As such, we surrender ourselves to a compulsion within, which seeks to counter greed with generosity, scarcity with abundance, and make known God’s blessings by sharing our own.
HOSPITALITY: Central to the expression of Christ is our compulsion to host people. Whether sharing a meal or celebrating life change, we recognize the power of his presence when we gather. It’s in gathering that we’re able to share, reconcile, grow, laugh, and learn. We see hosting people as a means in which God manifests his love in us and through us.
CREATIVITY: We celebrate the revolutionary life of Christ and the innovation He displayed, by celebrating the same within each of us. As bearers of the image of God, we, too, have the Creator’s spirit, and seek the means to express it, in the art and thought that is a part of our innate selves.
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