I'll get right to the point. Tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this), Tuesday, December 2, is "Giving Tuesday." I'm writing this asking you to give, specifically to Second Life of Chattanooga.
Giving Tuesday has been developed as a bit of an answer to the hysteria and consummerism that surround Black Friday and Cyber Monday. In this the "season of giving," Giving Tuesday asks us to focus on the people and issues who could use our help. Second Life of Chattanooga works to create awareness and collaborative action on the issue of sex trafficking as it exists in Greater Chattanooga and throughout Southeast Tennessee. Beyond our city and region, we have also provided help for trafficking victims as far away as New England and the West Coast.
We are a small organization, and operational funding is our greatest current need. Giving Tuesday is an opportunity to help with this need. Over 1,700 people have liked us on Facebook. If you are one of those 1,700, please make us your Giving Tuesday focus. We are asking everyone to make a donation of at least $10 to Second Life of Chattanooga for Giving Tuesday. If each person who has liked us on Facebook does this, we experience a serious boost in not only resources, but momentum, both of which are an organization's life-blood.
You can make your tax-deductible donation securely online at secondlifechattanooga.org. In addition to your Giving Tuesday gift, we ask you to also consider becoming a regular donor to Second Life. But, for tomorrow (or today) please make that $10 gift. Giving Tuesday is not about creating small numbers of large gifts, but instead large numbers of small gifts, each of which are important parts of the solution to the terrible crime of sex trafficking.
Thank you for being part of this year's Giving Tuesday and for making us your priority for this year. Your generosity and partnership mean the world to us.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Monday, July 28, 2014
The War is Over
"You're looking at a dead man." That's what I told a group of women I spoke to yesterday. I went on to tell them that mine had been a slow, creeping death that began 10 years ago. But first, some context.
I spent this past weekend at a 3-day spiritual retreat, oddly enough, a women's spiritual retreat. It's based on the Catholic Cursillo movement & model. I was there because I was asked to be one of the ministers ("spiritual directors") for the weekend. My connection to this movement began 23 years ago and over the years it has been a part of my spiritual journey, sometimes a very important part of that journey, other times not so much.
The theme of the weekend was, "Faith-Hope-Love...From Beginning to the End." I approached the weekend knowing I needed a bit of all 3. Actually, I needed a ton of all 3. I have learned over the years that I can speak to groups and usually have something worthwhile to say no matter how empty I may be personally. This weekend, however, I knew I could not just be a casual observer, standing outside of the circle. If I was going to be there, I knew I needed to be fully there and that whatever hopes I had that the retreat participants would experience something positive and helpful, I needed to have the same hopes for myself.
In addition to serving communion and being available for conversation, I was also asked to give a couple of talks on the weekend, both of which focused on grace. Since metaphor is one of the ways I seem to best be able to understand deeper things, I approached my first talk on grace with a metaphor drawn from a Keith Urban show my wife and I attended in February of this year. Many of Keith's fans bring hand-written/painted signs to his shows (I didn't bring a sign in case you're wondering) with all sorts of messages on them, ranging from telling him how far they traveled to see him to requests for Keith to marry them (those are probably Nicole Kidman's favorites).
During the show Keith grabbed a spotlight and looked around the crowd at the various signs. One young lady's sign was, "Keith, I need a hug." He brought her on stage, gave her a hug, then sat her down and sang a song to her. It was quite a moment for that young lady. It was also a moment where I realized I'd been given a metaphor I would use at some point. In this case, it ended up being for this weekend.
At the close of my first talk on grace, I told the ladies about the Keith Urban show and the young lady's sign. I then asked them to go with the metaphorical flow and imagine what would be on their sign should the Almighty shine a light on them during the weekend. I asked them to be honest about what was on their sign instead of thinking about what they should have on it. Later that evening some of the folks who were there serving the attendees used a similar metaphor, a bit of a before and after approach, with signs that described previously difficult/hurtful/damaging events, and then a much more hopeful message on the flip side describing their lives now.
This had quite an impact on everyone in the room, including me. We spent a few minutes in silence after being asked to consider what message we would like to have on our metaphorical sign as opposed to the one that was there currently. I knew I needed a new message, a new reality on the sign of my life and I asked the Almighty to help me discover just what that message and reality could be. After a minute or two, the words, "the war is over" flashed across my mind. I knew I had my answer.
Which takes me back to the first sentence of this post and 10 years of slow death. It was 10 years ago that a series of personal attacks began coming my way. No one person or group generated the attacks and they didn't come in a constant stream. Instead, there would be a wave of shots taken at my reputation, who I am as a person, etc., then things would die down, only to see another similar wave come at me (and my family) again, always unexpected, always vicious. The only consistent thread about the attacks was this: they were all initiated and delivered by Christians.
I'm a Christian, have been for a long time, so we're talking about being attacked by people who occupy the same faith space as me, who are supposed to be my "brothers and sisters." It was only a handful of people driving the attacks, but they had pretty wide-ranging impact. Over time I became crippled by the accusations, the half-truths, the outright lies. As I said to the ladies yesterday, you get the hell beaten out of you long enough, you begin to die. That is what began happening to me.
I withdrew, went deep within myself, built some huge, thick walls and told everyone but my wife, daughter, and a few close friends to stay away. Far away. And I began to hate. First, I just hated the acts perpetrated against me. Then I began to hate the perpetrators. Then I began to hate the fact that the perpetrators were Christians. Then I began to hate Christians in general.
As I told the ladies yesterday, you spend enough time hating Christians, you'll eventually end up hating God. This was true for me. Mine was not this constant, seething hatred. Instead, it was sort of an ebb and flow thing, sometimes rising to the surface, but mainly just a deep, quiet thing, something I tried to hide from everyone, including myself. Most times I thought if I ignored it it would go away. It doesn't work like that, at least it didn't for me. To let it (the hatred) just lay undisturbed meant I may not be nurturing it, but I wasn't trying to kill it either.
So instead it slowly killed me. And it started a war inside me. Although it was pretty much a silent war, it was a war nonetheless. My enemies in this war were those who hurt me and the God who let them. Actually, there was one other enemy- me. I hated myself for letting it all happen to me, for not seeing it coming, for not preventing it, for putting myself and my family in a vulnerable position. I hated myself for not being able to get over it. I hated myself for letting it matter as much as it did.
I realized a long time ago that no apologies were coming, no one responsible for the pain had any intention of making it right. But I held on to my hurt, anger and hatred anyway. And the war raged. I made sure that it did.
Until Friday night. When those words, "the war is over" flashed through my mind, I knew that more than anything what I wanted on my metaphorical sign was that message, that reality. And I suddenly realized that not only did I want that reality, I had the power to create it. Then. There. So then and there, I ended the war inside me. I set free the only prisoner of war I had captured this whole time...me.
Yesterday I shared this story with the ladies at the retreat. I even showed them a sign I'd made that had the words, "The War Is Over" written on it. I don't know for sure, but maybe they saw a dead man come back to life right in front of them.
It's nice to breathe free air again.
I spent this past weekend at a 3-day spiritual retreat, oddly enough, a women's spiritual retreat. It's based on the Catholic Cursillo movement & model. I was there because I was asked to be one of the ministers ("spiritual directors") for the weekend. My connection to this movement began 23 years ago and over the years it has been a part of my spiritual journey, sometimes a very important part of that journey, other times not so much.
The theme of the weekend was, "Faith-Hope-Love...From Beginning to the End." I approached the weekend knowing I needed a bit of all 3. Actually, I needed a ton of all 3. I have learned over the years that I can speak to groups and usually have something worthwhile to say no matter how empty I may be personally. This weekend, however, I knew I could not just be a casual observer, standing outside of the circle. If I was going to be there, I knew I needed to be fully there and that whatever hopes I had that the retreat participants would experience something positive and helpful, I needed to have the same hopes for myself.
In addition to serving communion and being available for conversation, I was also asked to give a couple of talks on the weekend, both of which focused on grace. Since metaphor is one of the ways I seem to best be able to understand deeper things, I approached my first talk on grace with a metaphor drawn from a Keith Urban show my wife and I attended in February of this year. Many of Keith's fans bring hand-written/painted signs to his shows (I didn't bring a sign in case you're wondering) with all sorts of messages on them, ranging from telling him how far they traveled to see him to requests for Keith to marry them (those are probably Nicole Kidman's favorites).
During the show Keith grabbed a spotlight and looked around the crowd at the various signs. One young lady's sign was, "Keith, I need a hug." He brought her on stage, gave her a hug, then sat her down and sang a song to her. It was quite a moment for that young lady. It was also a moment where I realized I'd been given a metaphor I would use at some point. In this case, it ended up being for this weekend.
At the close of my first talk on grace, I told the ladies about the Keith Urban show and the young lady's sign. I then asked them to go with the metaphorical flow and imagine what would be on their sign should the Almighty shine a light on them during the weekend. I asked them to be honest about what was on their sign instead of thinking about what they should have on it. Later that evening some of the folks who were there serving the attendees used a similar metaphor, a bit of a before and after approach, with signs that described previously difficult/hurtful/damaging events, and then a much more hopeful message on the flip side describing their lives now.
This had quite an impact on everyone in the room, including me. We spent a few minutes in silence after being asked to consider what message we would like to have on our metaphorical sign as opposed to the one that was there currently. I knew I needed a new message, a new reality on the sign of my life and I asked the Almighty to help me discover just what that message and reality could be. After a minute or two, the words, "the war is over" flashed across my mind. I knew I had my answer.
Which takes me back to the first sentence of this post and 10 years of slow death. It was 10 years ago that a series of personal attacks began coming my way. No one person or group generated the attacks and they didn't come in a constant stream. Instead, there would be a wave of shots taken at my reputation, who I am as a person, etc., then things would die down, only to see another similar wave come at me (and my family) again, always unexpected, always vicious. The only consistent thread about the attacks was this: they were all initiated and delivered by Christians.
I'm a Christian, have been for a long time, so we're talking about being attacked by people who occupy the same faith space as me, who are supposed to be my "brothers and sisters." It was only a handful of people driving the attacks, but they had pretty wide-ranging impact. Over time I became crippled by the accusations, the half-truths, the outright lies. As I said to the ladies yesterday, you get the hell beaten out of you long enough, you begin to die. That is what began happening to me.
I withdrew, went deep within myself, built some huge, thick walls and told everyone but my wife, daughter, and a few close friends to stay away. Far away. And I began to hate. First, I just hated the acts perpetrated against me. Then I began to hate the perpetrators. Then I began to hate the fact that the perpetrators were Christians. Then I began to hate Christians in general.
As I told the ladies yesterday, you spend enough time hating Christians, you'll eventually end up hating God. This was true for me. Mine was not this constant, seething hatred. Instead, it was sort of an ebb and flow thing, sometimes rising to the surface, but mainly just a deep, quiet thing, something I tried to hide from everyone, including myself. Most times I thought if I ignored it it would go away. It doesn't work like that, at least it didn't for me. To let it (the hatred) just lay undisturbed meant I may not be nurturing it, but I wasn't trying to kill it either.
So instead it slowly killed me. And it started a war inside me. Although it was pretty much a silent war, it was a war nonetheless. My enemies in this war were those who hurt me and the God who let them. Actually, there was one other enemy- me. I hated myself for letting it all happen to me, for not seeing it coming, for not preventing it, for putting myself and my family in a vulnerable position. I hated myself for not being able to get over it. I hated myself for letting it matter as much as it did.
I realized a long time ago that no apologies were coming, no one responsible for the pain had any intention of making it right. But I held on to my hurt, anger and hatred anyway. And the war raged. I made sure that it did.
Until Friday night. When those words, "the war is over" flashed through my mind, I knew that more than anything what I wanted on my metaphorical sign was that message, that reality. And I suddenly realized that not only did I want that reality, I had the power to create it. Then. There. So then and there, I ended the war inside me. I set free the only prisoner of war I had captured this whole time...me.
Yesterday I shared this story with the ladies at the retreat. I even showed them a sign I'd made that had the words, "The War Is Over" written on it. I don't know for sure, but maybe they saw a dead man come back to life right in front of them.
It's nice to breathe free air again.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Thankful for my life
Today, July 15, I am thankful for my life.
This is the final post in my series on being thankful. As I wrote at the beginning of this, I don't know exactly why the idea for a series on thankfulness came to me, but I'm glad I've followed up on it. I can always use a reminder that being intentionally thankful serves me well. Hopefully this series has been a good reminder to you as well.
Today is my birthday. I am now 54 years old. My favorite line in The Grateful Dead's classic song, "Truckin,'" states, "What a long, strange trip it's been." I'll paraphrase that by saying that the trip to 54 has been quick and at least often unexpected, if not outright strange. I'm thankful to be the age that I am. I've never been a person who complained about birthdays. Frankly, that has always struck me as ridiculous, stupid even. I'll take every birthday I can get.
But my thankfulness goes beyond the fact that I've had a lot of birthdays. Plenty of people have been allowed far more birthdays then I've known to this point. The quality of my years rather than just the quantity is what holds my focus now.
As I have written in a previous post, I'm very drawn to the future, not very interested in the past. I'm excited about what is ahead for me, the opportunities and challenges that will allow me to grow and become a more fully-formed, fully-alive human being. But I'm also appreciative for the journey up to this point. Although not all of it has been enjoyable, and some of it was hellacious at times, I've still been able to learn something from every experience.
I have been blessed to be married for 32 years now...to the same woman. Not a lot of people get to say that. We still love each other, still like being with each other, we still laugh together. I have a wonderful daughter who inspires me to be a better, more compassionate person. I get to do work that challenges me, that gives me a sense of contribution, that reminds me of the value of humanity.
I still get to speak to a variety of audiences on a variety of topics. This has not been without a price, as there have been a few along the way who have tried to block my opportunities to fulfill my calling and use my voice. They haven't succeeded. I'm still here. I still speak, teach, preach. And I will continue to.
As my dad told me years ago could be the case, the circle of those who are truly close to me and know me well at this point in life is smaller than I thought it would be. I count this as a good thing as well. I'm acquainted with many people, most of whom I am on friendly terms with. But, there is that small group of just a few who know me warts and all, and who remain. They are friends who are family. Making the journey with them has been and remains a huge blessing.
Finally, I am thankful that I come to this point in life still holding on to my faith, or it holding on to me. As I wrote the other day, my faith looks very different than it did years ago, full of far more questions and far less certainty. But a man of faith I remain. As my favorite hymn by a certain Irish bar band says, I still haven't found what I'm looking for. But I also believe that the One who years ago began a good work in me will complete that work and my search will be complete.
I am a thankful man.
This is the final post in my series on being thankful. As I wrote at the beginning of this, I don't know exactly why the idea for a series on thankfulness came to me, but I'm glad I've followed up on it. I can always use a reminder that being intentionally thankful serves me well. Hopefully this series has been a good reminder to you as well.
Today is my birthday. I am now 54 years old. My favorite line in The Grateful Dead's classic song, "Truckin,'" states, "What a long, strange trip it's been." I'll paraphrase that by saying that the trip to 54 has been quick and at least often unexpected, if not outright strange. I'm thankful to be the age that I am. I've never been a person who complained about birthdays. Frankly, that has always struck me as ridiculous, stupid even. I'll take every birthday I can get.
But my thankfulness goes beyond the fact that I've had a lot of birthdays. Plenty of people have been allowed far more birthdays then I've known to this point. The quality of my years rather than just the quantity is what holds my focus now.
As I have written in a previous post, I'm very drawn to the future, not very interested in the past. I'm excited about what is ahead for me, the opportunities and challenges that will allow me to grow and become a more fully-formed, fully-alive human being. But I'm also appreciative for the journey up to this point. Although not all of it has been enjoyable, and some of it was hellacious at times, I've still been able to learn something from every experience.
I have been blessed to be married for 32 years now...to the same woman. Not a lot of people get to say that. We still love each other, still like being with each other, we still laugh together. I have a wonderful daughter who inspires me to be a better, more compassionate person. I get to do work that challenges me, that gives me a sense of contribution, that reminds me of the value of humanity.
I still get to speak to a variety of audiences on a variety of topics. This has not been without a price, as there have been a few along the way who have tried to block my opportunities to fulfill my calling and use my voice. They haven't succeeded. I'm still here. I still speak, teach, preach. And I will continue to.
As my dad told me years ago could be the case, the circle of those who are truly close to me and know me well at this point in life is smaller than I thought it would be. I count this as a good thing as well. I'm acquainted with many people, most of whom I am on friendly terms with. But, there is that small group of just a few who know me warts and all, and who remain. They are friends who are family. Making the journey with them has been and remains a huge blessing.
Finally, I am thankful that I come to this point in life still holding on to my faith, or it holding on to me. As I wrote the other day, my faith looks very different than it did years ago, full of far more questions and far less certainty. But a man of faith I remain. As my favorite hymn by a certain Irish bar band says, I still haven't found what I'm looking for. But I also believe that the One who years ago began a good work in me will complete that work and my search will be complete.
I am a thankful man.
Thankful for California
Today, July 14, I'm thankful for having lived in California and the long-term influence it's had on me.
Frankly, I'm a bit surprised by this being one of the posts for my "thankful" series, but it occurred to me in thinking about what to write for today that my time living in California years ago has had a profound and lasting impact on me. I am a native-born American Southerner, having lived the majority of my life in the southeastern US. Although I've had the opportunity to travel around a lot of our country, my primary experiential context has been the American South, especially the "buckle of the Bible Belt" portion where I now live and have lived for a total of 30 years.
So, what in the world does California, a place I haven't lived in 40 years, have to do with having had a long-term influence on me? In thinking about this I have realized I can trace some things back to my 2 1/2 year-period in California, things that have characterized who I have been ever since, things that cause me to live with both eyes and mind a bit more wide open than might have been the case otherwise.
When we lived in California, we lived in Fresno, which is right in the middle of the state and also in the middle of the San Joaquin Valley, a major agricultural area for our entire country. Today Fresno is a city of over half-a-million people, so I would imagine when I was there its population was probably at least 300,000, maybe more. I lived close to Fresno St. University and went to their football games all the time. The climate was great, and if you wanted a change in climate, you didn't have to drive very far at all to get to the ocean, the snow, the desert.
My time in California introduced me to the beauty and vastness of the West, a region I still deeply love and miss today. But, California introduced me to something much deeper than geographical beauty and climate diversity. The diversity of humanity is the greatest thing California taught me and it is a lesson that resonates in me today, 40 years after I left there.
I hadn't really thought about this until the last couple of days. I don't know why the contribution of this time and place is just now coming so clearly into focus, but it is and I am thankful for that contribution.
The street on which we lived in Fresno (Santa Ana Ave.) was a mini-United Nations. If you were racist on that street, you were going to have a tough time. Asian, African, Portuguese, Italian, German, and Irish (courtesy of the Redman's) are just some of the ethnicities that were represented in our neighborhood. Everyone wore their ethnicity proudly, right under the shared identity of "American." No one was considered more American than anyone else. We were all Americans. We were all America.
Our parents worked hard, looked out for each other's kids, helped their neighbors. You know, basic stuff, built around shared values of community and neighborhood. Catholics, Protestants, Buddhists, and probably a few other religious labels I don't remember, all living side-by-side. I don't recall one argument or fight (God knows there were plenty, since it felt like there were about 1,000 of us kids on that short street) having to do with someone's ethnicity or religion.
I look back on that time and place, especially in light of much of the noise I hear today about "traditional values" and I realize the values lived out on a daily basis on Santa Ana Ave. were the kind of values that would make any neighborhood a good place to live. While so many people beating the traditional values drum today seem to be referring to a set of values that they believe are most closely held by one particular demographic group in one particular region of the country (read between the lines; you'll figure it out), my Fresno neighborhood from age 11-14 gave me both an experience and a vision of how life can be lived, should be lived, by all of us, with all of us.
It's been a few years since I've been back to California. I don't know when I'll get back there next, but when I do I plan on stopping in Fresno and driving back to Santa Ana Ave. (if it's even still there) and remember the lessons I learned there that help me be the man I am today and will hopefully be in the future. It will be a matter of paying my respects. Of giving thanks.
Frankly, I'm a bit surprised by this being one of the posts for my "thankful" series, but it occurred to me in thinking about what to write for today that my time living in California years ago has had a profound and lasting impact on me. I am a native-born American Southerner, having lived the majority of my life in the southeastern US. Although I've had the opportunity to travel around a lot of our country, my primary experiential context has been the American South, especially the "buckle of the Bible Belt" portion where I now live and have lived for a total of 30 years.
So, what in the world does California, a place I haven't lived in 40 years, have to do with having had a long-term influence on me? In thinking about this I have realized I can trace some things back to my 2 1/2 year-period in California, things that have characterized who I have been ever since, things that cause me to live with both eyes and mind a bit more wide open than might have been the case otherwise.
When we lived in California, we lived in Fresno, which is right in the middle of the state and also in the middle of the San Joaquin Valley, a major agricultural area for our entire country. Today Fresno is a city of over half-a-million people, so I would imagine when I was there its population was probably at least 300,000, maybe more. I lived close to Fresno St. University and went to their football games all the time. The climate was great, and if you wanted a change in climate, you didn't have to drive very far at all to get to the ocean, the snow, the desert.
My time in California introduced me to the beauty and vastness of the West, a region I still deeply love and miss today. But, California introduced me to something much deeper than geographical beauty and climate diversity. The diversity of humanity is the greatest thing California taught me and it is a lesson that resonates in me today, 40 years after I left there.
I hadn't really thought about this until the last couple of days. I don't know why the contribution of this time and place is just now coming so clearly into focus, but it is and I am thankful for that contribution.
The street on which we lived in Fresno (Santa Ana Ave.) was a mini-United Nations. If you were racist on that street, you were going to have a tough time. Asian, African, Portuguese, Italian, German, and Irish (courtesy of the Redman's) are just some of the ethnicities that were represented in our neighborhood. Everyone wore their ethnicity proudly, right under the shared identity of "American." No one was considered more American than anyone else. We were all Americans. We were all America.
Our parents worked hard, looked out for each other's kids, helped their neighbors. You know, basic stuff, built around shared values of community and neighborhood. Catholics, Protestants, Buddhists, and probably a few other religious labels I don't remember, all living side-by-side. I don't recall one argument or fight (God knows there were plenty, since it felt like there were about 1,000 of us kids on that short street) having to do with someone's ethnicity or religion.
I look back on that time and place, especially in light of much of the noise I hear today about "traditional values" and I realize the values lived out on a daily basis on Santa Ana Ave. were the kind of values that would make any neighborhood a good place to live. While so many people beating the traditional values drum today seem to be referring to a set of values that they believe are most closely held by one particular demographic group in one particular region of the country (read between the lines; you'll figure it out), my Fresno neighborhood from age 11-14 gave me both an experience and a vision of how life can be lived, should be lived, by all of us, with all of us.
It's been a few years since I've been back to California. I don't know when I'll get back there next, but when I do I plan on stopping in Fresno and driving back to Santa Ana Ave. (if it's even still there) and remember the lessons I learned there that help me be the man I am today and will hopefully be in the future. It will be a matter of paying my respects. Of giving thanks.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Thankful for my faith
Today, July 13, I am thankful for my faith.
One of the many reasons this is true is because my faith is much different than it used to be, not just the faith from my childhood and youth, but also from my earlier adulthood. Although it took me some time to recognize this, over the last several years I have realized that my faith has always been something that was in transition, in process. For a long time I felt like I couldn't (shouldn't) admit this fact to myself or anyone else, but once I began admitting it, my faith seemed to grow stronger.
I need to clarify what I mean when I use the word "faith." Or, maybe I can clarify it by stating what I don't mean when using that word. So many people think faith means certainty and vice versa. Not me. My faith is a central aspect of my life in spite of all of which I am not certain. Faith for me is not a list of doctrines and regulations and it certainly is not insisting that I've got the Almighty of the universe all figured out. At this point, I have him less figured out than I ever have. It would be fair to say that while in my twenties I was sure I had most of the answers about God. Now in my mid-fifties, I'm mainly full of questions.
And I believe that this fact has made my faith deeper, more real, more human, maybe even something that God can actually work with to make me more of the person I've been created to be. But, this process, this journey, has been a very tough one at times, full of plenty of doubt, even questions about whether I could hold on to my faith. Plenty of people who know little to nothing about me have even passed judgement on me during this process, pronouncing me as having compromised or even abandoned my faith. This used to bother (actually it more than bothered) me. Today, I choose to look at such people and such opinions as the difference between faith and certainty disguised as faith. Faith makes room for and even welcomes the questions, the doubts. Certainty insists that questions and doubts must be avoided at all costs. And this is actually the easier of the two options, as long as you don't mind stunting your mind, heart, and soul.
But I'll take the tougher of the two options any day. Embracing a messier, more elastic approach to having faith doesn't make for an easier journey and it will even make you pretty unpopular in certain circles, but the upside is one of discovery, mystery, hope, as well as a sense that you are a human who is still becoming and that the Almighty is right there with you in the middle of the questions, doubts, fears, and longing.
I used to be a guy with all the answers for how you should think, live, and believe. I look back and realize I don't like that guy. Today I am a man who is still in process, still unsure about a lot of things, but who is more hopeful than I've ever been. At this point in life I have far more questions than answers, but I've never been more thankful that I have my faith and that my faith has me.
One of the many reasons this is true is because my faith is much different than it used to be, not just the faith from my childhood and youth, but also from my earlier adulthood. Although it took me some time to recognize this, over the last several years I have realized that my faith has always been something that was in transition, in process. For a long time I felt like I couldn't (shouldn't) admit this fact to myself or anyone else, but once I began admitting it, my faith seemed to grow stronger.
I need to clarify what I mean when I use the word "faith." Or, maybe I can clarify it by stating what I don't mean when using that word. So many people think faith means certainty and vice versa. Not me. My faith is a central aspect of my life in spite of all of which I am not certain. Faith for me is not a list of doctrines and regulations and it certainly is not insisting that I've got the Almighty of the universe all figured out. At this point, I have him less figured out than I ever have. It would be fair to say that while in my twenties I was sure I had most of the answers about God. Now in my mid-fifties, I'm mainly full of questions.
And I believe that this fact has made my faith deeper, more real, more human, maybe even something that God can actually work with to make me more of the person I've been created to be. But, this process, this journey, has been a very tough one at times, full of plenty of doubt, even questions about whether I could hold on to my faith. Plenty of people who know little to nothing about me have even passed judgement on me during this process, pronouncing me as having compromised or even abandoned my faith. This used to bother (actually it more than bothered) me. Today, I choose to look at such people and such opinions as the difference between faith and certainty disguised as faith. Faith makes room for and even welcomes the questions, the doubts. Certainty insists that questions and doubts must be avoided at all costs. And this is actually the easier of the two options, as long as you don't mind stunting your mind, heart, and soul.
But I'll take the tougher of the two options any day. Embracing a messier, more elastic approach to having faith doesn't make for an easier journey and it will even make you pretty unpopular in certain circles, but the upside is one of discovery, mystery, hope, as well as a sense that you are a human who is still becoming and that the Almighty is right there with you in the middle of the questions, doubts, fears, and longing.
I used to be a guy with all the answers for how you should think, live, and believe. I look back and realize I don't like that guy. Today I am a man who is still in process, still unsure about a lot of things, but who is more hopeful than I've ever been. At this point in life I have far more questions than answers, but I've never been more thankful that I have my faith and that my faith has me.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Thankful for new beginnings and second chances
Today, July 12, I'm thankful for new beginnings and second chances.
And of course, sometimes they're the same thing.
I love looking forward, endeavoring to envision what the future could be, and then working to create it. The past doesn't hold much interest for me, but the possibilities of the future fascinate me. And whether a new beginning involves the first steps of the process of creating something from scratch, or letting the light of day finally shine on a project that's been in development for a while, either way I'm going to be excited.
Managing something that is already in place without exploring how it can be changed, reimagined, etc., holds no interest for me and I'm really not very good at it. I'm thankful that much of what I do is about new beginnings and thinking about and then working to create what's next, what could be. My futuristic strength is one of those things that makes me me. For people who are tied to the past, to maintaining traditions, to resisting change, I tend to drive them crazy (the feeling is mutual). As one of my seminary professors said about me, "Jerry's so much of a futurist, that today's too far in the past for him." Guilty as charged.
But every now and then, the new beginning is about re-engaging with something that has been part of my journey before. Every once in a while, I find that a connection or an initiative that had a place of importance in my life in another time re-presents itself. I try to pay attention to these re-presentations, endeavoring to ensure that my futuristic orientation doesn't cause me to miss an opportunity to re-connect with someone or something that may be offering me new opportunities for growth.
I am currently experiencing such a re-connection after a several-years-period of being away from a particular initiative. There was a time that I thought my experience with this initiative was completely wrapped up and that there was no need to consider re-connecting with it. Several months ago when the opportunity to discuss this re-connection presented itself, something told me I should at least be open to the possibility.
It has turned out to be a good decision. And maybe the best thing about giving (and being given) a second chance in this situation is that it feels much more like a new beginning instead of re-booting something from the past. Maybe it's a bit of both, but given my bias for the new, a new beginning gets my vote.
New beginnings, second chances, to see something formed out of virtually nothing, to see something reformed, to see people be transformed. I'm not sure there are many other things in life for which any of us can be more thankful.
And of course, sometimes they're the same thing.
I love looking forward, endeavoring to envision what the future could be, and then working to create it. The past doesn't hold much interest for me, but the possibilities of the future fascinate me. And whether a new beginning involves the first steps of the process of creating something from scratch, or letting the light of day finally shine on a project that's been in development for a while, either way I'm going to be excited.
Managing something that is already in place without exploring how it can be changed, reimagined, etc., holds no interest for me and I'm really not very good at it. I'm thankful that much of what I do is about new beginnings and thinking about and then working to create what's next, what could be. My futuristic strength is one of those things that makes me me. For people who are tied to the past, to maintaining traditions, to resisting change, I tend to drive them crazy (the feeling is mutual). As one of my seminary professors said about me, "Jerry's so much of a futurist, that today's too far in the past for him." Guilty as charged.
But every now and then, the new beginning is about re-engaging with something that has been part of my journey before. Every once in a while, I find that a connection or an initiative that had a place of importance in my life in another time re-presents itself. I try to pay attention to these re-presentations, endeavoring to ensure that my futuristic orientation doesn't cause me to miss an opportunity to re-connect with someone or something that may be offering me new opportunities for growth.
I am currently experiencing such a re-connection after a several-years-period of being away from a particular initiative. There was a time that I thought my experience with this initiative was completely wrapped up and that there was no need to consider re-connecting with it. Several months ago when the opportunity to discuss this re-connection presented itself, something told me I should at least be open to the possibility.
It has turned out to be a good decision. And maybe the best thing about giving (and being given) a second chance in this situation is that it feels much more like a new beginning instead of re-booting something from the past. Maybe it's a bit of both, but given my bias for the new, a new beginning gets my vote.
New beginnings, second chances, to see something formed out of virtually nothing, to see something reformed, to see people be transformed. I'm not sure there are many other things in life for which any of us can be more thankful.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Thankful to preach
Today, July 11, I am thankful that I get to preach.
Maybe a more correct statement would be that in spite of a whole lot of stuff that's come my way in the last decade, I am thankful that I continue to preach anyway.
I speak a great deal in my work with Second Life of Chattanooga. I also do a fair amount of guest-lecturing on college campuses, some of it related to Second Life, some of it not. From time to time I'm also asked to speak to groups on the subject of leadership, team building, etc. I enjoy each of these types of speaking, as I think being able to engage a variety of groups on a variety of topics makes me not only a better communicator, but also a better learner.
But preaching is a completely different matter, not only in terms of its structure and how I approach it, but also because at its core it is an exercise in hope. The preacher hopes that somehow both his or her audience and the preacher him or herself will see, feel, believe something beyond the difficulty of their present circumstances, their present fears, their present disappointments, their present lack of belief. Both the preacher and those listening hope they may somehow touch God. They also hope that God might also return the favor.
Every time I preach I have 2 goals. The first is that those hearing the message will think. Deeply. That they will dare to go beyond their presuppositions and closely-held opinions and instead allow themselves to consider the possibility that the text and the Spirit behind it might actually have something to teach them. Hopefully the one preaching will engage in the same deeper level of thinking.
The second goal is that action will then rise from that thinking. The action may not happen till a week, a month, or even a year later, but if I am able to say something that causes someone to think so deeply on it that they cannot help but then act on that thinking, then hopefully I have been a good steward of what has been given me to say.
Many people don't peg me for a preacher. God knows I never wanted to be one. I grew up in the industry, a preacher's son, a preacher's grandson. As I've said many times before, I wanted nothing to do with that kind of life, mainly because I wanted to be happy. But at the age of 19 "the call" came to me in a simple, quiet, but unmistakeable way. I then did what any reasonable person would do with such a realization...
...I tried to ignore and run from it for the next 17 1/2 years. Eventually though, in the same simple, quiet, unmistakeable way that it first presented itself, the call (and the One issuing it) made itself irresistible to me. The 17 years since then have been filled with some great highs and some crushing lows. There have been times I've thought, "The hell with this. It's just not worth it." But somehow the call remains in me, so I remain in it.
I never treat lightly any opportunity to preach. To do so would mean that I no longer respect the call, the Caller, the audience that's willing to listen, the text, or myself. I know that I have a role to play in the exchange, one that I want to steward well. Unlike so much of the models of ministry I've seen in my life, I do not view myself as indispensable or the most important person in the room. Ultimately I am also part of the audience, needing just as much (maybe sometimes even more) to think deeply, act boldly, to be transformed.
So in spite of plenty reasons to no longer do so, I continue to preach when given the opportunity. I imagine I will do it as long as I have breath. Thanks be to God.
Maybe a more correct statement would be that in spite of a whole lot of stuff that's come my way in the last decade, I am thankful that I continue to preach anyway.
I speak a great deal in my work with Second Life of Chattanooga. I also do a fair amount of guest-lecturing on college campuses, some of it related to Second Life, some of it not. From time to time I'm also asked to speak to groups on the subject of leadership, team building, etc. I enjoy each of these types of speaking, as I think being able to engage a variety of groups on a variety of topics makes me not only a better communicator, but also a better learner.
But preaching is a completely different matter, not only in terms of its structure and how I approach it, but also because at its core it is an exercise in hope. The preacher hopes that somehow both his or her audience and the preacher him or herself will see, feel, believe something beyond the difficulty of their present circumstances, their present fears, their present disappointments, their present lack of belief. Both the preacher and those listening hope they may somehow touch God. They also hope that God might also return the favor.
Every time I preach I have 2 goals. The first is that those hearing the message will think. Deeply. That they will dare to go beyond their presuppositions and closely-held opinions and instead allow themselves to consider the possibility that the text and the Spirit behind it might actually have something to teach them. Hopefully the one preaching will engage in the same deeper level of thinking.
The second goal is that action will then rise from that thinking. The action may not happen till a week, a month, or even a year later, but if I am able to say something that causes someone to think so deeply on it that they cannot help but then act on that thinking, then hopefully I have been a good steward of what has been given me to say.
Many people don't peg me for a preacher. God knows I never wanted to be one. I grew up in the industry, a preacher's son, a preacher's grandson. As I've said many times before, I wanted nothing to do with that kind of life, mainly because I wanted to be happy. But at the age of 19 "the call" came to me in a simple, quiet, but unmistakeable way. I then did what any reasonable person would do with such a realization...
...I tried to ignore and run from it for the next 17 1/2 years. Eventually though, in the same simple, quiet, unmistakeable way that it first presented itself, the call (and the One issuing it) made itself irresistible to me. The 17 years since then have been filled with some great highs and some crushing lows. There have been times I've thought, "The hell with this. It's just not worth it." But somehow the call remains in me, so I remain in it.
I never treat lightly any opportunity to preach. To do so would mean that I no longer respect the call, the Caller, the audience that's willing to listen, the text, or myself. I know that I have a role to play in the exchange, one that I want to steward well. Unlike so much of the models of ministry I've seen in my life, I do not view myself as indispensable or the most important person in the room. Ultimately I am also part of the audience, needing just as much (maybe sometimes even more) to think deeply, act boldly, to be transformed.
So in spite of plenty reasons to no longer do so, I continue to preach when given the opportunity. I imagine I will do it as long as I have breath. Thanks be to God.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Thankful for health
Today, July 10, I'm thankful for health.
This has not always been the case, as there have been some years when I took my health for granted or was my own worst enemy where my health was concerned. When you're young you tend to think you're bullet-proof and then as you age you begin to discover that maybe exercise and healthy eating ARE all they're cracked up to be.
I made a decision a while ago that using bad knees and a bad back as an excuse for not exercising would no longer cut it. And I also decided that my food intake needed to be reduced. Since then I have shaved 40 pounds off my frame and although I still have a bit more to go to get to my goal weight, I have begun transforming how I feel, my energy level,and a great deal of my overall outlook on life.
Working out 5-6 days a week is now a regular habit, along with taking advantage of every opportunity I get to build up a good sweat working outside or with the horses. Water is now my main drink of choice. I still enjoy a good cheeseburger or pizza, only now exercising some sanity about it.
The healthier I am becoming, the more thankful I am to have the opportunity to rebuild my health. I realize that so many people would love to engage in the activities in which I get to engage, but injury or a debilitating disease has made that impossible for them. For whatever reason, in spite of my injuries (a broken neck, 2 very problematic knees- one of which has been replaced, a back that is problematic only on a daily basis), I've still been allowed the opportunity to move, lift, stretch, sweat.
I no longer take that blessing for granted.
I'll be 54 years old next week. No longer a young man, not yet an old one. But I am becoming once again a healthy man. I want the rest of my life to be characterized by me being part of the solution in each of the contexts in which I am placed. I want to be able to point people to a brighter and very possible future. I want to continue to be part of a movement that helps set people free from sexual trafficking and exploitation. I want to play full-speed with my future grandkids. I want to live, fully.
So tomorrow, I will move, lift, stretch, sweat. Thankfully.
This has not always been the case, as there have been some years when I took my health for granted or was my own worst enemy where my health was concerned. When you're young you tend to think you're bullet-proof and then as you age you begin to discover that maybe exercise and healthy eating ARE all they're cracked up to be.
I made a decision a while ago that using bad knees and a bad back as an excuse for not exercising would no longer cut it. And I also decided that my food intake needed to be reduced. Since then I have shaved 40 pounds off my frame and although I still have a bit more to go to get to my goal weight, I have begun transforming how I feel, my energy level,and a great deal of my overall outlook on life.
Working out 5-6 days a week is now a regular habit, along with taking advantage of every opportunity I get to build up a good sweat working outside or with the horses. Water is now my main drink of choice. I still enjoy a good cheeseburger or pizza, only now exercising some sanity about it.
The healthier I am becoming, the more thankful I am to have the opportunity to rebuild my health. I realize that so many people would love to engage in the activities in which I get to engage, but injury or a debilitating disease has made that impossible for them. For whatever reason, in spite of my injuries (a broken neck, 2 very problematic knees- one of which has been replaced, a back that is problematic only on a daily basis), I've still been allowed the opportunity to move, lift, stretch, sweat.
I no longer take that blessing for granted.
I'll be 54 years old next week. No longer a young man, not yet an old one. But I am becoming once again a healthy man. I want the rest of my life to be characterized by me being part of the solution in each of the contexts in which I am placed. I want to be able to point people to a brighter and very possible future. I want to continue to be part of a movement that helps set people free from sexual trafficking and exploitation. I want to play full-speed with my future grandkids. I want to live, fully.
So tomorrow, I will move, lift, stretch, sweat. Thankfully.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Thankful for Second Life of Chattanooga
Today, June 9, I am thankful for the organization for which I work, Second Life of Chattanooga.
The work that I do is work I never saw coming. I wasn't aware that the issue of sex trafficking was one about which I should know. I will admit it was an issue about which I didn't want to know. I had other plans, I was headed in a much different direction. But, as the old saying goes, "Men & and women plan. God laughs." Which means I am sure I have been able to provide him plenty of comic relief in this case.
I was a pastor, convinced I was on my way to becoming a church consultant when the issue of sex trafficking in the United States was dropped in my lap. I couldn't shake it, although God knows I tried. Once I realized that trying to shake it was futile, I decided to begin finding out everything I could about the issue, which in turn led to me to talking to friends about it, which of course led to them talking to others, which led to this thing called Second Life of Chattanooga.
Ours is an organization dedicated to creating awareness, advocacy and collaborative action on the issue of sex trafficking as it exists in Chattanooga and Southeast Tennessee. In the time since we began as nothing more than a conversation between two people in 2007, we have been privileged to partner with a variety of agencies and organizations from the non-profit world, law-enforcement and government. In addition, we have worked closely with social service providers, mental health and medical professionals, educators and multiple concerned citizens.
Each of these connections are valuable and I am thankful for them all. But, I also want to focus part of today's post, as well as express thanks, for those people inside Second Life who make it all that it is and all that it is becoming. We are a small organization, with just a handful of paid staff working alongside a team of very dedicated volunteers and a six-member board of directors. Although the idea and conversations that birthed us began seven years ago, we've only been an actual non-profit organization for two years, so we're still on a learning curve when it comes to organizational development, gathering and leveraging resources, as well as the work of ensuring missional success and long-term sustainability.
The people who make up the Second Life team are greatly talented and deeply dedicated and passionate about this work. They each bring to their work a hope and belief that not only should no one be sold for sex, but also that freeing all of those who are being sold in such a manner is possible. We do the work that is necessary in every organizational setting, a lot of it the un-specacular stuff that comes with any type of work. But everyone within Second Life knows that whatever the project on which they're working may be, it is part of a big, audacious vision and the contribution they make is vital.
The Second Life team understands very well that the issue we're working against is a dark one. For this reason, we value things like laughter, grace, encouragement. We have to value those things, otherwise the darkness of the issue would consume us and we'd have no light to offer anyone. Fortunately, that is not the case and we are diligent about ensuring we continue to become a positive, life-giving part of the solution.
This Saturday I am speaking to a group and part of my focus with them will be on living with purpose. There is no doubt that the work I am privileged to do with Second Life has brought a deeper, and somewhat unexpected purpose to my life. The crime we fight against is massive and we are a long way from seeing the tide turn on this issue. But, our team is crazy enough to believe that we can make a difference and contribute to people's freedom. One of our un-official mottos is, "We don't want much. We just want to change the world. Wanna help?"
It's crazy, difficult, exhausting, sometimes even dangerous work. And we love it. Thankful indeed.
The work that I do is work I never saw coming. I wasn't aware that the issue of sex trafficking was one about which I should know. I will admit it was an issue about which I didn't want to know. I had other plans, I was headed in a much different direction. But, as the old saying goes, "Men & and women plan. God laughs." Which means I am sure I have been able to provide him plenty of comic relief in this case.
I was a pastor, convinced I was on my way to becoming a church consultant when the issue of sex trafficking in the United States was dropped in my lap. I couldn't shake it, although God knows I tried. Once I realized that trying to shake it was futile, I decided to begin finding out everything I could about the issue, which in turn led to me to talking to friends about it, which of course led to them talking to others, which led to this thing called Second Life of Chattanooga.
Ours is an organization dedicated to creating awareness, advocacy and collaborative action on the issue of sex trafficking as it exists in Chattanooga and Southeast Tennessee. In the time since we began as nothing more than a conversation between two people in 2007, we have been privileged to partner with a variety of agencies and organizations from the non-profit world, law-enforcement and government. In addition, we have worked closely with social service providers, mental health and medical professionals, educators and multiple concerned citizens.
Each of these connections are valuable and I am thankful for them all. But, I also want to focus part of today's post, as well as express thanks, for those people inside Second Life who make it all that it is and all that it is becoming. We are a small organization, with just a handful of paid staff working alongside a team of very dedicated volunteers and a six-member board of directors. Although the idea and conversations that birthed us began seven years ago, we've only been an actual non-profit organization for two years, so we're still on a learning curve when it comes to organizational development, gathering and leveraging resources, as well as the work of ensuring missional success and long-term sustainability.
The people who make up the Second Life team are greatly talented and deeply dedicated and passionate about this work. They each bring to their work a hope and belief that not only should no one be sold for sex, but also that freeing all of those who are being sold in such a manner is possible. We do the work that is necessary in every organizational setting, a lot of it the un-specacular stuff that comes with any type of work. But everyone within Second Life knows that whatever the project on which they're working may be, it is part of a big, audacious vision and the contribution they make is vital.
The Second Life team understands very well that the issue we're working against is a dark one. For this reason, we value things like laughter, grace, encouragement. We have to value those things, otherwise the darkness of the issue would consume us and we'd have no light to offer anyone. Fortunately, that is not the case and we are diligent about ensuring we continue to become a positive, life-giving part of the solution.
This Saturday I am speaking to a group and part of my focus with them will be on living with purpose. There is no doubt that the work I am privileged to do with Second Life has brought a deeper, and somewhat unexpected purpose to my life. The crime we fight against is massive and we are a long way from seeing the tide turn on this issue. But, our team is crazy enough to believe that we can make a difference and contribute to people's freedom. One of our un-official mottos is, "We don't want much. We just want to change the world. Wanna help?"
It's crazy, difficult, exhausting, sometimes even dangerous work. And we love it. Thankful indeed.
Thankful for the horses
Today, June 8, I am thankful for Mack, Ben & Cole...aka, "the horses."
I didn't grow up around horses, although I did have the opportunity to be around them from time to time. But it wasn't until a few years ago that I began to get up close and personal on a regular basis with horses. This up close and personal opportunity allowed me to discover something: I have a natural aptitude with horses. I never knew this was the case until I began taking care of Mack, Ben & Cole.
My sister-in-law owns Mack, Ben & Cole. A few years ago she had an accident that for a few weeks rendered her unable to take care of her horses. I stepped in and told her I'd handle it. Turns out I not only was good at it, I really enjoyed it. It has now become a once-a-week opportunity for me, one of those things that I do to enhance my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health.
Mack is a big, beautiful Draft. Ben & Cole are both Quarters, not as big as Mack, but equally beautiful. They each exhibit very distinct personalities, and of course, there is a pecking order between them (Ben is the alpha). They are calm and gentle and perfectly at ease around me and I am perfectly at ease around them. During some very difficult times in the last few years, they have been a source of respite and relief for me.
I love everything involved in taking care of them, not just the things that allow me to be right next to them, but also those things necessary for their care, such as getting their hay down from the loft, preparing their feed, mucking their stalls, refilling their water trough in the pasture. All of it is work, but it is work that feels like a gift, because that's exactly what it is.
I also love being able to walk them from their stalls back out to their pasture, as this is the time I get to do my weekly check-in with them. I check out how they look, make sure their gait is ok, but mainly I just talk to them. On that short walk from barn to pasture, they are reminded that I am someone who loves them and that they can count on. They are also reminded how much I count on them.
I spend the majority of my week in meetings, speaking to groups, or in front of a computer answering the never-ending tide of emails and working on projects. I am blessed to do work that is fulfilling and to which I feel called. But, my time each Saturday with Mack, Ben & Cole every Saturday is some of the best and most precious time of my week. It is time that reminds me that there is more to me than my job. It is time that reminds me how necessary it is to be in nature as often as is possible. It is time that reminds me I am both a human being and a human becoming. It is sacred time.
Mack, Ben & Cole, 3 of my mental health and soul-care therapists. I am deeply thankful for them and to them for helping me stay sane and hopeful.
I didn't grow up around horses, although I did have the opportunity to be around them from time to time. But it wasn't until a few years ago that I began to get up close and personal on a regular basis with horses. This up close and personal opportunity allowed me to discover something: I have a natural aptitude with horses. I never knew this was the case until I began taking care of Mack, Ben & Cole.
My sister-in-law owns Mack, Ben & Cole. A few years ago she had an accident that for a few weeks rendered her unable to take care of her horses. I stepped in and told her I'd handle it. Turns out I not only was good at it, I really enjoyed it. It has now become a once-a-week opportunity for me, one of those things that I do to enhance my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health.
Mack is a big, beautiful Draft. Ben & Cole are both Quarters, not as big as Mack, but equally beautiful. They each exhibit very distinct personalities, and of course, there is a pecking order between them (Ben is the alpha). They are calm and gentle and perfectly at ease around me and I am perfectly at ease around them. During some very difficult times in the last few years, they have been a source of respite and relief for me.
I love everything involved in taking care of them, not just the things that allow me to be right next to them, but also those things necessary for their care, such as getting their hay down from the loft, preparing their feed, mucking their stalls, refilling their water trough in the pasture. All of it is work, but it is work that feels like a gift, because that's exactly what it is.
I also love being able to walk them from their stalls back out to their pasture, as this is the time I get to do my weekly check-in with them. I check out how they look, make sure their gait is ok, but mainly I just talk to them. On that short walk from barn to pasture, they are reminded that I am someone who loves them and that they can count on. They are also reminded how much I count on them.
I spend the majority of my week in meetings, speaking to groups, or in front of a computer answering the never-ending tide of emails and working on projects. I am blessed to do work that is fulfilling and to which I feel called. But, my time each Saturday with Mack, Ben & Cole every Saturday is some of the best and most precious time of my week. It is time that reminds me that there is more to me than my job. It is time that reminds me how necessary it is to be in nature as often as is possible. It is time that reminds me I am both a human being and a human becoming. It is sacred time.
Mack, Ben & Cole, 3 of my mental health and soul-care therapists. I am deeply thankful for them and to them for helping me stay sane and hopeful.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Thankful for writers and their books
Today, July 7, I am thankful for writers and the books they write.
I have always been a reader and a variety of genres have characterized my reading throughout my life. The last fifteen years, however, have seen the work of certain writers fill an even more important place in my journey. Some of these writers have produced work that has allowed me welcome relief from the intensity of life. Other writers' works have been encouragement in dry, tough places. And in a few cases, certain writers' words have literally kept me sane and alive.
My roster of life-giving writers over this last decade-and-a-half include Leonard Sweet, C.S. Lewis, Frederick Buechner, Brian McLaren, Donald Miller, John Eldredge, Erwin McManus, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Brennan Manning, Rachel Held-Evans, Lauren Winner, Janet Hagberg, Sam Rima, Parker Palmer, David Benner, Edwin Friedman, and Daniel Taylor. Each of them have written books that seemed to come along at just the right time for me, keeping hope and faith alive within me, even though my circumstances at the time were telling me holding onto hope and faith was pointless and foolish.
I've had the opportunity to meet some of them and thank them for pouring water on dry ground, providing shade in a desert place, or for being a shelter in the storm. Others I haven't met, and may never meet, but for them and to them I am just as thankful. They have written books that I have gone back to on many occasions, each time finding some new piece of encouragement and insight.
It is not an overstatement to say that their words have at times saved my life. They have certainly kept alive my desire to keep moving forward, to become the person I'm designed to be.
Frederick Buechner has done a great job describing what it takes to write; "You just sit down at your typewriter (or laptop) and open up a vein." He's right. The books that have touched me the most carry with them the very substance that gives life to the writer. As I have previously told my friend Daniel Allen (whose own book will be released next February- Summoned on InterVarsity Press), the best books are written in blood. I have read such blood-soaked works while I felt I was covered in my own. Hopefully through their process of writing them and my process of reading them, the bleeding stopped a bit for both of us.
But, there are other writers and books that I also enjoy, for entirely different reasons than I have already mentioned. I believe that for all that books can give us, one of the important things they should deliver is fun. For that reason, I should mention those writers whose works of fiction have allowed me to relax for a bit and get lost in great stories.
The Irish crime dramas of Ken Bruen and Declan Hughes, the American crime settings of Michael Harvey, and the spy thrillers of William Boyd, Charles Cumming, Thomas Caplan, Sebastian Faulks, Jeffrey Deaver, and, of course, Ian Fleming...all of these have provided me many hours of enjoyment. I love to see where a great story and great characters will take me. And, for reasons I do not understand (but maybe my mental health professional friends can explain), reading crime and spy thrillers is one way that I unwind and relax. I don't understand it, but I do understand that it's true.
So, I give thanks today for writers and their work. I hope you will take time to consider whose writing makes you think and feel more deeply, causes you to continue to hope and believe, or who just takes you on a fun ride for 250 pages. Literature is such a great gift. In case you have not availed yourself of it in a while, I hope you will pick up or download a book today and let the power of words, thoughts, and story remind you just how alive you are, and how much more alive you can be.
I have always been a reader and a variety of genres have characterized my reading throughout my life. The last fifteen years, however, have seen the work of certain writers fill an even more important place in my journey. Some of these writers have produced work that has allowed me welcome relief from the intensity of life. Other writers' works have been encouragement in dry, tough places. And in a few cases, certain writers' words have literally kept me sane and alive.
My roster of life-giving writers over this last decade-and-a-half include Leonard Sweet, C.S. Lewis, Frederick Buechner, Brian McLaren, Donald Miller, John Eldredge, Erwin McManus, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Brennan Manning, Rachel Held-Evans, Lauren Winner, Janet Hagberg, Sam Rima, Parker Palmer, David Benner, Edwin Friedman, and Daniel Taylor. Each of them have written books that seemed to come along at just the right time for me, keeping hope and faith alive within me, even though my circumstances at the time were telling me holding onto hope and faith was pointless and foolish.
I've had the opportunity to meet some of them and thank them for pouring water on dry ground, providing shade in a desert place, or for being a shelter in the storm. Others I haven't met, and may never meet, but for them and to them I am just as thankful. They have written books that I have gone back to on many occasions, each time finding some new piece of encouragement and insight.
It is not an overstatement to say that their words have at times saved my life. They have certainly kept alive my desire to keep moving forward, to become the person I'm designed to be.
Frederick Buechner has done a great job describing what it takes to write; "You just sit down at your typewriter (or laptop) and open up a vein." He's right. The books that have touched me the most carry with them the very substance that gives life to the writer. As I have previously told my friend Daniel Allen (whose own book will be released next February- Summoned on InterVarsity Press), the best books are written in blood. I have read such blood-soaked works while I felt I was covered in my own. Hopefully through their process of writing them and my process of reading them, the bleeding stopped a bit for both of us.
But, there are other writers and books that I also enjoy, for entirely different reasons than I have already mentioned. I believe that for all that books can give us, one of the important things they should deliver is fun. For that reason, I should mention those writers whose works of fiction have allowed me to relax for a bit and get lost in great stories.
The Irish crime dramas of Ken Bruen and Declan Hughes, the American crime settings of Michael Harvey, and the spy thrillers of William Boyd, Charles Cumming, Thomas Caplan, Sebastian Faulks, Jeffrey Deaver, and, of course, Ian Fleming...all of these have provided me many hours of enjoyment. I love to see where a great story and great characters will take me. And, for reasons I do not understand (but maybe my mental health professional friends can explain), reading crime and spy thrillers is one way that I unwind and relax. I don't understand it, but I do understand that it's true.
So, I give thanks today for writers and their work. I hope you will take time to consider whose writing makes you think and feel more deeply, causes you to continue to hope and believe, or who just takes you on a fun ride for 250 pages. Literature is such a great gift. In case you have not availed yourself of it in a while, I hope you will pick up or download a book today and let the power of words, thoughts, and story remind you just how alive you are, and how much more alive you can be.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Thankful for rest
Today, July 6, I am thankful for rest.
In fact, I've been so thankful for rest today I almost forgot to post this. My life is much like yours I'm sure, full and often fast-paced. My work schedule is full of meetings, speaking engagements and helping lead an organization. I also make sure I attend to my physical health by exercising 5-6 days a week. Saturdays find me grabbing any opportunity I can create to work outside, at least for a few hours, followed by taking care of my sister-in-law's horses (one of the best parts of my week).
What I have begun to realize in all of this activity is I really do need a day dedicated to rest. Sunday is that day for me. Some of you reading this may say, "Way to figure this out, Einstein. That's what a Sabbath is for." But, I think very of us actually have this figured out, much less engage in a true day of rest. For me, it has become not only needed and welcomed, it has become sacred.
No physical work, no job work, no workout, nothing. On Sundays I recover. And think. And read. And nap. And pray. And enjoy the sunshine. And be present with and available for Jeanine in a way I'm not quite as present and available during the week. And let God restore my soul.
When I was a pastor, Sundays were anything but a day of rest. Given the demands of the job (at least in the Bible Belt), a rest day any other time of the week was a rare occurrence. It has been life-giving to me since that time to discover not only how necessary, but also possible, a true day of rest is, if we will only insist on it for ourselves and from ourselves.
Your day of rest may be a different day, or it may be made up of pieces of a couple of days set aside for nothing but rest and reflection. Whatever the day or days that work for you, I encourage you to create and insist on this space in your life. And, don't let anyone, anything, or any institutional expectation or pressure rob you of it.
I am a better, more alive person for giving myself this sacred space and time. Or maybe what I'm doing is giving myself to this sacred space and time. Whatever the case, it is a precious time of the week for me. It is a gift that I continually look forward to opening. It is a gift that fills me with a thankfulness that resonates throughout each new week. I am thankful for rest. I hope that you will allow yourself this same thanksgiving.
In fact, I've been so thankful for rest today I almost forgot to post this. My life is much like yours I'm sure, full and often fast-paced. My work schedule is full of meetings, speaking engagements and helping lead an organization. I also make sure I attend to my physical health by exercising 5-6 days a week. Saturdays find me grabbing any opportunity I can create to work outside, at least for a few hours, followed by taking care of my sister-in-law's horses (one of the best parts of my week).
What I have begun to realize in all of this activity is I really do need a day dedicated to rest. Sunday is that day for me. Some of you reading this may say, "Way to figure this out, Einstein. That's what a Sabbath is for." But, I think very of us actually have this figured out, much less engage in a true day of rest. For me, it has become not only needed and welcomed, it has become sacred.
No physical work, no job work, no workout, nothing. On Sundays I recover. And think. And read. And nap. And pray. And enjoy the sunshine. And be present with and available for Jeanine in a way I'm not quite as present and available during the week. And let God restore my soul.
When I was a pastor, Sundays were anything but a day of rest. Given the demands of the job (at least in the Bible Belt), a rest day any other time of the week was a rare occurrence. It has been life-giving to me since that time to discover not only how necessary, but also possible, a true day of rest is, if we will only insist on it for ourselves and from ourselves.
Your day of rest may be a different day, or it may be made up of pieces of a couple of days set aside for nothing but rest and reflection. Whatever the day or days that work for you, I encourage you to create and insist on this space in your life. And, don't let anyone, anything, or any institutional expectation or pressure rob you of it.
I am a better, more alive person for giving myself this sacred space and time. Or maybe what I'm doing is giving myself to this sacred space and time. Whatever the case, it is a precious time of the week for me. It is a gift that I continually look forward to opening. It is a gift that fills me with a thankfulness that resonates throughout each new week. I am thankful for rest. I hope that you will allow yourself this same thanksgiving.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Thankful for music
Today, July 5, I am thankful for music.
I was reminded of this fact recently while watching a portion of this year's Rock N Roll Hall of Fame induction show. The artists inducted this year, as in every year, were diverse in their styles and public personalities. I'm not necessarily a fan of each of them. But, listening to their acceptance speeches was a great reminder to me that although we all listen to music for multiple reasons, we also listen to it for the same reason...the fact that it touches us deeply and moves us in ways that quite possibly nothing else does or can.
Music for me is a spiritual matter. It's not only that, as I think it's great to enjoy it simply for the fun it brings to our lives. But, beyond the fun it can create, music also resonates with me on a deeper level, engaging my mind and heart about the human experience, about what it means to survive and transcend the pain life sometimes throws at us, what it means to live with hope, deal with loss, to love, to no longer love, to become something more, to become ourselves.
At this point in my life, there are plenty of artists who have provided and continue to provide the soundtrack of my journey. Their genres are somewhat diverse (I'll admit I'm not as wide-ranging in my musical tastes as some), but they all share the commonality of creating for me thinking, feeling and experiences that cause the everydayness of life to be just a bit less mundane. Rock, blues and jazz are the three primary styles that have impacted and continue to impact me the most, but a fair amount of pop, classical and new age music also shows up in my playlist. Although I'm not much of a fan of country music, there are still certain artists from that genre who have contributed to my life's soundtrack.
There are so many artists I could name whose music matters to me. Although not nearly the complete list, some of those who have impacted me and who still do include, Eric Clapton, U2, The Beatles, Marc Cohn, Bruce Cockburn, Diana Krall, Bruce Springsteen, Tony Bennett, Miles Davis, Frank Sinatra, Sting, Jonatha Brooke, The Band, Willie Nelson, Train, David Wilcox, The Eagles, Bob Dylan, Colin Hay, Coldplay, Mumford & Sons, David Gray, The Wallflowers, Counting Crows & Sara Bareilles.
The list could go on, but the music of these artists has and does matter to me. Many of them have recorded some of the "go-to" songs of my life, songs that bring me comfort, make me think, help me feel. Like I've already said, music is spiritual for me. It is an important component of my overall humanity. Frankly, those who do not value and experience music on a daily basis are people I do not understand, nor do I want to attempt to. It makes no sense to me that someone would withhold from themselves such a wonderful gift.
As I've written this, I have, of course, been listening to music. I believe I am a better human being each day because of the steady stream of music that comes my way. I believe that can be true for each of us. I hope that my post has reminded you of the music that matters most in your life and that you will experience fresh thankfulness for it and the artists who create it. Music is a magical, unexplainable, beautiful gift to humanity. Whether we write it, sing and perform it, or simply enjoy it, we can all be participants in its transformative power. I hope you'll plug into that power today, whatever the genre of music you prefer, I hope you are more deeply moved by it and thankful once again for the songs of your life.
I was reminded of this fact recently while watching a portion of this year's Rock N Roll Hall of Fame induction show. The artists inducted this year, as in every year, were diverse in their styles and public personalities. I'm not necessarily a fan of each of them. But, listening to their acceptance speeches was a great reminder to me that although we all listen to music for multiple reasons, we also listen to it for the same reason...the fact that it touches us deeply and moves us in ways that quite possibly nothing else does or can.
Music for me is a spiritual matter. It's not only that, as I think it's great to enjoy it simply for the fun it brings to our lives. But, beyond the fun it can create, music also resonates with me on a deeper level, engaging my mind and heart about the human experience, about what it means to survive and transcend the pain life sometimes throws at us, what it means to live with hope, deal with loss, to love, to no longer love, to become something more, to become ourselves.
At this point in my life, there are plenty of artists who have provided and continue to provide the soundtrack of my journey. Their genres are somewhat diverse (I'll admit I'm not as wide-ranging in my musical tastes as some), but they all share the commonality of creating for me thinking, feeling and experiences that cause the everydayness of life to be just a bit less mundane. Rock, blues and jazz are the three primary styles that have impacted and continue to impact me the most, but a fair amount of pop, classical and new age music also shows up in my playlist. Although I'm not much of a fan of country music, there are still certain artists from that genre who have contributed to my life's soundtrack.
There are so many artists I could name whose music matters to me. Although not nearly the complete list, some of those who have impacted me and who still do include, Eric Clapton, U2, The Beatles, Marc Cohn, Bruce Cockburn, Diana Krall, Bruce Springsteen, Tony Bennett, Miles Davis, Frank Sinatra, Sting, Jonatha Brooke, The Band, Willie Nelson, Train, David Wilcox, The Eagles, Bob Dylan, Colin Hay, Coldplay, Mumford & Sons, David Gray, The Wallflowers, Counting Crows & Sara Bareilles.
The list could go on, but the music of these artists has and does matter to me. Many of them have recorded some of the "go-to" songs of my life, songs that bring me comfort, make me think, help me feel. Like I've already said, music is spiritual for me. It is an important component of my overall humanity. Frankly, those who do not value and experience music on a daily basis are people I do not understand, nor do I want to attempt to. It makes no sense to me that someone would withhold from themselves such a wonderful gift.
As I've written this, I have, of course, been listening to music. I believe I am a better human being each day because of the steady stream of music that comes my way. I believe that can be true for each of us. I hope that my post has reminded you of the music that matters most in your life and that you will experience fresh thankfulness for it and the artists who create it. Music is a magical, unexplainable, beautiful gift to humanity. Whether we write it, sing and perform it, or simply enjoy it, we can all be participants in its transformative power. I hope you'll plug into that power today, whatever the genre of music you prefer, I hope you are more deeply moved by it and thankful once again for the songs of your life.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Thankful for America
Today, July 4, I am thankful for my country, America.
But first, a disclaimer:
In order to best express my thankfulness for my home country, I think I should first let you know that my goal in this post is to exhibit an attitude that I hope is available to anyone concerning their home nation, no matter what their national identity may be. We live in a time when American patriotism too often seems to have been hijacked by extremists who believe that in order to show love and pride for our nation we must marginalize, dismiss, or even show outright hostility toward those who do not share our same national connection. These extremists (many of whom occupy elected positions) are intent on actually making us weaker, not stronger, as a nation. To tell the other 96% of the planet's citizens that they are second-class (or worse) is not patriotism. It's mean, it's arrogant, it's stupid. It's un-American.
So, on this our Independence Day, my post is not a contribution to the already far-too-numerous "greatest nation on earth" declarations (note to those who insist on making these declarations- you're calling America the winner of a contest that isn't being held). Instead, I hope that my personal thanks for my nation will cause you to consider why you are thankful for your country and citizenship, wherever that may be. And, for those of you who are Americans, I hope these words inspire deeper thankfulness in you, both for those things that are, as well as for those things that can still be. We are a nation of not only great accomplishments, but also great possibilities. Those two facts alone are things for which I am thankful to be an American.
Along with those facts, I am thankful that ours is such a beautiful country. I have been privileged to see much of our nation and in each of those places I am always struck by the beauty we enjoy here. The hills and mountains of east Tennessee, the desert Southwest, the coast of Maine, the Rockies, the giant redwoods of California, the rolling countryside of Wisconsin, these are just a few examples of the beauty we enjoy in America.
In addition to our natural beauty, we are also blessed with cities that fill us with a different, but just as powerful, wonder. The stunning skylines of New York and Chicago, the rich history of Boston, and the singular setting of San Francisco are just a few examples of the beauty and inspiration our major cities offer us. In addition, smaller, thriving cities such as Austin, Minneapolis-St. Paul and Chattanooga show us that the benefits of the city experience are available to many of us who do not live in one of the country's major urban centers.
I am thankful for our musicians, writers, film-makers, actors and actresses, visual artists, architects and designers who continually inspire us, cause us to think, bring us laughter and tears, and show us what is possible when beauty, creativity, and functionality intersect in a real-world, everyday way. One of the continual promises of America is our belief that pretty much anything is possible through vision and then putting in the time to make the vision reality.
I am thankful that in spite of the voices that would call for us to surrender to cynicism, we are still a country willing to celebrate heroes, no matter how large or small the setting in which they perform their acts of heroism. And I am thankful that most Americans know that the biggest heroes among us don't wear jerseys or stand on stages. Their names and faces may not be recognized by millions, but the impact of their lives make us a better nation, a better people.
Although I can name many other reasons I am thankful to be an American, I will close with this one: we have always been and remain an experiment, an experiment based on the hope that something better is possible. Many people today seem afraid of this experimental aspect to our national story, insisting that we return to an idealized past (in their minds) based on their biases and skewed view of our history. While there is much from our past to draw on that can provide some value and guidance, today is the only thing we have in our hands and our tomorrows are shaped by how we today treat this experiment called America. Each of us can determine today that we will be a better citizen, that we will contribute to a better tomorrow by being part of the solution each day. The extremists who want to short-circuit the possibilities of our nation have shown over and over that the only things they bring to the experiment are meanness and stupidity. They do not represent the best of us nor the majority of us. Our freedom is not based on our individual interpretations of what it means to keep and bear arms, but instead our individual and community responsibilities and opportunities to create and give kindness, dignity and hope to each other. These are the kinds of acts that truly make a free people. May you and I add to those better voices among us that, while not the loudest, are the truest, pointing each other to hope, courage and a future that fulfills the promise of our national experiment of freedom.
We are not yet as great a nation as we can be. No nation is. But, I believe that a deeper commitment from each of us to exhibit kindness, civility, and service will make us greater. And this deeper commitment is possible for us each to both make and keep. This is one of the great possibilities of America. It is this possibility for which I am probably the most thankful.
But first, a disclaimer:
In order to best express my thankfulness for my home country, I think I should first let you know that my goal in this post is to exhibit an attitude that I hope is available to anyone concerning their home nation, no matter what their national identity may be. We live in a time when American patriotism too often seems to have been hijacked by extremists who believe that in order to show love and pride for our nation we must marginalize, dismiss, or even show outright hostility toward those who do not share our same national connection. These extremists (many of whom occupy elected positions) are intent on actually making us weaker, not stronger, as a nation. To tell the other 96% of the planet's citizens that they are second-class (or worse) is not patriotism. It's mean, it's arrogant, it's stupid. It's un-American.
So, on this our Independence Day, my post is not a contribution to the already far-too-numerous "greatest nation on earth" declarations (note to those who insist on making these declarations- you're calling America the winner of a contest that isn't being held). Instead, I hope that my personal thanks for my nation will cause you to consider why you are thankful for your country and citizenship, wherever that may be. And, for those of you who are Americans, I hope these words inspire deeper thankfulness in you, both for those things that are, as well as for those things that can still be. We are a nation of not only great accomplishments, but also great possibilities. Those two facts alone are things for which I am thankful to be an American.
Along with those facts, I am thankful that ours is such a beautiful country. I have been privileged to see much of our nation and in each of those places I am always struck by the beauty we enjoy here. The hills and mountains of east Tennessee, the desert Southwest, the coast of Maine, the Rockies, the giant redwoods of California, the rolling countryside of Wisconsin, these are just a few examples of the beauty we enjoy in America.
In addition to our natural beauty, we are also blessed with cities that fill us with a different, but just as powerful, wonder. The stunning skylines of New York and Chicago, the rich history of Boston, and the singular setting of San Francisco are just a few examples of the beauty and inspiration our major cities offer us. In addition, smaller, thriving cities such as Austin, Minneapolis-St. Paul and Chattanooga show us that the benefits of the city experience are available to many of us who do not live in one of the country's major urban centers.
I am thankful for our musicians, writers, film-makers, actors and actresses, visual artists, architects and designers who continually inspire us, cause us to think, bring us laughter and tears, and show us what is possible when beauty, creativity, and functionality intersect in a real-world, everyday way. One of the continual promises of America is our belief that pretty much anything is possible through vision and then putting in the time to make the vision reality.
I am thankful that in spite of the voices that would call for us to surrender to cynicism, we are still a country willing to celebrate heroes, no matter how large or small the setting in which they perform their acts of heroism. And I am thankful that most Americans know that the biggest heroes among us don't wear jerseys or stand on stages. Their names and faces may not be recognized by millions, but the impact of their lives make us a better nation, a better people.
Although I can name many other reasons I am thankful to be an American, I will close with this one: we have always been and remain an experiment, an experiment based on the hope that something better is possible. Many people today seem afraid of this experimental aspect to our national story, insisting that we return to an idealized past (in their minds) based on their biases and skewed view of our history. While there is much from our past to draw on that can provide some value and guidance, today is the only thing we have in our hands and our tomorrows are shaped by how we today treat this experiment called America. Each of us can determine today that we will be a better citizen, that we will contribute to a better tomorrow by being part of the solution each day. The extremists who want to short-circuit the possibilities of our nation have shown over and over that the only things they bring to the experiment are meanness and stupidity. They do not represent the best of us nor the majority of us. Our freedom is not based on our individual interpretations of what it means to keep and bear arms, but instead our individual and community responsibilities and opportunities to create and give kindness, dignity and hope to each other. These are the kinds of acts that truly make a free people. May you and I add to those better voices among us that, while not the loudest, are the truest, pointing each other to hope, courage and a future that fulfills the promise of our national experiment of freedom.
We are not yet as great a nation as we can be. No nation is. But, I believe that a deeper commitment from each of us to exhibit kindness, civility, and service will make us greater. And this deeper commitment is possible for us each to both make and keep. This is one of the great possibilities of America. It is this possibility for which I am probably the most thankful.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Thankful for Jeanine and Jennifer
Today, July 3, I am thankful for Jeanine and Jennifer, my wife and daughter.
Many people have great minds, while other have great hearts. It is the rare occasion to find people who possess both. Jeanine and Jen are two of those rare people. When you are around them you at once feel they are both kind and strong, willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, while at the same time in-tolerant of bullies and jerks. To be with them is to be with the two best people I know.
Being with them also means that you will laugh. They are both naturally funny and fun. We have often said that no matter what is going on in our lives, we experience a lot of laughter as a family. Jeanine and Jen are the two biggest reasons for that laughter. They are each truly a God-send.
I often have people say very nice things to me about one or both of them, and often the compliments include how beautiful they are. It's always great to hear such nice things being said about your wife and daughter and I will always thank the person for their kind words and tell them that they're right. When the compliment involves their beauty, I always add, "And they're just as beautiful inside." I think that's part of what makes them so attractive to people. God knows life is hard and people can be amazingly cruel to each other. Jeanine and Jennifer are examples of what it means to experience the opposite of hardness and cruelty. They exemplify humanity at its best.
They love me so well. As my wife, Jeanine is more than happy to let me be myself and she has never tried to turn me into someone or something else. At the same time, she helps bring out in me those better attributes, encouraging me to keep growing and not allow others to dictate my personality or personhood. She soothes my troubled mind, makes our home a place of peace and joy, and is my safe harbor. She is a great wife and mother, a great daughter, sister and aunt, and a great friend. If you don't know her, you should.
Jennifer is everything and more any parent could hope for in their child. Good-hearted, strong, kind, capable, a dreamer of dreams and pursuer of them. She has always exhibited wisdom beyond her years. To be honest, I've found myself on occasion a bit jealous of Jen, as I've wished that at her age I would have been that wise and mature. As I've already said, she is one of the two best people I know and anyone who has the privilege of having her for a friend is very privileged indeed.
These two ladies are my two greatest blessings. They make the other blessings in my life that much better. I owe them both so much and am so thankful that I get to make the journey of life with them.
Jeanine and Jennifer, the two best people I know. And I am a better person because of them.
Many people have great minds, while other have great hearts. It is the rare occasion to find people who possess both. Jeanine and Jen are two of those rare people. When you are around them you at once feel they are both kind and strong, willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, while at the same time in-tolerant of bullies and jerks. To be with them is to be with the two best people I know.
Being with them also means that you will laugh. They are both naturally funny and fun. We have often said that no matter what is going on in our lives, we experience a lot of laughter as a family. Jeanine and Jen are the two biggest reasons for that laughter. They are each truly a God-send.
I often have people say very nice things to me about one or both of them, and often the compliments include how beautiful they are. It's always great to hear such nice things being said about your wife and daughter and I will always thank the person for their kind words and tell them that they're right. When the compliment involves their beauty, I always add, "And they're just as beautiful inside." I think that's part of what makes them so attractive to people. God knows life is hard and people can be amazingly cruel to each other. Jeanine and Jennifer are examples of what it means to experience the opposite of hardness and cruelty. They exemplify humanity at its best.
They love me so well. As my wife, Jeanine is more than happy to let me be myself and she has never tried to turn me into someone or something else. At the same time, she helps bring out in me those better attributes, encouraging me to keep growing and not allow others to dictate my personality or personhood. She soothes my troubled mind, makes our home a place of peace and joy, and is my safe harbor. She is a great wife and mother, a great daughter, sister and aunt, and a great friend. If you don't know her, you should.
Jennifer is everything and more any parent could hope for in their child. Good-hearted, strong, kind, capable, a dreamer of dreams and pursuer of them. She has always exhibited wisdom beyond her years. To be honest, I've found myself on occasion a bit jealous of Jen, as I've wished that at her age I would have been that wise and mature. As I've already said, she is one of the two best people I know and anyone who has the privilege of having her for a friend is very privileged indeed.
These two ladies are my two greatest blessings. They make the other blessings in my life that much better. I owe them both so much and am so thankful that I get to make the journey of life with them.
Jeanine and Jennifer, the two best people I know. And I am a better person because of them.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Thankful for July
Today's post is the first of fourteen blogs over a fourteen-day period that will focus specifically on being thankful. I am going to endeavor to articulate my reasons for thankfulness for specific people, events, activities, even dates on the calendar. I've never posted a series of blogs around a single theme, at least not beyond a Part 1 & Part 2 format. So, this is a new approach for me.
The idea to post a series about thankfulness came about simply because last week the thought that this might be a good thing popped into my head. There's been no significant event to catalyze this. Instead, I had an idea and decided to follow up on it. The reason I am beginning the series today is that I knew I wanted to communicate about this over a fourteen-day period, and I also knew I wanted that period to culminate on my birthday, July 15. So, it begins today.
I hope that you will find some inspiration in what creates thanksgiving in me and that inspiration will catalyze deeper thinking on your part that will lead to your own declarations about those things for which you are thankful. Whatever form your declarations of thankfulness may take, to live more thankfully is to be better at living, to be a better human being. If what I write does in fact inspire you, hopefully it will be so that you can in turn inspire others in your own way, through your own example of thankfulness.
With that being said, I am thankful today, July 2, because...
...it's July.
July is my second-favorite month (October being my most favorite). I have multiple reasons for this, but those things that stand out to me the most include:
The idea to post a series about thankfulness came about simply because last week the thought that this might be a good thing popped into my head. There's been no significant event to catalyze this. Instead, I had an idea and decided to follow up on it. The reason I am beginning the series today is that I knew I wanted to communicate about this over a fourteen-day period, and I also knew I wanted that period to culminate on my birthday, July 15. So, it begins today.
I hope that you will find some inspiration in what creates thanksgiving in me and that inspiration will catalyze deeper thinking on your part that will lead to your own declarations about those things for which you are thankful. Whatever form your declarations of thankfulness may take, to live more thankfully is to be better at living, to be a better human being. If what I write does in fact inspire you, hopefully it will be so that you can in turn inspire others in your own way, through your own example of thankfulness.
With that being said, I am thankful today, July 2, because...
...it's July.
July is my second-favorite month (October being my most favorite). I have multiple reasons for this, but those things that stand out to me the most include:
- July 1, 1979 is the anniversary of my first date with Jeanine. 35 years ago our journey began. That first date was the first of many that month alone, not to mention all the other ones that came along, then eventually engagement and now 32 years of marriage. Lots of memories, lots of moments to treasure. But, that first date is always a special memory. Two teenagers trying to figure out what to say to each other, both of us thrilled to be with each other, but afraid to show it. It's my favorite July memory.
- July means we've begun the second half of the year and I love new beginnings. It feels like a clean slate has been offered in the middle of the story of the year.
- July has always epitomized to me all the great things about summer. It seems to be the one month of the summer season that isn't touched by the other seasons in any way (Spring carries well into June, August sees a return of the school-year calendar, which means for students that Summer is over). Be it trips to the beach, the mountains, hearing people talk about their gardens, or just experiencing a feeling that maybe the pace of life is a touch more manageable, July has always been full of good things to me.
- July means we're moving into the hottest 2-month portion of the year (July & August). I'm not saying this because I love hot weather. Unless I'm at the beach, I don't enjoy it much at all. But, the fact that we've begun that 2-month period means we're that much closer to it being over.
- The latter part of July sees the opening of NFL training camps, which means another football season will begin soon, which means God's favorite sport is about to return (don't even think about arguing this fact with me...you will lose and lose mightily). Like I've already said, I love new beginnings, including the pre-beginning phase of new beginnings. And, I just love football.
- July is the month of my dad's birthday. I love my dad and I'm always glad to celebrate his life. Plus, the fact that he was born is a pretty important part of me having the opportunity to be born.
- July is also the month of my own birthday. I'll be 54 years-old this month. I've never been one who avoids discussion of my age or who gets down about getting older. I love the fact that I'm getting older and my birthday is a great reminder of what my journey has been to this point, and I am filled with hope that the journey ahead will a great one.
I am thankful for July. I am thankful for many other things as well. I'll share another of those things with you tomorrow.
Peace.
Monday, June 30, 2014
A new dawn...
In a recent interview, the actress Susan Sarandon talked rather in-depth about where she's been in her life, where she is now, as well as where she feels herself headed in the future. During the interview she brought up a tattoo she's recently gotten to remind her to be focused on today, as well as to keep looking forward. The letters "ANDAND" are tattooed around one of her wrists. They stand for, "A New Dawn, A New Day."
The power of this message really struck me, so much so that after reading Ms. Sarandon's interview, I walked into our office conference room and in the upper-right corner of our white board I wrote, A.N.D.A.N.D. It is there to serve as a reminder to me and those with whom I work that the opportunities and the challenges are always new. Yesterday was important, but this new day is what matters most.
This specific new day, July 1, is very important to me. It holds special significance for me personally, as well as for the team of which I am a part at Second Life of Chattanooga. On the personal side, I love the month of July and all that it represents (more on that in tomorrow's post). On the Second Life side, today we begin a new chapter in our organizational evolution, one that initially seems far more full of challenges than it does opportunities.
But, the opportunities are there, some clearly seen, some more hidden. If we're both honest and hopeful, the opportunities are probably more numerous than the challenges. Being willing to welcome and step boldly into each new dawn, each new day is probably one way we are able to see the opportunities more clearly. Hopefully, the clearer the opportunities, the less daunting the challenges.
My motivation in writing this is not about giving you some toothless, "you can do it," "your best life now," rah-rah speech. Life is hard. Sometimes it's impossibly hard. Those who deny life's challenges and pain live in dangerous self-delusion, of no use to themselves or others. But life can also be beautiful, thrilling, sacred. And whatever the challenges of each new dawn, I believe beauty, thrill and sacredness are also available each time the sun breaks over the horizon.
As if on cue, while I am writing this, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by the late, great Eva Cassidy is playing on my iTunes station (if you haven't heard her version of it, do yourself a favor and listen to it...now). I'll have to admit, given the number of times and ways that song has been covered, it can often come off cheesy and cliche. But, I've always loved Eva's interpretation of it. And, since I'm writing this post as a new dawn and day is literally breaking, maybe the song is a gift, sent to me (and you) as a reminder that often times the new dawn and day is in itself the rainbow, another sign post that although the night can be full of weeping, joy arrives with the morning.
Challenges, fears, crises, deep disappointments...opportunities, hopes, dreams, life-changing successes. They arrive side-by-side with each new dawn. In the middle of both the challenges and opportunities is our freedom to choose. To choose to step into the opportunities is not a denial of the challenges, but instead a declaration. In doing so I declare that the opportunity of the new dawn and day is to live fully alive, fully myself, fully hopeful. That's a tall order, but a worthy one.
And it's certainly worth waking up for.
The power of this message really struck me, so much so that after reading Ms. Sarandon's interview, I walked into our office conference room and in the upper-right corner of our white board I wrote, A.N.D.A.N.D. It is there to serve as a reminder to me and those with whom I work that the opportunities and the challenges are always new. Yesterday was important, but this new day is what matters most.
This specific new day, July 1, is very important to me. It holds special significance for me personally, as well as for the team of which I am a part at Second Life of Chattanooga. On the personal side, I love the month of July and all that it represents (more on that in tomorrow's post). On the Second Life side, today we begin a new chapter in our organizational evolution, one that initially seems far more full of challenges than it does opportunities.
But, the opportunities are there, some clearly seen, some more hidden. If we're both honest and hopeful, the opportunities are probably more numerous than the challenges. Being willing to welcome and step boldly into each new dawn, each new day is probably one way we are able to see the opportunities more clearly. Hopefully, the clearer the opportunities, the less daunting the challenges.
My motivation in writing this is not about giving you some toothless, "you can do it," "your best life now," rah-rah speech. Life is hard. Sometimes it's impossibly hard. Those who deny life's challenges and pain live in dangerous self-delusion, of no use to themselves or others. But life can also be beautiful, thrilling, sacred. And whatever the challenges of each new dawn, I believe beauty, thrill and sacredness are also available each time the sun breaks over the horizon.
As if on cue, while I am writing this, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by the late, great Eva Cassidy is playing on my iTunes station (if you haven't heard her version of it, do yourself a favor and listen to it...now). I'll have to admit, given the number of times and ways that song has been covered, it can often come off cheesy and cliche. But, I've always loved Eva's interpretation of it. And, since I'm writing this post as a new dawn and day is literally breaking, maybe the song is a gift, sent to me (and you) as a reminder that often times the new dawn and day is in itself the rainbow, another sign post that although the night can be full of weeping, joy arrives with the morning.
Challenges, fears, crises, deep disappointments...opportunities, hopes, dreams, life-changing successes. They arrive side-by-side with each new dawn. In the middle of both the challenges and opportunities is our freedom to choose. To choose to step into the opportunities is not a denial of the challenges, but instead a declaration. In doing so I declare that the opportunity of the new dawn and day is to live fully alive, fully myself, fully hopeful. That's a tall order, but a worthy one.
And it's certainly worth waking up for.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Meaningful
I spend most of my working days in meetings. I have said many times that it's a good thing that I have such a high tolerance for meetings, because God knows my job requires it. One of my challenges is to go from one meeting to the next and not regard them as things to get through as opposed to what they most often are...the opportunity to create or deepen a connection with a person or a group so that the on-going fight against sex trafficking in our city and area moves forward.
This is work I never imagined myself doing, but at the same time seems to make perfect sense given the twists and turns of my journey. Some years ago I began voicing my desire to do "meaningful work about meaningful things." My work previous to being called into the mission of Second Life of Chattanooga was too often not meaningful enough, filled with too much empty space of activities that made little to no mark on the wider community. Those moments when the work did seem meaningful and transformative (both for others and myself) came too few and far between, making the empty spaces that much harder to take.
That is no longer the case. Even during the meeting-filled days (which describes most of my days) I am reminded what is at stake in each of those meetings...someone's life, even if it is a someone those of us in the meeting have not yet met. The restoration of the image of God. The stolen humanity of individuals. The stolen humanity of all of us. Meaningful things.
Sometimes these meetings are with people who are deeply connected to faith-based initiatives (given the fact that I live in the buckle of the Bible Belt, this is a pretty common occurrence). From time to time the person or persons with whom I've been meeting may ask at the close of our time if they can pray for me, our organization, the victims we serve, etc. I always say yes, but sometimes the prayer approach they use can make me cringe just a bit. I'm not embarrassed that someone would pray and I'm glad they would want to pray for me and Second Life, but not every prayer style is best-suited for for every public setting. But whatever the prayer approach, I say "yes," kind of bow my head (eyes typically open) and let them pray whether it is a prayer style with which I'm comfortable or not.
But every once in a while, someone asks to pray for me and I don't care what their prayer style will be, nor do I care what setting we're in. It is on those days that the desire for strength, support and community is too overwhelming to care where we are or how they choose to pray. Recently I was having one of those once in a while days. I knew going into that day that it would be busy and that we had a lot of ground to cover. Then one phone call that morning turned the day on its head and a busy day became a critical day because someone had found themselves in a literal fight for their life and our help was needed. Immediately.
Meaningful work about meaningful things.
By the time I arrived at a late afternoon meeting with representatives from a local church, it felt like the day had been a week long. The meeting was good, with ideas and imagination flowing. Hopefully Second Life has another new partner.
And then as the meeting was wrapping, one of the church representatives asked, "Can I pray for you Jerry?" He might as well have been asking me if I'd like him to give me the winning lottery ticket. I didn't just say yes; I hungrily said yes. I put my head in my hands as if I were wrapping myself in a blanket in the middle of a blizzard. Whatever he was going to say, I wanted him to say it. I needed him to say it.
His prayer was soft-spoken, brief and sincere. It felt like he was pouring warm oil over me. I devoured his words as if I hadn't seen food in a month. I didn't want him to stop.
Meaningful words. A meaningful moment.
We said our goodbyes and I stepped into the next portion of my day. The day was still a stressful one. The person in their life and death fight was still on the edge. Nothing was really different from when I began the meeting.
Nothing, that is, except for me being reminded of the fact that every moment, in some fashion, is a meaningful one. No matter what our work, no matter the setting in which we live our lives, to do meaningful work about meaningful things is available to all of us, even if that work is something other than what we do for our vocation.
Given those meaningful opportunities, taking a few minutes of pause in order to let someone say meaningful words over us, whether they take the form of a prayer or just encouragement, is vital to keeping us engaged and diligent. And the engagement and diligence is not only about continuing to do the work. It is also about remembering that every life is meaningful, including yours, including mine. With that being true, then they are worth being prayed over. We are worth being prayed for.
I look forward to the next time someone offers me such a valuable gift. Wherever the offer happens to be made, it will be a sacred space. It will be a meaningful time.
This is work I never imagined myself doing, but at the same time seems to make perfect sense given the twists and turns of my journey. Some years ago I began voicing my desire to do "meaningful work about meaningful things." My work previous to being called into the mission of Second Life of Chattanooga was too often not meaningful enough, filled with too much empty space of activities that made little to no mark on the wider community. Those moments when the work did seem meaningful and transformative (both for others and myself) came too few and far between, making the empty spaces that much harder to take.
That is no longer the case. Even during the meeting-filled days (which describes most of my days) I am reminded what is at stake in each of those meetings...someone's life, even if it is a someone those of us in the meeting have not yet met. The restoration of the image of God. The stolen humanity of individuals. The stolen humanity of all of us. Meaningful things.
Sometimes these meetings are with people who are deeply connected to faith-based initiatives (given the fact that I live in the buckle of the Bible Belt, this is a pretty common occurrence). From time to time the person or persons with whom I've been meeting may ask at the close of our time if they can pray for me, our organization, the victims we serve, etc. I always say yes, but sometimes the prayer approach they use can make me cringe just a bit. I'm not embarrassed that someone would pray and I'm glad they would want to pray for me and Second Life, but not every prayer style is best-suited for for every public setting. But whatever the prayer approach, I say "yes," kind of bow my head (eyes typically open) and let them pray whether it is a prayer style with which I'm comfortable or not.
But every once in a while, someone asks to pray for me and I don't care what their prayer style will be, nor do I care what setting we're in. It is on those days that the desire for strength, support and community is too overwhelming to care where we are or how they choose to pray. Recently I was having one of those once in a while days. I knew going into that day that it would be busy and that we had a lot of ground to cover. Then one phone call that morning turned the day on its head and a busy day became a critical day because someone had found themselves in a literal fight for their life and our help was needed. Immediately.
Meaningful work about meaningful things.
By the time I arrived at a late afternoon meeting with representatives from a local church, it felt like the day had been a week long. The meeting was good, with ideas and imagination flowing. Hopefully Second Life has another new partner.
And then as the meeting was wrapping, one of the church representatives asked, "Can I pray for you Jerry?" He might as well have been asking me if I'd like him to give me the winning lottery ticket. I didn't just say yes; I hungrily said yes. I put my head in my hands as if I were wrapping myself in a blanket in the middle of a blizzard. Whatever he was going to say, I wanted him to say it. I needed him to say it.
His prayer was soft-spoken, brief and sincere. It felt like he was pouring warm oil over me. I devoured his words as if I hadn't seen food in a month. I didn't want him to stop.
Meaningful words. A meaningful moment.
We said our goodbyes and I stepped into the next portion of my day. The day was still a stressful one. The person in their life and death fight was still on the edge. Nothing was really different from when I began the meeting.
Nothing, that is, except for me being reminded of the fact that every moment, in some fashion, is a meaningful one. No matter what our work, no matter the setting in which we live our lives, to do meaningful work about meaningful things is available to all of us, even if that work is something other than what we do for our vocation.
Given those meaningful opportunities, taking a few minutes of pause in order to let someone say meaningful words over us, whether they take the form of a prayer or just encouragement, is vital to keeping us engaged and diligent. And the engagement and diligence is not only about continuing to do the work. It is also about remembering that every life is meaningful, including yours, including mine. With that being true, then they are worth being prayed over. We are worth being prayed for.
I look forward to the next time someone offers me such a valuable gift. Wherever the offer happens to be made, it will be a sacred space. It will be a meaningful time.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
From The Middle
Several times I have heard or read that the Chinese word for crisis is the combination of the characters that stand for danger and opportunity. Since I don't speak any of the Chinese dialects, I cannot say for sure that this assertion is true. But even if it is not true in fact, it seems to point to a truth about life.
A political leader on the national stage recently said that it is a shame to waste a good crisis. Given the public personality of this individual, his statement could be taken a few different ways. But he points to a life truth that too many of us miss, or even worse, do our best to avoid. Crisis comes for all of us, almost always unexpectedly, too often frightening and harsh and many times we feel we face it alone.
But I am wondering today what we might learn and gain from the crisis, even as we struggle in the middle of it, asking ourselves, others and the Almighty if we're going to get through this one. I am writing these words from the middle of not only one crisis, but a few crises. There is a huge part of me that just want these struggles to be over, to experience peace and tranquility, that life would just stop being so damn hard. At the same time I know that life is far more "both and" than it is "this or that," and peace and tranquility are not exclusively experienced in non-crisis times, nor are the non-crisis times more valuable or sweeter than the crisis-filled parts of our journeys.
I do, however, currently desire a lowering of the volume of life, to not feel that I'm under siege. All of us probably fall prey to the faulty thinking that we will reach (or should have reached) a place in life where things get easier, where the battles are fewer or at least not so hard, where we can breathe more deeply and feel that at least some part of our life is finally figured out. For me, I would have thought by the time I found myself knocking on the door of my 54th birthday, at least some of the things I just described would be more consistently true. This is not the case.
Life is still a fight most days. Things have not gotten easier and are in some respects harder than they've ever been. Maintaining my faith is a battle. It is hard not giving in to the darker voices that consistently tell me I do not measure up, I can't cut it, if people only knew the real me they'd all walk away (many of them have already)...some days I can quiet both the voices and myself with what I know to be ultimately true, while other days the devaluing voices of accusation and fear are deafening. It seems to be on those days that the voices describing what is actually true are the quietest, if not outright silent.
Many times the devaluing voices are the echoes in our minds of the real voices of those who have said to us (or most times about us, not having the guts or decency to say it to our faces) things that weren't true, but still brought deep wounding. For me, these voices have always come from those who claim to share my same faith, which means often times the community of faith is no source of help, because it is the community that has inflicted the pain. The pain of these words stays with us much longer than we'd like and too many times we're left alone in having to find a way to heal from the wounding words.
But, far too often the devaluing voices sound like my own voice, exactly like it in fact. So, to paraphrase an old 70's-era pop song, I end up finding myself stuck in the middle with me.
I currently have tremendous challenges and changes happening in my work context. Some of the challenges and changes are going to end up being very good things, while some of them show no signs of being good, but still must be dealt with, must be gone through. A certain set of personal relationships have recently proven once again to be toxic and dangerous for me. The more distance I put between myself and them, the more the attacks come. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, I'll be 54 this year. It would be nice to have a lot of this stuff figured out by now. Years ago I had lots of answers. Today I have far more questions.
This is where some may feel I'm supposed to introduce "the hook" that turns the narrative from me baring part of my soul and transitions into the "but here's the bright side of it" portion of the post. I'm not going to do that. This is not because I am devoid of hope, because I am not. Nor is it because I have abandoned my faith (as some have said that I have). Places like this in life are too important, too sacred to gloss over with some well-turned phrase, or even worse, some ridiculous cliche that's supposed to pass for spiritual insight and wisdom.
No, I have too much respect for both you and me to pull that type of stunt. Instead, I felt like I should write not just what's going on inside me currently, but what I'm inside of, in the middle of. My hope is that this post will help someone feel they're not alone in their own middle of whatever life is handing them. Maybe in helping someone else with their middle, I'll find help in my own.
I am in the middle of a lot right now (for you Bull Durham fans out there, think the meeting on the mound that had nothing to do with baseball). It is lonely, but I know that I'm not alone. I hope you will know that too. Life is un-bearingly tough at times. Those are the times that faith, hope and love are needed the most. Whatever your middle is, may faith, hope and love be there with you...and also with me.
A political leader on the national stage recently said that it is a shame to waste a good crisis. Given the public personality of this individual, his statement could be taken a few different ways. But he points to a life truth that too many of us miss, or even worse, do our best to avoid. Crisis comes for all of us, almost always unexpectedly, too often frightening and harsh and many times we feel we face it alone.
But I am wondering today what we might learn and gain from the crisis, even as we struggle in the middle of it, asking ourselves, others and the Almighty if we're going to get through this one. I am writing these words from the middle of not only one crisis, but a few crises. There is a huge part of me that just want these struggles to be over, to experience peace and tranquility, that life would just stop being so damn hard. At the same time I know that life is far more "both and" than it is "this or that," and peace and tranquility are not exclusively experienced in non-crisis times, nor are the non-crisis times more valuable or sweeter than the crisis-filled parts of our journeys.
I do, however, currently desire a lowering of the volume of life, to not feel that I'm under siege. All of us probably fall prey to the faulty thinking that we will reach (or should have reached) a place in life where things get easier, where the battles are fewer or at least not so hard, where we can breathe more deeply and feel that at least some part of our life is finally figured out. For me, I would have thought by the time I found myself knocking on the door of my 54th birthday, at least some of the things I just described would be more consistently true. This is not the case.
Life is still a fight most days. Things have not gotten easier and are in some respects harder than they've ever been. Maintaining my faith is a battle. It is hard not giving in to the darker voices that consistently tell me I do not measure up, I can't cut it, if people only knew the real me they'd all walk away (many of them have already)...some days I can quiet both the voices and myself with what I know to be ultimately true, while other days the devaluing voices of accusation and fear are deafening. It seems to be on those days that the voices describing what is actually true are the quietest, if not outright silent.
Many times the devaluing voices are the echoes in our minds of the real voices of those who have said to us (or most times about us, not having the guts or decency to say it to our faces) things that weren't true, but still brought deep wounding. For me, these voices have always come from those who claim to share my same faith, which means often times the community of faith is no source of help, because it is the community that has inflicted the pain. The pain of these words stays with us much longer than we'd like and too many times we're left alone in having to find a way to heal from the wounding words.
But, far too often the devaluing voices sound like my own voice, exactly like it in fact. So, to paraphrase an old 70's-era pop song, I end up finding myself stuck in the middle with me.
I currently have tremendous challenges and changes happening in my work context. Some of the challenges and changes are going to end up being very good things, while some of them show no signs of being good, but still must be dealt with, must be gone through. A certain set of personal relationships have recently proven once again to be toxic and dangerous for me. The more distance I put between myself and them, the more the attacks come. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, I'll be 54 this year. It would be nice to have a lot of this stuff figured out by now. Years ago I had lots of answers. Today I have far more questions.
This is where some may feel I'm supposed to introduce "the hook" that turns the narrative from me baring part of my soul and transitions into the "but here's the bright side of it" portion of the post. I'm not going to do that. This is not because I am devoid of hope, because I am not. Nor is it because I have abandoned my faith (as some have said that I have). Places like this in life are too important, too sacred to gloss over with some well-turned phrase, or even worse, some ridiculous cliche that's supposed to pass for spiritual insight and wisdom.
No, I have too much respect for both you and me to pull that type of stunt. Instead, I felt like I should write not just what's going on inside me currently, but what I'm inside of, in the middle of. My hope is that this post will help someone feel they're not alone in their own middle of whatever life is handing them. Maybe in helping someone else with their middle, I'll find help in my own.
I am in the middle of a lot right now (for you Bull Durham fans out there, think the meeting on the mound that had nothing to do with baseball). It is lonely, but I know that I'm not alone. I hope you will know that too. Life is un-bearingly tough at times. Those are the times that faith, hope and love are needed the most. Whatever your middle is, may faith, hope and love be there with you...and also with me.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Bite marks
Just when you think it's safe to go back into the...
I'll leave it to you to decide what comes after "the." For me it's the space of honesty, openness and vulnerability. Events in the last several years have caused me to be very guarded about expressing what I really feel and think, especially to those from the "faith community." Much of this is due to the fact that the events to which I refer were painful and difficult and were all driven by people of faith, specifically, Christians.
Christians. My people. My tribe. Those who have hurt me the deepest and many of whom consider me to no longer be one of them, or at least not in the way they think I used to be or should be. But what motivates today's post is not about some huge injury (although God knows my family and I have had plenty of that in the last decade). Instead, I've been reminded that the thing that so many Christians seem to dislike the most in other people is their humanity.
That may sound crazy, but throughout my life I've witnessed this. Whether it was being raised in a setting that constantly decried humanity as the source of all sin, even though Ephesians 2 describes Jesus as having created in himself a brand new humanity, or the life-long occurences of watching people's expressions of pain, fatigue, fear or anger be met with either disdain or some ridiculous sounding phrase that's supposed to pass for kindness and empathy.
The phrases always seem to invoke the trump card of God in a way that invalidates the person's expression of pain, fear, etc. To argue with the phrase and the person uttering (or posting) it is to show that your faith is weak, you need repentance, you need to pray, you need any of 50 other things someone who just overlooked your humanity may insist that you need.
Life is not successfully lived through simple incantations or mantras. Life is hard, messy, beautiful, dangerous, wonderful, heart-breaking, exhilirating. And without honesty, life, at least the kind that is true and full, is pretty much impossible. The cornerstone of Christianity is the vulnerability, pain and suffering of Jesus, God coming to earth to reclaim his creation. How puzzling (and tragic) it is that many followers of Jesus today take every precaution they can to minimize or even eliminate vulnerability, pain and suffering, both in themselves and others.
This is not the way of Jesus. This is not faithfulness. Whatever it is, it makes those who dare express their own vulnerability and suffering feel that much more isolated. The body of Christ should be known for the sweetness of its words, not for leaving bite marks.
Please consider this the next time someone takes the heroic step of expressing to you that they're in a tough place. Please stop yourself from giving them some tired, worn phrase that's supposed to show how spiritual you are, but instead only shows them that you lack compassion and that they are even more alone than they originally thought.
We all have enough bite marks to last the rest of our lives. Too many of those marks have been left by our "brothers and sisters." May all of us who claim to be people of faith begin to be known as people who are slow to offer answers, but quick to extend cool cups of water.
I'll leave it to you to decide what comes after "the." For me it's the space of honesty, openness and vulnerability. Events in the last several years have caused me to be very guarded about expressing what I really feel and think, especially to those from the "faith community." Much of this is due to the fact that the events to which I refer were painful and difficult and were all driven by people of faith, specifically, Christians.
Christians. My people. My tribe. Those who have hurt me the deepest and many of whom consider me to no longer be one of them, or at least not in the way they think I used to be or should be. But what motivates today's post is not about some huge injury (although God knows my family and I have had plenty of that in the last decade). Instead, I've been reminded that the thing that so many Christians seem to dislike the most in other people is their humanity.
That may sound crazy, but throughout my life I've witnessed this. Whether it was being raised in a setting that constantly decried humanity as the source of all sin, even though Ephesians 2 describes Jesus as having created in himself a brand new humanity, or the life-long occurences of watching people's expressions of pain, fatigue, fear or anger be met with either disdain or some ridiculous sounding phrase that's supposed to pass for kindness and empathy.
The phrases always seem to invoke the trump card of God in a way that invalidates the person's expression of pain, fear, etc. To argue with the phrase and the person uttering (or posting) it is to show that your faith is weak, you need repentance, you need to pray, you need any of 50 other things someone who just overlooked your humanity may insist that you need.
Life is not successfully lived through simple incantations or mantras. Life is hard, messy, beautiful, dangerous, wonderful, heart-breaking, exhilirating. And without honesty, life, at least the kind that is true and full, is pretty much impossible. The cornerstone of Christianity is the vulnerability, pain and suffering of Jesus, God coming to earth to reclaim his creation. How puzzling (and tragic) it is that many followers of Jesus today take every precaution they can to minimize or even eliminate vulnerability, pain and suffering, both in themselves and others.
This is not the way of Jesus. This is not faithfulness. Whatever it is, it makes those who dare express their own vulnerability and suffering feel that much more isolated. The body of Christ should be known for the sweetness of its words, not for leaving bite marks.
Please consider this the next time someone takes the heroic step of expressing to you that they're in a tough place. Please stop yourself from giving them some tired, worn phrase that's supposed to show how spiritual you are, but instead only shows them that you lack compassion and that they are even more alone than they originally thought.
We all have enough bite marks to last the rest of our lives. Too many of those marks have been left by our "brothers and sisters." May all of us who claim to be people of faith begin to be known as people who are slow to offer answers, but quick to extend cool cups of water.
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