Ash Wednesday Isn't For Brownie Points It's For Freedom

This week across the globe people will commemorate death.  On Ash Wednesday folks will begin celebrating Lent.  Many will have the sign of the cross made on their forehead with ash.  This is to identify with death, specifically as related to the verse in Genesis, “By the sweat of your face you will eat bread till you return to the ground, because from it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  Lent is forty days of preparation for Passion.  Oh that we lived in the fullness of that Sunday and not in the shadow of that Friday.

People get stuck on Lent.  They focus on the giving up.  Somehow it gets to be all about them and what they’re giving up---that’s been my impression anyway, “Hey, if I give up Twinkies God will love me more!  Brownie points for Twinkies, yay!”  This is my first year doing Lent.  The wife and I are giving up minor food-stuffs in hopes that we will be more focused on Christ and Resurrection Sunday.  Not for Brownie points, just as a spiritual nudge to think about what matters.

What matters isn’t the diminutive deprivation (we’re not giving up coffee).  It’s more about who matters than what matters.  We choose to focus on Christ, His sacrifice and the resurrection which bought us complete freedom to live in the fullness of whom we are designed to be.  That is the fullness of that life-giving Sunday.  The words that changed Martin Luther, “Therefore, having been justified by faith we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,” that is what matters.  It’s free.  No Brownie points to earn God’s favor; Christ died, Christ paid, Christ rose for us.  It’s that simple.

“For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and in Christ you have been brought to fullness,” says Paul.  We have fullness.  Or as MercyMe sings it, “You are holy, righteous and redeemed.”   We fast for that.  On Easter, we feast for that.  We break fast, celebrate and enter into that fullness that Christ bought for us that Sunday when He rose from the dead.

When He Has Tried Me I Shall Come Forth As Gold

“Behold, I go forward but He is not there,And backward, but I cannot perceive Him;When He acts on the left, I cannot behold Him;He turns on the right, I cannot see Him.“But He knows the way I take;When He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold.”

Here’s the lie; “If you develop an image of success, health, abundance, joy, peace, happiness, nothing on earth will be able to hold those things from you.”  That’s a quote from Joel Osteen.  Here’s truth---from the Apostle Peter, “Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing…”  The Biblical truth grounds me; lies like that from Osteen hurls me into spiraling chaos.

Job persevered because he knew that his suffering had purpose.  The knowledge that a sovereign God ordained his pain allowed for hope and final victory.  What if Job was an Osteen follower?  Not that it has to be Osteen; the lie has always been the same; God wants you happy, God wants you rich, God wants you pain-free and all your desires maximized.  Can’t you hear Satan whispering the same message through the ages?

Personally I’d be dead or on psych meds if I thought my personal trials were meaningless.  I've fallen into that thought process before and it leads to either self-destructive behavior (porn and women in my case) or depression bordering on a clinical not-gonna-get-outta-bed level. 

Perseverance, proven character and hope are brought about through trials.  That is the consistent truth spoken throughout the sixty-six books of the bible.  Pain has purpose.  “Suffering provides the gym equipment on which my faith can be exercised,” says Joni Eareckson Tada.  In her book Pain and Providence she writes, “God uses chronic pain and weakness, along with other afflictions, as his chisel for sculpting our lives. Felt weakness deepens dependency on Christ for strength each day. The weaker we feel, the harder we lean. And the harder we lean, the stronger we grow spiritually, even while our bodies waste away.”

I don’t understand how people persevere apart from belief in a sovereign, loving God.  How does the recovering alcoholic keep at it if he’s only trusting in a ‘higher power?’  If that higher power isn't Christ; didn't bleed for him, then what?  If there’s no guarantee that ALL things are working for his good; then what?

In the context of a life lived in God; pain has purpose.  So I can say through everything, “When He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.”

Pushing Past Complacency

 Outside my window the trees bend eastward; palms and pines shaking moisture from frond and needle. We are into our third day of rain.   I delight in the brisk wind and smack of cold I feel as I step outside the house.  Its how I want God and verve to blow into my life; fresh and clear; brisk, sharp, cold---invigorating.  I think that the shaking is happening; the blowing and clearing my life of dead stuff.  Not a quick storm; it’s more a shaking season.  It’s less invigorating and more frustrating. 

“According to Christian teachers, the essential vice, the utmost evil, is Pride. Unchastity, anger, greed, drunkenness, and all that, are mere fleabites in comparison: it was through Pride that the devil became the devil: Pride leads to every other vice: it is the complete anti-God state of mind,” writes Lewis in Mere Christianity.  I have a sense that the rebellious employee and the demanding supervisor at work are placed there to bring me up against my own selfishness.  I have these conversations with Christ and ask him how He did it?  How did He live among us; put up with us and love us?  I don’t serve well and I want revenge when you go against me.  The wind blows cold and smoothes layers off my thick skin. 

Life delivers these growth opportunities to my door.  I’m never asked to sign and approve delivery; they just show up uninvited; the good and the bad.  The choice then is mine; to ignore or to improve.  Minute by minute I decide to move into doing the right thing.  I deliver ice to the Service Deli as requested by that areas’ manager---though I’ve a million things to do.  I am frustrated but pray and choose to serve.  At home I sit down to write some paragraphs believing my writing will be improved.  It’s the walking against the wind where we grow.  Usually that is the case.  Sometimes we stand still and just hold on.  Always the decision to move forward—or at least to stay standing—is ours. 

If you look around you its easy to see complacency.  You don’t have to look far to see reacting.  Finding people that choose to act is much more difficult.  The couch potato and the sluggard live next door to every one of us.  The fighter is hard to find---albeit hard to be.

The wind blows harder, colder; everything shakes.  The sky above is still grey.  In the distance there is bright blue; the grey pales against it.  I can almost reach out and touch the blue.  The season will pass.  Spring will come with perfumed air; bright skies and life.  It’s only a season.  I press forward.  I hold on.  We press forward.  We hold on.

Finding Healing In Impossibility

“A man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.  When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he had already been a long time in that condition, He said to him, “Do you wish to get well?”

“From where I lay to the healing pool it’s fifteen feet of impossibility.  Day after day I lay here.  I plan the way to get to the water when it is stirred up.  Each time I begin to crawl and every time somebody beats me to the water.  Some are able to walk on in.  Some have a close friend or family to put them in.  I am bereft of help and relationship.  I will never be healed.  I can think of no other options.  In every direction there is only darkness. 

How agonizing to be so close yet never make it.  Day after day for years on end.  I have tried everything; crying, screaming, begging and bleeding but nobody would lend a hand.  I will never make it crawling on my own.

I've cursed God.  How could I not?  God had provided others with help.  Heck, God had allowed others to live healthy lives.  I can’t remember health.  Musing leads to bitterness, bitterness to self-pity, pity to self-loathing and God cursing.  Still I focus on the pool and its’ healing water.

Sometimes it takes years to break a man; once in a while it happens quickly.  I’ve had a long time to reflect on my sin.  Boatloads of sin.  Throw in the cursing and I’m done for.  Someday maybe I’ll walk.  My spirit never will.  God will never forgive me.” 

Jesus singled out this man.  He said to him, “Do you wish to get well?”  The sick man replied, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up…”  “Why are you asking me this?  Yes, can’t you see how I long to get to the water?  But I can’t!” I say it, gripped with emotion.”

Jesus said to him, “Get up, pick up your pallet and walk.”  Later on Jesus tells the man, “Behold, you have become well; do not sin anymore so that nothing worse happens to you.”

          

The final kicker is that the man had spent many years focused on the water and it wasn't the water that healed him.  In the full context there’s a larger point to the story.  I see a great lesson here in the smaller scale.  The man focused on the water and almost missed Jesus.  Still Jesus stepped into his life and solved his impossible situation.  There’s hope there.  Even if my focus is wrong God can walk in and fix my impossible situation.  

Using Personal Talent To Project Beauty

“Don’t know if I could write like that!” I said to myself---finishing a chapter by Anne Lamott.  Every artist feels this way at times.  Pressfield says, “If you find yourself asking yourself (and your friends), "Am I really a writer? Am I really an artist?" chances are you are. The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.”   In every endeavor the temptation is to look at the great (famous) artists and say, “I’m no Ansel Adams or Annie Dillard so I best find something else to occupy my time.  Perhaps I should do something more akin to who I am.  I can finally accomplish that goal I have of watching every Hitchcock movie!”  The comparison is a false comparison.

I’m acquainted with a bunch of artists.  I know thespians and photographers, painters and roasters (I consider coffee roasting a fine art).  Each of them captures the beauty of this world and projects it.  Each has a small audience that appreciates their work.  Here in the high desert there is a local theatre which puts on plays.  Many of the actors are astoundingly good, some uproariously funny.  They are delighting others with their craft. 

The gift that each of us has is uniquely personal.  It’s like the story of the talents.  In the biblical story a master goes on a journey and gives each of his slaves talents “each according to his ability.”  To one he gave five, one he gave two, and to one he gave one.”  So too I have a gift unique to me.  The challenge is twofold; to act on investing it and to be wise in the investing. 

My life is made rich by the artistry around me.  It is in these that I am reminded of beauty---and reminded that there is an Artist as well.  We encourage and fuel one another’s passion when we use our gifts.  The world would be a much more horrid place without them.

Principled Living Provides Peace and a Sound Footing

As a teen I had no boundaries.  My parents let me get my own subscription to Playboy before I was eighteen.  I had no curfew.  My moms’ only rule was to call and let her know where I was and to provide an ETA.  Some might think this wonderful.  They’d be wrong. 

Up through college I tried working out my own personal guidelines.  I’d found some anchors along the way but an anchor’s no good unless secured.  I wandered a lot.  I tried to figure out my career path without a counselor.  I screwed up many a relationship.  Pride and foolishness caused many a crash; spiritually, relationally and physically.  I got nobody pregnant and I didn’t kill anybody (though I came stupidly close on both accounts).  I didn’t get into drugs.  God kept me from ruin.

Up through the 20’s I was everything but firmly planted.  Boundaries are important.  Principled living guides one’s life along a solid pathway.  Psalm 1 puts it like this, “…He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers.”   As I grew older I discovered key concepts to live by. 

The Bible is the filter through which I find my parameters.  It is the bedrock for every other tenet that I hold to.  In that vein I have some nuggets which keep me on track:

“God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him,” which is John Pipers’ summation of all of scripture.  “A ship in a harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for,” a saying which adorned my wall when I was a teen.  A life truly lived means taking chances.  “Let people feel the weight of who you are and let them deal with it,” an Eldredge quote—put simply---be yourself.  Finally that principle taken from Jesus which is that we are to die to self and live for others. 

I view my early years with considerable regret and some personal pain.  Though there was considerable joy and richness of experience there were some serious mistakes whose ripples are still felt.  Now I can run my questions and experiences through a grid that’s not all about me (and I always wish it were less about me).  Now I have sound principles to securely guide my heart and my actions.   A great deal of peace flows from that.

There is some wisdom in hammering out our own guiding principles.  The caveat however is that any principle apart from God will eventually shipwreck us.  Hammering out our own principles is good, ‘working out our salvation with trembling” is better. 

            

Vibrating Senses, Thanks and Coffee

The screaming alarm awakens the senses to the new day.  Each experience contains opportunity for being thankful.  Hearing the morning alarm means my ears are working.  Somehow the sound of the alarm vibrates the air and my ear processes it.  My brain shifts gears.  My mind goes from dreaming to screaming as it processes the sound.  Leaping up from the bed I note the pounding in my chest.  My heart is pumping properly, adrenal glands are functioning quite nicely too.  My feet feel the cold tile as I head toward the coffee pot. 

Making the morning coffee centers me.  I grind the beans until I no longer hear chunks being decimated (ears still working).  The coffee is measured out; cold water is poured into the machine.  I press the switch to begin brewing.  The smell of coffee permeates the kitchen…..

Orange juice is another morning enjoyment.  Drinking orange juice is a three-dimensional delight for me.  There is the sweet taste and the feel of pulp on the tongue.  I realize too that there is a memory component.  Drinking good orange juice I remember great breakfasts out; such as sitting on the Omelette Parlor (or the Summerland Beach Café) patio with a view of the ocean.  I think back on late nights at a friends house during college; where grabbing a glass of orange juice before driving home became ritual.  Then too there were the Alta Dena milk-man deliveries in Thousand Oaks; where we’d get fresh milk and fresh-squeezed orange juice right to our doorstep.

The body and all my senses react as I open the front door with one hand while the other holds a hot white mug.  The heat from the cup contrasts the blast of cold as I walk to my car in brisk morning.  My eyes take in the stars; light against the still-dark sky.  I set the cup on the dashboard.  Steam clouds the window.  Starting the car and grasping cup in hand I leave morning behind me and head off to face another day.

Resolutions From the Wrong Side of 50

 A friend refers to my age as, “The wrong side of 50.”  I’m closer to retirement (or worse) than I am to college.  I can think of only one friend that has a father still living.  Of those that have moms still alive most are at an age where leaving the house is an adventure.  So I wonder if the resolutions I make this year should be different than those of previous years.

There are key areas to focus on—save and simplify, live and enjoy, grow and improve.  Retirement, if it comes, will be a challenge.  Wisdom and financial gurus tell us to have a sizeable chunk of change in the bank.  This is cause for anxiety.  Life has thrown me a number of curves which drastically impacted savings.  Still one flesh always wants more, more and more.   The calmer voice of the spirit tells one to slow down and simplify.

Life is less about accomplishing things.  I’m in the season of enjoying things.  More free time is important.  I want to enjoy friends more.  I want to sit out on my wood porch and read.  This life season will be one of simplification. 

There is a tension in setting these goals.  I want to live a great story.  I wish to explore and travel with my wife.  The saving of money and the simple lifestyle slam up against these other goals and pull in two directions.  The setting of goals helps in making judgments. 

There is a constant wrestling.  For in sitting on my porch and reading I enjoy a glass of wine or cup of coffee.  These beverages enhance my enjoyment of life but impact my pocketbook---tension again. 

My father grew sedentary after retirement.  This is what killed him.  Some goals shouldn’t change.  I will continue to bicycle even seeking to improve my speed.  I will do at least one 75 miler.  I will discover new music.  I will try new restaurants.  I will celebrate travel with my wife.  I will keep moving. 

I’ve finished the hors d’oeuvres and I’m into the main course.  I’m going to savor and enjoy it before desert comes.  Then I’ll excuse myself and go for a walk.

“We are not now that strength which in old daysMoved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;One equal temper of heroic hearts,Made weak by time and fate, but strong in willTo strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

Vagabonds With Sticky Feet

“So show your love for the alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt,” so writes God when giving the law to Israel.  Peter changes it up a little in the new testament, addressing his letter to ‘aliens and strangers.’  The word vagabond carries the same idea. Webster defines vagabond as one that goes from place to place without a fixed home.  The funny part is that Christians have a fixed home—but not here.  The Christian has a home in heaven.  In our body and skin we get stuck here and lose sight of our ‘fixed’ residence.  The alien gets stuck to the earth; call it vaga-bonding if you will.

We have sticky feet with toes like Gollum that cling to this earthly soil.  That’s the curse of our flesh.  Peter tells his readers to ‘abstain from fleshly lusts which war against the soul.”  “Unstick your feet,” is what he’s saying.  Which is incredibly hard.

We live in this solid, visual, tactile world and it certainly feels like home.  Most of the time.  It’s like Turkish Delight in Narnia, 

“Probably the Queen knew quite well what he was thinking; for she knew, though Edmund did not, that this was enchanted Turkish Delight and that anyone who had once tasted it would want more and more of it, and would even, if they were allowed, go on eating it till they killed themselves. But she did not offer him any more.”

 We go on and on trying to sate our stomachs with what we see with our eyes.  We’re supposed to focus on what we don’t see though---to walk by faith and not by sight.  So hard though to taste Heaven.  So difficult to be satisfied in Christ.  It’s a struggle, it’s a war to choose to walk in those things that are true but unseen and turn from what we can strike with our hands.

To make the tension all the worse there are those connections we have with humanity.  These are good, solid, God created relationships.  It is good to love one’s wife, to find joy in one’s child, to smile when you connect with another human being.  Who hasn’t felt the security and affirming love in a real hug?  It’s like you could stay in that embrace forever—like going home.

One gets the idea that this life is all about the tasting but not about being full and satisfied.  We are told to ‘taste and see that God is good.’  We are fed on tales of a Promised Land which is far off.  Then Peter tells us about “an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven.”  Until then we wander as aliens walking in the tactile and  looking forward to that which will truly feed both senses

NaNoWriMo- 3 Things I Learned

“Like a body rising to the surface from great watery depths so Kendall began to wake up,” is one of my favorite lines I wrote for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) this year.  The challenge is to write a small novel, 50,000 words or greater.  I wrote 25,000 words; my first attempt at a lengthy story.  My novella is called, “The Making of Clay,” and it follows Clay and his wife Kendall through a character arc involving fracking, kidnapping, OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), guns, drugging, and a small deli.  In the process of writing for NaNoWriMo I learned (at least) 3 things.

           

Writing is hard work.  It’s a cliché for a reason.  On the one hand the process is engaging, engrossing, challenging and soul-stirring.  The meat of the process involves hammering out a story with plot, characters and setting---all that stuff we learned about in elementary school.  For myself that part of the process was the most difficult.  For example at one point I had all the characters established along with how they were connected to each other.  The problem was that the storyline necessitated them coming together.  I wrestled for days before I came up with a device that would motivate them to be in the same place at the same time.

My appreciation for professional writers greatly increased in this process.  As did my questions about how they write.  In a tome of say six-hundred pages; such as a Ken Follett novel,  do the writers keep a chart of characters physical traits: eye color, type of lips, body shape?  Do they map out intersections that characters will go through?  I can’t comprehend that they would keep all that info in their head. 

           

Anything can be found on the internet.  I investigated wheat farming and found that much of the world’s wheat is produced in China.  I researched rape drugs (ala Bill Cosby) and even found sites that described the best way to kick open a door.  A believable story involves some aspect of research whether it be via interview or internet. 

“The most important thing about art is to work. Nothing else matters except sitting down every day and trying. (Steven Pressfield, The War of Art).”  My daughter said to me, “Dad, I feel like you and Glenn (a close friend) always choose these high goals and then you don’t finish them!”  The point I told her is to have the goal and go for it.  The sad thing would be to never dream the dream or set the lofty goal.  This process reaffirmed for me that anybody can write the novel, travel the world or paint the painting.  The problem is that most people don’t do the work.

I will participate in  NaNoWriMo again next year.  I’m shooting for 50,000 words.  I’ll dig in on November 1^st and push hard til the 30^th.  It was a disciplined challenge.  The process and fruit of the process were well worth it.  I’m already wrestling with story ideas.  The process continues---the work goes on.

            “This is the other secret that real artists know and wannabe writers don’t. When we sit down each day and do our work, power concentrates around us. The Muse takes note of our dedication. She approves. We have earned favor in her sight. When we sit down and work, we become like a magnetized rod that attracts iron filings. Ideas come. Insights accrete.” ---Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles