Shooting For Fame Completely Misses The Mark

Chariots Of Fire from Anchorsaway Ministries on Vimeo.

I’m never going to be a famous writer.  But the idea of fame completely misses the mark.  It. Is. Not. Even. Close.  I won’t be famous because I won’t leave my life and live out of a car ( a la Steven Pressfield) with only essentials and a lap-top to spend all my time typing up stories and writing my first novel.  I won’t be an Annie Dillard stealing away to a cabin for a year to write.  So many authors have stories like this.  But I confuse the act for the art.  I miss the heart of the writer which is the reason they break away.  The art drives them.

My search for a Pressfield quote led me back to The War of Art.  I am reminded; the art is the most important thing.  I write to write.  I’ve been writing since junior high school (a poem was a great way to sway a girl to go out with you).  Through junior high and high school I kept a journal.  I am compelled to put pen to paper, a need to process and synthesize life with ink. 

The struggle is to make time for family, and bills, and all the life interruptions while still writing.  This is where I feel I’m not dedicated or disciplined enough.  I choose other things over writing.  One doesn’t become a famous writer without writing.

Its not about fame.  Its about creating.  God is a creator.  We are created in His image.  Using what we’re given blesses Him that gave it.  Through my writing others come alive!  The pursuit of fame is a dead end.  Pleasure is the right pursuit.  I am reminded of two quotes from the film, “Chariots of Fire.” 

Harold Abrahams: If I can't win, I won't run!Sybil Gordon: If you won't run, you can't win.”  
Eric Liddell: I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.”  

I choose pleasure and hope you are lifted along as well.

Jesus Served-The Heart I Should Have

Today Jesus washed His disciples’ feet.  I have that thought this morning as I bring my tired body to the keyboard.  It’s a strange overlay to think that somehow that act leading up to crucifixion has a bearing on me as I wade through another morning. 

Two hours from now I’ll drive to work where I’ll serve demanding customers who are hungry (first-world hungry) for fried chicken, cold-cuts and side salads.  I’ll spend another eight hours struggling to maintain a good attitude---to choose joy while working a job I didn’t choose.  I hope that in my serving I made some small difference in somebody’s day.  It doesn’t feel as if I’m living the life of a Christ follower.  I grumble more than I give thanks.

Certainly I’d serve differently if Christ hadn’t served his followers.  When customers curse, I’d curse back with a better curse.  I would simply see people with bumps and bruises.  There would be no eye to see them as they could be at their fullest potential.  The Son of God served.  I struggle with having that heart but I know it’s the heart to have.

Fenced In For Good

A fence is two sided; inside and outside.  Often inside is safe, shielding from outside forces.  The house I grew up in had a backyard surrounded by brick fence and along that a green hedge.  Sam the Samoyed, furry and large, would lean into the hedge and walk the circumference of the yard; the hedge supporting and brushing his hair all at once.  Thus the green hedge had a white fur-line at dog height all year long.  The inside of horse stalls and rodeo corrals are lined with horse hair and bull shreds too.

At rodeo the young cowboys sit in a row atop the fence their shirts a quilt of color.  Apart from them the older cowboys lean, sideways near the gate maybe or with butt and backs resting on rung.  The fence supports while inside bulls kick and horses paw. 

Today when we think fence we think of aliens clawing out of their countries and trying to get into ours.  We throw up our hands and build up a wall because it will keep us safe, secure our resources and protect our children.  Because it worked so well at Babylon and Siloam---trusting in man-made towers and barricades.

God has set fences in our lives; visible and invisible.  Like the cowboy we can lean against them.  In leaning we say to our bodies; you can rest—no need to run right now.  We are safely hedged in; even when it looks like the bulls have stormed the gates!  We lean like Sam the Samoyed.  So too we are hedged in. Psalm 16 says, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance,” and in the Message it reads, “You set me up with a house and yard, and then you made me your heir!” 

Cowboys trust fence and gate (until the chute is opened).  Though we may say with the Psalmist, “Many bulls have surrounded me; strong bulls of Bashan have encircled me,” we need not fear.  The boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places.  We are playing in our Fathers yard.

The Battle to Behold Beauty In The Everyday

 Sloth and frantic busyness are two sides of a pendulum.  I slept in today.  There’s always a niggling voice when I sleep in saying; “You are wasting the day away!” The voice doesn’t realize that being busy isn’t necessarily a sign of accomplishing anything either.  It feels like stuff has been accomplished though so we feel better.

The mountains are still snow-capped.  It is seventy plus degrees outside with a cooling wind.  Today’s bicycle ride was wonderful; I don’t know if it was the sleep or the change in weather but I felt exhilarated.  I pedaled and thought about beauty. 

I queued Queen on Spotify---don’t ask me why.  Listening to ‘You Take My Breath Away,’ I remembered why. I enjoy their music.  Though not the gospel music I usually listen to; there’s a beauty that overarches the earthiness of most of Mercury.

There are blocks of time; days and weeks of gray where I live in-between busy and sloth where I just go to work; come home to my wife, touch base with my kid—then do it all over again.  God still exists during these times; I barely live like He does.  It’s a slow-motion-blur. 

When I’m in the mountains or at the beach I think, “It would be great to live here.”  I would miss the beauty living those places as much as I skip over and miss the beauty living life where I’m at.  This noticing beauty; this breathing out thanksgiving, is (like so much of life) a discipline.  A battle to behold beauty in the everyday. 

So I remind myself again (How many times, Lord?) to live fully when the pendulum is swinging hard to busy or bending slow to sloth.  And in the in-between times I trust grace and lean on beauty trusting she’ll pull me out of the gray.

Intimacy---Sometimes I Say Things Trembling

My wife has seen me naked-emotionally.  We’ve shared card we’ve held close for a long time.  There are two sides to intimacy.  Ideally there are two people (at least).  It opens doors to closeness.  Used against you it will rip you right open.

Marriage is an intimate institution.  It’s difficult to get around that.  You’re going to see stuff; you’re going to share stuff.  In my first marriage I shared too much.  Being honest; seeking intimacy only lent fuel to the fire.  Sharing flesh and bone; one doesn’t expect the same sinew to be used as a weapon.

In this, my second marriage, God has flipped everything that was wrong with my first to be as it was intended.  Sharing intimate secrets and being vulnerable (not always intentionally) have brought greater intimacy and depth.  Safe and secure in commitment allows us to go deeper.  Don’t get me wrong—it’s still scary as heck.  Sometimes I say things trembling.

Relating to God should be intimate as well.  He already knows my every thought, right?  But how do I live that out?  When I’m stumbling in darkness, when my thoughts cause me shame---I can share with God.  When food or sex or life makes me laugh—I can share with God.  I delight in that intimacy.  It too is a safe place.  Though yes---sometimes I say things trembling.

We live in a guarded world.  So much time is spent shining the outside of the container while inside, Jesus said, its full of rot and death.  To live honestly means we live intimately.  The problem is the same as my first marriage.  This world is not a safe place.  I don’t know how to do it apart from Jesus.  Heck; many followers of Christ play it safe and fake too.  Christ makes it possible.  Though it still takes an act of will.  He is steady-I lean on Him.  Though yes, sometimes I say things, and oh, oh, I’m trembling.

Wine Growing In Community

“On that day the mountains will drip with sweet wine,
and the hills will flow with milk.
All the dry stream beds of Judah will flow with water.
A spring will flow out from the temple of the Lord,
watering the Valley of Acacia Trees.”

“…the trees said to the grapevine, ‘You come and be our king!’ 13 But the grapevine said to them, ‘I am not going to stop producing my wine, which makes gods and men so happy, just to sway above the other trees!’”

Wine doesn’t flow from rivers or drip down from trees like maple syrup.  Producing good wine is an art form; an intricate process beginning with grape stock and ending in the bottle on your counter.  Wine Folly identifies five basic steps in the process: pick the grapes, crush the grapes, ferment the grapes, age the wine and bottle it.  They leave viniculture out of the picture altogether although without the vineyard these five steps won’t happen.  Beyond all this---without a gifted vintner cultivating in community---quality wine doesn’t occur.

Wine makers along California’s Central Coast continuously cite collaboration as key to the final product.  How do you do it?  My wife and I asked the same question at different wineries.  The surprising answer was that each relies on the talent and gifts of others to bring together their desired wine.

Wine producing is crazy expensive!  There’s the cost of the crop, the harvest and publicity---to simply name three.  A 2007 article “estimates are that it costs $70 to $275 per acre to machine harvestgrapes (not accounting for the cost of a machine, which can range from $150,000 to $300,000). Picking by hand, which takes much longer, can run to $750 per acre at super-premium properties.  A fascinating article on mechanical harvesting states, “For a used self-propelledmachine with gentle picking rods the unit costs are between $85,000 and$200,000.  There is a transportation cost to deliver the unit; and a trailer to transport the harvester will need to be purchased.  The height of the harvester requires a special drop trailer that can easily run $10,000.  In addition to the purchase costs, there are also annual costs.  It is assumed 300 acres would need to be harvested in order to reach a pay-back position on the unit.”

A winery owner in Avila Beach shared with us that they co-op with other wineries to pay for and use the Harvester.  Another owner (from a group of owners invested in one winery) communicated that for some of their wines they use portion of someone else’s vineyard---which they have complete control over---rather than having to own the entire vineyard.  Finally, the wineries on Highway 46 in El Paso (46 East) have banded together to promote their wines in a number of creative ways that gains exposure for all of them.

One of the most god-given drinks (We will drink it in Heaven) is often created by vintners working in tandem with so many other players in the wine-growing community.  Why do so many other businesses neglect this type of beneficial network?  And in our individual lives why are we so intent on going Lone Ranger?  Something to contemplate this winter?  Perhaps in discussion with friends over a bottle of wine.  And as you lift that cup think about what it took to bring it to you.

The Lead Singer

You know I’m a fan of the band Third Day.  They downsized in 2008 when guitarist Brad Avery left the group.  With the loss of Brad they lost an edge.  He was only one of their guitarists; not their lead singer.

Hawk Nelson did it.  REO Speedwagon, Journey and The Newsboys all did it with great success.  The Christian band Sanctus Real will probably let us know today.  Each of them has changed lead singers. 

In so many ways the frontman is the band.  Quick think Maroon 5!  You thought Adam Levine, right?  Queen?  Freddie Mercury.  The Stones?  You get it.  Each of these lead singers imbued the band with their unique sound.  Beyond the sound their worldview and personality saturates each melody the band plays.

The gestalt is the musical group.  How that comes together is driven by the lead singer whom is usually also the lead songwriter.  Listening to Jars of Clay; beauty and angst have their fulfillment in the voice of Dan Haseltine; but it’s the individual pieces that create the whole.

Finally it’s the sound.  When I hear Peter Furler I know it’s The Newsboys (okay, okay he’s done solo stuff—but you know what I mean).  When you hear U2, the guitar rhythm and Bono are unmistakable.  It’s a whole package.  Until you change it.

I’m glad Sanctus Real will keep performing and writing music.  It just won’t be the same without Matt Hammitt.  Perhaps they could call themselves Sanctus Real Part B (Sanctus Real the flip side?)

Wanderlust: Blessing or Curse?

Is wanderlust a blessing or a curse?  I don’t understand the lack of hunger to explore.  It extends beyond that; music and the arts; museums and live theatre.  Why am I so hungry to plunge into these when others have no interest?  I envy their contentedness—at a shallow level.  I find I am most content when I have calendared the next seminar; get-away or road trip!  Sometimes I wonder if the problem is me and not them.

Am I looking to be filled?  Does adventure equal ego?  Is it all my flesh looking to the next new thing?  Is it topographical ADD?  Certainly there is some synchronicity of personality involved.  It maybe that this tangible want for more is just one side of the coin.

Here’s the flip.  It’s that same wiring (good or bad) that keeps me from being content with the status quo.  Here’s a short list of things that the wanderlust fallout impacts: my hunger for God (“Like the deer pants for the water so my soul pants after You…”), my performance at work (good service should mean pushing for better) and how I date my wife (wanderlust drives me to creative dating.)  Those are some positives. 

So what purpose then?  At the core is the desire for stillness, peace and worship.  Perhaps this is best typified through the words of John Erastus Lester, a reporter and visitor to Yosemite in 1873; 

“To attempt to describe the grandeur of this scene (from Inspiration Point) would be folly; to tell of the feelings of awe, of humility, or reverence, which are here aroused, is all that can be done.  He who tries to believe there is no God is here at once converted in the twinkling of an eye; and his feelings of reverence and veneration, blended with love and beauty force him to a worship at once pure and creedless.”
 

The partial answer---and perhaps the answer in full---is that the quest for beauty is the quest to taste of Heaven.  In the end it remains C.S. Lewis that said it best; 

"These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols,breaking the hearts of their worshippers.  For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” 

 

Christmas Is Being Known

I would be dead without hope; “If your Law had not been my delight then I would have perished in my affliction.”  This is why Christmas matters.  It is all of Christ and all of hope made tangible.  I realized early on that I was capable of good things; I have lofty goals and a romantic disposition.  Beauty causes my heart to soar.  A brisk wind stirs my soul and music makes me sing.  I want the best for humanity but I am not deceived.  I do not expect world peace.

I am capable of great evil.  Christ constrains me.  Without hope hedonism becomes my god.  I will feast on food and flesh and never be sated.  Never.  Knowing this about myself at times leads me to despair.  And the world we live in; let’s not even begin.  So much dark.  Which is why Christ living here as a man makes Christmas of bedrock importance to me.

I feel awkward and out of place.  I don’t fit in.  This is my normal experience.  God gave me my wife, daughter and some close friends to make it through.  Christ knew loneliness.  You’re God living in flesh; pitching a tent among humans.  You know what not fitting in feels like.

Christ put up with all the junk that I do.  The selfishness of men and the unruliness of individuals; poverty, hunger and sickness experienced all firsthand.  I live with my brokenness.  Christ sees into the heart of man.  Wicked governments?  He was crucified by them. Sin his stripes. Whores his best friends---you think they didn’t share their torment, shame and anger with Him?  I am reminded of the song by Rich Mullins, ‘the whole world rests on the shoulders of a homeless man; He had the shoulders of a homeless man.’

Christmas is being known.  It is that beautiful mystery; ‘For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are; yet without sin.”  For He is the image of the invisible God…by Him all things were created…all things have been created by Him and for Him…He is the beginning and the end.  Christmas is all about hope.  Being fully known I’ve been bought by the blood of Jesus.  He is with me in my struggles here where I don’t fit in.  He has reserved me a place imperishable and undefiled.  Finally home fully known.  Entering into rest and realizing hope.

This Isn't A Call To Walden

My phone died.  The whole weekend without being stalked, followed, liked or texted. I didn’t wake up to my phone; didn’t check it before bed and went a whole night without beeps telling me someone cared.  My Saturday night was restfully quiet; I went Sunday morning without screen time.  This experience isn’t that unique.  I’ve had a Smartphone for a month.

This isn’t a call to Walden.  There is visual and visceral delight in seeing your life flash in Instagram.  How tremendous to be followed by people you’ve never met; and who cares why they’re following you?  Putting your family photos and activities out there is a sane safe thing to do.  Truly---I’m borderline addicted.  And Facebook is a great mix; pics of kids; prayer requests and political posts.  The knee-jerk is to respond to every half-baked post.  Wrestling with that; grace and light are good; inflammatory repartee---perhaps not.

I’m seeing my phone’s death dimly through this grid (call it a life app) I’m working through.  When all the information and data stream in unfiltered its overwhelming.  Adrenaline flows and stress mounts.  There is no peace.  Doing the things I enjoy (the things that make me come alive) restores my passion.  Life posted and pictures ‘liked’ in Instagram is positive.  Monitoring my walks on Strava ties me to technology while I’m walking up hills I’ve not seen; praying prayers I’ve prayed before.  Tying technology to my life is good.  Getting tied down by it isn’t.