Loss And Overcoming: Rethinking Story

I’m reconsidering what it means to live a good story.  Dream and fame; couch and comfort, a nice city in a picketed community---the image in my head.  I’m on this road now where I’m paying attention to different stories.  A married couple in their twenties face the wife’s massive brain stem stroke; a popular preacher faces the death of a five-year-old daughter from sudden asthma attack (one day here, next day gone); the teen dives into shallow water leaving her a quadriplegic.  The good story isn’t in the loss.  The good story is in the overcoming.

I don’t know if it’s the age I’m at or the age I’m living in but all around me people are facing difficult personal trials.  Friends with cancer, parents with cancer and children with cancer startle me at every turn.  I can easily name friends that live in pain from the moment their feet hit the floor in the morning until their muscles settle down under the sheets at night.  On top of that friends face income issues and aging parent issues.  All of these bring with them unique battles for spiritual perspective; prayers for peace in the midst of soul-shaking storms.  Some simply endure while others pursue the best of stories in less than perfect circumstances.

Life is a process of re-calibrating.  I just reviewed some previous blog posts.  There is a honing and sharpening of my perspective and my direction; sharpening the point of life while it pushes in to sharpen me.  I say sharpen but life pushes in with tremendous pressure.  God does whatever sharpening He wants.  I try to submit and learn.

Good story isn’t the perfect life.  It’s the unexpected kidney punch life gives.  It’s how the hero deals with the unforeseen circumstances—character forged in the journey.  Finally, it’s God’s grace we see in the overcoming.  As MercyMe sings; “like a hero who takes the stage when we're on the edge of our seats saying it's too late, well let me introduce you to grace, grace God's grace.”

Safe and Vulnerable: The Beauty Of Being Known

My friends are vulnerable.  It’s not something males are prone to.  I’m not certain females do it better than we do.  Close friends know my failures.  They’ve heard me when I’m caustic and bitter.  I’ve shared moral failure and perceived failure.  They’ve put arms around me---and not stabbed me in the back.  Stranded on an island the most difficult thing for me would be to not connect with friends.  I am, we are, wired for friendship; our souls long for deep vulnerability.  This open place can be a place of peace and beauty.  It can also be an unsafe, shaky and scary place.

A friend once broadcast a personal failure that only they knew about to my email list.  That is one dark side of vulnerability.  That our real selves including the darkest parts will be used to embarrass and malign us.  Friendship must be a safe place.  Our personal relationships and our small social groups must be safe.  The bible study groups I am involved in all have a rule: What’s shared in the group stays in the group.  

We all present one face to the world.  Some attempt to live their whole life with game-face on.  Our Instagram and Facebook posts present all our perfect moments to our audience.  We don’t air our kid’s tantrums or arguments with our spouse.  Even at church (especially at church?) we present Mr. Perfect Peace when chaos and crumble are what life really looks like. 

I know of three suicides in my circle in the last years.  All male by the way.  How depth of friendship may have broken through.  Not surface friendship—but deep honest, transparent friendship.  That’s the treasure in friends.  That’s the privilege of prayer.  It is soul shaking stuff to let people in.  It goes against grain.  Vulnerable and committed is the safest and freest place to be.

Periods of Pressure and Future Escape

“Mommy, is Pharaoh’s army going to kill us?”  The little boys’ mom hesitated.  The Red Sea in front of them and the army behind them left little room for a positive answer.  Remembering their spiritual father Abraham, she responded, “God will deliver us.”

Often what makes a trial bearable is the assurance of future escape. Trials present us with this Red Sea motif; we are stuck in a situation.  The options for escape look grim; diving into a churning, dark river. My job feels that way today. 

 Weeks ago the wife and I went to Yosemite!  We had the chance to see Yosemite in the spring for a week-long vacation.  Before going we spent an evening choosing lodging.  We viewed waterfall live-cams and sunset still pics on Instagram. After days at work we whispered, “We are going to Yosemite!”  Before sleep we’d share with each other our expectations. Our upcoming escape pulled us through; tough day after tough day.

Heaven should have the same affect.  Not some dreamlike escape but a solid place that I’ll be at home in soon.  The still-pics stir imagination.  Being close to Jesus; an eternal escape from sin and pain; mansions of glory and fullness realized.  The New Testament refers to heaven 217 times.  Obviously I should focus on it more than I do.  Much, much more.

The blessing in a period of pressure is this crying out for escape. The hand is jarred loose.  Eyes, God willing, are refocused on heaven; on deliverance, on deliverer.  “I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; From where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.” 

Deep Chasms of Evil

“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” …Deithrich Bonhoeffer

“Banality of evil: A phrase coined by philosopher Hannah Arendt that describes the thesis that the great evils in history generally were not executed by fanatics or sociopaths, but rather by ordinary people who accepted the premises of their state and therefore participated with the view that their actions were normal.”---intro to Breaking Point;  by C.J. Box

The three a.m. knock meant your neighbors had reported you to the authorities.  This was the case for Nazi Germany and the Russian ‘Gulag Archipelago.’  Today, “France’s 475,000 Jews representless than 1 percent of the country’s population. Yet last year, according to the French Interior Ministry, 51 percent of all racist attacks targeted Jews. The statistics in other countries, including Great Britain, are similarly dismal. In 2014, Jews in Europe were murdered, raped, beaten, stalked, chased, harassed, spat on, and insulted for being Jewish. Sale Juif—“dirty Jew”—rang in the streets, as did “Death to the Jews,” and “Jews to the gas.”  This is a form of evil once escalated.  Yet in all its forms it isn’t so obvious.

‘Ordinary people, simply doing their jobs, and without any particular hostility on their part, can become agents in a terrible destructive process,” wrote Milgram after his Yale experiments indicated that the general public is capable of inflicting harm on others.  We are so easily influenced by culture and peers.

What then are we to do?  In an election year when Trump is riding a storm of fear and hatred to popularity.  In Kansas City, he mouthed the words, “I’ll beat the crap out of you,” when describing what he would have done to a protester who charged him in Dayton, Ohio, earlier in the day. “Boom, boom, boom,” he said, mimicking a schoolyard beat down with his fists.  Yet so many support him in the name of change and reaction to the status-quo.  Why are so many so blinded?  Why so easily swept up by the cultural tide?

We are an isolated people.  Few of us have relationships that go deeper than those at work.  There is nobody to speak truth into our lives.  I follow ministries on Instagram for entertainment---I fail to pray for the people who are actually doing the work (God forbid I should maybe also get involved or send cash).  We don’t even know what truth is.  How was it that a Dietrich Bonhoeffer stood against Hitler while his peers did not?  Perhaps it is because in an earlier age of shallow waters he understood that, “The path of discipleship is narrow, and it is fatally easy to miss one’s way and stray from the path…and it is hard to find.  On either side of the narrow path deep chasms yawn.”  So we should use all means to stay on the path; fellowship with truth seekers and adherence to the unchanging scriptures.  Still we will slip and slide.  May He give us grace to be different when all the world around us cites its actions as decent, sensitive and normal.

El Nino: Bringing Snow and Dissapointment

As a kid it was summer---every kid’s favorite season.  An opinion greatly influenced by three months of vacation.  As an adult I particularly enjoy autumn and winter.  I like the cold.  I take pleasure in rain and snow when it comes.  Occasionally the blowing wind feels great.  I live in the California high desert.  In winter we get some rain and historically, we get snow. 

I shivered with anticipation at a coming El Nino winter.  Most certainly I’d see a snow-day or two.  The mysterious dry-washes that riddle the desert would flow with water.  Weeks of brisk days and freezing nights would guarantee sweet sleep underneath down-duvet and colored quilt. 

I wasn’t the only one.   A ton of people purchased flood insurance.  The Federal Emergency Management Agency reported (that) insurers have written more than 55,500 new policies from Aug. 31 through Dec. 31, 2015 — a 25 percent increase.  So the snow came!  It came to the dry Sierra, bringing a much needed snow-pack to assure water for 2016.  An almost empty Lake Shasta experienced a massive replenishing of water.  The city of Big Bear, an hour away and only some short miles ‘as the crow flies’ got snow too.  And we got---what?

Snow fell all around.  The hills that make this a valley received fine dustings of white.  It snowed in Pioneer Town twenty-miles away.  Our front yard remained snow free.  I pulled my favorite winter jacket from the closet for one cool morning that got into the forties!  I spent this winter clothed in short-sleeve shirts.  Favorite sweaters remained in a box.  If dust caused rust our umbrellas would be stuck shut.  From the porch there have been great views of snow; always in the distance.

Summer may bring my long awaited rain.  I’ve heard that 60% of rainfall occurs during summer monsoons.  Summer rain comes with humidity; its more difficult to sleep under light sheets with fans blowing.  I hold onto hope that April will surprise me with the improbable Alaskan cold front.  Could happen.  Barring that I look forward to summer rain…and a week of vacation.

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.