Image by Rdoke via FlickrFrom "The Bells" by Poe with thanks to my wife for teaching me the word "tintinnabulation" ...
Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
The Christmas tree looks wonderful, but something was missing and, at first, I didn't even know it.
There are ornaments and ribbons and bows, and I like the simple elegance of white lights with gold and purple trim on the green tree. There's not much history in this tree, however. Not for me. On the old tree, the one I hated putting together every year, and more each year as the branches wore out, there was a story years in the making. There were old ornaments passed down from generations past, and new ones each year that reminded us of something about our family. Now they are gone, physically gone.
The new tree has its memories for my wife and her kids, and she and I bought an ornament, our first together. It makes me smile and think about the future with great anticipation. And today I can add two angels--small, white crochet angels made by the small, tender hands of my grandmother. My mom sent them to me. Somehow she knew something might be missing.
Image by Sheffield Tiger via FlickrIt's a challenge at times to understand what God means when His Word tells us to rejoice "always"; then, often in small, unexpected ways, He gives us a glimpse.
Such a glimpse came my way this morning when I took my bike for a ride through Fayetteville. The sun climbed slowly toward the day, so it provided just enough light for the ride. But sky was more white than blue and wisps of gray clouds sat on the horizon. This made it too dark to see well with my prescription sunglasses, so I took off on my journey with them propped atop my head, thinking that the sun soon would make its way over the tree line.
My eyesight is, in a word, awful, so I don't do much of anything without wearing my glasses. I'm not much better than blind. But the streets were empty and so I rode forth with a limited view of the world——everything more than a foot away from me was out of focus——and that's when God allowed me to see through His eyes.
You see, I don't like the fact that I don't see well. I consider it an ailment, an affliction. And I don't think I've ever praised God for making me so nearly blind. I am thankful that I'm not fully blind and thankful for the technology of prescription lens, but I don't "rejoice always" when it comes to my eyesight.
On this morning, however, I found myself stunned by the lights as I rode through neighborhoods and parks. There were street lights and yard lamps and porch lights and tail lights on trucks. And they all took on something special when I looked at them in the dawn without the help of my glasses. They sparkled like stars and the single bulbs unfolded like blooming flowers into eight to twelve lights that formed a circle, much like a ball that might hang as an ornament on a Christmas tree. There was beauty in those lights, a radiance that came from these new layers that I saw only because of my physical imperfection.
So I looked at them and a thought overwhelmed me: Thank you God for making me nearly blind.
It was a small thing, if any gift from God can be considered small, but it's the sort of thing I hope I remember when other troubles come my way. Troubles that seem much bigger. There are layers I don't see. There is a God of the universe who knows our imperfections and our trials and our pain. And when I take the time to trust Him and see things His way, the light——the Light!——is always wonderful. Wonderful.
Deep in the heart of every straight male, as well as a significant percentage of gay men, burns a deep desire to drive and own a pickup.
Dispute me on this one if you like, but my response to any argument on this topic is pretty simple: You have every right to be wrong. Go forth in your ignorance.
The simple reality is that God wired men to love trucks.
The psalmist tells us that God “created my inmost being” and that He “knit me together in my mother's womb.” (Psalm 139:13) That speaks to all of our individual characteristics and of His never-ending understanding of who I am and who you are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a few common traits, and for guys, one of them is a mystical love for trucks.
My vision of God knitting a man together while he’s in his mother’s womb goes something like this:
“OK, fingers? Check. Toes? Check. Ears? Check. Nose? Check. Eyes? Check. Penis? Check. God-sized void that must be filled only by Me? Check? Unwillingness to ask for directions? Check. Love for pickups? Check. …”
Of course, not every man owns a truck. Some get sidetracked by other mystical motor vehicle loves or by family realities that send them to the minivan section of the car lot. But humankind hasn’t created the swagger wagon that can replace the pickup in the heart of a man. Hasn’t happened. Never will. And no matter what a man drives, he secretly (or not so secretly) would like his fleet to include a pickup.
I think this desire led to original sin. I know, it sounds like a bit of a leap, but stick with me.
Adam and Eve were hanging out in the Garden, and all was right with the world. All the animals had been named, and there was plenty of time to chill out. That’s when Adam had this thought, probably given to him by the Serpent.
“Walking is good and all, but imagine riding around in the garden in a super duty four-by-four long bed with chrome wheels and running boards!”
And one day he’s dreaming about sitting high in a crew cab with all the new world in his windshield when Eve gives him a nudge and says, “Hey, Adam, I’ve been talking to the Lucifer here, and, well, I’ve decided to give this forbidden fruit a try. You cool with that?”
Adam, of course, is thinking about going muddin’ in the south forty of the Garden. “Yeah, babe, whatever,” he says.
Next thing you know, all hell literally is breaking lose, all because Adam was daydreaming about a truck instead of listening to his wife.
Since that time, mankind’s quest for invention has centered on this deep-seeded desire for a pickup.
Look, a stick, let’s make a tool!
Now that we’ve got some tools, let’s make something that will roll. A truck has gotta roll; let’s use the tools to make a wheel!
What can we used to make these wheels go faster? I know: Horses!
Horses are good, but what if created an engine with the power of multiple horses! Then we could go really fast!
Nice car, Mr. Ford, but can you make one where I can sit a little higher and carry stuff in the back?
And that’s how we ended up with pickups.
As for Jesus—the Second Adam, the Perfect Man, the Son of Man, and the Son of God—well, there are those who believe He said the key to salvation is “pickups, the cross and follow me.” I say that’s a blatant miss-interpretation of scripture. But don’t take His specific silence on pickups as condemnation. As with other matters of desire, He tells us to seek first His kingdom and his righteousness and all these things will be given to us. So the way I read it, as long as we keep our eyes and hearts fixed on Him (unlike Adam), He’s perfectly OK with us driving a pickup.
“For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” – Hebrews 4:12
The more I've re-read this verse, the more layers I've discover. Consider:
+ The word of God is alive — but not just alive, it’s active. It could be alive and passive, much as my faith sometimes seems to be. But it is actively doing things.
+ So how is it active? What actions does it take? It penetrates my very soul and spirit, my joints, my bones. Not only that, it actually judges my thoughts and attitudes.
+ How does it do that? How do words on a page become active? I get that they penetrate, but that happens when I reflect on them and allow my soul and spirit to understand their meaning. But it’s more than that. The word of God actually judges my thoughts and attitudes and it convicts me in ways that are beyond my own reasoning.
+ Is this the work of the Holy Spirit? Or is this Jesus? Or both? The Hebrews passage doesn’t capitalize “word,” but it’s the same Greek word — logos. And we know that one of the names given to Jesus was the Word.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. “ — John 1:1-3
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” — John 1:14
Note from www.blueletterbible.org: A Greek philosopher named Heraclitus first used the term Logos around 600 B.C. to designate the divine reason or plan which coordinates a changing universe.
I gave a talk to a church youth group once. This was back in the day. Back when I worked for a newspaper. Back when I was married. Back when I was blissfully living out my story as a writer, editor, husband, father, and follower of Jesus.
So I was giving this talk, and I held up a blank newspaper that I had picked up from the printing plant. When a printing press revs up, the initial copies roll off blank. Eventually, the ink gets pressed to the plates and then to the paper and magic happens: words and pictures appear on the newsprint and a newspaper comes to life with all sorts of stories about oil in the gulf and crocked politicians and tall guys who are moving from Cleveland to Miami.(This, again, was back in the day, before we got our news on our phones.)
The point was obvious: This is your life, right? Blank. What story are you going to write to fill out the pages?
Life as story. It’s long been one of my favorite metaphors, and I’m not alone. John Eldredge wrote about it several years ago in Epic: The Story God Is Telling and the Role That Is Yours to Play and, more recently, Don Miller wrote about it in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life. God wrote about it His bestseller, too.
It’s Miller who has my interest today, because he’s come out with this clever marketing ploy to drum up interest for a “Living a Better Story” seminar he’s putting on this fall in Portland. He’s having a contest and the winner gets a free trip to Portland for the seminar, complete with a hotel room and bottled water and fresh mints.
It just so happens that I want to go to this seminar. When I first read about it about a month ago on Twitter, I went to Miller’s Web site and looked into it. Then I decided I couldn’t go because I don’t have the money for the airfare and the hotel and the bottled water and the fresh mints. So I prayed about it. “God,” I said, “It’s me again. I’d like to go to this seminar but you know I don’t have the money. You interested in funding the trip?” He didn’t answer immediately, at least not that I could discern, but then today he sent me a “maybe.” He said, and I’m paraphrasing, “Enter this contest and see what happens. Even if you don’t win, you’ll learn from the exercise.”
It also just so happens that today, before Twitter told me about this contest, I was reflecting on a verse from the Bible that actually tells me God’s will for my life. This is amazing, because most of us really struggle with this one, and yet, there it is, big as Alaska, in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18. Look it up if you don’t believe me. I’ll wait. …
Any questions?
I’ve got a few, mainly because I tend to take the simple and make it complicated. Here’s my main question: What’s that look like for a 47-year-old follower of Jesus who just went through a divorce he didn’t want and who is 20 pounds overweight and who has gray hair he refuses to cut and who doesn’t have much money and who gave away pretty much everything owned but the debt to his now-ex-wife?
I’m looking for the answer. I want to write a book about the experience of looking for the answer. I also want to live a great story in this new phase of my life. I want to live a story that includes glorifying God as a writer, father, grandfather, missionary-minded follower of Jesus, and, who knows, maybe some day, as a husband again. I want to live a story in which I’m joyful, prayerful and thankful.
Three of the books I’ve read this summer have inspired me toward this end. One, as you might guess, was Miller’s. Another was a book on writing called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. And the other was a book on life and faith (among many other things) by Anne Lamott called Traveling Mercies. I recommend them all (with the warning that Lamott is irreverent enough to need an R rating).
Those books, along with a devotional called Jesus Calling and a book called the Bible and the encouragement of friends and family, combine to give me hope about the story I’ll write on the remaining blank pages of my life. They also give me hope about the stories I’ll write for other people to read. Literature, or some close approximation thereof.
I like Donald Miller as a thinker and author, so I want to go to this seminar and learn what I can about living a great story and writing great stories. Plus, I like bottled water and fresh mints.
Saw this quote today: "Man's natural character is to imitate; that of the sensitive man is to resemble as closely as possible the person whom he loves. It is only by imitating the vices of others that I have earned my misfortunes." - Marquis de Sade So the question is: Who do we love? Consider Hebrews 13:7 (NIV) -- "Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith." Or 3 John 1:11 (NIV) -- "Dear friend, do not imitate what is evil but what is good. Anyone who does what is good is from God. Anyone who does what is evil has not seen God." And, finally, 1 Corinthians 11:1 (NASB) -- "Be imitators of me, just as I also am of Christ."
It isn't often that someone loans me a book and I go buy my own copy before I've finished reading the loaner. The exception came with "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years" by
Donald Miller. I started reading it on a flight home from Denver, got about halfway through it, and went out the next day and bought three copies -- one for myself and two that I plan to give to friends.
Miller wrote "Blue Like Jazz" -- a fine memoir -- and a few other books that I haven't read. But he outdid himself with "A Million Miles." It's a story about story, which, as you might image, is the type of story a writer might enjoy. So I learned something about writing and telling stories, which is good. More than that, Miller picked up on one of my favorite themes: Life as story.
In short, Miller realized he wasn't happy with the story he was living. So as he studied and wrote about story, he helped himself (and thus his readers) see how to live a better story.
Benjamin Franklin once said, "If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing." Miller challenges me to do both.
The headline — "Five Billionaires Who Live Below Their Means" — seemed to imply that some billionaires live beyond their means. Of course, if they lived beyond their means, they wouldn't be billionaires. Still, the article was a interesting series of snapshots, because there's a lot to learn by looking at what these billionaires do and don't do with their money.
Several years ago, I learned some valuable lessons about wealth from a book called The Millionaire Next Door. First, it defined a millionaire as someone whose net worth equaled more than a million dollars. So living in a $2 million home and owning a jet and a yacht and several expensive cars doesn't make you a millionaire. In fact, most people who live extravagant lifestyles are heavily leveraged with debt. In short, they owe more than they own. Second, it offered a great many insights, all based on researching the spending and saving habits of millionaires, about how millionaires become millionaires.
As you'd expect, being smart helps. And working hard is essential. But neither is enough.
Here's the myth: Some really wealthy people live frugally despite their great wealth.
Here's the truth: Most really wealthy people are really wealthy because they live frugally.
The other great truth I learned about millionaires is that they are givers — not just after they reach certain levels of wealth but regardless of their levels of wealth. They gave when they had very little and they continued to give as their net worth grew.
So the lessons I take from all of this are simple: Work hard, give generously, and live frugally.
We self-reflect by looking out the windows to see the world around us and into the mirrors, real or metaphorical, to see ourselves. And that's good. But not perfect. Nothing is harder for us to see than our own immaturities. They are the blind spots in those mirrors and the hazy film on those windows. We see clearly through them or around them when looking at others, but not so much when the view involves our self. As long as we are growing, we will always have these blind spots and smudge marks. But we see them and understand them only in retrospect -- in the light of context and perspective that comes from maturing beyond them. And the main thing that can stunt our growth is thinking that somehow see everything just as it is.
There's nothing like reading a good book on history to make me wonder about the history my generation is writing. I just finished Blood and Thunder, a wonderful book about Kit Carson and the Indian wars of the 1800s. It's easy to second guess the decisions of presidents and generals and trappers and indian chiefs and other assorted characters. But they lived very real lives -- the kind that lead to great things, if sometimes only accidentally, and the kind that lead to great horrors, despite the best of intentions. It's insane to think we would have acted differently had we been in the place of those who came before us. We simply don't know. And when it comes down to it, we're better served figuring out how we should live our own lives than pretending we would have been more noble than our forefathers. Is abortion our slavery? Is global warming our manifest destiny? What will our grand-children's grand-children think when they read about us?
This week's questions in search of answers: What do I expect from others? What should I expect from others? What do I expect from myself? What should I expect from myself? What does God expect of me? What do I expect of God? What does a "fair and reasonable" expectation look like? Is it ever OK to lower your expectations? When?
Inspired by a comment from my son-in-law, I decided to make a greater investment in time and energy toward the purpose of updating this blog. And so I committed to begin more regular entries, mostly short musing from my morning devotionals and middle-of-the-night-can't-sleep prayers. Monday, Feb. 15, was set as the date for this new/re commitment. So, here it is Wednesday, Feb. 17. Better late than never -- but only if you arrive with something of value.
I stumbled upon something of value this morning: Saul Bellow, the acclaimed writer who died in 2005. I can't say I've read any of his books, which only serves as another reminder of how many great books by great writers I still need to read. I'm moving Bellow up my list, at least in part because of quotes like these that I found on wikiquotes ...
“There is only one way to defeat the enemy, and that is to write as well as one can. The best argument is an undeniably good book.” - Saul Bellow (Quoted by Granville Hicks in The Living Novel: A Symposium (Macmillan, 1957; digitized version in 2006), p. ix)
“We mustn't forget how quickly the visions of genius become the canned goods of intellectuals.” - Saul Bellow (Herzog (1964) [Penguin Classics, 2003, ISBN 0-142-43729-8], p. 82)
“For the first time in history, the human species as a whole has gone into politics. Everyone is in the act, and there is no telling what may come of it.” - Saul Bellow (To Jerusalem and Back: A Personal Account (1976), p. 38)
“A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.” - Saul Bellow (To Jerusalem and Back: A Personal Account (1976), p. 127)
I can’t say I knew Lina Waldrip, a homeless woman who died sometime during the cold, cold night that started as Christmas Eve. But she was my age and from my hometown of Marianna, so I went to look for her in my yearbook. I found a girl who was a year behind me in school who looked like a younger version of Lina but went by a different name. I tried to remember something – anything – about her, but I couldn’t. And I regretted that I couldn’t.
Lina struggled with alcohol abuse and officials say she got drunk and fell asleep near her tent in the woods of Fayetteville. She never woke up. Was it the bone-chilling cold or some other ailment? We might never know.
The tragedy of it all struck me and has stayed with me for several weeks. And recently something else hit me: It was a rough year for my old hometown.
In addition to Lina’s death, consider:
Maurice Clemmons, 37, born in Marianna was shot and killed in Seattle by police who suspected him in the killings of four police officers.
Curtis Lavelle Vance, 29, was convicted capital murder, rape, residential burglary and theft, in the 2008 death of Little Rock TV news anchor Anne Pressly.
Marianna Fire Chief Charles Boone was shot and killed Dec. 30, 2007, after he was found in bed with the estranged wife of Stephen Amos, a classmate of mine at Lee High School. Amos was acquitted of capital murder charges during a trial in 2009.
Finally, 1st Lt. Tyler E. Parten, 24, died Sept. 10 in Afghanistan. His mother, Lona, also was in my class at Lee High School and was a friend.
I don’t know what to make of all this. It seems an unusually high per-capita tragedy count. Some stems from the poverty of that area. Some is just “stuff” that happens. That’s the world we live in, at least for now. And it’s why we need redemption.
The thought woke me in the middle of the night: Being right isn't a Fruit of the Spirit. If you know your New Testament, then you already knew that. I knew it, too; I just didn't live it. So the reality hit me in a fresh way, as in a lesson learned over the years that's finally beginning to soak in. Maybe if I know it in this new way I might live it more faithfully. Maybe. I don't know that it's ever wrong to be right, but there's an art to the expression of "rightness" ... including our decisions to remain silent about it. It's one of life's most challenging balancing acts, at least for me. It's certainly hard to admit when we're wrong, but no easier to see when we should stay quiet about being right -- when we should say nothing at all or state our case simply and then back off if others disagree or when to continue the debate but for how long. Being right feels like a "right." When we're right, everyone should agree and that should be that. But they don't comply, partly because we're not always right about being right. Even when we are right, however, the "rightness" isn't a fruit in the same way as, say, kindness. Being right, in other words, isn't a byproduct of being connected to God. It's not His gift to us because of our fellowship with Him. The Fruits of the Spirit, however, offer a guide when it comes to how we deal with being right about one thing or the other. When we aren't producing that fruit in they way we express our rightness, then we've lost our way. We're stumbling in that balancing act. We've lost the touch of the artist. That makes us no less right. But if our fruit is rotten, what good is it being right?
Image by Rdoke via FlickrFrom "The Bells" by Poe with thanks to my wife for teaching me the word "tintinnabulation" ... 
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