Adam, Pickups and Original Sin

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.

Layers from the Word

“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.

Going to Portland in Search of Mints and a Story

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.

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

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.

Who Do We Love?

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."

Story: Life

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

Cover via Amazon

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 Means to Millions

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.

Cover of The Millionaire Next Door

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.

Blind Spots and Smudge Marks

Image by jovino via Flickr

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.

Writing History

Image via Wikipedia

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?

Great Expectations?

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?

With Great Intent

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.”
- Saul Bellow (unattributed)

Image via Wikipedia

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)

The Tragedies of Marianna

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.

Right Isn't Fruit

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?

Tat, Tat, Tat

There are worse things, but, then, there always are. In this case, there are worse things than your daughter getting a tattoo. In fact, it really doesn't bother me. It's just "one of those things," if that makes any sense.

It's not uncommon for people to want a tattoo at some point in their lives, and it's more and more common for people to actually get them. When I was in Denver earlier this year, my friend got us court-side seats for a Nuggets game and I don't recall a player who wasn't nearly covered in "body art." Chris Anderson might lead the NBA in body art.

When our son Andrew first talked about getting a tattoo, he was still in high school and my response was, "When you turn 18 and I don't have to endorse it." Then he turned 18, and each time he mentioned the idea I gave him my advice: "You have to live with it -- forever. Be sure. When you come up with a design, sleep on it for a month to make sure it's really what you want." Delay, delay, delay. He never got one because a month always gave him time to come up with another design.

Lauren got pretty much the same advice, but she never really waivered from her original design or her desire to get a tattoo. And this week she did it -- right across the back of her left shoulder. It looks pretty cool -- three stars with some curled lines that look sort of like party streamers all above the words "Faith" and "Hebrews 11:1." The verse, which isn't part of the art, goes like this: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." It's a wonderful message about trusting God -- especially when we don't fully understand what's going on around us.

Will she still love the tattoo in 10, 15, 30 years? Who knows. But I have faith that the message will stay with her forever.

Evil Begets Evil

Evil begot evil Sunday when a man walked into a Kansas church and fatally shot a prominent abortionist. Two wrongs don’t make a right; they just make two wrongs. Killing a defenseless man in his church is no way to promote a culture of life. It only perpetuates the worst stereotypes of pro-life advocates.

Make no mistake: Dr. George Tiller was, at best, a misguided idealist who took the lives of countless defenseless children in the name of “privacy.” He acted within the legal bounds of the current system, but not within the moral bounds of the greater system. So while those of us who value life can hate his action, we’re called to love the person and pray for his redemption. Judgment, in this case, belongs in a higher court.

Ironically, Tiller’s family – which included a wife, four children and 10 grandchildren – released a statement that said: “This is particularly heart-wrenching because George was shot down in his house of worship, a place of peace.”

An unjustified killing is heart-wrenching no matter the place. And, indeed, a church isn’t just a “place of peace,” it’s a place to train and release those who create places of peace all over a community – homes, workplaces, parks. It’s awful that Dr. Tiller died at the hands of a murderer, but no less awful than the years he spent turning a clinic that should have been a “place of peace” into a house of horrors for innocent children.

(Un)Redemptive Flicks

A few months ago my wife and I went to the movies and saw Revolutionary Road, picking it over another Kate Winslet movie, The Reader. Last week, we rented The Reader. Both films won over the critics; neither film is worth your time, much less your money. Perhaps we missed something important in The Reader when we fast-forwarded through the porn scenes, but the movie lacked any sense of a redeeming message. The best that can be said of it was that it made you think about the choices we make in life, but it had no message of hope, no lessons from the sad, sad story about people who hurt people and then either died or lived on in misery. Revolutionary Road was even worse. It didn't even make you think. It just made you walk away feeling a bit uneasy, almost sick. Perhaps it's no surprise that as our culture loses sight of anything that's greater than ourselves, we produce "art" that only reflects the darkness of humanity and shower it with awards.

The Apple

I'd like to say our youngest apple didn't fall far from the tree, and in some ways I'm sure that's true (good and bad), but Lauren's parents are pretty sure God looked down about 18 years ago and said, "Check it out, I'm gonna give this one some mad softball skills." And He did. She's always fun to watch, and over the weekend she hit four home runs in six games. Ironically, this photo is of an out -- a line drive right at the first baseman. That's the thing: Good as she is, she still makes outs. Sometimes she even strikes out and makes errors in the field. That's life. All of our apples are blessed with "mad" skills of several different varieties -- athletics, academics, compassion, etc. -- and we love them no more and no less whether they strike out or hit home runs. Each brings its own set of blessings and challenges. Sometimes, though, the point isn't so much to figure out if it's a blessing or a challenge, but simply to sit back, soak at in and whisper back to God, "Thanks. Them's some good apples."

The Wonder of Willard (and Johnson)

It's the way of our world, it seems, to never admit our ignorance, but I don't mind telling you that I'm not nearly smart enough for Dallas Willard. I read The Divine Conspiracy several years ago and thought it was great, but, frankly, much of his writing and thinking is over my head. That's why I love what NavPress did in creating Renovation of the Heart in Daily Practice. I read this book over the course of a few weeks, but I'll go back and use it as a daily devotional. That's its gift. Short chapters by Willard that end with brief comments and "experiments" written by Jan Johnson. With this format, I can take the time to think through and digest and internalize Willard's wonderful insights on how we go about conforming ourselves as followers of Jesus. This book might never leave my nightstand.

The Starbucks Stops Here

I read where the big beans at Starbucks are up early and working late trying to figure out how to keep things brewing in a cold economy. I've got the answer: Breakfast blend. Simple enough, but it's the simple that always evades us, right? I'm not much of a specialty coffee (or tea) guy. I like regular, black coffee, no sugar, no cream. But when I go to Starbucks -- and the other look-a-like high-end coffee places -- they give me no choice but the flavor-of-the-day. How hard would it be to have a flavor of the day AND something they brew every day -- something a customer like me could count on? I'd vote for the breakfast blend and ask that they try not to burn it like they typically do. Doesn't seem too much to ask, does it?

Addendum: My friend Tom Addington, who knows more about coffee than Howard Schultz, says Starbucks now has an every-day brew: Pike Place. Kudos to Starbucks for responding to my request before I even posted it. Now that's customer service that might make me a customer again.

Our Neighbors’ Junk

An ice storm devastated our city earlier this year, and the cleanup process has taken weeks that are turning into months. At our home, it started by clearing the fallen tree limbs and repairing the damage to our home. After professional tree cutters pruned the trees in our yard, those branches were cleared, as well. All the branches, well over a ton for our yard alone, were piled at our street curb, and several weeks passed before city crews came through and hauled them off. The huge machines couldn’t get it all, of course, so yesterday I spent the morning raking and bagging the leftovers.

But that’s not all. Pine trees in the yards of two of our neighbors line the fences of our backyard, and those neighbors took a different approach to their cleanup. The limbs that fell because of the ice storm were collected and hauled off, but they didn’t have the trees pruned. So branches that didn’t fall – branches caught by other branches or that didn’t break off completely – remain high up in those trees.

When I look at those branches as they hang precariously above the fence, I suspect they they’ll fall onto the power lines and knock out our power. I suspect that they’ll eventually land on my side of the fence. I suspect that I’ll clean up my neighbors’ junk. And I know I’ll have the temptation to toss the limbs over the fence into my neighbors’ yards.

This morning, now that some of those limbs have fallen into our yard and suspicion and reality collided, I had this thought: There are lots of times in life when my neighbor’s junk spills into my life and I need to clean it up. If I’m filled with the love of my Savior, I’ll see the need and respond to it instinctively – out of love. If not, I’ll see the need and worry about how it will affect me and complain that I have to “fix” someone else’s problems. I might end up doing it, but more out of duty than love. That’s better than not doing it or tossing the problem back at my neighbor. But it still leaves me with the inner realty that I have my own junk. And I’m thankful that my Savior never hesitates to clean it up for me.

Winterdance

My friend David Jackson gave me the book Winterdance, the true story of how Gary Paulsen came to run -- and survive -- the Iditarod dog race. But it's much more than that. It's about his relationships with the dogs and nature and himself. It's a few years old, but still fresh and worth the read. I had never read Paulsen, but I know he's a popular author among teens and pre-teens, especially boys. Son-in-law Andrew read Hatchet, and I'm pretty sure son Andrew did, as well. Wife Suzanne has read several of his books and likes them. She's not a teen (although she looks like one) or a boy (and she definitely doesn't look like one), but she teaches school and often reads the books along with her students.