Leaving

Sad  Glad  Fear


Two days ago my oldest son Jay was walking out the door heading to work.  This summer he started a business here in Anchorage called "The Grass Guys."  He was standing in the laundry room heading out the door dressed in his lawn cutting gear (everything with a tint of green from all the grass he's mowed this summer).  I looked back at Brenda who was standing in the kitchen.  She was crying so I asked, "What's wrong?"  


She answered, "I'm gong to miss him so much."


It hit me.  I can spend the next two weeks keeping busy at work and filling my schedule with the million details that are screaming for my attention.  Or I can slow down and "see" Jay . . .  and in the seeing, grieve the goodbye that is right around the corner.


When I asked Brenda what was "wrong," her answer reminded me of so much that is "right."


In the past I would have stayed busy and allowed the urgency, even "importance" of my work to crowd my heart and my mind allowing me to skirt above the the deeper currents rushing inside me.  Today I am not refusing my sadness -- a sadness whose depth honors the rich relationship I share with him and the unbelievable joy he is to me.


Last night Jay and I sat up until very late.  I reminded him that he would not be alone on the Dartmouth campus.  I shared with him about the time when I was 28 years old and realized that there wasn't anyone "thinking about me" and there never had been . . . at least not like a father thinks about a son.


"Jay, in that way, you will never be alone.  There won't be a day that you are walking across that campus that I'm not thinking about you.  There won't be a day where you get in or out of the pool (he's swimming for Dartmouth) that I won't be thinking about you.  You won't be alone!"




We both cried.  I saw him.  And he saw me.

Taste

Anger Sad Glad


It's been over a week now since my taste buds went on strike.  They won't work. They don't work.  The only time I even get a feint glimmer of what it used to be like to taste my food is the millisecond after I blow my nose.  And even then, all I get is a fleeting moment of aftertaste.  I don't have a cold so I'm not blowing my nose so I can breath.  I'm blowing my nose every couple of minutes while I'm eating just so I can have this short moment of taste.  I'm a pathetic sight sitting at the dinner table with my box of kleenex, wishing for more.

I can't taste anything.  NOTHING. 


I've found myself working the food over in my mouth trying to get some sense of satisfaction from the texture.  A couple times I thought I was actually tasting what I was eating but quickly realized I was "tasting" a memory of what I knew it tasted like from having eaten it before.


At first I ate normally.  I even had a few deserts.  There is a half eaten ice cream bar in the freezer.  I've taken a few bites out of it, but I'm saving the rest for when I can taste it.  Otherwise, what's the point?


Each time I sit down to eat or grab something out of the fridge, I am hoping my taste buds will kick back into gear.   I'm pretty discouraged by it all.  I don't look forward to meals.  Utilitarian.  I eat because I have to, not because I want to.   


One refrain has repeated itself over and over again in my mind:  "WE WERE MADE TO TASTE."


We were made not just to eat our food, but taste our food . . . not just nourish our body to keep it alive, but feed our hearts so  we'll actually live.  And feel the living.  God did not create us for "have to."  He created us for "want to."


There was a time in my life when I could not taste anything spiritual.  I put plenty of food in my mouth -- even good food.  But I was not able to taste any of what I was eating.  Some who walked closely with me during this season in my life recognized the desperation in me.  I was so hungry.  Not because my stomach was empty, but because my taste buds were so dead.  Desperate to taste, to live, and to feel.  Reaching for anything that would remind me I was alive.


Psalm 34:8 says, "Taste and see that the Lord is good."


I've heard this verse a million times.  But it makes more sense to me when I read it in the context of the rest of the Psalm. 


How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him . . .


Who is the man who desires life . . .


The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous, and His ears are open to their cry . . .


The righteous cry and the Lord hears . . .


The Lord is near the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit . . .


The Lord redeems the soul of His servants; and none of those who take refuge in Him will be condemned . . .


And the words create a flavor explosion in my mouth when I read it in the context of the past six years of my life.  


The following are some journal entries I penned in the summer of 2005 . . . the last time I remember not being able to "taste."  I can still feel the darkness of my words scrawled in a notebook.  I can still remember crying out to a God who hears and who comes near to those desperate to live.


"Father, my heart is cold. . . and its been a long time since I've really tasted the joy of my salvation.  Is it possible for what feels dead (my heart) to come back to life again?  Spirit of God, breath life into these dead bones.  Not by anything I can do to earn it, but because of your GREAT mercy."


"I cant stand the pain and disappointment.  I just want to be numb.  But where do I go?  There is nowhere to hide because the pain and disappointment and fatigue and expectations come storming back.  My head hurts.  My heart is numb."


"I can't handle being told more of what to do . . . what I should be doing.  What I'm not doing.  I don't need more how to's.  I'm dealing with issues of my heart."


"Lord, by faith I would rather lose all I have than to miss YOU in this life.  DO WHAT YOU MUST."


Last week (six years ago to the very day) I wrote this:


"I remember highlights from my old life that are now just OK compared to the life You (God) have given me.  You have loved me and been gracious to me.  You have sat me at a banquet table!"


"Taste and see that the Lord is good."  Yes, taste.

Size Matters!

Structure is meant to serve life.

Organization is meant to serve the organism.

When I was planting a church in Nashville TN, and we were growing at a rapid pace (doubling almost every year), I would often quote Peter Drucker who when questioned about the whether a particular organization had gotten too large replied, “The skeletal structure of an elephant is sufficient!”

Size was never the issue to me.  Whether we were 40 people or 4000, what mattered was whether there was sufficient infrastructure (or organization) to support the life.  Too little structure and the organism would become a lifeless blob.  Too much organization and the structure would crush the life of the organism it was created to support.

I’m no longer convinced.  Size does matter.   Organizations are by nature inefficient and the structure created to support most organisms seems to inevitably feed upon the very LIFE it was created to support.

People become a means to an end to serve and support the organization.  The good of the organization becomes a higher value than the good of the individual (not necessarily a mutually exclusive proposition).  An inordinate percentage of resources are allocated to sustain the organization justified by reasoning that the perpetuation of the organization ultimately serves the individual (also not a mutually exclusive proposition).

Size does matter.  Small is not necessarily good. Bigger is rarely better.

Case in point:

Last week some of my good friends helped me repair the aging deck on the back of my house.  Since it was not a new deck, I didn’t think I needed a permit from the municipality.  Upon finishing the project, I was informed I DID need a permit.

Over the next three days:

• I made three trips to the Anchorage Municipality. 
• I met with twelve different people from four different departments.
• I signed my name seven times.
• I drew building plans for a deck that was already built so I could get approval to build it. 
• Three different people from the city made visits to my house. 
• The first person who came to my house came to inform me that I indeed needed a permit.
• The second person came to make sure the picture I showed them of my completed deck was in fact my deck on my house (30 second visit and $105). 
• The third person came to make sure the plan I showed them and the pictures I presented to them were not photo-shopped (two minute visit and $295).  The only question he asked me, “So how come there aren’t any dandelions in your neighborhood?”

At one point when I was at the Municipality offices being informed about who needed to come to my house and how much all of this was going to cost me,  I asked, “Can’t the same person who comes out to make sure these pictures are really my deck be the same person who verifies that this plan you asked me to draw up here in your office of the deck that is already built is the same deck?” 

Answer:  “No.  That’s zoning.  We’re codes.”  

If I had not seen the mother of one of my kids classmates working in the zoning department, the whole process could have taken up to ten days.

I kept thinking to myself, “THIS IS JUST A DECK REPAIR!  How does anyone get anything significant done in this city?”

Grand total paid to the city of Anchorage (not counting the cost of my time, gas, or the three trees cut down to create all the papers signed, copied, stamped, and filed):  $400 U.S. Dollars!

The skeletal structure of an elephant is sufficient only if you are an elephant.  

The New Testament describes a significant but limited role for government.  As it relates to the local church, it's no surprise to me that the New Testament says so little about the organization of the church but says much about relationships and the life of the church.

Being w/ my boys . . .

Glad Sad

I did a men's retreat last weekend at Kenai Lake talking about "Intimate Male Relationships" and later that week was able to go back to spend the night with my two youngest boys at the cabin where we did the retreat.

Carving walking sticks.  Skipping rocks.  Talking about what it means to be a man.  Having tender conversations about how their bodies are changing, marriage, adoption, sex, life, manhood, their stories, God's love for them, my love for them, why their legs burn when hiking a steep incline and how that makes their muscles grow.  (I'm talking about the time with my boys --  not the men's retreat!).

Laying there on a big bed in the cabin with one boy on each side of me, heads nestled under each arm, each trying to get as close to me as they could . . . I had to walk into my own sadness and loneliness as I observed them drinking so deeply from an emotional, spiritual, and physical closeness with me I never experienced with my own absent dad.  It was rich and wonderful.  Sad and lonely.  Glad.  

We hiked . . .

We talked about what it means to persevere as a man when you want to quit . . .

We rested . . .

We explored . . .

We ate the food of being together . . .

And we celebrated!

Emotional Awareness 101

Glad Fear Shame


Great blog from Adam Legg, re: a class I taught here in Anchorage in the Fall.  The statement I most appreciated:

"I have been through several classes and courses at church, but this one was different. I normally finish a class feeling like it was “worth it.” I am a little better husband, a little smarter with my money, a little more knowledgeable about the Bible, etc…etc…etc….

But at the end of this course I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t think that it was “worth it.” I felt like it was 100% necessary, completely crucial and totally critical that I was there. There is not a day that has gone by in the 6 months that have passed since the end of the class that I have not gone back to what I discovered there."

http://faithlifemedia.blogspot.com/2011/06/regret-3.html

Vision

Glad Anger Fear


The size of many New England states, 
(6 million acres) Denali National Park (http://www.denaliparkresorts.com/) can swallow you up.  Last week it wanted to swallow me.


We asked several rangers what hikes they recommended but no one would offer an opinion.  My guess was that they didn't want to be responsible if we took their advice and got lost or mauled by a bear or a pack of wolves.


We headed out but didn't know were we were going.  We just started walking.  Nothing real challenging.  There were no significant elevations and the views were not necessarily inspiring.  We were walking into no man's land with no idea where it would take us.  It felt pointless.  At one point, we were walking through willows that a week later would be impassable.  The hair stood up on my arms -- it felt too "gamey."  My instincts were correct, we were in a den area for 16 wolves!  We were never lost but we might as well have been.


My legs were dead tired and my feet were killing me.   I got tired quickly and was ready to find a ride and head for a hot shower. 


Later that same day, and still in the national park, we started another hike up a different mountain.  I'm not sure what the elevation was or how far we hiked.  But this time we got up past the tree line and started moving across a ridge-line from peak to peak . . . each new threshold paying off with massive breathtaking views too extraordinary for my senses to absorb.  

This was a challenging hike and 10x more difficult than the one we'd started earlier in the day that threatened to do me in.  This time, it was as if I was being pulled up the mountain, ignoring blisters the size of quarters and almost fifty year old legs that don't spring like a mountain goat the way they once did.  

I've thought much about the difference between the journey we took in the morning and the one we took later that day.  Both were in the same national park.  Both were taking me places I had never been.  Both were with the same friend.  One beat me down and the other built me up.  The only difference?

god with a little "g"

Fear Anger Sad

To the extent that darkness represents the unknown (and what I am not aware of that can harm me), I am afraid of the dark. 

To NOT admit my fear is to deny my humanity (denial, arrogance, or both).

To admit my fear is to awaken to my need for God and others (true neediness) which precipitates the "reach" that leads to faith, and ultimately wisdom.

I also believe in Heaven and am thankful today that I can live my life with hope, comforted that I don't have to be “God” to make sense of my life or create my own versions of what I want or can confidently expect in the afterlife.  Rather, I can trust a God who comforts me when my life doesn't make sense and who has made promises and assurances about what lies beyond the grave.

Stephen Hawking is a man of great faith . . . in himself.  

Heaven is a 'fairy story', says Stephen Hawking

When he’s foretold his own death and resurrection and then actually comes out of the grave to prove he can speak with authority about what lies beyond the grave, I will put stock in his musings about the afterlife.  Until then, I'll stake my future on Jesus.

Time

Fear  Sad  Lonely  Glad


When I was a kid, summer break seemed like a lifetime.  Three months of no school!!  A year was even longer.  And five years?  An eternity.  For a ten year old, five years represents half of your life, which is why I think it seemed like such a long time. For a 50 year old, five years is only 10% of your life, which is  why the older I get, the faster time seems to fly by.  It's not my imagination.  In the scope of my entire life here on earth, time is moving faster.


When my kids were young, everyone I knew in their 40's and 50's with high school and college kids warmed me how fast the time would go.  I didn't believe them.  Not only could I not imagine myself being "old" like they were, but I couldn't imagine my kids graduating from high school and leaving for college.


Jay, (#2 of 6) graduates from high school this Tuesday night.  I don't think it's possible for a dad to delight in his son anymore than I delight in Jay.  I marvel at the young man he has become and I so enjoy the tender full hearted relationship we share.  I'm more excited about his next four years in college then he is (I know what he's about to experience).  But I am also profoundly sad watching him begin the process of leaving.


He swam his last high school swim meet this past weekend.  I cried.  He sang in his last high school choir recital tonight.  I cried.  He'll give a speech at his graduation ceremony.  I'll cry.  He'll board a plane in September.  I'll sob.


The days are long . . .

    . . . but the years are short.

Food

Eight weeks ago I started experiencing a significant measure of pain in my left chest/shoulder area.  It turns out after seeing the doctor, that the broken collar bone and separated AC joint (football injuries from back in the day when we wore leather helmets) had severely compromised my sterno-clavicular joint.  Bottom line: the joint where my collarbone joins my sternum is messed up and I’m now pretty limited as to what I can do without irritating it.

I typically do some kind of intense “crossfit” type of workout at least four times a week – mostly to help slow down the aging process on my almost 50 year old body so I can keep up with my 9 and 11 year old boys.  Additionally, it helps me keep from dieing when I hike with my buddies in the Chugach.

What’s surprised me these past two months is how the more I get out of shape, the worse I’m eating.  As much I like to work out and stay in shape, I’m also normally a very healthy eater.  I don’t eat fast food or junk food and I eat in moderation.

This past weekend I realized I was out of control . . . eating myself into oblivion.  Compulsive.  Beyond full.  Sugar. Salt. Carbs.  Any time of day.

At first the correlation didn’t make sense to me.  What would cause me to eat healthier when I’m feeling good and getting lots of exercise and eat worse when I'm feeling so lousy?

I was using food to medicate myself . . . to feel better.  But like any addictive behavior, the crash always left me in greater need of “medicine.”  So today I’m at the end of day two of a fast, exposing how I can use food and how I can use ANYTHING (my phone, TV, exercise, food, sex, computer) to keep me from facing life on life’s terms.


If I see my life I will feel my life.  If I feel my life, I will find myself in need.  And if I find myself in need, I'll end up in surrender.  Otherwise, I am an addict looking for an addiction, an idolator looking for idols.


This was a new one for me . . . or at least the realization of it is new.

Sad.  Lonely.  Hurt.  Fear.  Angry.  Shame.  Guilt.  Glad.

A Pre-Easter Prayer

Shame. Guilt.  Glad. Lonely. Sad.


I tend to want resurrection without death.
I want growth without pain.
I want to live without dying.


Dear Lord Jesus,


You, "the image of the image of the unseen God, the first-born of all creation, for whom all things are created, everything visible and everything invisible," You, Christ Jesus, hung upon a cross and died for us.


Today we look squarely at the cross. The soldiers, who have broken the legs of the two men crucified with you, do not break your legs. But we see your heart is broken; the heart that did not know any hatred, revenge, resentment, pride, greed, bitterness, or envy but only love.  Your broken heart is the source of our salvation, the foundation of our hope, the cause of our love.


There on that cross all suffering has been suffered,
     all our anguish lived,
     all our loneliness endured,
     all our abandonment felt,
     and all our agony cried out.


There, human and divine love embraced.


There, God and all humanity reconciled.


There, all the tears of the human race have been cried.


There, all pain understood and all despair touched.


There, your body was broken and your blood shed, so that we might be forgiven and made whole.


As we look upon the cross, let our eyes recognize the anguish and agony of all the people for whom you gave yourself.  Save us from hardness of heart. We confess our sin, our own pride, our own disobedience to you, and we pray to receive your overflowing love.  May we never forget that you were pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities.  And only by your wounds we are healed.


We pray in the compassionate name of Jesus.
Amen.