At the beginning of 2013, over a couple of cups of coffee and good conversation with a friend, I set down 3 measurable goals to match my priorities. The end of the year is here, and I've made it. I put two more letters in the mail today, I finished Steinbeck's Winter of Our Discontent on Monday night, and this is my last blog post. It came down to the wire, but I finished it: 75 blog posts, 25 letters, and 25 books in one year. Here's what I learned along the way:
1. Personal pressure beats peer pressure.
I got this done for no other reason than I said I would get it done. It had nothing to do with anyone else's expectations of me. Frankly, I don't think any of us will ever live up to the expectations from others, and we know that. That's why we largely ignore them. Oh, we'll try to keep others happy, but only to a point. Ourselves, however? That's a tougher master. Too often I believe we don't require enough of ourselves; we keep our own expectations vague, if not low.
I use the term personal pressure here because I did feel the pressure. At times I was downright stressed trying to squeeze in time to follow through on this commitment, especially during the stretch run when I battled illness, fatigue, and some unexpected additions to the schedule. And that stress is good. To reach closer to who we want to be requires us to go beyond the comfortable. Some people spend their whole lives only allowing others to dictate when they step beyond the easy. Making the decision to create personal pressure allows you to guide the ship. The waters will be choppy, but you'll know exactly why you're treading them.
2. Deadlines force me to do what I want to have done but don't want to do.
A major lesson from my 2012 reading was the paradox that is our desires. That which we most want, we often least feel like doing. Exercise, reading, writing, serving - these are often high on many priority lists, but follow through is low. I realized that if I wait until I feel like it to do all that I say I want to do, none of it would ever get done. Also, it's usually when I least feel like doing something (praying, apologizing, communicating, serving my wife) that I most need to do it.
The process this year of the monthly deadline helped me to keep that dichotomy in check. Knowing that I needed 2 books, 6-7 blog posts, and 2 letters by the end of each month created built-in demands that I act regularly on that which I said is important. Most months I came to the last week and realized that I still had 2 letters to write. I rarely felt like writing them, but I was always thrilled when I put them in the mail. Despite the fact that the whole letter writing thing was what I most wanted to do, it was the hardest on which to follow through. Regular deadlines increased the urgency, forcing me to take action whether I felt like it or not.
3. You get what you emphasize.
This is an old coaching maxim, and it held true in this venture as well. I emphasized 3 goals, wrote about those 3 goals on this blog, and told people about them. I committed to following through, and I did. However, everything that wasn't part of those 3 goals became less of a priority, cast aside to the realm of "when I get a chance." My Time magazine frequency suffered. I read manageable books, not huge anthologies that wouldn't count towards my goals. More importantly, the routine of written prayer and Bible reading was anything but routine.
All three of my goals were worthy of my focus, and I'm glad I chose what I did. They all three held true to what I said I wanted - writing and relationships. If you emphasize nothing, you get nothing. And you can't emphasize everything. However, 2013 is now over, and I will move to something different. It's time for a different emphasis.
4. Numbers matter.
The best part about these goals is that they were measurable and controlled entirely by me. I've made the mistake in the past of creating the goal of being a better friend, or father, or husband, or writer, or teacher. There's no way to measure that. I could have gone a different way as well - for instance, require publishing a book or an article, or building 5 new relationships. But those aren't controllable. Sure, if factors are right, they can happen; however, they are neither certainties nor actual determinations of improvement. By putting a number of what I would do, and making sure that number was directly related to improvement on my stated priorities, I set myself up for success. There is no doubt I am a better writer after posting 75 times this year and reading 25 books. I know I've valued relationships through those letters and connections made on this blog. I can't count the improvement, but I could count my actions. The controllable numbers drove the journey.
So there it is. Done. With 3 hours to spare until the end of the year. I think I'll take the time I've got left and curl up with my wife under a blanket on the couch and watch a movie. It wasn't on my goals list, but perhaps it should have been. I want to thank all of you who have read the blog this year. It continues to be a major influence in my life, and I appreciate the opportunity to be read in yours. Here's to a productive, purposeful, and humble 2014.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Laser Sharp, Loud and Proud
The week before Christmas and New Years is an an annual time of personal reflection. It's a great time to look back and look forward. Some advice I read this year about writing from the book Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark is helpful in this process
In looking back, I look to the blog. I write to reflect and to think. I also write to remember. This blog is a journal of sorts that reminds me of my journey this year, of what I thought and studied and learned. And I want to remember all that I learned this year. I want it all to mean something, and I want to take it all with me in my next post, my next practice, my next meeting with friends, my next month with my family, my next workout. But I can't take it all with me. Part of life is knowing what to keep.
Clark writes about the challenge for writers of sorting all that they've gathered and narrowing their focus: "New writers often dump their research into a story or essay. 'By God, I gathered all that stuff,' they think, 'so it's going in.' Veterans use a fraction, sometimes half, sometimes one-tenth of what they've gathered. But how do you decide what to include and, more difficult, what to leave out? A sharp focus is like a laser."
All of what I've written and thought about is important into getting me to where I'm at today, but there's no way I can prioritize all 50-60 thoughts and "lessons" that constitute my 2013 writings. If you attempt to be good at everything, you'll be good at nothing. Instead, I've got to look back at common themes, at both the major events that really mattered and the minor thoughts that consistently, from some unconscious corner of my brain, nudged my thinking. Ideas like the reason sports are worthwhile, the approach I have to maintain in coaching, and the approach I have to take amid the uncertainty of not coaching. Or the realization that appears over and over again in blog entries - that I'm not just living my story, I'm in hundreds of stories going on around me that I get to be a part of, and one big story that is already determined. Or what I've learned from sticking with goals for a solid year (see tomorrow's post for more on that). In looking back, we can keep all our memories; but we can't keep them for long. Use the laser and take with you what you can, what you must, to grow into who you need to be tomorrow.
In looking ahead, I'm influenced by Clark's advice of "saving string." We often feel too busy to do the big projects we'd love to tackle, but Clark writes that we do not have to drop all of our responsibilities in order to chase what we'd really like to do: "Right now, buried in routine, you feel you lack the time and energy to undertake enterprising work. . . As you perform your routine work, talk about your special interest. Gather opinions and anecdotes from across the landscape. Scribble them down, one by one, fragment by fragment, until one day you look up and see a monument of persistence, ready to be mounted in the town square."
Whoever or whatever it is you want to be but can't be right now, what you can do is talk about it. Talk about what's important to you, what you want to do, or what you're interested in. Gather conversations, ideas, and thoughts on it. Infuse what you want to be into your identity; eventually other people and you yourself will see you in that light. In the same way that some people's identity is as a Hawkeye guy, or a Ford guy, or their thing is quilting, or gardening, or biking, and therefore that's what people ask them about, make whatever it is you want to do or be your "thing." Read a little, talk a little, write a little, and all of a sudden you've gathered enough string to start something. You become what you started just talking about.
Whether you want the future to hold you as a runner, a reader, a biblical scholar, a bowler, a devoted spouse, or a comic book aficionado, announce your intentions. Boldly speak where no you has spoken before.
Join me if you choose in looking behind and looking ahead this week. Use a laser, then shout out loud.
In looking back, I look to the blog. I write to reflect and to think. I also write to remember. This blog is a journal of sorts that reminds me of my journey this year, of what I thought and studied and learned. And I want to remember all that I learned this year. I want it all to mean something, and I want to take it all with me in my next post, my next practice, my next meeting with friends, my next month with my family, my next workout. But I can't take it all with me. Part of life is knowing what to keep.
Clark writes about the challenge for writers of sorting all that they've gathered and narrowing their focus: "New writers often dump their research into a story or essay. 'By God, I gathered all that stuff,' they think, 'so it's going in.' Veterans use a fraction, sometimes half, sometimes one-tenth of what they've gathered. But how do you decide what to include and, more difficult, what to leave out? A sharp focus is like a laser."
All of what I've written and thought about is important into getting me to where I'm at today, but there's no way I can prioritize all 50-60 thoughts and "lessons" that constitute my 2013 writings. If you attempt to be good at everything, you'll be good at nothing. Instead, I've got to look back at common themes, at both the major events that really mattered and the minor thoughts that consistently, from some unconscious corner of my brain, nudged my thinking. Ideas like the reason sports are worthwhile, the approach I have to maintain in coaching, and the approach I have to take amid the uncertainty of not coaching. Or the realization that appears over and over again in blog entries - that I'm not just living my story, I'm in hundreds of stories going on around me that I get to be a part of, and one big story that is already determined. Or what I've learned from sticking with goals for a solid year (see tomorrow's post for more on that). In looking back, we can keep all our memories; but we can't keep them for long. Use the laser and take with you what you can, what you must, to grow into who you need to be tomorrow.
In looking ahead, I'm influenced by Clark's advice of "saving string." We often feel too busy to do the big projects we'd love to tackle, but Clark writes that we do not have to drop all of our responsibilities in order to chase what we'd really like to do: "Right now, buried in routine, you feel you lack the time and energy to undertake enterprising work. . . As you perform your routine work, talk about your special interest. Gather opinions and anecdotes from across the landscape. Scribble them down, one by one, fragment by fragment, until one day you look up and see a monument of persistence, ready to be mounted in the town square."
Whoever or whatever it is you want to be but can't be right now, what you can do is talk about it. Talk about what's important to you, what you want to do, or what you're interested in. Gather conversations, ideas, and thoughts on it. Infuse what you want to be into your identity; eventually other people and you yourself will see you in that light. In the same way that some people's identity is as a Hawkeye guy, or a Ford guy, or their thing is quilting, or gardening, or biking, and therefore that's what people ask them about, make whatever it is you want to do or be your "thing." Read a little, talk a little, write a little, and all of a sudden you've gathered enough string to start something. You become what you started just talking about.
Whether you want the future to hold you as a runner, a reader, a biblical scholar, a bowler, a devoted spouse, or a comic book aficionado, announce your intentions. Boldly speak where no you has spoken before.
Join me if you choose in looking behind and looking ahead this week. Use a laser, then shout out loud.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Comfort and Joy
God rest ye, merry gentlemen.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the gifts are put away. The shopping, the wrapping, the quick-calculating - "I spent this on her, now this gift plus this gift is this much, but if get this for his stocking. . ." - all can cease for another year. The presents, perfect and flawed, are opened, and proper thanks have been delivered. The pressure of surprise, of risk, of heart-felt offerings is released in once giant, collective post-Christmas sigh.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the feasting has subsided. The meals, immaculately prepared, carefully planned, dutifully designed, have been served. The family has been fed, several times. We have all eaten, and eaten well, heavy from another bite, another handful, another slice, another piece. Heavy from the guilty pleasure of day after day of exercise-free dining. Breathe deeply; the next meal can be popcorn, or cereal, or frozen pizza, or even leftovers, eaten on every day dishes on couches with no candlelight or festive napkins.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the events have dwindled down. The parties, the meetings, the concerts, the dinner parties, they disappear from the calendar. The have been given due attention, provided ample joy and laughter and catching up. There are now fewer places to be and no hurry to get there. There are jobs to be done, but not with the pre-holiday demands, not the same deadline urgency. Whatever your schedule speaks, it gently and soothingly reminds rather than declares and announces.
For a bit, rest. The demands on your time, your attention, your money, and your love have been met. New stress will arrive, but not yet. Not until a deep breath. A days long one.
Perhaps most importantly, though, God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day. Rest deeply in that. The battle has been won. Whatever new stress comes up, whatever new demands arise, whatever new pain and joy and laughter and relationships and work requires your energies, you can still rest well in the confidence of eternity conquered. The Grand Plan has saved you from all temporary fatigue in favor of everlasting comfort and joy.
"Fear not," then said the Angel. "Let nothing you affright. This day is born a Savior." Fear not. Rest. All is well. Endure and enjoy, in comfort and joy.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the gifts are put away. The shopping, the wrapping, the quick-calculating - "I spent this on her, now this gift plus this gift is this much, but if get this for his stocking. . ." - all can cease for another year. The presents, perfect and flawed, are opened, and proper thanks have been delivered. The pressure of surprise, of risk, of heart-felt offerings is released in once giant, collective post-Christmas sigh.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the feasting has subsided. The meals, immaculately prepared, carefully planned, dutifully designed, have been served. The family has been fed, several times. We have all eaten, and eaten well, heavy from another bite, another handful, another slice, another piece. Heavy from the guilty pleasure of day after day of exercise-free dining. Breathe deeply; the next meal can be popcorn, or cereal, or frozen pizza, or even leftovers, eaten on every day dishes on couches with no candlelight or festive napkins.
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the events have dwindled down. The parties, the meetings, the concerts, the dinner parties, they disappear from the calendar. The have been given due attention, provided ample joy and laughter and catching up. There are now fewer places to be and no hurry to get there. There are jobs to be done, but not with the pre-holiday demands, not the same deadline urgency. Whatever your schedule speaks, it gently and soothingly reminds rather than declares and announces.
For a bit, rest. The demands on your time, your attention, your money, and your love have been met. New stress will arrive, but not yet. Not until a deep breath. A days long one.
Perhaps most importantly, though, God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day. Rest deeply in that. The battle has been won. Whatever new stress comes up, whatever new demands arise, whatever new pain and joy and laughter and relationships and work requires your energies, you can still rest well in the confidence of eternity conquered. The Grand Plan has saved you from all temporary fatigue in favor of everlasting comfort and joy.
"Fear not," then said the Angel. "Let nothing you affright. This day is born a Savior." Fear not. Rest. All is well. Endure and enjoy, in comfort and joy.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
A 50% Chance of Fog This Week
Fighting the fog of frustration, I fall, exhausted.
The fog rolls in slowly, unexpectedly. I never see it coming, though I know when the conditions are right. The schedule builds, the rest time fades, and the margin for the unexpected is minuscule. Bouncing from demand to demand, falling further and further behind on both responsibilities and desires, the stage is set for the onset of the fog. I wander into it, barely noticing. A conflict arises. I handle it and move on to the next goal. But I do so perturbed. The fog thickens. I rush into the next demand, usually something I'm not all that excited about. It doesn't go smoothly either, and now my frustration is visible. Stressed, I head to what's next, now so accustomed to the fog that I forget that it's even there. It becomes a constant state of mind, a companion, hovering just enough to cloud reality. I hate the fog.
Conditions are ripe for me in December to experience this fog of frustration. When I'm not careful, I allow increased demands to fall like dominoes into one another, knocking one experience into another. Tired and under the gun, I let classroom frustration carry over into basketball practice. Or basketball frustration to carry over into parenting. Or parenting frustration to carry over into my Bible class, or cleaning, or Christmas preparation. Sooner or later I'm yelling at the dog because a domino fell 3 days before and I never bothered to stop the collateral damage. The fog penetrates all areas, and eventually I'm going to bed frustrated so that I can wake up frustrated so that I can get frustrated because my kids can't put their shoes on in under 5 minutes when it's time to go and it's snowed another inch after I just got done shoveling the night before at 10 pm in the bitter cold.
The fog clouds reality, making the good difficult to see and drawing attention from it as soon as possible. It makes me prone to accidents, to recklessness, to speeding cluelessly past opportunities. The fog is a hazard.
I write this not because I'm in the midst of it right now, but because I recognize that now is an easy time to fall victim to it. My guess is this time of year might be that way for you as well. There's more to do, and more people to do it with. Personal expectations of perfection rise, demands on your time and generosity increase, and stereotypical (and fictitious) holiday nostalgia skyrockets the requirements in our head of what it takes to make this time just right. Rush to buy, rush to wrap, rush to pack, and rush to travel. Smile for all. Decorate and bake. Allow no room for mistakes, mishaps, or inconveniences.
I wish you no frustration, and I wish that the frustration that does arise passes without clouding your next minute, the next hour, or the next week. But what if it does?
I'm not sure that I've discovered a way to get myself out of it. I try to slow down, to take a deep breath, to remember what's important. Then I get frustrated that I stopped to take a deep breath. What has actually worked best in leading me out of the fog, in my experience, are actions outside of my control. Like when my friend from down the hall reminds me I'm a good teacher. Or when another friend tells me a joke. Someone asks how my day is and means it, speaking to me in a way that doesn't make me feel like a commodity. A player gives me a hard time. An old student visits. My wife hugs me for no reason. My daughter sings "Joy to the World."
I have no advice for getting yourself out of the fog. But I do think it's rather simple to get someone else out without ever knowing that they're in it. In the next couple of days, then, when all around are facing the threat of fog, be that friend, or that sibling, or that stranger. Offer someone a break from frustration, a glimpse of reality, a dose of joy. Perhaps, by helping others navigate their way out, we stand to protect ourselves from a similar fate as well.
The fog rolls in slowly, unexpectedly. I never see it coming, though I know when the conditions are right. The schedule builds, the rest time fades, and the margin for the unexpected is minuscule. Bouncing from demand to demand, falling further and further behind on both responsibilities and desires, the stage is set for the onset of the fog. I wander into it, barely noticing. A conflict arises. I handle it and move on to the next goal. But I do so perturbed. The fog thickens. I rush into the next demand, usually something I'm not all that excited about. It doesn't go smoothly either, and now my frustration is visible. Stressed, I head to what's next, now so accustomed to the fog that I forget that it's even there. It becomes a constant state of mind, a companion, hovering just enough to cloud reality. I hate the fog.
Conditions are ripe for me in December to experience this fog of frustration. When I'm not careful, I allow increased demands to fall like dominoes into one another, knocking one experience into another. Tired and under the gun, I let classroom frustration carry over into basketball practice. Or basketball frustration to carry over into parenting. Or parenting frustration to carry over into my Bible class, or cleaning, or Christmas preparation. Sooner or later I'm yelling at the dog because a domino fell 3 days before and I never bothered to stop the collateral damage. The fog penetrates all areas, and eventually I'm going to bed frustrated so that I can wake up frustrated so that I can get frustrated because my kids can't put their shoes on in under 5 minutes when it's time to go and it's snowed another inch after I just got done shoveling the night before at 10 pm in the bitter cold.
The fog clouds reality, making the good difficult to see and drawing attention from it as soon as possible. It makes me prone to accidents, to recklessness, to speeding cluelessly past opportunities. The fog is a hazard.
I write this not because I'm in the midst of it right now, but because I recognize that now is an easy time to fall victim to it. My guess is this time of year might be that way for you as well. There's more to do, and more people to do it with. Personal expectations of perfection rise, demands on your time and generosity increase, and stereotypical (and fictitious) holiday nostalgia skyrockets the requirements in our head of what it takes to make this time just right. Rush to buy, rush to wrap, rush to pack, and rush to travel. Smile for all. Decorate and bake. Allow no room for mistakes, mishaps, or inconveniences.
I wish you no frustration, and I wish that the frustration that does arise passes without clouding your next minute, the next hour, or the next week. But what if it does?
I'm not sure that I've discovered a way to get myself out of it. I try to slow down, to take a deep breath, to remember what's important. Then I get frustrated that I stopped to take a deep breath. What has actually worked best in leading me out of the fog, in my experience, are actions outside of my control. Like when my friend from down the hall reminds me I'm a good teacher. Or when another friend tells me a joke. Someone asks how my day is and means it, speaking to me in a way that doesn't make me feel like a commodity. A player gives me a hard time. An old student visits. My wife hugs me for no reason. My daughter sings "Joy to the World."
I have no advice for getting yourself out of the fog. But I do think it's rather simple to get someone else out without ever knowing that they're in it. In the next couple of days, then, when all around are facing the threat of fog, be that friend, or that sibling, or that stranger. Offer someone a break from frustration, a glimpse of reality, a dose of joy. Perhaps, by helping others navigate their way out, we stand to protect ourselves from a similar fate as well.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
The Passionate, Logical Truth
My grandfather was a good man.
The stats don't lie. He was married to his wife for 57 years. He worked for 20 years at Maytag and at the Farmers CoOp, and he labored the land and livestock all his life. He raised four kids, had ten adoring grandchildren, and accumulated a sparkling collection of hundreds of toy tractors.
The numbers can't tell the whole story, though. His laugh was infectious, especially when he was instigating some not so subtle teasing. His smile when he greeted you made you feel like you mattered. To listen to him swear at machinery or farm animals was fantastic, especially for a grandson. I could try to write it all down; but I'm not sure I could ever get it just right, the way I feel when I remember the million steps I took beside him across that farm now 15, 20, 25 years ago.
To get it right, to get to the truth of it, the whole man in all his goodness, you need logic and emotion. Just one won't do. I came to this realization recently as I was studying one of Paul's New Testament letters as part of my Biblical exposition class. In Colossians, Paul is addressing a body of relatively new believers with the goal of reminding them not to be distracted and deceived from the reason for their belief and the source of truth and hope in their lives: Christ. As I broke down the structure of the letter, I noticed exactly the type of "proof" I've offered above - a logical argument and an emotional appeal.
Paul begins by reminding them of all that's true about Jesus. He is the image of God, the Creator of all, preeminent and proclaimed in all creation. He is the firstborn from the dead, the hope of the gospel, and the reason for all of creation and their hope. In the course of a couple of sentences, Paul lays out all the practical, logical reasons for faith in Christ and not elsewhere.
Then he takes a masterful turn. Knowing what many forget, that head knowledge is not enough, Paul goes to the heart. He reminds them that they have an individual story, and that story has seen great change because of Christ. Paul takes their own personal, powerful faith experience and asks them where that came from. He makes them feel, creating an emotional investment that builds on his argument.
What Paul gets is that we need both to hold on to the truth.
Logic isn't enough. I can't count the number of times I've known something makes sense but not gone with the facts. Numbers and statistics are practical, but they don't always move us. You can know your spouse loves you, or know that you have a good job, or know how many calories are in that perfectly frosted Christmas cookie. That doesn't mean that you're feeling that right this moment.
In the same fashion, emotion will not carry the truth either. I fear too many people rely solely on their feelings to guide them and their actions; my experience tells me my gut makes some pretty awful choices. Emotions are fickle; to be guided and convinced only by how one feels is to be reliant on a constant pep-rally to maintain devotion to projects, goals, people, and God. Feelings are great, but feelings will not remain constant. In anything. That which I most want to do or know is best for my life is often that which is most difficult to act out.
I caution you, then, just as Paul did, to examine your loyalties. Feed them through both logic and emotion. One will never be enough. With both, however, your knowledge, your priorities, and your actions become rock solid, an immovable force unswayed by deception and distraction. You become constant.
And constant in my priorities is exactly what I want to be.
.
The stats don't lie. He was married to his wife for 57 years. He worked for 20 years at Maytag and at the Farmers CoOp, and he labored the land and livestock all his life. He raised four kids, had ten adoring grandchildren, and accumulated a sparkling collection of hundreds of toy tractors.
The numbers can't tell the whole story, though. His laugh was infectious, especially when he was instigating some not so subtle teasing. His smile when he greeted you made you feel like you mattered. To listen to him swear at machinery or farm animals was fantastic, especially for a grandson. I could try to write it all down; but I'm not sure I could ever get it just right, the way I feel when I remember the million steps I took beside him across that farm now 15, 20, 25 years ago.
To get it right, to get to the truth of it, the whole man in all his goodness, you need logic and emotion. Just one won't do. I came to this realization recently as I was studying one of Paul's New Testament letters as part of my Biblical exposition class. In Colossians, Paul is addressing a body of relatively new believers with the goal of reminding them not to be distracted and deceived from the reason for their belief and the source of truth and hope in their lives: Christ. As I broke down the structure of the letter, I noticed exactly the type of "proof" I've offered above - a logical argument and an emotional appeal.
Paul begins by reminding them of all that's true about Jesus. He is the image of God, the Creator of all, preeminent and proclaimed in all creation. He is the firstborn from the dead, the hope of the gospel, and the reason for all of creation and their hope. In the course of a couple of sentences, Paul lays out all the practical, logical reasons for faith in Christ and not elsewhere.
Then he takes a masterful turn. Knowing what many forget, that head knowledge is not enough, Paul goes to the heart. He reminds them that they have an individual story, and that story has seen great change because of Christ. Paul takes their own personal, powerful faith experience and asks them where that came from. He makes them feel, creating an emotional investment that builds on his argument.
What Paul gets is that we need both to hold on to the truth.
Logic isn't enough. I can't count the number of times I've known something makes sense but not gone with the facts. Numbers and statistics are practical, but they don't always move us. You can know your spouse loves you, or know that you have a good job, or know how many calories are in that perfectly frosted Christmas cookie. That doesn't mean that you're feeling that right this moment.
In the same fashion, emotion will not carry the truth either. I fear too many people rely solely on their feelings to guide them and their actions; my experience tells me my gut makes some pretty awful choices. Emotions are fickle; to be guided and convinced only by how one feels is to be reliant on a constant pep-rally to maintain devotion to projects, goals, people, and God. Feelings are great, but feelings will not remain constant. In anything. That which I most want to do or know is best for my life is often that which is most difficult to act out.
I caution you, then, just as Paul did, to examine your loyalties. Feed them through both logic and emotion. One will never be enough. With both, however, your knowledge, your priorities, and your actions become rock solid, an immovable force unswayed by deception and distraction. You become constant.
And constant in my priorities is exactly what I want to be.
.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
For Such a Time as This
Last Saturday night I got the opportunity to attend the wedding of a former player of mine from my first team at Nora Springs. It was a rewarding evening. First of all, any opportunity to attend an event at The Surf in Clear Lake is a good one. Secondly, many good friends were in attendance. Most of all, though, I got to see my boys.
Every group I've coached has it's own distinct personality and place in my memory; this group in particular is a special collection. All six of the top upperclassmen from that team were in attendance, and I found myself in conversations with them, now as old as I was when I first started coaching them. One by one I heard their success stories, their plans, their laughter, and their memories from a basketball season nine years ago in an orange and black gym in a little town in northern Iowa. Others from their graduating class, my first group of seniors at Nora Springs, were in attendance as well. Last Saturday was an evening full of seeing young adults whose youths I got to be a part of. I had much to smile about.
I don't know what specific impact I made in those guys' lives. I hope it was significant, but I also know better. I believe each one of them would be just as successful today whether they had learned rebounding and pack-line defense and good shot selection from me or not. But the fact remains that they did learn those things from me, and I did spend time with them, because I said yes to coming to Nora Springs. I came here and went to work and did the best I could; and in the process, I got to be a part of the lives of some really good people.
I thought about this as I sat in adult Sunday School the next morning, discussing "following God's will for our lives." I used to put so much pressure on myself to figure out exactly what God needed me to do and where He needed me to go in the world, as if were I to neglect whatever the task may be, all of God's plans would be thwarted. Of course, it was all hogwash. Despite the burden that I felt, God would accomplish his goals whether I decided to obey or not. He was just asking me to come along for the ride.
I really liked what David Platt, the author of the book we've been studying had to say about this: "God's ultimate concern isn't to get you or me from point A to point B in the quickest, easiest, smoothest, clearest route possible. Rather, His ultimate concern is that you and I would know Him more deeply as we trust Him more completely."
In the Old Testament book of Esther, Esther has been made queen in a time of persecution of the Jews. Her uncle, Mordecai, gives her a somewhat famous line about her position, telling her that she has been placed in this position by God "for such a time as this." When that passage is mentioned, however, I think the most significant piece is left out. Here is Esther 4:12, in its entirety: "For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" Essentially, whether she has been called to such a time as this or not, God's will shall be done. The Jews will be delivered. This is her chance, therefore, not to come through for God, but to share in what God is doing. The design of the Great Designer will not be thwarted; Esther, as well as us, can either join in and gain joy or watch passively from the sidelines. God doesn't need us; he wants us.
Those boys didn't need me nine years ago. My current players and students don't need me now. Your co-workers, your neighbors, and everyone else in your circle of influence probably would make it without you too. And so will God. But you have an opportunity. You can join in the joy and be what you have the opportunity to be in such a time as this. You can do what you do, where you are, with passion, joy, sacrifice, and gratitude. Then someday, about nine years down the road, you'll smile a lot about what you were allowed to do.
Every group I've coached has it's own distinct personality and place in my memory; this group in particular is a special collection. All six of the top upperclassmen from that team were in attendance, and I found myself in conversations with them, now as old as I was when I first started coaching them. One by one I heard their success stories, their plans, their laughter, and their memories from a basketball season nine years ago in an orange and black gym in a little town in northern Iowa. Others from their graduating class, my first group of seniors at Nora Springs, were in attendance as well. Last Saturday was an evening full of seeing young adults whose youths I got to be a part of. I had much to smile about.
I don't know what specific impact I made in those guys' lives. I hope it was significant, but I also know better. I believe each one of them would be just as successful today whether they had learned rebounding and pack-line defense and good shot selection from me or not. But the fact remains that they did learn those things from me, and I did spend time with them, because I said yes to coming to Nora Springs. I came here and went to work and did the best I could; and in the process, I got to be a part of the lives of some really good people.
I thought about this as I sat in adult Sunday School the next morning, discussing "following God's will for our lives." I used to put so much pressure on myself to figure out exactly what God needed me to do and where He needed me to go in the world, as if were I to neglect whatever the task may be, all of God's plans would be thwarted. Of course, it was all hogwash. Despite the burden that I felt, God would accomplish his goals whether I decided to obey or not. He was just asking me to come along for the ride.
I really liked what David Platt, the author of the book we've been studying had to say about this: "God's ultimate concern isn't to get you or me from point A to point B in the quickest, easiest, smoothest, clearest route possible. Rather, His ultimate concern is that you and I would know Him more deeply as we trust Him more completely."
In the Old Testament book of Esther, Esther has been made queen in a time of persecution of the Jews. Her uncle, Mordecai, gives her a somewhat famous line about her position, telling her that she has been placed in this position by God "for such a time as this." When that passage is mentioned, however, I think the most significant piece is left out. Here is Esther 4:12, in its entirety: "For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" Essentially, whether she has been called to such a time as this or not, God's will shall be done. The Jews will be delivered. This is her chance, therefore, not to come through for God, but to share in what God is doing. The design of the Great Designer will not be thwarted; Esther, as well as us, can either join in and gain joy or watch passively from the sidelines. God doesn't need us; he wants us.
Those boys didn't need me nine years ago. My current players and students don't need me now. Your co-workers, your neighbors, and everyone else in your circle of influence probably would make it without you too. And so will God. But you have an opportunity. You can join in the joy and be what you have the opportunity to be in such a time as this. You can do what you do, where you are, with passion, joy, sacrifice, and gratitude. Then someday, about nine years down the road, you'll smile a lot about what you were allowed to do.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
November Review
I've committed to sharing my progress on 3 specific goals for 2013. With one month to go, we're down to crunch time. Here's my progress from November:
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I read two more in November. I finished C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series with the book The Last Battle. If you've never read the series as an adult, I'd highly recommend it. I'm struggling with the idea that I don't have another one to look forward to. Brilliant stuff. I also read Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark, which was also quite good if you're interested in seeing writing advice through a different lens. I'm now at 23 books for the year.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
Not a great month for writing. This is only my 5th post, which puts me at 69 for the year. Six in December won't be impossible, but it will be tight. I did like what I did write for the month, though; anytime I can reference Paul Harvey or our Christmas tree celebration, I'm having fun while writing.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
I finished a letter I was in the middle of and got 3 more sent out. This was a better month than October, but I still would have liked to have gotten one or two more done. The month is done, and I'm at 21 for the year. Can I get 4 out in December? It will require my most productive letter writing month of the year.
The Outlook:
I'm at least one letter and one blog post behind where I intended to be. Being sick for 4 days in November and the beginning of the basketball season can be blamed, but it really doesn't matter. Something always comes up when you're chasing goals, so those obstacles must be overcome. It's obviously a concern going into the final month that I know I'll be out of town for 4-5 days over Christmas and I'll have quite a few basketball games on Tuesday and Friday nights. I want to come through on this, though. I've committed the year to accomplishing it, and it will be hugely disappointing to close out the year on this blog by admitting defeat.
Quotes to Note:
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Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I read two more in November. I finished C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series with the book The Last Battle. If you've never read the series as an adult, I'd highly recommend it. I'm struggling with the idea that I don't have another one to look forward to. Brilliant stuff. I also read Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark, which was also quite good if you're interested in seeing writing advice through a different lens. I'm now at 23 books for the year.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
Not a great month for writing. This is only my 5th post, which puts me at 69 for the year. Six in December won't be impossible, but it will be tight. I did like what I did write for the month, though; anytime I can reference Paul Harvey or our Christmas tree celebration, I'm having fun while writing.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
I finished a letter I was in the middle of and got 3 more sent out. This was a better month than October, but I still would have liked to have gotten one or two more done. The month is done, and I'm at 21 for the year. Can I get 4 out in December? It will require my most productive letter writing month of the year.
The Outlook:
I'm at least one letter and one blog post behind where I intended to be. Being sick for 4 days in November and the beginning of the basketball season can be blamed, but it really doesn't matter. Something always comes up when you're chasing goals, so those obstacles must be overcome. It's obviously a concern going into the final month that I know I'll be out of town for 4-5 days over Christmas and I'll have quite a few basketball games on Tuesday and Friday nights. I want to come through on this, though. I've committed the year to accomplishing it, and it will be hugely disappointing to close out the year on this blog by admitting defeat.
Quotes to Note:
- "You can't catch sin. You don't catch sin by hanging out with sinners. Don't forget, you're still a sinner too. Yes, you are saved by grace and you now have the presence of the Holy Spirit. You're no longer a slave to sin, but you cannot look down on others with an air of superiority. After all, salvation is a gift of God's grace." - Matt Chandler
- "Of 100 unsaved men, one might read the Bible, but the other 99 will read the Christian." - Jefferson Bethke
- "The really wonderful moments of joy in this world are not moments of self-satisfaction but self-forgetfulness." - John Piper
Good Articles:
- Five Churchy Phrases. . .: An important look at the words we use (and abuse).
- Delayed Adolescence: As more and more people wait to simply grow up, here are some implications for the church.
- The Guys in the Field are Right and the Staff is Wrong: Good comments from Colin Powell.
November's great victory: the tree is up, the stockings are hung with care, and a stack of Christmas books call for attention from me and a lap full of daughters.
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Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Forget the Turkey; Pass the Mozzarella Sticks
Thanksgiving Day is fine. It's nice. For my money, though, the big date on the calendar this weekend is "Happy Christmas Tree Day!"
For my wife and my two daughters, the day after Thanksgiving has been claimed as our tradition. Snatching it from the jaws of Black Friday frenzy, instead we commit that day to cutting down a tree, wrestling it into a corner of our living room, and spending the day decorating it and the rest of the house while listening to various renditions of carols, most notably from the Charlie Brown Christmas Soundtrack. We slowly and purposefully tell stories about ornaments, carefully arrange our mantel with our nativity scene and the stockings Emily has hand-sewn for us, and page through our favorite Christmas books. The evening concludes with a supper by candlelight, accented by elegant tableware and a very specific recipe from the Fancy Nancy children's book series for fancy punch. We then proceed to stuff our faces with all manner of unhealthy appetizers: mini-corn dogs, mozzarella sticks, little smokies, and assorted desert. It is an essential tradition.
I've been thinking about traditions and rituals such as these lately as I've progressed through the Biblical exposition course I've been sparring with over the past couple of weeks. During our Old Testament Narrative unit, we studied the Passover event in Exodus 12 where the Angel of the Lord, in his quest to kill all the first-born Egyptians as the final plague, passes over the homes of the Israelites with thresholds painted in lamb's blood. As we studied how we would go about teaching this particular passage, something glaring stood out: of the 51 verses in that chapter about one of the pivotal moments in the entire Old Testament, 33 of them are devoted to how to observe and celebrate this event each year. The author of the book spends two-thirds of the book establishing the essential nature of the ritual rather than relating the event itself. Why?
The reason given in the text is this: "This day shall be to you a memorial . . . throughout your generations" (14), "for you and your sons forever" (24). Quite simply, it's so that they don't forget. Is it really necessary, though? Do they really need tradition and ritual to remember the God who has saved them, the series of events where they saw the very hand of God, and the priorities that have established them? Apparently. For in Chapter 13, a mere two pages over, the entire lot of them has escaped and is facing the Red Sea. And instead of having faith in the One who just freed them through 10 punishing, miraculous plagues, they despair of hopelessness and cry out for the opportunity to return to their bondage. Foolish, foolish people. Yes, we are.
I have no reason at all to forget how important my family is, how much we value Christmas and time together, and how good my wife is to all of us. Those are fundamental truths and priorities in my life that have been omnipresent. Yet "Happy Christmas Tree Day!" serves as a timely reminder to me of what I hold dear. The same is true of my anniversary, of some yearly summer gatherings, and several other traditions that we observe. I was once asked by a colleague about my common church attendance. The first response that came to my head: "I need a weekly reminder that I am not God."
We need rituals and traditions to keep the truth in us. Our self-centeredness and our bondage to the immediate in our lives causes us to feebly forget the truths that we hold so dear: the love of our spouse and family, the reason we do our work, and what we want out of our lives. For Christians, even more necessary is the reminder from Christmas, Easter, and the sacraments that we are sinners, miraculously forgiven.
Whoever you are and whatever your priorities, celebrate well in your rituals and traditions. Observe your priorities, and then observe them again next year. Remember. Refocus. Smile. Repeat. There are some things in life too unforgettable to allow ourselves to forget.
For my wife and my two daughters, the day after Thanksgiving has been claimed as our tradition. Snatching it from the jaws of Black Friday frenzy, instead we commit that day to cutting down a tree, wrestling it into a corner of our living room, and spending the day decorating it and the rest of the house while listening to various renditions of carols, most notably from the Charlie Brown Christmas Soundtrack. We slowly and purposefully tell stories about ornaments, carefully arrange our mantel with our nativity scene and the stockings Emily has hand-sewn for us, and page through our favorite Christmas books. The evening concludes with a supper by candlelight, accented by elegant tableware and a very specific recipe from the Fancy Nancy children's book series for fancy punch. We then proceed to stuff our faces with all manner of unhealthy appetizers: mini-corn dogs, mozzarella sticks, little smokies, and assorted desert. It is an essential tradition.
I've been thinking about traditions and rituals such as these lately as I've progressed through the Biblical exposition course I've been sparring with over the past couple of weeks. During our Old Testament Narrative unit, we studied the Passover event in Exodus 12 where the Angel of the Lord, in his quest to kill all the first-born Egyptians as the final plague, passes over the homes of the Israelites with thresholds painted in lamb's blood. As we studied how we would go about teaching this particular passage, something glaring stood out: of the 51 verses in that chapter about one of the pivotal moments in the entire Old Testament, 33 of them are devoted to how to observe and celebrate this event each year. The author of the book spends two-thirds of the book establishing the essential nature of the ritual rather than relating the event itself. Why?
The reason given in the text is this: "This day shall be to you a memorial . . . throughout your generations" (14), "for you and your sons forever" (24). Quite simply, it's so that they don't forget. Is it really necessary, though? Do they really need tradition and ritual to remember the God who has saved them, the series of events where they saw the very hand of God, and the priorities that have established them? Apparently. For in Chapter 13, a mere two pages over, the entire lot of them has escaped and is facing the Red Sea. And instead of having faith in the One who just freed them through 10 punishing, miraculous plagues, they despair of hopelessness and cry out for the opportunity to return to their bondage. Foolish, foolish people. Yes, we are.
I have no reason at all to forget how important my family is, how much we value Christmas and time together, and how good my wife is to all of us. Those are fundamental truths and priorities in my life that have been omnipresent. Yet "Happy Christmas Tree Day!" serves as a timely reminder to me of what I hold dear. The same is true of my anniversary, of some yearly summer gatherings, and several other traditions that we observe. I was once asked by a colleague about my common church attendance. The first response that came to my head: "I need a weekly reminder that I am not God."
We need rituals and traditions to keep the truth in us. Our self-centeredness and our bondage to the immediate in our lives causes us to feebly forget the truths that we hold so dear: the love of our spouse and family, the reason we do our work, and what we want out of our lives. For Christians, even more necessary is the reminder from Christmas, Easter, and the sacraments that we are sinners, miraculously forgiven.
Whoever you are and whatever your priorities, celebrate well in your rituals and traditions. Observe your priorities, and then observe them again next year. Remember. Refocus. Smile. Repeat. There are some things in life too unforgettable to allow ourselves to forget.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
And Now You Know . . . The Rest of the Story
I miss Paul Harvey.
For those of you too young to have heard him, Paul Harvey was a radio broadcaster with a daily spot entitled, "The Rest of the Story." Every day Paul Harvey would relate a story that, through some twist, would come to an unlikely yet uplifting, witty, or instructive ending. He then ended the segment with the now famous lines, "And now you know . . . the rest of the story."
When I was old enough to ride next to my dad in his truck or the tractor, but not old enough to understand and appreciate the show, I teased my father incessantly about his mundane, lifeless radio choices. Sooner or later, though, I began enjoying Harvey's narratives. Unwilling to give up the daily banter, I still complained about the show long after I began enjoying it; however, I recognized that there was comfort in knowing that whatever travails and tensions unfolded as the story was told, their value would be remarkably clear when hearing "the rest of the story."
In some ways, many of us would like the same comfort in knowing the rest of story when it comes to our lives right now. We may not want to know the future specifically; but we do want to know that in the end, it's all going to work out all right. Will I be rewarded for persevering in my current job? Why have I been treated unfairly? Will I ever reconcile with my family? What will my marriage look like in ten years? Will my enemies be punished? Am I a good enough parent? Was that purchase really worth it? Will I ever be healthy?
I think we'd all like to know, 50 or 100 years after our death, that the ghost of Paul Harvey will get on the radio and tell our story to the masses through the magic of syndication. They would hear of our worries and mistakes, of the injustices and doubts that have plagued us; then Harvey's tone would gently shift, listener's would unconsciously increase the volume, and "the rest of the story" would encourage and reassure them that life does in fact work out how it should.
I've come to believe, though, that we do know the rest of the story. We just aren't ready to believe it. The rest of the story tells us that the end is not dependent on us because we are not the main character. We are placed in to the story, offered a spot as a character, and invited to join in the plot. But the story is not ours. Or, I should say, it's not only ours. The story we are in is God's.
When we read a book or watch a movie, we enter it with the understanding that the main character isn't supposed to lose, especially if it's a "feel-good story." The American hockey team will defeat the Russians, Harry will meet and successfully woo Sally, and The Goonies will find the treasure they seek. That's how it works. Our disappointments in life come not from the main character losing; they come when we're watching the wrong character.
We are not only not the main character, we are playing equal roles with the other supporting characters. They matter as much as we do. They are equally as essential, and we must view each other in that way. Others in our life, both the ones we like and the ones we don't, do not exist to move the action in our own lives. They are not our character foils or supporting actors, not the nemesis to overcome or the mentor to guide. We are all family members of the main character who get to share in the story. We would all do good to see the other characters with the same importance as we do our own.
We are indeed living in a feel-good story. But the story doesn't resolve with any sort of earthly victory for us, or any semblance of sense to be made of the pain, suffering, or injustice we've incurred. Instead, the rest of the story has us exalting the Main Character, the Victor. And at the end, when we are experiencing "the rest of the story," I believe we will find ourselves wishing we had not spent so much time with our eyes away from the Center of the action.
For those of you too young to have heard him, Paul Harvey was a radio broadcaster with a daily spot entitled, "The Rest of the Story." Every day Paul Harvey would relate a story that, through some twist, would come to an unlikely yet uplifting, witty, or instructive ending. He then ended the segment with the now famous lines, "And now you know . . . the rest of the story."
When I was old enough to ride next to my dad in his truck or the tractor, but not old enough to understand and appreciate the show, I teased my father incessantly about his mundane, lifeless radio choices. Sooner or later, though, I began enjoying Harvey's narratives. Unwilling to give up the daily banter, I still complained about the show long after I began enjoying it; however, I recognized that there was comfort in knowing that whatever travails and tensions unfolded as the story was told, their value would be remarkably clear when hearing "the rest of the story."
In some ways, many of us would like the same comfort in knowing the rest of story when it comes to our lives right now. We may not want to know the future specifically; but we do want to know that in the end, it's all going to work out all right. Will I be rewarded for persevering in my current job? Why have I been treated unfairly? Will I ever reconcile with my family? What will my marriage look like in ten years? Will my enemies be punished? Am I a good enough parent? Was that purchase really worth it? Will I ever be healthy?
I think we'd all like to know, 50 or 100 years after our death, that the ghost of Paul Harvey will get on the radio and tell our story to the masses through the magic of syndication. They would hear of our worries and mistakes, of the injustices and doubts that have plagued us; then Harvey's tone would gently shift, listener's would unconsciously increase the volume, and "the rest of the story" would encourage and reassure them that life does in fact work out how it should.
I've come to believe, though, that we do know the rest of the story. We just aren't ready to believe it. The rest of the story tells us that the end is not dependent on us because we are not the main character. We are placed in to the story, offered a spot as a character, and invited to join in the plot. But the story is not ours. Or, I should say, it's not only ours. The story we are in is God's.
When we read a book or watch a movie, we enter it with the understanding that the main character isn't supposed to lose, especially if it's a "feel-good story." The American hockey team will defeat the Russians, Harry will meet and successfully woo Sally, and The Goonies will find the treasure they seek. That's how it works. Our disappointments in life come not from the main character losing; they come when we're watching the wrong character.
We are not only not the main character, we are playing equal roles with the other supporting characters. They matter as much as we do. They are equally as essential, and we must view each other in that way. Others in our life, both the ones we like and the ones we don't, do not exist to move the action in our own lives. They are not our character foils or supporting actors, not the nemesis to overcome or the mentor to guide. We are all family members of the main character who get to share in the story. We would all do good to see the other characters with the same importance as we do our own.
We are indeed living in a feel-good story. But the story doesn't resolve with any sort of earthly victory for us, or any semblance of sense to be made of the pain, suffering, or injustice we've incurred. Instead, the rest of the story has us exalting the Main Character, the Victor. And at the end, when we are experiencing "the rest of the story," I believe we will find ourselves wishing we had not spent so much time with our eyes away from the Center of the action.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
A New Season
I received an email update today of upcoming Facebook birthdays. On the list are two former players.
Tomorrow I start a brand new basketball season. We'll hand out equipment at 5:00 to a line of players, some confident, some trying to look confident, and we'll hit the court around 5:45. The running will finish around 8:15 or 8:30, and day 1 of many days in the long march to March will be in the books.
On Day 1 and Day 12 and Day 63 of this trek, and every other day as well, I'll encounter a myriad of choices. Do I correct? Do I encourage? Do I demand? Do I shout? I've faced the same choices for my 13 years of coaching high school kids. The faces are different; the opportunities, the same.
After 13 years, here's what I know - I don't vividly remember many of the wins. I try not to vividly remember many of the losses. What I do remember are the kids. And every year a group of kids spend more time with me over the course of 4 months than they do their own parents. I am accountable for that time.
What I have now after a decade and change is not back-slapping and glassy-eyed recollections of game-winning jumpers. Instead I watch as girls from my first two teams in Nebraska get married and have babies of their own. I sit down to dinner with former Nora Springs players. In two weeks I'll go to a wedding. I'll send a note for a couple of birthdays this week.
My coaching career has been on life-support a number of times over the last 13 years. I'm coming off a spring where the prognosis at times was less than 50-50. There's no way to go through that multiple times and not see that wins and losses will fade away. In many ways it's a blessing, as it's forced me to prioritize and be more purposeful about my interactions. I go into this year with eyes wide open, knowing full well what I have to offer, and that I'm not guaranteed any more seasons after this one.
So I'll walk down into the locker room tomorrow night, bag of clothes and notes and X's and O's in hand, and get ready for another season. I'll have conversations and blow a whistle and share a laugh and bark out orders, keeping in mind to keep first things first.
Humbled by this, I ask you to pray for me throughout this season. Whatever the next few months hold, in a decade or so, somebody in the gym tomorrow night is going to think back to their time in a basketball uniform. They will remember something. I hope it's with a smile of gratitude.
Tomorrow I start a brand new basketball season. We'll hand out equipment at 5:00 to a line of players, some confident, some trying to look confident, and we'll hit the court around 5:45. The running will finish around 8:15 or 8:30, and day 1 of many days in the long march to March will be in the books.
On Day 1 and Day 12 and Day 63 of this trek, and every other day as well, I'll encounter a myriad of choices. Do I correct? Do I encourage? Do I demand? Do I shout? I've faced the same choices for my 13 years of coaching high school kids. The faces are different; the opportunities, the same.
After 13 years, here's what I know - I don't vividly remember many of the wins. I try not to vividly remember many of the losses. What I do remember are the kids. And every year a group of kids spend more time with me over the course of 4 months than they do their own parents. I am accountable for that time.
What I have now after a decade and change is not back-slapping and glassy-eyed recollections of game-winning jumpers. Instead I watch as girls from my first two teams in Nebraska get married and have babies of their own. I sit down to dinner with former Nora Springs players. In two weeks I'll go to a wedding. I'll send a note for a couple of birthdays this week.
My coaching career has been on life-support a number of times over the last 13 years. I'm coming off a spring where the prognosis at times was less than 50-50. There's no way to go through that multiple times and not see that wins and losses will fade away. In many ways it's a blessing, as it's forced me to prioritize and be more purposeful about my interactions. I go into this year with eyes wide open, knowing full well what I have to offer, and that I'm not guaranteed any more seasons after this one.
So I'll walk down into the locker room tomorrow night, bag of clothes and notes and X's and O's in hand, and get ready for another season. I'll have conversations and blow a whistle and share a laugh and bark out orders, keeping in mind to keep first things first.
Humbled by this, I ask you to pray for me throughout this season. Whatever the next few months hold, in a decade or so, somebody in the gym tomorrow night is going to think back to their time in a basketball uniform. They will remember something. I hope it's with a smile of gratitude.
Monday, November 11, 2013
In Response to Conflict
There are some people in this world who are hell-bent on conflict. They seek ways to stir the pot, peering around corners and through nothingness so that they may find something, somewhere, that has offended them. They want to be wronged; for them, to be wronged is a chance to be in the right. And they hold on to the wrongs, accumulating them like spare change to be collected, counted, and cashed in at the most opportune time.
Some days, those people are me.
Whether we find ourselves in conflict due to our own proclivities, the perspective of others, or through mere misunderstanding or misfortune, we live in a fallen world full of conflict. We disappoint and are disappointed. We feel hurt and inflict hurt. We seethe in spite and demand immediate forgiveness. Even at our best, conflict is just around the corner.
Jonathan Edwards knows conflict.
Edwards, one of the greatest theological minds in American history, is read as widely today as he was followed in 18th Century New England. He had a marvelous career as the spark of The Great Awakening and long-time pastor of his church. Yet that career ended in conflict, as his congregation voted him out after a lifetime of service. Before he left, he preached his "Farewell Sermon" in which he addressed the congregation as the conflict came to a conclusion. In ministering for the final time to the very individuals with whom he was in great conflict, Edwards offers what I believe to be great advice for handling conflict of all kinds. For example:
1. Compare the conflict and the attention you're paying to it to your real priorities. Edwards: "We have had great disputes how the church ought to be regulated; and indeed the subject of these disputes was of great importance; but the due regulation of your families is of no less, and, in some respects, of much great importance."
I spent the day today coordinating one of the sites for our youth basketball tournament today. What if parents spent as much energy ordering their family life as they do complaining about officials? That's only a small (and easy) example. We've got to ask ourselves how this conflict aligns with what's really important. If the conflict doesn't stem from protecting a core personal value, then perhaps we need to reevaluate the passion we have for it.
2. Understand what you're doing to yourself. Writes Edwards, "A contentious people will be a miserable people." I think it's fair to say that sometimes we hold on to hate and anger and wrongs because if we can store it all up, we feel like we can inflict it on our rival of the time. We want to spread that misery. In order to have the opportunity to spread it, we keep ourselves miserable. It's as if we're saying that it's not okay to be okay because we might spread being okay to someone we hope does not get the pleasure of feeling okay. Okay? The result? Misery squared, when joy squared is offered to us. Can it really be worth it to assure our own hurt for the mere chance to spread it?
3. Wish them well, then move on. What does a preacher do who has been told he can no longer preach? He spends every last moment available preaching, offering the best he has to offer, and then moves along to offer that message somewhere else. Towards the end of the sermon, Edwards offers this: "Another thing which I would advise to, that you may hereafter be prosperous people, is, that you would give yourselves much to prayer." Edwards holds to his convictions here. He does not lay down and say, "Okay, you're right. Go ahead and walk all over me." He maintains that what he is offering, Christ, is what they most need. In love, therefore, he offers them service, walks out the door, and serves elsewhere (in his case, as a missionary). He doesn't let conflict deter him from his life's work nor deter him from love for his new-found enemies.
Whether you're the source of the conflict or the victim, I believe this sermon has something to offer you. It is possible to be right and to be loving, to have emotion and perspective. You cannot avoid conflict. And you wouldn't like life very much if you tried. These pieces of advise offer a way to respond with great wisdom, and a way to come out of it better in the end.
Some days, those people are me.
Whether we find ourselves in conflict due to our own proclivities, the perspective of others, or through mere misunderstanding or misfortune, we live in a fallen world full of conflict. We disappoint and are disappointed. We feel hurt and inflict hurt. We seethe in spite and demand immediate forgiveness. Even at our best, conflict is just around the corner.
Jonathan Edwards knows conflict.
Edwards, one of the greatest theological minds in American history, is read as widely today as he was followed in 18th Century New England. He had a marvelous career as the spark of The Great Awakening and long-time pastor of his church. Yet that career ended in conflict, as his congregation voted him out after a lifetime of service. Before he left, he preached his "Farewell Sermon" in which he addressed the congregation as the conflict came to a conclusion. In ministering for the final time to the very individuals with whom he was in great conflict, Edwards offers what I believe to be great advice for handling conflict of all kinds. For example:
1. Compare the conflict and the attention you're paying to it to your real priorities. Edwards: "We have had great disputes how the church ought to be regulated; and indeed the subject of these disputes was of great importance; but the due regulation of your families is of no less, and, in some respects, of much great importance."
I spent the day today coordinating one of the sites for our youth basketball tournament today. What if parents spent as much energy ordering their family life as they do complaining about officials? That's only a small (and easy) example. We've got to ask ourselves how this conflict aligns with what's really important. If the conflict doesn't stem from protecting a core personal value, then perhaps we need to reevaluate the passion we have for it.
2. Understand what you're doing to yourself. Writes Edwards, "A contentious people will be a miserable people." I think it's fair to say that sometimes we hold on to hate and anger and wrongs because if we can store it all up, we feel like we can inflict it on our rival of the time. We want to spread that misery. In order to have the opportunity to spread it, we keep ourselves miserable. It's as if we're saying that it's not okay to be okay because we might spread being okay to someone we hope does not get the pleasure of feeling okay. Okay? The result? Misery squared, when joy squared is offered to us. Can it really be worth it to assure our own hurt for the mere chance to spread it?
3. Wish them well, then move on. What does a preacher do who has been told he can no longer preach? He spends every last moment available preaching, offering the best he has to offer, and then moves along to offer that message somewhere else. Towards the end of the sermon, Edwards offers this: "Another thing which I would advise to, that you may hereafter be prosperous people, is, that you would give yourselves much to prayer." Edwards holds to his convictions here. He does not lay down and say, "Okay, you're right. Go ahead and walk all over me." He maintains that what he is offering, Christ, is what they most need. In love, therefore, he offers them service, walks out the door, and serves elsewhere (in his case, as a missionary). He doesn't let conflict deter him from his life's work nor deter him from love for his new-found enemies.
Whether you're the source of the conflict or the victim, I believe this sermon has something to offer you. It is possible to be right and to be loving, to have emotion and perspective. You cannot avoid conflict. And you wouldn't like life very much if you tried. These pieces of advise offer a way to respond with great wisdom, and a way to come out of it better in the end.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
October Review
I've committed to sharing out my progress on three major goals for the 2013 calendar year at the end of every month. Below is my progress for October.
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I finished two this month, though one I had been working on for awhile. Reading E.B. White with my daughter continues to be a rewarding experience. White's The Trumpet of the Swan and C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew were the "children's" books I completed. Twenty-one down, four more to go.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
This is post number 6 for the month, keeping me on pace with 64 for the year. I really liked "The Hypocrites in My Church." Six a month for the next two months will seal this one.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
Abysmal, epic failure this month. I was shooting for 3. I got done with 1/2 a letter. I need 7 more plus the one I'm in the middle of. I'm hoping that a few more weekends home in the next couple of weeks will help. Failure is not an option.
October Successes:
1. I presented a session at the 2013 Iowa Council of Teachers of English Conference in Des Moines. I was pleased with how the session with, as it's always good to get in front of a room full of peers and talk about what I do. Seeing good people helped as well. My maiden voyage to Zombie Burger the night before the performance may have been the real victory.
2. Chewing up my time in chunks every week is the new course on Biblical Exposition I've begun with a small group of men from the church. It's demanding and difficult, often leaving me frustrated in the midst of struggling with some Old Testament narratives. But it's good. I'm experiencing major growth. The cost in time will produce fruit.
Quotes to Note:
Some articles of interest from the month:
Two months left in 2013. Basketball season approaches. Finish strong, finish by producing, and produce with an eye on The Ultimate.
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I finished two this month, though one I had been working on for awhile. Reading E.B. White with my daughter continues to be a rewarding experience. White's The Trumpet of the Swan and C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew were the "children's" books I completed. Twenty-one down, four more to go.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
This is post number 6 for the month, keeping me on pace with 64 for the year. I really liked "The Hypocrites in My Church." Six a month for the next two months will seal this one.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
Abysmal, epic failure this month. I was shooting for 3. I got done with 1/2 a letter. I need 7 more plus the one I'm in the middle of. I'm hoping that a few more weekends home in the next couple of weeks will help. Failure is not an option.
October Successes:
1. I presented a session at the 2013 Iowa Council of Teachers of English Conference in Des Moines. I was pleased with how the session with, as it's always good to get in front of a room full of peers and talk about what I do. Seeing good people helped as well. My maiden voyage to Zombie Burger the night before the performance may have been the real victory.
2. Chewing up my time in chunks every week is the new course on Biblical Exposition I've begun with a small group of men from the church. It's demanding and difficult, often leaving me frustrated in the midst of struggling with some Old Testament narratives. But it's good. I'm experiencing major growth. The cost in time will produce fruit.
Quotes to Note:
- "Love is not maximum emotion. Love is maximum commitment." - Sinclair Ferguson
- "The church is a school for sinners, not a museum for saints. - Anthony Thiselton
- The Christian life is all about wakefulness. Theology describes what we see when we are awake, and discipleship is about staying awake. The sad truth is many of us are at best only half awake. We think we're engaged with the real world - the world of stock markets, stock car racing, stockpiles of weapons - but in fact, we're living in what Lewis calls the Shadowlands. We're really daydreaming and sleepwalking our way through life, asleep at the wheel of existence." - Kevin Vanhoozer
Some articles of interest from the month:
Two months left in 2013. Basketball season approaches. Finish strong, finish by producing, and produce with an eye on The Ultimate.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
A Matter of Marketing
On Matt Perman's What's Best Next Blog this week, I found this quote about marketing:
Marketing does not exist to make up for inadequacies in a mediocre product. The first job of marketing is to create an excellent product.
In today's create-consume-create culture, the product is often secondary to publicizing the product. I can think of one author in particular who caught my attention a couple of years ago with great content on his blog and a very successful book. I began reading his writing regularly. In a couple of months, however, a distinct shift occurred in his posts: rather than offering content, he began advertising future content. Deep thinking and well-crafted prose disappeared as more and more links to promotional events became prominent. The blog morphed into one loud commercial for himself and his products. In the process, his content died. I found no trouble in dropping that blog.
Most of us, however, are not looking to market and sell any product. The applicability in Perman's statement is in our creation of the one product we offer to the world daily: ourselves.
It may seem weird to think of ourselves as products, but most of us certainly act as if we must market ourselves for mass consumption. Every Facebook update, Tweet, and blog post we're involved in is a personal commercial for our brand. We market mightily, shining a light on the family we've created, the teams we support, the vacations we take, the annoyances bugging us, and the clever thoughts we have that the world needs to hear. What are all of these, if not marketing? Aren't we selling ourselves as clever and quirky, lovable and loving, worthy and confident commanders of our glorious kingdoms?
To take Perman's advice, we would be better served focusing on improving the product. Is it a sin to market ourselves? No, I don't believe so. To claim what we are is to share, to engage in the human experience with others in an authentic, relationship-building way. But don't get caught up in it. If you want people to believe in you, just be excellent rather than claiming excellence. Quality often requires little fanfare.
Marketing does not exist to make up for inadequacies in a mediocre product. The first job of marketing is to create an excellent product.
In today's create-consume-create culture, the product is often secondary to publicizing the product. I can think of one author in particular who caught my attention a couple of years ago with great content on his blog and a very successful book. I began reading his writing regularly. In a couple of months, however, a distinct shift occurred in his posts: rather than offering content, he began advertising future content. Deep thinking and well-crafted prose disappeared as more and more links to promotional events became prominent. The blog morphed into one loud commercial for himself and his products. In the process, his content died. I found no trouble in dropping that blog.
Most of us, however, are not looking to market and sell any product. The applicability in Perman's statement is in our creation of the one product we offer to the world daily: ourselves.
It may seem weird to think of ourselves as products, but most of us certainly act as if we must market ourselves for mass consumption. Every Facebook update, Tweet, and blog post we're involved in is a personal commercial for our brand. We market mightily, shining a light on the family we've created, the teams we support, the vacations we take, the annoyances bugging us, and the clever thoughts we have that the world needs to hear. What are all of these, if not marketing? Aren't we selling ourselves as clever and quirky, lovable and loving, worthy and confident commanders of our glorious kingdoms?
To take Perman's advice, we would be better served focusing on improving the product. Is it a sin to market ourselves? No, I don't believe so. To claim what we are is to share, to engage in the human experience with others in an authentic, relationship-building way. But don't get caught up in it. If you want people to believe in you, just be excellent rather than claiming excellence. Quality often requires little fanfare.
Monday, October 21, 2013
The Hypocrites in My Church
One of the most common criticisms I hear about churches and church-goers is the number of hypocrites in their midst. In churches are people who are judgmental, narcissistic, fair-weather blowhards who praise on Sunday and sin their way out of the parking lot.
I can't speak for other churches, but I know that's true in my church. The flawed faithful fill the building for Bible classes and services, for AWANA and youth group and prayer team meetings, steeped in their own sin.
I know this because I am there. My wife is there. Our children are there. Our friends and their children and their friends and neighbors are all there, and we are all far less than we believe we should be, far less than we are called to be, far less than the example set by a God we say we revere. We are hypocrites, all of us. And I am glad I'm there every time I enter the building.
Here's the thing: The broken souls in the church are not a representation of Christ, but a representation of how badly we need Christ. The warts in humanity that you see in churches shouldn't be a deterrent, but an encouragement: "I belong! There are other people who can't get life figured out; who get a whole lot wrong; who make mistakes, often very public ones, and know that something is missing." Writes Anthony Thiselton, "The church is a school for sinners, not a museum for saints."
The hypocrites in my church volunteer their time to put my children on their lap and read to them, or give them a bag of candy the week before Halloween, or put together one more craft project that they can't wait to tell me about. The hypocrites in my church make coffee and clean toilets and stack chairs so that I can be comfortable on Sunday mornings. They ask me about my week, and they wait long enough for me to respond without interrupting about theirs. They give up time during the week to practice so that I can sing on Sunday, and they find ways to challenge me to be better. They know about my family, my failures, and my fears, and they don't use them to their own advantage. They play softball and basketball and invite me to as well.
Sometimes they sin. It's something we share. We hypocrites. There's always room for one more.
I can't speak for other churches, but I know that's true in my church. The flawed faithful fill the building for Bible classes and services, for AWANA and youth group and prayer team meetings, steeped in their own sin.
I know this because I am there. My wife is there. Our children are there. Our friends and their children and their friends and neighbors are all there, and we are all far less than we believe we should be, far less than we are called to be, far less than the example set by a God we say we revere. We are hypocrites, all of us. And I am glad I'm there every time I enter the building.
Here's the thing: The broken souls in the church are not a representation of Christ, but a representation of how badly we need Christ. The warts in humanity that you see in churches shouldn't be a deterrent, but an encouragement: "I belong! There are other people who can't get life figured out; who get a whole lot wrong; who make mistakes, often very public ones, and know that something is missing." Writes Anthony Thiselton, "The church is a school for sinners, not a museum for saints."
The hypocrites in my church volunteer their time to put my children on their lap and read to them, or give them a bag of candy the week before Halloween, or put together one more craft project that they can't wait to tell me about. The hypocrites in my church make coffee and clean toilets and stack chairs so that I can be comfortable on Sunday mornings. They ask me about my week, and they wait long enough for me to respond without interrupting about theirs. They give up time during the week to practice so that I can sing on Sunday, and they find ways to challenge me to be better. They know about my family, my failures, and my fears, and they don't use them to their own advantage. They play softball and basketball and invite me to as well.
Sometimes they sin. It's something we share. We hypocrites. There's always room for one more.
Friday, October 18, 2013
The Problem With Blogs Like Mine
The problem with blogs like mine is that if you don't read closely enough, or I don't write clearly enough, it appears as if it's about self-improvement. I write about writing better and reading better and loving better and living better. I write about being a better husband and father, a better friend, and a better employee. I write about finding more happiness and joy and about improved relationships and decision-making and success. If you don't read closely enough or I don't write closely enough, it all stops hopelessly there. And to stop there is indeed an empty endeavor.
Self-improvement for the sake of self-improvement will not make me happy. It will not fulfill me, nor will I ever be good enough to be satisfied. Most importantly, it certainly won't save my soul. I cannot work hard enough and perfect myself well enough to be worthy of anything. No, if my goal in living and relating better is anything other than God glorified, it is a fruitless road full of useless sacrifice.
The same danger exists in reading the Old Testament. I've started a (very challenging) course this week called The Simeon Trust, which provides instruction on Biblical exposition. The first unit is on Old Testament narrative, and the number one message to come out of week one is that the purpose of the Old Testament is to point to Christ. To read and teach and preach for any other goal than to proclaim the Messiah is to misuse the text. Every time we read it looking for moral lessons from the characters that we can apply to our own lives for better living, we ignore the intentions of the text.
Two quotes from the reading this week really stood out to me. From William Willimon: "Unable to preach Christ and Him crucified, we preach humanity and it improved." To read and live in that way is to look for ourselves in every sentence of a book that is actually about Someone Else. It's ignoring the poetry for the sake of the footnote. And we do it because it seems easier. Working harder at personal greatness seems easier than complete and total dependence and awe.
The other quote from Jeffrey Arthurs perfectly portrays how I feel when I attempt personal betterment as the goal in and of itself: "It is hardly incidental that lifting up Christ and the glory of his Father is the best way to change behavior. Moralistic preaching without theological grounding feels like nagging with its never ending 'do more, do better.'"
If you regularly read this blog, I thank you. If you read it with an eye for Christ, I beg you to hold me and my words accountable. And if you read it looking only for a better you, I warn you. A better me and a better you for the sake of only me and you will fall far short of excellence, joy, and goodness every time.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Just a Little Nudge
I'm currently at a conference for English teachers in Des Moines, and at a session yesterday a random statement by one of the presenters stood out to me. He was talking about providing feedback on student writing assignments, and he said that he no longer takes it upon himself to "save" the paper for students. He understands that there's no way he's going to transform any student into a perfect writer overnight. Instead, he tries to give them a nudge in the right direction. Enough nudges, and eventually they'll get where they need to be in their writing.
I see profound implications in this for all of us, teachers and non-teachers alike. In a world that attempts to provide us with exactly what we want when we want it, the one thing we can't immediately have is change in those in our sphere of influence.
If you teach, coach, preach, or lead anywhere, you know where you want those whom you influence to go. And you know they're not there. You also know that you'll beat your head against a myriad of walls if you expect that change to come today, right now, immediately. Most of my students do not love literature. Some couldn't find a thesis statement if it tweeted itself to them. As much as I want to shake some sense into them some days, screaming about how good and rich and pure and necessary literacy skills are, it just doesn't work that way. Instead, I have 180 days to nudge them, gently, without them knowing it.
This is applicable for every relationship you are in. Your spouse is not going to magically change today. I don't care what wonderland of a marriage you have, there is likely something you are dying to change about your spouse. It will not change today. Quit expecting it. If it matters - if the change truly will add value to your relationship and a lack of change will limit your bliss - then try to nudge. Do this with your co-workers, your siblings, your parents, and your neighbors. Wherever you hope for something better, wherever improvement in a relationship can occur, slowly, winsomely, nudge.
Lest we forget, we also need a push in the right direction ourselves. Most of us know this and want better from ourselves and for ourselves. Much of this blog is about self-improvement. But here's what we've got to understand: we also aren't going to change overnight. No book or study or conference is going to change our lives immediately. Neither is any toy. We will not wake up tomorrow and be the person we want to be simply by wanting it or by being aware of our flaws. Patience, therefore, must be a virtue we allow for ourselves as well. That patience, though, must be coupled with purposeful pushes. We must choose wisely what will nudge us.
We cannot choose whether or not to be nudged. We are being nudged every minute of every day, in one direction or another. I'm attempting to nudge you right now. That decision is out of our hands. The question is, what are we allowing to do the nudging? Are we controlling the direction? Are we even aware of the direction?
I get 180 days with my students. You get a lifetime for you. Go get nudged.
I see profound implications in this for all of us, teachers and non-teachers alike. In a world that attempts to provide us with exactly what we want when we want it, the one thing we can't immediately have is change in those in our sphere of influence.
If you teach, coach, preach, or lead anywhere, you know where you want those whom you influence to go. And you know they're not there. You also know that you'll beat your head against a myriad of walls if you expect that change to come today, right now, immediately. Most of my students do not love literature. Some couldn't find a thesis statement if it tweeted itself to them. As much as I want to shake some sense into them some days, screaming about how good and rich and pure and necessary literacy skills are, it just doesn't work that way. Instead, I have 180 days to nudge them, gently, without them knowing it.
This is applicable for every relationship you are in. Your spouse is not going to magically change today. I don't care what wonderland of a marriage you have, there is likely something you are dying to change about your spouse. It will not change today. Quit expecting it. If it matters - if the change truly will add value to your relationship and a lack of change will limit your bliss - then try to nudge. Do this with your co-workers, your siblings, your parents, and your neighbors. Wherever you hope for something better, wherever improvement in a relationship can occur, slowly, winsomely, nudge.
Lest we forget, we also need a push in the right direction ourselves. Most of us know this and want better from ourselves and for ourselves. Much of this blog is about self-improvement. But here's what we've got to understand: we also aren't going to change overnight. No book or study or conference is going to change our lives immediately. Neither is any toy. We will not wake up tomorrow and be the person we want to be simply by wanting it or by being aware of our flaws. Patience, therefore, must be a virtue we allow for ourselves as well. That patience, though, must be coupled with purposeful pushes. We must choose wisely what will nudge us.
We cannot choose whether or not to be nudged. We are being nudged every minute of every day, in one direction or another. I'm attempting to nudge you right now. That decision is out of our hands. The question is, what are we allowing to do the nudging? Are we controlling the direction? Are we even aware of the direction?
I get 180 days with my students. You get a lifetime for you. Go get nudged.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Success for the 21st Century
When discussing Arthur Miller's play Death of a Salesman in AP Lit today, we covered the fact that the three primary male characters in Act I have a success problem: they don't have it because they can't define it. They are lost, gripping flawed assumptions, unclear about what they want or how to get it. In a writing activity, I asked students to write about someone who they view as successful, explain the criteria for success that they were using, and choose characteristics that they wished to emulate as they chase their own dream of success throughout lifetime.
I enjoyed hearing my students' answers (all except the one who wrote about Oprah). Though the definitions of success varied, we did seem to agree on one thing: defining success is a somewhat difficult process.
Then came the question: "Mr. Dykstra, what's your definition of success?"
My response was profound: "Umm. My definition? Of success? It's . . . well . . . Sorry. We're out of time for discussion today. Maybe we'll talk about it tomorrow." A difficult question indeed.
Then I remembered a Jonathan Edwards sermon I recently read. The sermon was actually a message for a funeral Edwards was conducting for John Stoddard, his uncle. Stoddard had been a major figure in the community, and Edwards clearly thought a lot about him. Reading my notes from the sermon, I see that Edwards' descriptors for Stoddard are as good a definition of living a successful life as any I've encountered.
Consider these qualities and quotes from the sermon:
I enjoyed hearing my students' answers (all except the one who wrote about Oprah). Though the definitions of success varied, we did seem to agree on one thing: defining success is a somewhat difficult process.
Then came the question: "Mr. Dykstra, what's your definition of success?"
My response was profound: "Umm. My definition? Of success? It's . . . well . . . Sorry. We're out of time for discussion today. Maybe we'll talk about it tomorrow." A difficult question indeed.
Then I remembered a Jonathan Edwards sermon I recently read. The sermon was actually a message for a funeral Edwards was conducting for John Stoddard, his uncle. Stoddard had been a major figure in the community, and Edwards clearly thought a lot about him. Reading my notes from the sermon, I see that Edwards' descriptors for Stoddard are as good a definition of living a successful life as any I've encountered.
Consider these qualities and quotes from the sermon:
- Knowledge through focus and dedication: "And as his natural capacity was great, so was the knowledge that he had acquired, his understanding being greatly improved by his close application of mind to those things he was called to be concerned in, and by a very exact observation of them and long experience in them."
- Patient and humble in learning. Steadfast in truth: "He was not wavering and unsteady in his opinion: his manner was never to pass judgment rashly, but was wont first thoroughly to deliberate and weigh an affair; and in this, notwithstanding his great abilities, he was glad to improve by the help of conversation and discourse with others, and often spake of the great advantage he found by it; but when, on mature consideration, he had settled his judgment, he was not easily turned from it by false colors and plausible pretences and appearances."
- "And how immovably steadfast was he to exact truth!"
- Respected by others, focused on God: But though he was one that was great among men, exalted above others in abilities and greatness of mind and in place of rule, and feared not the faces of men, yet he feared God.
- Revered by hist most important audience: The calmness and steadiness of his behavior in private, particularly in his family, appeared remarkable and exemplary to those who had most opportunity to observe it.
- Reverent and capable of awe: He abhorred profaneness, and was a person of a serious and decent spirit, and ever treated sacred things with reverence.
May this be said of me at my end, three hundred years later. For this is a life well-lived in all times.
Monday, September 30, 2013
September Review
I've committed to reporting out on my monthly progress towards the three major goals I have for 2013. Below is my progress for the month of September.
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I only read one book this month: Selected Sermons of Jonathan Edwards. It was a challenging read that I intend on writing about throughout October. I'm now at 19 for the year. I'm still on pace, but no longer ahead. I think I'll do some reading tonight.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
The beginning of the month was slow going, as I had a few other writing commitments that carried greater weight. I caught up towards the end of the month, and this makes six for September. My favorite for the month is probably the post about the nature about busyness. I'm now 58 for the year. Six a month the rest of the way will get me to 75.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
Starting this month I needed to average 3 a month to reach my goal, and I completed 3. It's still baffling to me that I'm most reluctant to begin each of these, but I gain perhaps the most reward upon their completion. Seventeen down, eight more to go.
It was a great month of quotes. Here are some of my favorites that I came across:
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I only read one book this month: Selected Sermons of Jonathan Edwards. It was a challenging read that I intend on writing about throughout October. I'm now at 19 for the year. I'm still on pace, but no longer ahead. I think I'll do some reading tonight.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
The beginning of the month was slow going, as I had a few other writing commitments that carried greater weight. I caught up towards the end of the month, and this makes six for September. My favorite for the month is probably the post about the nature about busyness. I'm now 58 for the year. Six a month the rest of the way will get me to 75.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
Starting this month I needed to average 3 a month to reach my goal, and I completed 3. It's still baffling to me that I'm most reluctant to begin each of these, but I gain perhaps the most reward upon their completion. Seventeen down, eight more to go.
It was a great month of quotes. Here are some of my favorites that I came across:
- "The difference between Christians and non-Christians is not that non-Christians sin whereas Christians don't. The difference is found in what side we take in the battle. Christians take God's side against sin, whereas non-Christians take sin's side against God. . . A Christian will sin, but turn to God again and his word and say, "help me fight my sin." A non-Christian, even if he recognizes his sin, effectively responds, "I want my sin more than God." - Mark Dever
- "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: non only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." C.S. Lewis
- "Self-doubt can be an ally. This is because it serves as an indicator of aspiration. It reflects love, love of something we dream of doing, and desire, desire to do it. if you find yourself asking yourself, "Am I really a writer? Am I really an artist?" chances are you are. The Counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death." - Steven Prestfield
- "I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguos and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event, filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities. I shall not be fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are wholly evil parentheses in my existence, but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward moral and spiritual manhood." - Clyde Kilby
- "The righteous are willing to disadvantage themselves to advantage the community; the wicked are willing to disadvantage the community to advantage themselves." - Tim Keller
And a few articles worth your attention:
- The Meaning of Justice - expounding on the above quote by Kilby.
- Have We Missed the Meaning of the Incarnation?
- The Cul-de-sac of Stupidity
October is a big month. I've beginning a new class, presenting at a conference, and preparing for the basketball season. Obstacles and opportunities abound. Every day matters.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Half the Man I Want to Be
While doing background research about The Great Gatsby in preparation for teaching it to my AP students, I came across this quote from the author, F. Scott Fitzgerald: "The history of my life is the history of the struggle between an overwhelming urge to write and a combination of circumstances bent on keeping me from it."
No, the only answer I can come up with, is to abide in the vine: "I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. . . If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. . . These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full." (John 15)
T
hat sounds much more effective than trying harder tomorrow. That strategy hasn't worked in centuries.
Here is one of the great American authors, who wrote what many consider to be the "Great American Novel," commenting that despite how good at writing he was, despite how much he wanted to produce mountains of eloquent prose, he found himself struggling to actually get it done.
John Steinbeck, another of the best authors America has had to offer, had something similar to say while struggling to write the book he called his masterpiece, East of Eden: "My brain acts like a bad child, willful and sneering. And oh! the tricks I can use to justify it so that in the end it becomes downright virtuous."
In the midst of writing the book he had been planning for a lifetime, the one he wanted to put all his time and energy into, he found himself creating excuses not to work on it.
I found myself wondering that if these titans of literature who produced several great texts that changed the face of American literature and have affected thousands of readers struggled to merely do exactly what they passionately wanted to do, then how am I to avoid this fate?
But theirs are not merely the words of a couple of masters of their craft. No, their words are ancient, two thousand years ancient, preceded by the Apostle Paul, who wrote in his letter to the Romans about his own struggles: "For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. . . For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out." And it is here that I find the struggle of my life.
I know exactly who and what I want to be. I know what I want to do. But the struggle to actually be it and do it weighs heavily on me. This month I've written about my desire to remain steadfast in the face of trials and to choose carefully my words in all situations. In one foolish moment of anger this week, I failed at both. I want to be in shape, in control, and in the Bible. I want to be well read and well respected. I want to say no to food after 9 pm, yes to writing and reading. I want to serve and love my wife unconditionally and be patient and loving at all times to my kids. But I am not this. At least not all the time. I snap critically when I could hug, I give in weakly to fatigue and to hunger and to boredom, and I convince myself that whatever it is I need to get done, I'll get to the next day.
Not every day. No, on a lot of days, I am what I want to be. Instead of that being an encouragement, however, it's easy to be further frustrated, as it highlights that I can indeed be it and do it when I decide to.
I write this tonight not because it is my struggle, or Fitzgerald and Steinbeck's struggle, or even Paul's struggle. I write it because I believe it is the human struggle. I believe it's probably yours as well. And more than anything, I want you to know you're not alone.
So what do we do? I'm not sure. Accept mediocrity? Not hardly. Punish ourselves mercilessly? Probably not.
Not every day. No, on a lot of days, I am what I want to be. Instead of that being an encouragement, however, it's easy to be further frustrated, as it highlights that I can indeed be it and do it when I decide to.
I write this tonight not because it is my struggle, or Fitzgerald and Steinbeck's struggle, or even Paul's struggle. I write it because I believe it is the human struggle. I believe it's probably yours as well. And more than anything, I want you to know you're not alone.
So what do we do? I'm not sure. Accept mediocrity? Not hardly. Punish ourselves mercilessly? Probably not.
No, the only answer I can come up with, is to abide in the vine: "I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. . . If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. . . These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full." (John 15)
T
hat sounds much more effective than trying harder tomorrow. That strategy hasn't worked in centuries.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
You're Probably Too Busy to Read This, But. . .
In my last post I discussed the importance of choosing words carefully. One word that most of us need to be much more purposeful about is the word "busy."
"I ran across this today regarding busyness on Tim Challies' blog:
"Busyness is a funny thing. We have a love/hate relationship with it, so that when we are not boasting in it we are apologizing for it, and when we are not overwhelmed by it we are wanting more of it. We hate what busyness does to us, how it keeps us from friends and families and how it skews our priorities. On the other hand, we love that it validates us, as if the fact that we are busy somehow proves our significance."
And there I am. This paradoxical paragraph describes my past decade or so in a damningly accurate manner. In my attempts to get ahead, chase accomplishments, and be all I can be, I was never hesitant to talk about how busy I was.
When I read Challies' quote, I realize that at it's core, the word "busy" is competitive. It's a proclamation that I am better than you. Using my "busy" to English translator, I find that, "I was too busy to get that done/be there," actually means one of the following:
"I ran across this today regarding busyness on Tim Challies' blog:
"Busyness is a funny thing. We have a love/hate relationship with it, so that when we are not boasting in it we are apologizing for it, and when we are not overwhelmed by it we are wanting more of it. We hate what busyness does to us, how it keeps us from friends and families and how it skews our priorities. On the other hand, we love that it validates us, as if the fact that we are busy somehow proves our significance."
And there I am. This paradoxical paragraph describes my past decade or so in a damningly accurate manner. In my attempts to get ahead, chase accomplishments, and be all I can be, I was never hesitant to talk about how busy I was.
When I read Challies' quote, I realize that at it's core, the word "busy" is competitive. It's a proclamation that I am better than you. Using my "busy" to English translator, I find that, "I was too busy to get that done/be there," actually means one of the following:
- My time was more important than yours.
- I would have accomplished as much or more than you, but I'm exhausted from everything else I'm accomplishing that you aren't.
- I've got a lot going on - way more than you.
- Why aren't you this busy? If I had your time, of course I'd get it done.
- Praise me and my diligent behavior! I'm important!
Whether I want it to be true or not, if I look at the core of every time I've told someone else how busy I am, the message I'm trying to send is one of these. And it's a stupid message. I am however busy I choose to be. There really is no reason to talk about it.
Aside from this realization that talking about it foolish, I read a few other commentaries in the past couple of weeks about curing people like myself of chronic busyness or making us wiser decision-makers regarding what we choose to be busy with.
The first piece of advice I came across is to honestly ask yourself, "Why am I working this hard?" Why is your schedule full? The real answer may surprise you. Take stock of the true motivation. Is it to make more money to meet necessities, or more money to create comfort? Is it to build relationships with your kids, or to look like a good parent to your peers? Is it out of tradition or wisdom? Is it self-glorifying or God-glorifying? If the answer is ugly, so is your busyness.
The other is this:
"God designed us to be conformed to whatever it is that we admire - our passions. When it comes to time, we invest it in things we believe will help us become what we want to be. . . Doing too many things can be an indicator that worldly passions are growing and beginning to choke out our passion for God and his kingdom. Any time investment that isn't helping to conform us to the image of Jesus is conforming us to some kind of worldly image. And it means we have some laying aside to do." (Jon Bloom)
This post is not a diatribe against activity. We are not called to a life of comfort, and much of life is a struggle. It should be hard, and there are many worthy endeavors with which to fill our time and stretch our capacities. Ultimately what I've learned from this more than anything is to be purposeful if I'm busy, and to cut that word out of my vocabulary.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Word Choice
I've been reading The Great Gatsby with my AP Lit students lately, and I'm finding myself laboring to put sentence by sentence, page by page behind me. But it's laboring in a good way. This is my second reading of the book, and as with all good second readings, I'm trying to catch all I can. It's hard work, not because F. Scott Fitzgerald is so bad, but because he's so good.
Every sentence in this book that I don't read twice is a source of guilt. Fitzgerald says so much, with so few words, that I just know I'm missing something, something great, with every half-conscious trail of the eyes. Though it's fewer than 200 pages, it's considered one of the "great American novels." Fitzgerald doesn't need a lot of words to pack a punch; he's so painstakingly careful to pick and choose words with power and emotion that speak more in two syllables than some sentences do in twenty. It's exhausting and thrilling and intimidating all at once.
Take the following passage, for instance:
"There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams - not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart."
Or this one:
"His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete."
Sitting in my classroom Friday afternoon, preparing my lesson on Chapters 5 and 6, I felt breathless from attempting to wring out every morsel and truly get what Fitzgerald wanted me to get. It's like he painted an intricate, vibrant landscape, and then he shrunk it down to the size of a postage stamp and said, "Here it is. Take a look. This is life." Every word matters.
From this, two ideas relevant to myself personally and those who aren't studying Gatsby came to mind.
First, we all use language every day. How careful are our selections? In a world where our words have so great a power to friends and enemies, family and strangers, active listeners and casual by-passers, why aren't we as meticulous in our choices? Every conversation, every post, and every tweet say something to the world about us and the truth that we believe. Instead of a postage stamp to study, many of us offer up volumes of text every hour, so much of it a wasted jumble of half-witted, half-hearted, half-serious, and fully powerful nonsense. With so much to say, how would anyone know which of our words we really mean, which ones we want to speak for the true us, which ones point to all that we believe and know and want to share with humanity?
Secondly, if I'm impressed by the care Fitzgerald takes in putting together his masterpiece, how much more awestruck should I be at God's handiwork? Was the Sovereign Source of all that is Good any less careful in constructing the collection of documents that He said is the key to understanding? Can the Bible be maddeningly complex? Absolutely. Confusing? You bet. But it's worth the struggle. Whatever Fitzgerald can tell me about the American psyche, it is a minute fraction of what the God of the universe is begging me to labor through, one masterful sentence at a time.
Every sentence in this book that I don't read twice is a source of guilt. Fitzgerald says so much, with so few words, that I just know I'm missing something, something great, with every half-conscious trail of the eyes. Though it's fewer than 200 pages, it's considered one of the "great American novels." Fitzgerald doesn't need a lot of words to pack a punch; he's so painstakingly careful to pick and choose words with power and emotion that speak more in two syllables than some sentences do in twenty. It's exhausting and thrilling and intimidating all at once.
Take the following passage, for instance:
"There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams - not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart."
Or this one:
"His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete."
Sitting in my classroom Friday afternoon, preparing my lesson on Chapters 5 and 6, I felt breathless from attempting to wring out every morsel and truly get what Fitzgerald wanted me to get. It's like he painted an intricate, vibrant landscape, and then he shrunk it down to the size of a postage stamp and said, "Here it is. Take a look. This is life." Every word matters.
From this, two ideas relevant to myself personally and those who aren't studying Gatsby came to mind.
First, we all use language every day. How careful are our selections? In a world where our words have so great a power to friends and enemies, family and strangers, active listeners and casual by-passers, why aren't we as meticulous in our choices? Every conversation, every post, and every tweet say something to the world about us and the truth that we believe. Instead of a postage stamp to study, many of us offer up volumes of text every hour, so much of it a wasted jumble of half-witted, half-hearted, half-serious, and fully powerful nonsense. With so much to say, how would anyone know which of our words we really mean, which ones we want to speak for the true us, which ones point to all that we believe and know and want to share with humanity?
Secondly, if I'm impressed by the care Fitzgerald takes in putting together his masterpiece, how much more awestruck should I be at God's handiwork? Was the Sovereign Source of all that is Good any less careful in constructing the collection of documents that He said is the key to understanding? Can the Bible be maddeningly complex? Absolutely. Confusing? You bet. But it's worth the struggle. Whatever Fitzgerald can tell me about the American psyche, it is a minute fraction of what the God of the universe is begging me to labor through, one masterful sentence at a time.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
In the Fell Clutch of Circumstance
The poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley is a favorite literary target in Christian circles. The smugness of the final two lines, with the speaker claiming, "I am the master of my fate; / I am the captain of my soul" gets people worked up as heretical and anti-God. With the biblical call to hold loosely all that is not God and the command to give up our life in order to gain it firmly in mind, I can't deny that point about the poem.
Having said that, I love the poem. Whether correctly or not, I don't read it as a diatribe on personal sovereignty or a claim of deistic power. Instead, I read into it one of the great themes of the Psalms - that of remaining steadfast.
It's the second stanza that really preaches to me:
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
I have been annoyed by circumstance this week. I felt (albeit ridiculously) bludgeoned by chance at times. I found out at the last minute that I had to spend several hours at school on Monday night. I had several meetings, none of which seemed productive or necessary. I scratched my new car. One daughter nearly concussed herself while I was attempting to make supper. The other threw a fit soon after. I have bus duty all week. I've unexpectedly lost sleep.
And boy am I quick to wince and cry aloud, even in the midst of such trifling, trivial annoyances. Wince, wince, wince, wince, wince! It's sad. In a great life full of blessings and an awe-inspiring God who has saved me, I so foolishly and carelessly lose sight of the source of my joy.
One of the definitions of fast is "so as to be hard to move." It is from this that we get terms like hold fast, stand fast, and remain steadfast. These phrases are all over the Psalms, and as I read them this summer, I remember thinking that I wanted that to me be. I wanted my faith, my joy, and my focus to be steadfast. In real trouble, in false trouble (like this week), and in all things, I wanted to be immovable. I still do.
And so I recite that stanza over and over. I have no desire to be the captain of my fate: I trust God much more than myself with that. But I do desire to master my circumstances, to be unbowed despite wounds, to be rock-solid.
Bludgeon away, Chance. No more wincing.
Having said that, I love the poem. Whether correctly or not, I don't read it as a diatribe on personal sovereignty or a claim of deistic power. Instead, I read into it one of the great themes of the Psalms - that of remaining steadfast.
It's the second stanza that really preaches to me:
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
I have been annoyed by circumstance this week. I felt (albeit ridiculously) bludgeoned by chance at times. I found out at the last minute that I had to spend several hours at school on Monday night. I had several meetings, none of which seemed productive or necessary. I scratched my new car. One daughter nearly concussed herself while I was attempting to make supper. The other threw a fit soon after. I have bus duty all week. I've unexpectedly lost sleep.
And boy am I quick to wince and cry aloud, even in the midst of such trifling, trivial annoyances. Wince, wince, wince, wince, wince! It's sad. In a great life full of blessings and an awe-inspiring God who has saved me, I so foolishly and carelessly lose sight of the source of my joy.
One of the definitions of fast is "so as to be hard to move." It is from this that we get terms like hold fast, stand fast, and remain steadfast. These phrases are all over the Psalms, and as I read them this summer, I remember thinking that I wanted that to me be. I wanted my faith, my joy, and my focus to be steadfast. In real trouble, in false trouble (like this week), and in all things, I wanted to be immovable. I still do.
And so I recite that stanza over and over. I have no desire to be the captain of my fate: I trust God much more than myself with that. But I do desire to master my circumstances, to be unbowed despite wounds, to be rock-solid.
Bludgeon away, Chance. No more wincing.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
The Literature our Leaders Should Read Before Commenting on Military Strikes
Morality is not subjective. It is not a matter of convenience or of popular vote. It cannot be brushed aside or ignored when it requires sacrifice. Leaders should know this. We should at the very least demand this of them.
I don't what the right answer is regarding the situation in Syria. I largely steer clear of national security debates on this blog because I recognize that people much smarter than me, with much more information than me, with greater public trust than me, are on the job. While I may have an opinion, it does little good to offer it here.
What I found in the paper this morning, however, disturbed me. Four elected leaders from the state of Iowa were asked their position on Syria and where they stand regarding a military strike. The quotes they included regarding Syria's actions include the following:
I don't what the right answer is regarding the situation in Syria. I largely steer clear of national security debates on this blog because I recognize that people much smarter than me, with much more information than me, with greater public trust than me, are on the job. While I may have an opinion, it does little good to offer it here.
What I found in the paper this morning, however, disturbed me. Four elected leaders from the state of Iowa were asked their position on Syria and where they stand regarding a military strike. The quotes they included regarding Syria's actions include the following:
- "abhorrent" (Chuck Grassley)
- "an affront to human values (Tom Harkin)
- "breaking international law" (Bruce Braley)
- "an absolute atrocity" (Tom Latham)
Despite these descriptors, they then each in turn fall over themselves to find reasons not to be involved. Based on their statements in the Des Moines Register, they each seem to establish that they believe Syria's actions are immoral and destructive to innocent human life. They see a distinct and reprehensible wrong in the world. Yet they are very quick to say, "Yeah, but. . ."
They each offer reason after reason for America to sit back and watch: It is not our business. It will hurt our business. Our reputation will suffer. No one else is doing it.
These sound quite similar to excuses made in a previous generation. Marred in a civil rights quagmire, many good and decent people who knew better watched bigotry and racism and economic rivalry decimate the hopes of African-Americans. One man, though, called them out on it. Martin Luther King, Jr., from a jail cell in Birmingham, wrote a letter that has become one of the major literary pieces of our nation's history In it, he worked not to call out those drenched in the guilt of their own discriminatory practices; King instead addressed his letter to the white clergy in the South who sat idly by and watched, attempting to protect their conscience with the excuse of not being directly involved.
Wrote King: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly." Those words are praised as key communicators of the values of our nation.
I don't know the right answers in Syria. I don't pretend to be a military family with a serious perspective on the consequences of upcoming decisions or a national security advisory with knowledge of the region.
What does seem apparent, though, is that tough decisions like this one will be faced by a collection of elected leaders who have no problem recognizing immorality, but a big problem with taking responsibility for it.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
August Review
I've committed each month this year to reporting out my progress on 3 specific year long goals that I've set for myself. Below is my progress for the month.
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I read two plays this month - Death of a Salesman and The Importance of Being Earnest. This continues to be the easiest of the goals to chase. I'm at 18 for the year.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
This wasn't a great month, but I plugged away and made some progress. Five for August puts my total at 52 for the year. My favorite for the month is probably And the Fear Came Tumbling Down, primarily because I got to mix in some Calvin and Hobbes with my writing. I can't afford any more slow months, though - I need at least six every month the rest of the way to finish this one out.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
I wrote two more, which puts me at 14. This is really the only goal I'm worried about. I need 3 a month the rest of the way, which is definitely doable. However, this continues to be the one I put off the most. It's ironic - this is the one I feel like is the most important for me to complete as well.
Other stats from the family:
August has also seen major milestones for my oldest daughter - her first lost teeth, her first unassisted bike ride, and her first day of kindergarten. Fatherhood continues to be a blur. . .
Quotes to note from the month:
Goal 1: Read 25 books.
I read two plays this month - Death of a Salesman and The Importance of Being Earnest. This continues to be the easiest of the goals to chase. I'm at 18 for the year.
Goal 2: Write 75 blog posts.
This wasn't a great month, but I plugged away and made some progress. Five for August puts my total at 52 for the year. My favorite for the month is probably And the Fear Came Tumbling Down, primarily because I got to mix in some Calvin and Hobbes with my writing. I can't afford any more slow months, though - I need at least six every month the rest of the way to finish this one out.
Goal 3: Write 25 letters.
I wrote two more, which puts me at 14. This is really the only goal I'm worried about. I need 3 a month the rest of the way, which is definitely doable. However, this continues to be the one I put off the most. It's ironic - this is the one I feel like is the most important for me to complete as well.
Other stats from the family:
August has also seen major milestones for my oldest daughter - her first lost teeth, her first unassisted bike ride, and her first day of kindergarten. Fatherhood continues to be a blur. . .
Quotes to note from the month:
- "The less we read the Word of God, the less we desire to read it, and the less we pray, the les we desire to pray." - George Muller
- "The excellence of the church does not consist in multitude but in purity." - John Calvin
- "If God had granted all the silly prayers I've made in my life, where would I be now?" - C.S. Lewis
- In principle we should be spending most of our time on our highest priorities. In practice, many of us spend our time doing whatever happens to be in front of us. - Jemar Tisby
- "Mad is a human emotion, but I don't find that if you act while you are mad, you are at your best. So get mad if you have to, then get over it." - Colin Powell
Good Articles:
- Offering HELP in times of suffering: I thought this was really good for advice for the situation we all face but never want to.
- 8 Email Mistakes You Make
- My Six Word War
2013 marches on. May our priorities guide us.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Guacamole is Good; My Neighbor Might Be Too
Guacamole surprised me.
When I was in New York a couple of years ago doing a training programme for church planters, one phrase in particular stuck with me. We were told that a good church planter/leader was an ‘agile learner’. In other words, somebody who had not shut up shop but was still reading, observing, listening and processing almost all of the time. They had not shut themselves down to people outside of their tribe or to people with new and different ideas. What I have learned is that a good leader does not shut down if the person opposite him is not from his tribe, is slightly irritating and may not even be sound (as I define it).
Really, I had no idea. "Just try it," badgered one of my friends. "I made it. It's good." But, my mind stammered, it's green. It's weird. It's gross. The stereotypes I had let cloud my judgment for so many years attacked my fading will. Those old biases failed me in a moment of weakness, and I recklessly dunked the chip into the dip. The world has never been the same.
Guacamole is good. Really good. It's not alone. I've got a big fat list of food I refused for years, content to live by assumptions that controlled my thinking and actions, that over the past 12 months or so I've come to love. Bruschetta. Chinese. Spinach and artichoke. Asparagus. Caramelized onions on a burger. The big heaping pile of squash and zucchini cooked on the grill tonight. I'm really looking forward to Thai on some wild future evening. I'm a new man.
I don't know if my palate changed or not, but I do know my willingness to expose myself to that which I believed I hated has increased exponentially. I'm eager to try food now, looking for whatever goodness I can find. I battle hesitation, instead saying yes before I've had time to waver. What's the worst that could happen? My worst assumptions confirmed? Then I've lost nothing.
Do my recent culinary habits amount to anything worthwhile? Not really. They just got me thinking about people and what we assume about them. For myself, as I'm sure is the case for many of you, there's a somewhat lengthy list of people that I don't care much to listen to because of what I believe about them. They're conceited. They speak before they think. They just want to complain. They just don't get it. They're only thinking about themselves anyway. I might as well be accusing them of being a foreign vegetable.
Sometimes you and I just need to try people out and see what they have to offer. It may be nothing. It may be awful. And if so? Am I really out that much?
Mez McConnell wrote this recently:
Say yes once in awhile when you want to hesitate. When your gut tells you no. Say yes to a conversation, to an adventure, to a condiment. It may not work out. In fact, it probably won't. But you just might discover something you've been missing for a long time.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Assaults on My Time
I had a different vision for this week.
It hasn't been a bad week; it's just not necessarily what I was hoping for. It's my last few days before I report back for regular classroom duty, and I had plans for myself. They weren't big plans, nor necessarily selfish plans, but they were my plans for my time.
The plans were essentially all for naught. My time was slowly and methodically taken from me, stolen by minor inconveniences, unexpected obstacles, puking children, and the like. Nothing major. No great tragedies. It's as simple as how I expected and hoped to spend my time becoming changed. Or more bluntly, me not getting my way and being on the verge of silly tantrum.
This is further proof that I have paid lip-service but not life-service to the truth that my life and my time are not my own. I find it much easier to see my money as God's money than I do to see my time as God's time. I've got things to do - worthy things, scholarly things, fatherly things, like reading and writing and taking care of my house.
Regardless of how worthy my endeavors are, life is in the obstacles and interruptions. The interruptions are allowed by God, for God's glory. Help changing my character in reaction to these is, more than anything else, what I need and ask for most when speaking of my "daily bread." While the interruptions and interactions that I don't see coming may prove inconsequential to me, they are certainly not inconsequential in terms of eternity. They are an opportunity for me either to contribute to God's will or to stand in stark opposition as I grip my own.
There were mornings this summer when I was interrupted. After my wife got out of bed to go to work, I wanted only one of two things: to fall effortlessly fall back into a dream-filled sleep, or go steal some reading time in my recliner. The only obstacle to this comfortable scenario was my youngest daughter Leah. Some mornings she didn't want to sleep. I'd hear her coming down the stairs, and my soul swelled with anger. Go back to sleep! Don't you know my plans? You're interrupting me! You're going to be tired later. More importantly, you're interrupting me!! I would then furrow my brow, grumble curses into my pillow, and handle the obstacle.
After about the 3rd time that this happened, though, I wised up. All she wanted to do in the mornings when she was awake early was cuddle up into a chair and read with me. Book after book after book, my little 3-year old snuggled into my lap and said, "Another one?" The interruption to my selfish desires turned out to be far better, for both her and me, than any of my plans.
Some day, far down the road, I'll be sitting in that chair, book in hand, doing exactly what I have planned, hoping for the interruption of tiny footsteps coming down the stairs to jump into my lap. Until that day, I'll keep working harder to open my mind and my heart to the great possibilities in life's interruptions.
It hasn't been a bad week; it's just not necessarily what I was hoping for. It's my last few days before I report back for regular classroom duty, and I had plans for myself. They weren't big plans, nor necessarily selfish plans, but they were my plans for my time.
The plans were essentially all for naught. My time was slowly and methodically taken from me, stolen by minor inconveniences, unexpected obstacles, puking children, and the like. Nothing major. No great tragedies. It's as simple as how I expected and hoped to spend my time becoming changed. Or more bluntly, me not getting my way and being on the verge of silly tantrum.
This is further proof that I have paid lip-service but not life-service to the truth that my life and my time are not my own. I find it much easier to see my money as God's money than I do to see my time as God's time. I've got things to do - worthy things, scholarly things, fatherly things, like reading and writing and taking care of my house.
Regardless of how worthy my endeavors are, life is in the obstacles and interruptions. The interruptions are allowed by God, for God's glory. Help changing my character in reaction to these is, more than anything else, what I need and ask for most when speaking of my "daily bread." While the interruptions and interactions that I don't see coming may prove inconsequential to me, they are certainly not inconsequential in terms of eternity. They are an opportunity for me either to contribute to God's will or to stand in stark opposition as I grip my own.
There were mornings this summer when I was interrupted. After my wife got out of bed to go to work, I wanted only one of two things: to fall effortlessly fall back into a dream-filled sleep, or go steal some reading time in my recliner. The only obstacle to this comfortable scenario was my youngest daughter Leah. Some mornings she didn't want to sleep. I'd hear her coming down the stairs, and my soul swelled with anger. Go back to sleep! Don't you know my plans? You're interrupting me! You're going to be tired later. More importantly, you're interrupting me!! I would then furrow my brow, grumble curses into my pillow, and handle the obstacle.
After about the 3rd time that this happened, though, I wised up. All she wanted to do in the mornings when she was awake early was cuddle up into a chair and read with me. Book after book after book, my little 3-year old snuggled into my lap and said, "Another one?" The interruption to my selfish desires turned out to be far better, for both her and me, than any of my plans.
Some day, far down the road, I'll be sitting in that chair, book in hand, doing exactly what I have planned, hoping for the interruption of tiny footsteps coming down the stairs to jump into my lap. Until that day, I'll keep working harder to open my mind and my heart to the great possibilities in life's interruptions.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
And the Fear Came Tumbling Down
I snapped. I was done talking. I just marched down the sidewalk, my daughter's bike in hand, silent.
"Dad?"
No answer.
"What are you going to do with the bike?" Voice cracking, frustration fueled-tears welling, my daughter wanted to know what was going on.
"Carrying it home. We're done."
During the summer I have been trying to teach Elise to ride her bike without training wheels. She was excited at first, and we worked hard at it. I thought the process was going well, despite my lack of experience in the art of teaching 5 year old girls anything, let alone how to ride a bike. There were no major falls. She was slowly getting better. I occasionally took my hand off the bike, which she allowed, and she was close to getting it. Sometime, though, unbeknownst to me, this happened:
"Dad?"
No answer.
"What are you going to do with the bike?" Voice cracking, frustration fueled-tears welling, my daughter wanted to know what was going on.
"Carrying it home. We're done."
During the summer I have been trying to teach Elise to ride her bike without training wheels. She was excited at first, and we worked hard at it. I thought the process was going well, despite my lack of experience in the art of teaching 5 year old girls anything, let alone how to ride a bike. There were no major falls. She was slowly getting better. I occasionally took my hand off the bike, which she allowed, and she was close to getting it. Sometime, though, unbeknownst to me, this happened:
All of a sudden, we couldn't go 5 feet without her shaking in terror. Even with my hand on the bike, she wailed of possible injuries. She flinched and flailed about to avoid non-existent traffic in our bustling metropolis of 1500 citizens. Clearly, this was an irrational fear. I inquired about what was going on:
It didn't help. Regardless of all attempts at reason I made, I couldn't dent her fear. "I'm right here," I told her. "I won't let go." Sobs. "I'm your father. It's my job to protect you. I won't let anything bad happen." No change. "All I'm asking is that you try. You did it a few days ago. I've never let you fall. You can do this, and I'm here. You don't have to be perfect, you just have to try." Nothing.
I offered suggestions:
When that failed as well, when it was clear nothing that I could say would change anything, it was time to pick up the bike, quit talking, and go home. I couldn't understand it. I had kept her safe. I had been patient. I had almost 6 years of a track record of safe-keeping and somewhat reliable guidance, and what I had to offer was freedom, fun, and a world full of new opportunities. All she had to do was get over her fear.
Tonight the fear wall came tumbling down. I don't know how. She didn't ask to go ride; I told her we were going to. Nothing was different about this "training session." She just decided to ride. Five or ten minutes into it, I was sprinting beside her, trying to keep up, all while she was screaming, "This is whoo-hoo fast! This is awesome!" All neighborhood passers-by praised her, and she beamed on trip after trip after trip down 1st Street, onto Boulder Avenue, past the park and then back again. It was an evening I won't forget. I don't think she will either.
While I'm not sure exactly what it is, I know there is something God is trying to get me to do that I'm just too scared to. I'm guessing the same is true for you as well. Despite the offer of freedom, of joy, of accomplishment, and of unlimited opportunities, we avoid. Despite a history of proving faithful, of being The Rock and a Firm Foundation and of providing wisdom that carries the day time and time again, we just can't get past the irrational fear holding us back.
It might be something big like a career change, a move, or even leaving a comfortable but unhealthy relationship. But chances are what we're afraid of is something much smaller. We're afraid to give up a sin we relish. Or to swallow our pride with our spouse. Or end a grudge. Or to simply make a phone call to someone important to us, or who used to be important, or who should be important.
Irrational fear paralyzes. But my daughter will tell you, once you get on that bike and ride, you'll wonder why it took so long in the first place.
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