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:

• "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.

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.

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.

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.

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.