The basketball season has begun. Every season has it's own personality, it's own existence, so to speak. This one feels different all together, as it feels very much like I'm on borrowed time.
When last season ended, I believed that I was done as a basketball coach. For reasons that I don't need to get specific about, I was ready to walk away from an activity that I loved. The cost had become too great, the reward too little. I wasn't ready to be done coaching, but I had made my peace with it. I ended the season, gave myself a month to think about it, then told my wife that unless something drastic changed, I was going to walk away.
Something drastic did change, so here I am, starting another season. I'm excited. I'm passionate. And after one week of practice, I'm having more fun that I've had in years. I also understand that my personal approach to this season must be fundamentally different than it ever has before.
For the 1st eight years of my coaching career, I put everything on hold until the season ended. Mostly, I gave myself an excuse to get myself out of physical, mental, and spiritual shape. I told myself that I would work out once the season ended and I had more time and energy. I would read books or catch up on homework once March came around. And I would swear to remember who God was and how I fit into an eternal worldview when I could just get basketball out of the way.
In the back of my mind, I can believe that part of the reason the mess at Nora Springs occurred which took me away from head coaching for a time was because I was holding so tightly to the job. I would say that I could lose all yet have Christ and all would be fine; however, I couldn't imagine my life without leading a basketball program every winter. My identity was wrapped up in being the head coach at Sutherland or at NS-RF. Without that, I felt like less. And I felt like if I lost that, I would have less in life. Unfortunately, I had a much tighter grip on this identity than I did on my own spiritual well-being.
Then I wasn't a head coach any more. That was a major blow to my identity for a while, but I adjusted. I was fine. The world didn't stop, nor did my life. I continued to coach; but as I indicated above, the cost of coaching became greater, the reward smaller. Last spring I thought I had finally learned my lesson - I learned to hold loosely to that part of my identity and realized that I could walk away.
Then the situation changed in a quite favorable way - a way that would allow me to use my skills and passions more effectively and work closely with people I enjoy a great deal. The reward was great again. So I'm back.
I feel like God is telling me, "Dykstra, you can do this. Go ahead if you want. You learned your lesson. But if you worship this again, it's your loss. It's your wasted winter. It's your loss of the exponential joy of focusing on Me for the cheap substitute of a much lesser joy. Go do this, but understand that your joy hangs in the balance."
Whether or not those are God's exact words, they are true. My joy does hang in the balance. I can have it all this winter - feeding my God-given passion for coaching basketball and experiencing exponential, eternally-driven joy in the process. But that can only occur if I see God while coaching, if I seek to bring Him glory and improve His reputation and build up the people I have influence over. Basically, I must stay in spiritual shape this winter in order to have it all. I can do this thing I am passionate about, but only if this passion springs from my passion for a God-centered life.
I want to do this job for many, many years to come. For that to be worth it (for my family, for myself, and for the players and coaches I'm around), this winter must be different.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Those with whom I disagree
A recent editorial in the Des Moines Register prompted an essay assignment in my Composition class. It may involve one of the most important skills I can teach my students.
The editorial was bemoaning the current state of the nation and the fact that we have we have become a collection of homogenous communities. More and more, Americans tend to socialize, live, and talk with like-minded people with similar backgrounds, experiences, and even appearances. Unfortunately, the editorial even pointed out that a church growth strategy taught in some seminaries is based on attracting a certain "kind of people" in the church. The writer also wrote that studies have shown that the longer individuals are around others with whom they agree, the more radical they become in their views. Most Americans ignore "other" kinds of people with whom they disagree. It's just easier. And it's convenient when seeking to demonize individuals if you don't know them personally.
I had noticed in my Composition course sections, as we discussed controversial current events, that students struggled to disagree with their peers without getting personal, offensive, and incapable of reasonable dialogue. I don't write this to belittle my students; I notice many of the same behaviors in adults, even though I quit watching Fox News and MSNBC past 7 pm several years ago.
The assignment I created asked students to take a position on 21 controversial topics of varying degrees of severity. They then were charged with choosing three of those issues, finding at least two people per issue who disagree with them, and writing down why their "opponents" held those beliefs. Now they must write a persuasive essay using these arguments with which they disagree. If common sense and a desire to treat humanity with respect couldn't motivate them to listen respectfully to other students, perhaps their grade will.
I've watched these students over the past couple of days interview each other. It has forced them out of their comfort zone, especially in that they have had to speak with individuals who are not "like them" in terms of the unwritten social hierarchy of high school life. I don't think anyone's mind has been changed regarding specific issues, but that's a good thing. These kids should be strong in their beliefs. What they have done is have conversations, and most of them have learned that reasonable people can disagree. Honestly, it's been one of the most pleasant classroom environments I've been in for a long time.
Christians, I fear, don't do enough of this, especially interdenominationally. An old joke at our house growing up when we looked out at the cattle on our farm and saw half on one side of the pasture and half on the other is that one half were the Christian Reformed cattle, the other the First Reformed. Though there is usually respect amongst individuals from differing congregations and denominations in a "I guess we're in this battle with the world together," sort of way, rarely do the average members ask each other why differences in matters of doctrine exist. I fear one reason is because many simply don't know.
We also don't do enough of this with members of other faiths and with atheists. In fact, there's rarely much mutual respect at all. "They" are simply to be looked down upon, perhaps pitied, or more likely, condemned. This is, at best, a flawed path; at worst, it is a path that is losing souls.
Without rational dialogue, we lose the chance to influence others. We lose the chance to be Christ. We also lose the chance to better understand this world, a world we are charged to live effectively in, even if we are not to become "of" the world.
The number one commandment is to love God with all our heart, and the second is to love our neighbor as ourself. I don't think we'll ever really know the strength of our faith until we believe the term "neighbor" includes even those who don't look, think, and act like us.
The editorial was bemoaning the current state of the nation and the fact that we have we have become a collection of homogenous communities. More and more, Americans tend to socialize, live, and talk with like-minded people with similar backgrounds, experiences, and even appearances. Unfortunately, the editorial even pointed out that a church growth strategy taught in some seminaries is based on attracting a certain "kind of people" in the church. The writer also wrote that studies have shown that the longer individuals are around others with whom they agree, the more radical they become in their views. Most Americans ignore "other" kinds of people with whom they disagree. It's just easier. And it's convenient when seeking to demonize individuals if you don't know them personally.
I had noticed in my Composition course sections, as we discussed controversial current events, that students struggled to disagree with their peers without getting personal, offensive, and incapable of reasonable dialogue. I don't write this to belittle my students; I notice many of the same behaviors in adults, even though I quit watching Fox News and MSNBC past 7 pm several years ago.
The assignment I created asked students to take a position on 21 controversial topics of varying degrees of severity. They then were charged with choosing three of those issues, finding at least two people per issue who disagree with them, and writing down why their "opponents" held those beliefs. Now they must write a persuasive essay using these arguments with which they disagree. If common sense and a desire to treat humanity with respect couldn't motivate them to listen respectfully to other students, perhaps their grade will.
I've watched these students over the past couple of days interview each other. It has forced them out of their comfort zone, especially in that they have had to speak with individuals who are not "like them" in terms of the unwritten social hierarchy of high school life. I don't think anyone's mind has been changed regarding specific issues, but that's a good thing. These kids should be strong in their beliefs. What they have done is have conversations, and most of them have learned that reasonable people can disagree. Honestly, it's been one of the most pleasant classroom environments I've been in for a long time.
Christians, I fear, don't do enough of this, especially interdenominationally. An old joke at our house growing up when we looked out at the cattle on our farm and saw half on one side of the pasture and half on the other is that one half were the Christian Reformed cattle, the other the First Reformed. Though there is usually respect amongst individuals from differing congregations and denominations in a "I guess we're in this battle with the world together," sort of way, rarely do the average members ask each other why differences in matters of doctrine exist. I fear one reason is because many simply don't know.
We also don't do enough of this with members of other faiths and with atheists. In fact, there's rarely much mutual respect at all. "They" are simply to be looked down upon, perhaps pitied, or more likely, condemned. This is, at best, a flawed path; at worst, it is a path that is losing souls.
Without rational dialogue, we lose the chance to influence others. We lose the chance to be Christ. We also lose the chance to better understand this world, a world we are charged to live effectively in, even if we are not to become "of" the world.
The number one commandment is to love God with all our heart, and the second is to love our neighbor as ourself. I don't think we'll ever really know the strength of our faith until we believe the term "neighbor" includes even those who don't look, think, and act like us.
Monday, October 18, 2010
I Want to be Misunderstood
I think I might have a new goal. As if I needed anything else on my plate right now.
An old Sunday School song from my youth claims that "I've got the peace that passeth understanding down in my heart." It's origin is from Philippians 4:7, which offers "the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ." I've heard or sung that song a million times without ever really thinking about what those words mean. For whatever reason, this weekend I thought about it.
I currently have a peace that people can understand, which is to say that I am calm and at peace when my life situation is calm and at peace. I'm in complete control of my emotions and attitude, except when I've been wronged. People love to hear from others the comforting statement, "I can understand why you're upset," or "I've been there; I know how you feel." Then we get to feel justified for complaining about our jobs or worrying about our money or engaging in hateful speech. This peace is not beyond any understanding - it's completely reasonable to be peaceful when all about me is peaceful.
I want more. I want peace in the storm. I want a peace that no one can understand, that people can do nothing with but shake their head and try to figure out the source of my calm, cool, calculated behavior. I don't want to hold on to hate when my employer cheats me out of money, or hold on to frustration when I can't get 15 consecutive minutes in a Saturday morning without a child crying, or hold on to fear when I hear my six-month old has a rare disease that none of the local doctors have ever treated before. In all of these situations in the past month, I've had peace and reactions that everyone can understand and/or sympathize with. I want more.
I'm not saying that there's never a time to fight. There are plenty of causes worth fighting for. But one can fight with peace. A peaceful fighter, focused on the purpose of the fight instead of the knee-jerk reaction, is probably even a better, wiser fighter. And that fighter is someone that people will follow because they simply can't understand where such a peace comes from, and they follow just to get a taste of it.
This peace does not just happen. I know that I can't just decide that tomorrow I will exhibit this peace and magically it will appear. A peace that passeth understanding is a supernatural peace, a peace obtained from God. In Philippians Paul writes that it comes from two things:
- through prayer, with thanksgiving, make your requests know to God
- whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.
I've written before on this blog about defining success. After pondering this, I realize I want more. I want to surpass understanding. When that happens, perhaps more people (including myself) will see God in the daily grind.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
More School is not Better Education
Lately, President Obama and others have been in the news calling for a longer school year. The logic goes that kids lose knowledge over the summer; and if we just cut out that summer break, they would learn more, retain more, and compete more effectively with students from around the world.
I have a problem with this.
My first thought (unfortunately but obviously) was to reject this idea because as a teacher, I would lose my two months of freedom. It's one of the reasons I teach. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching; but I would love it a lot less if I suddenly lost the freedom to do whatever I pleased for two months every year. Selfish, yes; but we choose our careers based on what we think will make us happy, and this makes me happy.
The more I thought about it, though, the more offended I got about the idea for more than selfish reasons. If you think about it, the government is basically saying that they know better how to raise my children over the summer than I do. They want to require my children to spend even more time being influenced by curriculum they choose and less time being influenced by me.
That's pretty arrogant for the government to say. Will my daughters really have a much better life because they did a few more math problems over the summer? Because they read another novel, wrote another paper, did another lab project? Maybe they would, but I'd like to have that choice. I'd like to choose whether to have them do math or take a walk in the woods with me. I, their parent, want to decide if they should spend their time reading or working a job or playing basketball or throwing rocks in the river, just to see them splash. I should get to decide that.
I learned a lot in the summers of my youth. I learned a lot from shoveling manure in the July heat, from lifting weights and playing in basketball leagues, from mowing yards, from dating, and from walking in the shadows of my father and grandfather. I'm not sure what educational standard or objective those events fall under, but I do know my life would be vastly different without those experiences.
If the government is so worried about this learning gap in low-income kids who can't afford "educational" opportunities during the summer, then subsidize summer programs and make them affordable. Provide them as an option.
But to mandate more schooling, more government control over the childhood of my daughters, that's the same as saying that President Obama and Arne Duncan and a lot of other flawed, elected officials know what's best for my kid, and I don't.
This may not be a faith issue, but it certainly is a moral one. And my moral duty as a parent is to want more for my kids' youth than trigonometry and book reports.
I have a problem with this.
My first thought (unfortunately but obviously) was to reject this idea because as a teacher, I would lose my two months of freedom. It's one of the reasons I teach. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching; but I would love it a lot less if I suddenly lost the freedom to do whatever I pleased for two months every year. Selfish, yes; but we choose our careers based on what we think will make us happy, and this makes me happy.
The more I thought about it, though, the more offended I got about the idea for more than selfish reasons. If you think about it, the government is basically saying that they know better how to raise my children over the summer than I do. They want to require my children to spend even more time being influenced by curriculum they choose and less time being influenced by me.
That's pretty arrogant for the government to say. Will my daughters really have a much better life because they did a few more math problems over the summer? Because they read another novel, wrote another paper, did another lab project? Maybe they would, but I'd like to have that choice. I'd like to choose whether to have them do math or take a walk in the woods with me. I, their parent, want to decide if they should spend their time reading or working a job or playing basketball or throwing rocks in the river, just to see them splash. I should get to decide that.
I learned a lot in the summers of my youth. I learned a lot from shoveling manure in the July heat, from lifting weights and playing in basketball leagues, from mowing yards, from dating, and from walking in the shadows of my father and grandfather. I'm not sure what educational standard or objective those events fall under, but I do know my life would be vastly different without those experiences.
If the government is so worried about this learning gap in low-income kids who can't afford "educational" opportunities during the summer, then subsidize summer programs and make them affordable. Provide them as an option.
But to mandate more schooling, more government control over the childhood of my daughters, that's the same as saying that President Obama and Arne Duncan and a lot of other flawed, elected officials know what's best for my kid, and I don't.
This may not be a faith issue, but it certainly is a moral one. And my moral duty as a parent is to want more for my kids' youth than trigonometry and book reports.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Size Matters
I used a word the other night that I have no business using. In a discussion with my wife about some people who are important to us, I described their situation as "hopeless." The use of that one word alone was as big a sign as any of a disconnect with God.
How big is my faith? In this case my faith, or my picture of God, was quite small. To use the word "hopeless" is to imply that this problem is too big for God, that not even the Sovereign Being of the universe can change that circumstance. Oh ye of little faith. . .
The size of prayer matters, and I've decided that I must go big. I simply don't pray big enough, and that could be a sign of not believing big enough. Do I believe God is limited? Do I believe that God is only capable of actions that I can fathom, or that I can see myself or others accomplishing on their own? My use of the term "hopeless" would imply that to be true.
Last night I began to pray big. I prayed for many "hopeless" circumstances and relationships and souls. I prayed for them, and I believed God capable of them. God will choose whether or not to give me what I've asked. I'm not so naive that I see God as my own personal Santa Claus who will perform miracles for my individual comfort and entertainment. Realistically, I don't believe that all of the "big" things I've requested will happen in my lifetime. But that's has more to do with my lack of faith in my own limited knowledge of what's good, and less to do with the power I attribute to God.
If God is big, I don't have to worry about relying on my own shortcomings (or those of others). If God isn't, what am I doing worshipping him?
Actions reflect beliefs. Prayer is an action. And in this case, size says it all.
How big is my faith? In this case my faith, or my picture of God, was quite small. To use the word "hopeless" is to imply that this problem is too big for God, that not even the Sovereign Being of the universe can change that circumstance. Oh ye of little faith. . .
The size of prayer matters, and I've decided that I must go big. I simply don't pray big enough, and that could be a sign of not believing big enough. Do I believe God is limited? Do I believe that God is only capable of actions that I can fathom, or that I can see myself or others accomplishing on their own? My use of the term "hopeless" would imply that to be true.
Last night I began to pray big. I prayed for many "hopeless" circumstances and relationships and souls. I prayed for them, and I believed God capable of them. God will choose whether or not to give me what I've asked. I'm not so naive that I see God as my own personal Santa Claus who will perform miracles for my individual comfort and entertainment. Realistically, I don't believe that all of the "big" things I've requested will happen in my lifetime. But that's has more to do with my lack of faith in my own limited knowledge of what's good, and less to do with the power I attribute to God.
If God is big, I don't have to worry about relying on my own shortcomings (or those of others). If God isn't, what am I doing worshipping him?
Actions reflect beliefs. Prayer is an action. And in this case, size says it all.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
The Withdrawal Affects of Average
This is my first blog post in my new office, and it feels good to get writing again. This new basement office is the source of my recent blog writing hiatus, as most of my spare moments over the past months have been spent creating the office and moving in. All personal actions have been pushed to the side. The work is done, the Panther memorabilia is up, and I'm ready to feel right again.
The danger in writing a blog about my faith is that I unsparingly lay it out there for all to see. What's on my heart or mind is laid out on the page (or screen, in this case). When there's nothing on my heart or mind, there's nothing here on the blog. My month of inactivity displays to the world exactly what's been going on inside of me lately: no studying, no real deep-thinking, and realistically very little prayer. Basically, no God. I may not have had time to write, but I also had very little to write about. Though I performed my daily tasks of working and fathering, I accomplished little else. While God was certainly present in spirit, he certainly wasn't a priority in action.
I don't say that with a ton of guilt or self-loathing. It is what it is. I say it because it's true, and because I notice the difference.
I recently had a conversation with a friend about addiction and its affects on people when they remove the addictive device. When most people think about addiction, it carries a negative connotation of something that an individual wants to quit. In my case, though, I've realized that I'm addicted to something positive. That something is God.
I noticed the tie-in because by the end of last week, I completely recognized the "withdrawal" symptoms in me. The crankiness that would accompany a tobacco addict's attempt to quit made itself prevalent in me. When I was wronged, I complained to whoever would listen. I became irritable quickly. I held on to grudges and wrongs. I saw flaws instead of potential everywhere I looked. And I couldn't really focus on anything.
My mind ached for it's addiction. I was worse off without my "drug." Don't get me wrong - I could function. I could be effective at my job and my home life. I could even laugh. Life was average. But I wasn't the same. I wasn't as effective. And I certainly wasn't as happy. As if I needed another reminder, life is better with God.
As I was rifling through all I had collected over the past 10 years in my old office, I found some interesting items. I came across old notes, letters, and items of nostalgia from a range of relationships over the years. The past is important, and I had almost forgot what I was like "back then" and what some of the people important to me were like as well. Frankly, I was surprised to see the number of references to God, especially from individuals who now seem to have dropped God from their vocabulary and from their priority list. Like me recently, I think God is present, though not a priority for them now. Maybe I'm looking at this with rose-colored glasses and only seeing what I want to see, but it seems like these individuals I've mentioned here were so much happier with God. They seemed to walk through life with a much clearer purpose, with much more optimism, and with much more amibition. I still love these people as much or more than I did years ago. But I see this comparison between them then and them now, and I'm a little sad. And maybe I see myself then compared to my "wandering" self now, and I don't like that comparison so much either.
Elise and I went to church this morning, and though communion was interrupted prematurely for me due to her bladder, I walked away with a renewed sense of urgency to feed my addiction. I don't want average any longer.
The danger in writing a blog about my faith is that I unsparingly lay it out there for all to see. What's on my heart or mind is laid out on the page (or screen, in this case). When there's nothing on my heart or mind, there's nothing here on the blog. My month of inactivity displays to the world exactly what's been going on inside of me lately: no studying, no real deep-thinking, and realistically very little prayer. Basically, no God. I may not have had time to write, but I also had very little to write about. Though I performed my daily tasks of working and fathering, I accomplished little else. While God was certainly present in spirit, he certainly wasn't a priority in action.
I don't say that with a ton of guilt or self-loathing. It is what it is. I say it because it's true, and because I notice the difference.
I recently had a conversation with a friend about addiction and its affects on people when they remove the addictive device. When most people think about addiction, it carries a negative connotation of something that an individual wants to quit. In my case, though, I've realized that I'm addicted to something positive. That something is God.
I noticed the tie-in because by the end of last week, I completely recognized the "withdrawal" symptoms in me. The crankiness that would accompany a tobacco addict's attempt to quit made itself prevalent in me. When I was wronged, I complained to whoever would listen. I became irritable quickly. I held on to grudges and wrongs. I saw flaws instead of potential everywhere I looked. And I couldn't really focus on anything.
My mind ached for it's addiction. I was worse off without my "drug." Don't get me wrong - I could function. I could be effective at my job and my home life. I could even laugh. Life was average. But I wasn't the same. I wasn't as effective. And I certainly wasn't as happy. As if I needed another reminder, life is better with God.
As I was rifling through all I had collected over the past 10 years in my old office, I found some interesting items. I came across old notes, letters, and items of nostalgia from a range of relationships over the years. The past is important, and I had almost forgot what I was like "back then" and what some of the people important to me were like as well. Frankly, I was surprised to see the number of references to God, especially from individuals who now seem to have dropped God from their vocabulary and from their priority list. Like me recently, I think God is present, though not a priority for them now. Maybe I'm looking at this with rose-colored glasses and only seeing what I want to see, but it seems like these individuals I've mentioned here were so much happier with God. They seemed to walk through life with a much clearer purpose, with much more optimism, and with much more amibition. I still love these people as much or more than I did years ago. But I see this comparison between them then and them now, and I'm a little sad. And maybe I see myself then compared to my "wandering" self now, and I don't like that comparison so much either.
Elise and I went to church this morning, and though communion was interrupted prematurely for me due to her bladder, I walked away with a renewed sense of urgency to feed my addiction. I don't want average any longer.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Public Faith?
I read an opinion piece from Kathleen Parker of the Washington Post this weekend talking about the need for more unity in the nation as opposed to the constant polarizing messages doing battle (Ground Zero mosque, Glen Beck vs. Al Sharpton, immigration law, etc.). For the most part, I liked what she had to say. Her main point is that in the absence of leadership (and we are sorely lacking that from all groups currently), individuals should seek to retain the truly American ideas that create our national character.
Her list:
Be considerate
Tend your garden
Mind your own business
Lend a hand
Keep your clothes on and your hands to yourself
Honor your family and your country
Don't air your dirty laundry or vocabulary in public
Sounds good to me, if she had stopped there. But she added one more: "For God's sake, don't talk about religion." This, to me, would be a grave error.
First, I have learned more about my own faith and that of others from having reasonable discussions with people who disagree with me. Their faith (or lack thereof) is an important part of who they are, and to be ignorant of that is to be ignorant of their priorities. It's difficult to be a responsible citizen through ignorance.
Secondly, to be unwilling to talk about my religion would cheapen my faith. If my actions don't speak of my faith, my faith is small. If my faith is right, then everything I do must be saturated with the idea of glorifying God and enjoying him. If I don't believe my faith is right, I have no faith. To not talk about religion is to be lukewarm, non-commital, or even casual about it. I'm not casual about my love for all things UNI Panthers. I'm not casual about the Phillies. I'm not casual about my love affair with Nutty Bars and Kwik Star gas stations and Costa Rican coffee. I talk about these things. Nobody asks me not to, just because they may prefer Casey's or Starbucks. If I speak more about these, and my actions exhibit more about these trivialities, than I do about my faith, it is a weak faith indeed.
No, we must not be quiet about faith. We must have discussions and questions and hopefully even arguments. I read the other day that the real definition of love isn't making much of someone, but of giving them what they need. I believe the ones I love need God as much as I do. To not be ready to explain where my hope comes from is to avoid love out of the risk of feeling akward. I would expect them to share with me what they believe I need to hear. I must be ready to do the same.
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