Why I'm Glad Mom Didn't Like Rap Music

Tonight while reading my 4-year old's Bible story book to her before bed, one of the narratives was about the verse that demands that parents "train up a child in the way he should go." The book's authors quite wisely encouraged the young readers to watch their parents in order to learn from them. The book asked, "When you watch your parents, what do you learn?" I rolled the dice and decided to make Elise answer the question: "What do you learn from watching Dad?" Her answers were somewhat predictable - she said she learns how to mow the lawn, brush the dog, and do grad work. I hope the list is longer by the time she's 18, but it'll do for now. (She left out spitting for distance, so I know we've got to better establish that goal this summer.)

I wrote a post about this a couple of months back, suggesting that the biggest challenge for me and other parents is to avoid the trap of giving up our lives for our kids in an act of false sacrifice. Instead, we should live well, as an example of what we want for them. Actions speak louder than words.

As I've thought about this, especially this month, I've tried to think about what habits or mannerisms I've taken from my parents. They did raise up a child in the way he should go: they demanded my best educationally, spiritually, and morally. I owe much of who I am and what I know to their instruction. But that is the obvious answer. I wondered what little behaviors I took up, somewhat unconsciously. One from my mother stands out.

Almost every Sunday morning in my youth, in the kitchen my mother quietly played hymns on the radio. I didn't think much about them; they were just there. I remember hoping I never got to the point in my life in which the best musical option would be church hymns. While I certainly wasn't sitting there waiting for Mom to be rapping out to Sir Mix a Lot (though I would have cheered that), I thought at the very least those old Eagles albums she had would be more stimulating than hundred year old organ music.

I watched, I judged, I grew older, and now. . . I've picked up the habit. On Sunday morning before church, my laptop plays a collection of hymns, and I try to keep it in a central location not only for my own enjoyment, but for my girls as well. I recognize now the value of those old hymns to my life; and I realize that in the modern church, if the girls don't hear them at home, they just might not hear them. I want them to be familiar with them so that when they forget them for ten years and stumble back upon them, they, like me will smile and remember and appreciate the poetry of those verses.

I doubt our Sunday morning ritual would exist if I hadn't watched my mother do that for so many years. I certainly didn't think then that it would have any impact on me; and when I started doing it, I didn't even remember that Mom used to. I don't know if she was trying to set an example or not; frankly, it doesn't matter. I, like all children, was watching. While most of us dreaded becoming our parents some day, in my case it's a pretty good way to go.

**Readers - if so moved, post on the comment section unique habits you picked up from your mother. I'd love to see what's been "passed down" to many of you.

Why I Avoid (and When I Shouldn't)

Last week was one of tragedy in my world, though I won't be more specific than that in an effort to not appear as if I'm sensationalizing events for my own writing benefits. (Disclaimer: What happened affected many people in many ways, and I am writing only about my experience. I write this to reflect and process my experience, not to indicate how anyone can or should feel/act/react.)

I'm an avoider. Ultimately I think I'm scared of emotional pain, so I avoid it as much as possible. I attempt to focus on those areas of my life that I feel I have control over, although my belief in a God sovereign over all means little actually falls into this category. Emotional pain is not something that can be controlled - it's a response to events outside one's control. Because I fear that, I avoid it.

I avoid by staying busy. Hard work (or at least busy work) produces predictable results. I might get tired and stressed, but those are predictable responses. I don't fear them because I know them. Aimless television, while not offering terrific rewards, also provides predictable distraction. When I fill my time with the predictable, I don't have to fear the pain of unexpected emotion.

Some avoiding is good and natural. Sometimes the only way to keep going is to make yourself so busy that you don't have time to feel. A recent book I read for grad school, Nation by Terry Pratchett, has some great language describing this. In it a young man realizes he has come upon the destruction of his entire home community, including his parents and everyone he knows. He is alone, at great loss, and in need of survival. Two passages in particular stand out to me:

• The dreaming Mau let his body do the thinking: You lift like this, you pull like this. You cut the papervine like that, and you don’t scream, because you are a hand and a body and a knife, and they don’t even shed a tear. You are inside a thick gray skin that can feel nothing.
• Or maybe I have no soul at all, maybe the darkness inside is my dead soul. . . he sat with his arms around himself, waiting for the trembling to stop. He had to fill his mind with everyday things - that was it. That would keep him safe.

I fell into this rhythm last week in order to escape. My safest moments were when I was alone typing a research paper. Alone doing nothing meant time to think. With other people meant time to mourn. So I tried to stay busy, stay distracted, and not deal with the pain.

Whether this is healthy or good, I don't know; and it really doesn't matter. It's how I successfully still do my job as father and teacher, and it's probably not going to change. However, what I've realized is that the results of getting busy and doing the predictable isn't limited only to times of tragedy. This same escape of uncontrolled emotion occurs whether one is in difficult times or not.

What I'm trying to say is that I realize I've probably missed many good emotions, which are just as unpredictable and uncontrollable, when I've had my head buried in day-to-day work. This is safer, for sure. But it's not a live of adventure. It's not a life of joy. And really, it's not a life of love.


Anyone else out there, like me, avoiding? In good times and in bad? Be careful how you spend those hours - missing the pain on purpose might also mean missing the good stuff.

Words from Satanic Verses

Just finished reading Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses, one of the most controversial novels to come out in the last 20 or so years. Rushdie has a death sentence on him from Islamic leaders and he's been banished from India because of it. Having read it, I'd say it's worth the controversy - he definitely has no problem throwing Mohammed under the bus. Ultimately, it's an interesting read if you've got some time and don't mind 4 separate plots and a schizophrenic main character who's dreams may or may not be dreams.


Either way, Rushdie certainly is a talented wordsmith who composes several memorable lines in this piece. I intend to share my thoughts regarding some of them in the next few posts. For this one, however, I'll just pull a few lines about human nature and let them speak for themselves:

• "The effect of all this box-watching was to put a severe dent in what remained of his idea of the normal, average quality of the real. . ."
• "The universe was a place of wonders, and only habituation, the anaesthesia of the everyday, dulled our sight."
• ‘Anybody ever tries to tell you how this most beautiful and most evil of planets is somehow homogeneous, composed only of reconcilable elements, that it all adds up, you get on the phone to the straitjacket tailor,’ he advised her, managing to give the impression of having visited more planets than one before coming to his conclusions. ‘The world is incompatible, just never forget it; gage. Ghosts, Nazis, saints, all alive at the same time; in one spot, blissful happiness, while down the road, the inferno. You can’t ask for a wilder place.’
• O, the dissociations of which the human mind is capable, marvelled Saladin gloomily. O, the conflicting selves jostling and joggling within these bags of skin. No wonder we are unable to remain focused on anything for very long; no wonder we invent remote-control channel-hopping devices. If we turned these instruments upon ourselves we’d discover more channels than a cable or satellite mogul ever dreamed of. . .

Let me know what you think. . .

Why Atticus Finch and the Apostle Paul Would Get Along

In To Kill a Mockingbird, the author Harper Lee goes to great lengths to display the hero of the book, Atticus Finch, as uncommon. He doesn't do what other fathers do, he isn't like typical community members, and he doesn't even really fit in his family. Yet in every place, he's accepted and respected. He's found a way to be "uncommon" by rejecting immorality, racism, and struggles for power while still being part of the community and his family. This theme comes through further in that Atticus offers several pieces of advice to his children, demanding that they also be uncommon: Don't hold a grudge; fight with your head, not with your fists; fight a worthy battle, even if you know you'll lose; forgive your friends when they wrong you. He, and they, almost lose everything by the end of the text; and even though they don't, they never really win anything for their efforts either. The book ends with them simply going on about their business of quietly leading uncommon lives.

This theme of being "uncommon" is exactly what Paul is writing about in his letter to the Ephesians. I find this to be especially true in Ephesians 4 & 5, as Paul tells them "that you should no longer walk as the rest of the Gentiles walk" (4:17). One of the biggest areas of life he discusses in this section is that of speech.

In order to be uncommon in speech, though much happier/healthier/better than the "common" folk, Paul offers this advice:

• put away lying (4:25)
• be angry AND do not sin (4:26)
• speak only what is good and that which will impart grace on the hearers (4:29)
• replace bitterness, wrath, anger, slander, and malice (the roots of common speech) with tender-heartedness and the giving of thanks (4:31-2, 5:4)
• speak only what is fitting for saints, or in other words, for those who are also uncommon (5:3)
• speak to one another in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (5:19)

While I know my audience on this blog is mixed, I think that all of these pieces of advice are relevant for non-Christians and Christians except for the last one. (I don't expect my atheist brethren to break into stirring rounds of "Amazing Grace" over coffee tomorrow morning.) These are worthwhile endeavors, ones that will improve one's attitude, outlook, and relationships. In short, it will allow you to be happier than the common people: those complaining and competing in most conversations they hold.

This isn't a call to only speak of puppies and rainbows and hugs. That's not real; and unfortunately, fake is much more common than genuine. No, to impart grace on hearers sometimes means telling them something they don't want to hear. To refrain from lying leads to some uncomfortable moments. It doesn't mean ignoring your anger; instead, it means only saying helpful words in that anger. Paul doesn't ask us to be perfect; he instead suggests to become like those (the saints) with whom we most like being in conversations.

I am as common as ever right now in my speech. Distance from God = distance from perspective = constant perception of getting screwed over = lots and lots of not helpful talk. I can't change this overnight; only habit can return my soul to a heavenly-minded state. I can, however, just shut up until I get there. That might be most uncommon of all.

The Detail Work

After a month-long absence from the blog, I return. What have I been up to? A week-long cruise to celebrate 10 years with my wife. A mountain of British Lit (see my Reading list on the right, if you're really interested). My first Kindle experience. Some really weird dreams. Lots of Doritos and Easter candy. What's most obvious, though, is a lack of writing. I've said before that when the pen (or keypad) is dead, the soul is dead too. Well, that pretty much says it all. Soul-less, I limp along to June 29, my last day of grad school.

While at an Easter celebration recently, one of my uncles asked me about school. I lamented that we're reading a ton right now and not really discussing any of it, not digging in and getting to the core of these texts. He exhibited great disdain for this as well, joining me in a diatribe about the futility about doing too much without paying careful attention to any of it. He said that he may not know a whole lot about a graduate school education; but as a concrete worker, he knew that without the detail work, nothing much came of what he did. He said they pour a ton of concrete, but if they forget the details, it's basically all for nothing.

I loved the analogy; and a couple days later, I furthered the comparison. Too much of anything without attention to the core details is, as I said, all for nothing. This is especially true about life. I've got a lot going on. We all do. Everyone is trying to accomplish a lot, whether it's diplomas, dollars, or dinners. But is there so much going on that we forget the detail work? Guilt-ridden, am I trying to cram more minutes in with my children without actually saying anything to them? Am I taking care of my house but not my heart? Am I helping my wife but not our relationship?

The little details matter. Ask your co-workers and friends how their weekend was, and make the answer important. Pray. A lot. Drink coffee slowly. Send notes. And cards. Or at the very least, send a Facebook greeting (thanks to those of you who remembered my birthday).

I offer this advice, but none better than the cautionary tale I'm living right now of life a mile wide and an inch deep. I can't take care of all the details. At then end of this journey I'll be able to say I covered a lot, but where will my soul be? How will I come out of a life half-lived, going too fast, going nowhere? What condition will I be in? Or my relationships?

Too close to the end to quit, I trudge along, trying to be as good as I can to the commitments I've made. Be patient with me. The concrete hasn't settled yet.

Living for the Children

I remember when the first of our group of friends had a baby. It was a wonderful and glorious and celebrated occasion; however, when I spoke to my friend a couple of months after the birth, his message was simple: "my life is over." It was difficult to understand this sentiment at the time, but then I had one of my own, and I remember thinking the exact same thing. Lest I be misunderstood here, let me clarify that both he and I loved (and love) our children. Neither of us were wishing it to be undone. What became abundantly clear, though, is that the life we had been living was indeed no more. No more making plans at the last minute. No more coming home from work with unlimited free time. Consistent sleep? Gone. The overwhelming message that the experience of parenthood taught us is that we were no longer the center of the universe, responsible only for ourselves and our spouses.

Of course it must be this way. This is a worthy and fulfilling change. However, I think it's a change that must be tempered a bit. We must strike a responsible balance in this change.

The temptation for me now (and I think for many parents) is to pour all our energies into our children. That sounds sacrificial, courageous, and even heroic, real parent-of-the-year material; but after thinking about this, I don't think that it's a terrific path. Yes, we are called to "build up a child in the way they should go," but I think we've got to be careful in the strategy.

Rather than giving up my life in order to live through my children, I should list what kind of a life I want for them, and be that. My kids don't need me to quit living and advise them; they need me to be a role model. Words are decent teachers; actions are much better ones.

What do I want for my daughters? A devoted marriage with a strong husband? Then I should be the ultimate husband in my home. A devoted prayer life and passion for God? Then I better have that for myself as well. Healthy living? Strong relationships? Fiscal responsibility? Constant personal improvement? Do my actions say those are important? Am I displaying those in my life?

I already see it in my girls. For better or worse, I've devoted a lot of the past 3 years to grad school. Elise, who is 4, will now disappear for about 20-30 minutes and report back that she's been working on her grad work. I've never told her education is important - my actions have communicated to her priorities. No matter how often I tell my girls that flatulence at the dinner table is a bad idea, my actions speak louder than my words (in more ways than one, unfortunately). They are watching - words mean little.

Were my friend and I right about life being over? Absolutely - our old lives are over. We carry a greater burden, a responsibility to more people now. But a new life is required. Now I've got to pursue all the things I want for my girls and act on those goals/dreams, not just talk about them. It's time to get busy living. . .

Purchasing Your Heart's Destination

"For where your treasure is, there your heart will also be."

This teaching from Jesus appears twice in the Gospels, once in Matthew and once in Luke. I think it's common enough that even most non-Bible readers have heard it, and it's a maxim on which I thought I had a pretty good grasp. One's checkbook reveals one's priorities: whatever I put my money towards reveals what I care about. It's pretty simple. A recent sermon I listened to from John Piper has opened up my thinking a bit further on this, though.

Piper used the word "follow" in talking about this text - wherever your treasure is, your heart will follow. It may or may not be with what you spend your money on; however, it soon will be after spending that money. I see examples of this throughout my life. Every time I spend money on a vehicle, I spend time and energy caring for it and worrying about it. When I started putting money into my lawn for fertilizer, weed killer, etc., I went from someone ambivalent at best about my yard to a lawn nazi. I never really cared much for the fluctuations in the stock market until I started contributing regularly towards a retirement account; now I follow those fluctuations, reading articles and listening to advice and trying to time investments properly. Whatever in my life I've decided is worthy of throwing money at, whether I felt strongly about it initially or not, my heart followed quickly and it became a priority.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. It just is. It has actually been quite good for me as well. I didn't care much about the plight of those in poverty in Central America until Emily and I started sponsoring Compassion children in the region. Now my heart is there. Turkey was just another country that my geographically-impaired mind couldn't find on a map until a friend from church became a missionary there, and we financially supported him and his family. Emily and I went to a fundraiser last night for her workplace, North Iowa Vocational Center, which provides job training for people with disabilities. I'm sure that those who generously donated last night also gave a piece of their attention, if not their heart, to the organization's success and that of the clients that they serve.

The lesson here, for me and for you, is clear. Be careful where you spend your money - you are designating the future destination of your heart. And if you don't like where your heart is now, put your treasure towards where you would like it to be in the future.