While the immediate threat of blizzards and consecutive weeks of sub-zero temperatures seems to have subsided as we slip into the latter parts of April, I am still tormented by the memory of one especially frustrating episode.
We got a ton of snow this winter. I can handle that. A little here, a little there, it piles up, and all of a sudden we're at 40 inches for the year. It happens. We got a blizzard in March. Okay. Wet snow, ice, more snow, all packed together; so be it. A week or two of negative temperatures to follow? Why not. Spring is around the corner. Beaten down by a nagging string of frigid months, I gritted my teeth, put my head down, shoveled away the frustration, and resolved to take it in stride.
Then I got sent over the emotional top.
First I noticed just the tiniest hint of a water stain on my living room ceiling. It was at night, though, and I had been reading. I hoped it was just shadows on the ceiling, and my hope led me to refuse to investigate any more closely. My fears were realized in full the next day when I came home to find a steady, pulsating drip. An ice damn had formed on my roof, rerouting the snow melt through a leak, through my ceiling tiles, and onto my couch. A few PG-13 words and a bucket later, and the drip stopped. I thought that was the worst of it. Foolish, foolish man. The next day's return from work revealed a soaked wooden floor threatening to warp under the expanding pool and an ink blot patterned water stain on my ceiling tiles for my dog to study during the slow afternoon hours. The next Saturday morning found me on the roof, trusting my footing to ridges in the snow and ice pack, beating the hell out the ice with a hammer.
During this process, on a drive to school one morning, my daughter Elise randomly piped up from the back seat, "Dad, the leaky roof might be a good thing." It was all I could do not to park the car in the ditch, dive into the back seat, and shake some reason into her right then and there. This was during her "advice" period, during which she offered daily guidance on driving, regarding in particular route, speed, and volume of radio. Now she wanted to tell me to be positive about the roof?
Rather than anger, I chose to follow the rabbit down the hole to see where it led. "How's that, Elise?"
"Well, God often turns bad situations into good." Game-set-match: Elise.
She was right. And how was she right? How did she think to say this foundational theological truth in a time when I wanted instead to stew in my own frustration? She knows this because she's spent hours in our living room chair, on my lap or Emily's, reading Bible stories. She knows it because of all the Sunday school classes and AWANA meetings where her teachers volunteered their time to teach this and many other Biblical lessons to her. She knew just the right thing at just the right time from being around enough stories and people that at the minute she (or I) needed it, she had the truth.
If we want the truth near when we need it most, we need to keep people and stories of our faith near. Wherever you place your faith, whether it be in hard work, your family, God, or all three, immerse yourself in stories that remind you what it's all about and what you believe. And then tell those stories to a friend, or your spouse, or your kids, or your students, and they may just remember them when the roof is caving in.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Ineffable
I traffic in words.
I believe in their power to communicate, inspire, change, and share. As an English teacher, a lecturer, a writer, and a voracious reader, my days are dominated by the quest for picture perfect prose, whether it be mine or those I'm consuming. I know what it is to struggle for just the right adjective as the cursor blinks blinks blinks in impatient condemnation. I've felt the joy of stringing together a precise collection of syllables to vividly and poignantly connect my experience with whoever is on the other side of the screen. And mostly through Steinbeck and C.S. Lewis, I have been pierced by words in such a way that I felt someone was looking inside my soul and telling me what was there all along but I never had seen.
I say that, but this post isn't about the power of words. Instead, it's about their inadequacy in certain situations.
The word that communicates the weakness of words is ineffable.
Ineffable: (adj.) "too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words."
synonyms: indescribable, inexpressible, beyond words
When I hear this word, I think of my daughter Elise. She has been immersed in a loquacious household and saturated with the wit of Fancy Nancy, a children's book series devoted to a character, Nancy, who uses extensive (i.e. fancy) vocabulary to describe her experiences. Whatever Elise is, she is rarely at a loss for words.
Except when she is. Recently there have been times where she's replied to a question of mine with, "I know, but I don't know the words to describe it." She thinks it's because she doesn't know those words yet. I'm beginning to believe it's because the thoughts/emotions she's attempting to express are ineffable.
What could a 6-year old possibly find ineffable? Guilt and fear, mostly. "Elise, why did you try to make your sister feel bad?" I don't know the words to describe it. "What is it about this situation that scares you?" I'm not sure how to say it. I've found myself agreeing with her. I ask these questions, but what do I expect her to say? Who can put into words the pride and competition and evil inside of us all that causes us to act in demeaning ways to other members of humanity? What words would accurately describe the fears I carry around daily in a way that would make other people understand?
There are moments of intense joy for her that she doesn't necessarily have the words for either. She has to draw those rather than describe them, as she did with the "Smile as Big as My Face" picture. Or sometimes she has to express her excitement not in words, but in inexplicable clawing hand motions and weird gutteral sounds that make her look and sound like a foraging animal. Words cannot contain her enthusiasm. It is not bound, in moments like these, by the limits of logical behavior.
Some things in this world, maybe the best of things, are ineffable: how I felt on the walk with Emily the first night we met, Black Canyon in Colorado, Reese's peanut butter cups, the first spring day that it's warm enough to open the windows. I'm sure there are scientific descriptors that might measurably detail aspects of these; none of those descriptors begin to tell the story, though, in a way that will make it real to someone else.
As Elise has shown, the worst of things are ineffable as well: the hate we've all found inside us at one time or another. The pain of betrayal. The disorientation of feeling lost in life, living in a place and time where you perhaps do not belong or don't have a place and not having any idea the way out. Loneliness, or the need for solitude. Regret. We have words for these, but not adequate ones.
It's hard for a writer to admit: "I don't have the words." But maybe that truth highlights the need for writing, for metaphors, for poems and stories that attempt to provide a glimpse of an image that shows, just for a second, the truth that you can't wrap words around. We need good prose precisely because we must attempt to try to share in creative ways the experiences we want to communicate but can't.
What this writer wants to explain is that the ineffable is for me some of the greatest evidence for God. The fact that beauty and joy and comfort exist that we can't wrap coherent words around, that we can't seem to classify or compartmentalize, that were clearly made for us as a mere taste for what's in store for us, begs the question of what? Or perhaps Who? We did not create this joy or this beauty or this companionship; it was created for us. The unspeakable horrors communicate the same message to me. Problems so big, pain so great, hurt so complex that we find language and solutions inadequate means that the solution is bigger than us. We cannot solve the puzzles of a fallen world. The answer is elsewhere, and it is the great longing inside of us.
How then do we share the ineffable in our lives? We share by sharing the experience. Hold the hand of the person you love and gape in awe at the inexpressible. Hand a friend some peanut butter cups. Sit on your patio when spring stirs your soul, and do so with your friends, a grill, and several stories. Take someone to your favorite place and let the place speak for itself.
And what of the evil? Of the pain and loneliness and frustration and loss? How do we share that? We don't. We share the one Comfort, the one Solution, the one Constant in the midst of all of it, and we tell stories that help to describe all the ineffable qualities of this Savior. It's all we can do. In situations like these, as much as we wish otherwise, words just won't get the job done.
I believe in their power to communicate, inspire, change, and share. As an English teacher, a lecturer, a writer, and a voracious reader, my days are dominated by the quest for picture perfect prose, whether it be mine or those I'm consuming. I know what it is to struggle for just the right adjective as the cursor blinks blinks blinks in impatient condemnation. I've felt the joy of stringing together a precise collection of syllables to vividly and poignantly connect my experience with whoever is on the other side of the screen. And mostly through Steinbeck and C.S. Lewis, I have been pierced by words in such a way that I felt someone was looking inside my soul and telling me what was there all along but I never had seen.
I say that, but this post isn't about the power of words. Instead, it's about their inadequacy in certain situations.
The word that communicates the weakness of words is ineffable.
Ineffable: (adj.) "too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words."
synonyms: indescribable, inexpressible, beyond words
When I hear this word, I think of my daughter Elise. She has been immersed in a loquacious household and saturated with the wit of Fancy Nancy, a children's book series devoted to a character, Nancy, who uses extensive (i.e. fancy) vocabulary to describe her experiences. Whatever Elise is, she is rarely at a loss for words.
Except when she is. Recently there have been times where she's replied to a question of mine with, "I know, but I don't know the words to describe it." She thinks it's because she doesn't know those words yet. I'm beginning to believe it's because the thoughts/emotions she's attempting to express are ineffable.
What could a 6-year old possibly find ineffable? Guilt and fear, mostly. "Elise, why did you try to make your sister feel bad?" I don't know the words to describe it. "What is it about this situation that scares you?" I'm not sure how to say it. I've found myself agreeing with her. I ask these questions, but what do I expect her to say? Who can put into words the pride and competition and evil inside of us all that causes us to act in demeaning ways to other members of humanity? What words would accurately describe the fears I carry around daily in a way that would make other people understand?
There are moments of intense joy for her that she doesn't necessarily have the words for either. She has to draw those rather than describe them, as she did with the "Smile as Big as My Face" picture. Or sometimes she has to express her excitement not in words, but in inexplicable clawing hand motions and weird gutteral sounds that make her look and sound like a foraging animal. Words cannot contain her enthusiasm. It is not bound, in moments like these, by the limits of logical behavior.
Some things in this world, maybe the best of things, are ineffable: how I felt on the walk with Emily the first night we met, Black Canyon in Colorado, Reese's peanut butter cups, the first spring day that it's warm enough to open the windows. I'm sure there are scientific descriptors that might measurably detail aspects of these; none of those descriptors begin to tell the story, though, in a way that will make it real to someone else.
As Elise has shown, the worst of things are ineffable as well: the hate we've all found inside us at one time or another. The pain of betrayal. The disorientation of feeling lost in life, living in a place and time where you perhaps do not belong or don't have a place and not having any idea the way out. Loneliness, or the need for solitude. Regret. We have words for these, but not adequate ones.
It's hard for a writer to admit: "I don't have the words." But maybe that truth highlights the need for writing, for metaphors, for poems and stories that attempt to provide a glimpse of an image that shows, just for a second, the truth that you can't wrap words around. We need good prose precisely because we must attempt to try to share in creative ways the experiences we want to communicate but can't.
What this writer wants to explain is that the ineffable is for me some of the greatest evidence for God. The fact that beauty and joy and comfort exist that we can't wrap coherent words around, that we can't seem to classify or compartmentalize, that were clearly made for us as a mere taste for what's in store for us, begs the question of what? Or perhaps Who? We did not create this joy or this beauty or this companionship; it was created for us. The unspeakable horrors communicate the same message to me. Problems so big, pain so great, hurt so complex that we find language and solutions inadequate means that the solution is bigger than us. We cannot solve the puzzles of a fallen world. The answer is elsewhere, and it is the great longing inside of us.
How then do we share the ineffable in our lives? We share by sharing the experience. Hold the hand of the person you love and gape in awe at the inexpressible. Hand a friend some peanut butter cups. Sit on your patio when spring stirs your soul, and do so with your friends, a grill, and several stories. Take someone to your favorite place and let the place speak for itself.
And what of the evil? Of the pain and loneliness and frustration and loss? How do we share that? We don't. We share the one Comfort, the one Solution, the one Constant in the midst of all of it, and we tell stories that help to describe all the ineffable qualities of this Savior. It's all we can do. In situations like these, as much as we wish otherwise, words just won't get the job done.
Monday, March 10, 2014
A Tribute to the Atheists in My Life
Al Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, recently accepted an invitation to speak at Brigham Young University. For the non-theologically inclined, that's a big deal. Mohler's fundamental and unwavering belief system stands in stark contrast to the tenets of Mormonism, the rock on which BYU stands. It's staggering. They invited him? He accepted?
Yes, and yes. And in the process, Mohler's introduction to his audience offer great wisdom for us all:
The presence of the president of The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary behind the podium at Brigham Young University requires some explanation. I come as an evangelical Christian, committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and to the trinitarian beliefs of the historic Christian faith. I come as one who does not share your theology and who has long been involved in urgent discussions about the distinctions between the faith of the Latter Day Saints and the faith of the historic Christian church. I come as who I am, and your leaders invited me to come knowing who I am. I have come knowing who you are and what you believe and my presence here does not mean that the distance between our beliefs has been reduced. It does mean, however, that we now know something that we did not know before. We need to talk. We can and must take the risk of responsible, respectful, and honest conversation. We owe this to each other, and we owe this to the faiths we represent. And we had better talk with candor and urgency, for the times demand it.
My presence here is indicative of one of the strangest and most ironic truths of all - that the people who can have the most important and the most honest conversations are those who hold the deepest beliefs and who hold those beliefs with candor and engage one another with the most substantial discussion of the issues that are of most crucial importance to us. And thus the president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary is thankful to be among you at Brigham Young University. You are a university that stands, as all great universities stand, for the importance of ideas and the honor of seeking after the truth. I come to honor the importance of ideas and the centrality of the search for truth with you.
When is the last time you thought that you owed something to those with whom you most vehemently disagree about that which you hold most dear? Yet here is Mohler, calling not only for respect, but demanding conversation of us to those around us. With candor and truth and humility, we must not only state our opinion but also ask theirs. What if Republicans and Democrats operated under this assumption? Student peer groups? Communities in conflict? Families feuding? Hawkeye and Cyclone fans? Or, more importantly and more to Mohler's point, what about those of us with vastly differing worldviews and faiths (or lack thereof)?
I have been blessed with many atheists in my life. I've often joked that I've had more good friends who were atheists over the course of my life than I have who are Christian. At this point I no longer believe that's true, but the numbers haven't been as far off as some might assume regarding someone who writes a blog from a Christ-centered worldview. I say that it's been a blessing because most of them have fleshed out Mohler's advice: with candor and enthusiasm we've discussed our respective positions, and I've rarely felt like they were trying to win. Rather, they listened, they rebutted, they questioned, and they shared. And we continue life with a respect for each other. Though we are slow to budge one way or another from our stances, we have not been hesitant to discuss. Despite the fact that I think they are robbing themselves of the joy of the Almighty and will end up in eternal damnation (unless they find Christ), and they think I am wasting my life on a fairy tale, we are friends. And we can talk about that wide gulf in the difference of our opinions.
Perhaps I've just been blessed to find the right atheists. There are plenty irrational and disrespectful God-loathing mouthpieces neither listening, sharing, or filling the air with honesty. And unfortunately there are many who claim Christ who are unable to do this as well. But it begs the question: what if?
If BYU can listen to Mohler, and he can accept their invitation, then why not us? Avoid God and politics at the supper table? No, thank you. I'll take a side of both.
Yes, and yes. And in the process, Mohler's introduction to his audience offer great wisdom for us all:
The presence of the president of The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary behind the podium at Brigham Young University requires some explanation. I come as an evangelical Christian, committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and to the trinitarian beliefs of the historic Christian faith. I come as one who does not share your theology and who has long been involved in urgent discussions about the distinctions between the faith of the Latter Day Saints and the faith of the historic Christian church. I come as who I am, and your leaders invited me to come knowing who I am. I have come knowing who you are and what you believe and my presence here does not mean that the distance between our beliefs has been reduced. It does mean, however, that we now know something that we did not know before. We need to talk. We can and must take the risk of responsible, respectful, and honest conversation. We owe this to each other, and we owe this to the faiths we represent. And we had better talk with candor and urgency, for the times demand it.
My presence here is indicative of one of the strangest and most ironic truths of all - that the people who can have the most important and the most honest conversations are those who hold the deepest beliefs and who hold those beliefs with candor and engage one another with the most substantial discussion of the issues that are of most crucial importance to us. And thus the president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary is thankful to be among you at Brigham Young University. You are a university that stands, as all great universities stand, for the importance of ideas and the honor of seeking after the truth. I come to honor the importance of ideas and the centrality of the search for truth with you.
Responsible, respectful, honest conversation. Candor. We owe this, says Mohler.
When is the last time you thought that you owed something to those with whom you most vehemently disagree about that which you hold most dear? Yet here is Mohler, calling not only for respect, but demanding conversation of us to those around us. With candor and truth and humility, we must not only state our opinion but also ask theirs. What if Republicans and Democrats operated under this assumption? Student peer groups? Communities in conflict? Families feuding? Hawkeye and Cyclone fans? Or, more importantly and more to Mohler's point, what about those of us with vastly differing worldviews and faiths (or lack thereof)?
I have been blessed with many atheists in my life. I've often joked that I've had more good friends who were atheists over the course of my life than I have who are Christian. At this point I no longer believe that's true, but the numbers haven't been as far off as some might assume regarding someone who writes a blog from a Christ-centered worldview. I say that it's been a blessing because most of them have fleshed out Mohler's advice: with candor and enthusiasm we've discussed our respective positions, and I've rarely felt like they were trying to win. Rather, they listened, they rebutted, they questioned, and they shared. And we continue life with a respect for each other. Though we are slow to budge one way or another from our stances, we have not been hesitant to discuss. Despite the fact that I think they are robbing themselves of the joy of the Almighty and will end up in eternal damnation (unless they find Christ), and they think I am wasting my life on a fairy tale, we are friends. And we can talk about that wide gulf in the difference of our opinions.
Perhaps I've just been blessed to find the right atheists. There are plenty irrational and disrespectful God-loathing mouthpieces neither listening, sharing, or filling the air with honesty. And unfortunately there are many who claim Christ who are unable to do this as well. But it begs the question: what if?
If BYU can listen to Mohler, and he can accept their invitation, then why not us? Avoid God and politics at the supper table? No, thank you. I'll take a side of both.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Dangerous Desire
I want something, and it's killing me.
Not literally killing me, of course. It's more like a slow decay. But the intermittent drip-drip of this potential poison that my desire invites demands that I wake up, take notice, and tread carefully.
And what I want isn't bad. Professionally, there's a position I seek. It's good and right and true to want to use God-given abilities in a way that impacts more people. My work should do that. I want to do that.
But when you want something, especially regarding your career, you end up doing a lot of self-talk in your head trying convince yourself and the future people you imagine listening to your earnest pleas that you are in fact the most worthy person for the position. You tell yourself all you've done to earn it, all your qualifications, all the reasons that there's no one on the earth more suited to have what you want than you. You become convincing and all the more convinced of your own worthiness, detail by minute detail. You think about this while lying in bed at night, or while on a walk, or while driving, or while daydreaming at lunch. You don't mean to, but it just keeps coming up: you are awesome, you deserve this thing that you've decided that you want, and you can't wait to convince decision-makers of the blessing that is you. At least that's how I do it.
Confidence is key. I should be confident. If I wasn't, I shouldn't want what I'm chasing. But I've got to be careful. Too much self-praise, self-focus, and self-assurance will rot my soul. I'll drive myself crazy building myself up. And a focus on my own worthiness will slide slowly into reasons why my competitors are not. Pride will turn competitive, and competition will build pride. Suddenly confidence becomes arrogance. Wanting this position for joy turns into wanting to win out of spite.
It's a delicate balance.
I also have to be okay with not getting what I want. Disappointed perhaps, but certainly not crushed. In a solid article that I came upon today, Jared Wilson challenges his readers to clearly see their place in the world:
You know, it's possible that God's plan for us is littleness. His plan for us may be personal failure. It's possible that when another door closes, it's not because he plans to open a window but because he plans to have the building fall down on you. The question we must ask ourselves is this: Will Christ be enough?
Will He? Or will a prolonged focus on self and a consistent desire for a position in this world make me less than willing to be satisfied in all situations? Am I still okay with believing in the sovereignty of God if his sovereign will for me isn't climbing personal mountaintops? I shudder to hear the answers, as long as I maintain this internal dialogue of my own brilliance.
Desire is good. I will not quit chasing this position. But I will recognize the potential pitfalls of this desire, work hard to stay grounded, and put myself in a position daily to be reminded that I am not God. If you see me in the next few weeks and I appear deep in thought, feel free to remind me of that yourself.
Not literally killing me, of course. It's more like a slow decay. But the intermittent drip-drip of this potential poison that my desire invites demands that I wake up, take notice, and tread carefully.
And what I want isn't bad. Professionally, there's a position I seek. It's good and right and true to want to use God-given abilities in a way that impacts more people. My work should do that. I want to do that.
But when you want something, especially regarding your career, you end up doing a lot of self-talk in your head trying convince yourself and the future people you imagine listening to your earnest pleas that you are in fact the most worthy person for the position. You tell yourself all you've done to earn it, all your qualifications, all the reasons that there's no one on the earth more suited to have what you want than you. You become convincing and all the more convinced of your own worthiness, detail by minute detail. You think about this while lying in bed at night, or while on a walk, or while driving, or while daydreaming at lunch. You don't mean to, but it just keeps coming up: you are awesome, you deserve this thing that you've decided that you want, and you can't wait to convince decision-makers of the blessing that is you. At least that's how I do it.
Confidence is key. I should be confident. If I wasn't, I shouldn't want what I'm chasing. But I've got to be careful. Too much self-praise, self-focus, and self-assurance will rot my soul. I'll drive myself crazy building myself up. And a focus on my own worthiness will slide slowly into reasons why my competitors are not. Pride will turn competitive, and competition will build pride. Suddenly confidence becomes arrogance. Wanting this position for joy turns into wanting to win out of spite.
It's a delicate balance.
I also have to be okay with not getting what I want. Disappointed perhaps, but certainly not crushed. In a solid article that I came upon today, Jared Wilson challenges his readers to clearly see their place in the world:
You know, it's possible that God's plan for us is littleness. His plan for us may be personal failure. It's possible that when another door closes, it's not because he plans to open a window but because he plans to have the building fall down on you. The question we must ask ourselves is this: Will Christ be enough?
Will He? Or will a prolonged focus on self and a consistent desire for a position in this world make me less than willing to be satisfied in all situations? Am I still okay with believing in the sovereignty of God if his sovereign will for me isn't climbing personal mountaintops? I shudder to hear the answers, as long as I maintain this internal dialogue of my own brilliance.
Desire is good. I will not quit chasing this position. But I will recognize the potential pitfalls of this desire, work hard to stay grounded, and put myself in a position daily to be reminded that I am not God. If you see me in the next few weeks and I appear deep in thought, feel free to remind me of that yourself.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Joy and Pizza
You've got to get your money's worth. Get the most bang for your buck. Find the best deal. Check the cost-benefit analysis. Mostly, if you're me, you've got to win, beating corporate America at their own pricing game. Put my wife and I together, and it's twice the fun. I was raised where we competed in a weekly game of "guess how much Mom saved in coupons at the grocery story this week"; she grew up in a family that considered crust a wasteful filler in the eternal quest to outwit the pizza buffet. It's why we have 40 rolls of toilet paper in our house right now.
It is in that spirit of maximizing every dollar that a I read a recent NPR article explaining why ordering a bigger pizza always pays off. Apparently geometric principles involving total area of circles determines that one can often double their overall pizza at a mere fraction of the original cost. That article may have changed my life, granting me a new-found confidence in my future pizza purchases, sure of the path to get more pepperoni per penny.
I may overstate the transformational qualities of this information, but it reminds me of a similar principle in chasing overall joy.
Too often, we settle for the small. We are too busy chasing C.S. Lewis' proverbial mud pies. And we do this by assuming that self-focus will bring self-fulfillment. It is my experience that in both my own life and in the lives of those I'm around (both as peers and as students and players), those thinking solely of themselves put a significant cap on their joy. Entitlement creeps in. So does pride. Satisfaction, however, is slow to follow. Rather, self-focus brings on disappointment, frustration, irritability, and the constant feeling of getting screwed over by the universe.
If you want to increase the overall area of your "joy pizza" and move from a small to a medium, seek satisfaction in service and self-sacrifice, not in self-focus. Be a part of something bigger than yourself. A team. A family. A staff. A community. Ask what you can do to make that something better. When it is, your joy will be double. Serve your spouse instead of waiting for them to make you happy. Cook for your neighbors. Shovel snow that isn't yours. Don't keep score. Work hard for the good of others, and receive twice the good in your own life. It's a good deal, and it requires no coupon.
If you want to really get value and move from a medium to a large, do it all for the Source of all Joy. Do it with an eye towards heaven. Sacrifice and serve out of the humility and gratitude of knowing from where your salvation comes. You will then not only have joy, but joy of eternal consequence.
Happy shopping.
It is in that spirit of maximizing every dollar that a I read a recent NPR article explaining why ordering a bigger pizza always pays off. Apparently geometric principles involving total area of circles determines that one can often double their overall pizza at a mere fraction of the original cost. That article may have changed my life, granting me a new-found confidence in my future pizza purchases, sure of the path to get more pepperoni per penny.
I may overstate the transformational qualities of this information, but it reminds me of a similar principle in chasing overall joy.
Too often, we settle for the small. We are too busy chasing C.S. Lewis' proverbial mud pies. And we do this by assuming that self-focus will bring self-fulfillment. It is my experience that in both my own life and in the lives of those I'm around (both as peers and as students and players), those thinking solely of themselves put a significant cap on their joy. Entitlement creeps in. So does pride. Satisfaction, however, is slow to follow. Rather, self-focus brings on disappointment, frustration, irritability, and the constant feeling of getting screwed over by the universe.
If you want to increase the overall area of your "joy pizza" and move from a small to a medium, seek satisfaction in service and self-sacrifice, not in self-focus. Be a part of something bigger than yourself. A team. A family. A staff. A community. Ask what you can do to make that something better. When it is, your joy will be double. Serve your spouse instead of waiting for them to make you happy. Cook for your neighbors. Shovel snow that isn't yours. Don't keep score. Work hard for the good of others, and receive twice the good in your own life. It's a good deal, and it requires no coupon.
If you want to really get value and move from a medium to a large, do it all for the Source of all Joy. Do it with an eye towards heaven. Sacrifice and serve out of the humility and gratitude of knowing from where your salvation comes. You will then not only have joy, but joy of eternal consequence.
Happy shopping.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
What to Expect When I'm Angry With You
In 2013 I made goals about letter writing, book reading, and blog post writing and reported my progress here. It was a rewarding process through which I held myself accountable for doing exactly what I wanted to do but what for years I couldn't seem to consistently follow through on. I reached the end of the year, celebrated success, and charted a new course for this year. I found to be true for me individually what I knew to be true of teams I've coached: you get what you emphasize. Which also means you don't get what you don't emphasize. Finding my prayer life to be suffering, I placed the sole focus for 2014 on making a regular habit of sitting in front of this screen and typing out prayers on as close to a daily basis as possible.
I will periodically write here what I learn from this prayer journey. Today is one such post.
One of the greatest obstacles to my joy, I've found, is anger. More specifically, ill-will or hostility felt towards other individuals turns me bitter, and that feeling seems to run directly opposite to any sense of personal joy. For whatever reason, despite the fact that our anger actively keeps us from happiness, so many of us (myself included) grip as tightly as possible to the negativity we feel towards those who have drawn our ire. In this way, we poison ourselves. We trade peace and optimism for self-righteous victimhood, opportunities to smile for permanent scowls. Our anger does us no good.
In the past two months, I've learned a simple and full-proof way to combat this: I now pray for enemies. I'd love to say it's earth-shattering advice, but it's not. Effective advice rarely is. Rather, it follows simple logic: if I pray for joy and good and blessings and peace for those who have somehow wronged me or made me angry, I find it impossible not to root for them. I'm forced into a choice when I pray for them; I can either wish well for them through answered prayer, or I make a liar of myself to God.
I've found that whenever I pray for someone like this, my focus turns from how I've been wronged to what good may come for them. I've got to tell you, it's a freeing exchange. To pray for another is to soften your heart regarding them. To soften your heart is to allow for your own joy. Whatever pride we perceive we may lose in letting go of our grudge is a pittance next to the freedom of moving on in joy.
So this month when someone who seems to have made it their personal mission to be my professional enemy took another shot at undermining the work of myself and others, I stayed angry for a bit. But when I got in front of this screen and started praying and realized it was still on my mind, I prayed for him. I was immediately free.
Occasionally I may be unhappy with a player or two. After all, I work with 16-18 year old's - we're not always going to see things they same way. Instead of stewing in frustration about those players, I sit down and pray for their good. Students as well. And parents. And bosses. Sometimes, when they've disobeyed and screamed all day and destroyed the house and physically assaulted me and used markers on every surface other than paper, prayer for my children necessarily softens this father's heart as well, enabling me to effectively love them and keep perspective, even as I work towards their good.
I don't often want to pray for them when I begin. But like a good workout that my body and mind groans against beginning, I always feel refreshed and glad once I'm done.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Where I'm Supposed to Be
I was angry with Isaiah.
It's difficult to express one's anger to an 9th Century B.C.E. prophet and expect any real results, but I was trying. Charged with the task of creating a sermon outline on Isaiah 65 for my Biblical exposition course, I found myself lost, frustrated, and thinking some not-so-biblical expletives to hurl at this prophet for not delineating more clearly his random shifts in speaker, topic, figurative language, lament, and prophecy. It's never good to be a lit guy struggling with literature. I winced at the thought of showing up to my class and telling the group, "Sorry, I've got nothin'." (I had already planned to drop my g's and use more slang in an effort to downplay my status as English teacher.)
At church on Sunday, my pastor asked me before the service how my preparation for the class had been going. I was blunt. "This is the most lost I've been in this class. I've wrestled with it, and I've got no clue what I'm going to do. I'm have no idea how I'll put something together by Wednesday. I just can't do it."
There are many proper responses here (though few helpful ones), and I expected one of the following:
It's difficult to express one's anger to an 9th Century B.C.E. prophet and expect any real results, but I was trying. Charged with the task of creating a sermon outline on Isaiah 65 for my Biblical exposition course, I found myself lost, frustrated, and thinking some not-so-biblical expletives to hurl at this prophet for not delineating more clearly his random shifts in speaker, topic, figurative language, lament, and prophecy. It's never good to be a lit guy struggling with literature. I winced at the thought of showing up to my class and telling the group, "Sorry, I've got nothin'." (I had already planned to drop my g's and use more slang in an effort to downplay my status as English teacher.)
At church on Sunday, my pastor asked me before the service how my preparation for the class had been going. I was blunt. "This is the most lost I've been in this class. I've wrestled with it, and I've got no clue what I'm going to do. I'm have no idea how I'll put something together by Wednesday. I just can't do it."
There are many proper responses here (though few helpful ones), and I expected one of the following:
- "I"m sure it will be fine. Don't worry."
- "No one can make sense of it. We're going to go ahead and skip this week's presentations."
- "I'm sorry to hear you struggling. You're a champion for fighting through and making an attempt."
I got none of that, though. His response to me was, "Just know, you're exactly where God wants you. This is where you're supposed to be."
Where I'm supposed to be? Lost? Clueless? Lacking all confidence? Dependent? Crawling out of my skin crazy because I just can't do it on my own?
Exactly. That's exactly where I'm supposed to be. And so are you.
Comfortable, confident, and capable feel good. So do independence and self-reliance. It feels gratifying to be put in a position where we know we can and will come through, that we are perfectly suited for the task at hand. It's refreshing to effortlessly accomplish what is set before us. But those are not times of growth. Those are not times of risk. And those are not where we are supposed to spend the majority of our time.
It's hard to be dependent and uncomfortable. It's humbling. But it keeps the idea firmly in our head that we are not God, the world is not designed for our comfort, and we have mountains of improvement ahead of us. This week I battled more than Isaiah 65. I crashed my truck and have had to rely on my wife and friends for rides. I've been sick all week and have been without a voice 3 of the last 4 days, which makes fathering and teaching rather difficult. I have been anything but independent. But in my dependence I've witnessed the love of my wife, the loyalty of friends, the knowledge of my peers, and the grace of God. And I've come out stronger, better, and more grateful.
Coaches, teachers, pastors and parents are there to guide, to push, and to require of us more than our comfort. They are there to put us where we are supposed to be and don't want to go. Christ-follower or not, life is best lived in a state of dependence, in opportunities that require more of us than we can handle on our own.
And for those of us with the pleasure of finding our identity in Christ, recognizing our dependence for every every breath, every piece of daily bread, and everything good in this world is a true act of worship.
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