Today's Travels

In The Screwtape Letters, Screwtape advises his nephew, demon Wormwood, to keep the following in mind about the moral backsliding of his human prey: “He must be made to imagine that all the choices which have effected this change of course are trivial and revocable. He must not be allowed to suspect that he is now, however slowly, heading right away from the sun on a line which will carry him into the cold and dark of utmost space.”

I’ve told my students that with every choice they make with their time finds them either borrowing or investing. They borrow from their future every time they spend time in something with little real reward, with something that is a mere distraction from what they must do or what they want to do. I don’t think they really want to hang out on social media for hours on end. I don’t think they really want to get sucked into video games for hours, night after night after night. Those mind-numbing, low cost-low reward, time-killing activities borrow from their futures.

They invest every time their actions improve their future. Reading, for instance. Taking difficult steps towards whatever goals they might have, regardless of who may be watching, who may be impressed, or what their level of comfort happens to be at that particular time. Building relationships and memories.

This quote speaks to that, as well as to every choice we make. We are headed in one direction or the other - closer towards God, or closer towards attempting to fulfill what only God can fulfill with something else. I read a great article the other day addressing the great moral slides of leaders, both in the church and outside of it. Those falls from grace were not immediate, one time “mistakes”; they were, instead, a series of tiny decisions that led to a long-term slide. As a result, these leaders found themselves one day in the midst of scandal, unable to recognize who they had become or who they once were.

This is true in our behaviors and our thinking, in our relationships and in our personal goals. Today we will either invest in our priorities or borrow against them in the future. How we spend our time will draw us nearer to joy and fulfillment, or nearer to accepting much less. None of us will wake up one day, all of a sudden, exactly where we want to be or a million miles away from it. Instead, one day at a time, we’ll slowly travel in one direction or the other.

The old hymn begs, “Nearer my God, to thee.” I can either wish for it, or take responsibility for where my daily actions take me.

Who is This?

Floundering to find time to write as the basketball season begins, I've come to realize that I've got several posts ready-made from some of my responses to the online C.S. Lewis course I'm leading. If you're in the course - sorry for the repeat material. I just need to get something out there. Here goes. . .

A passage from C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity:

Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.

I like to believe that each year I get closer and closer to truth regarding God and faith. In my mid 20's I probably believed that I had it all figured out and that my growth was done, that the only thing left for me was to share all that I knew with those who hadn't attained the same level of enlightenment. A little more mature now (though perhaps, a very little), I just hope to get to more truth; and I understand much of my journey on this earth is that journey for truth about God and faith. That journey will never end.

Having said that, this quote is a pretty good picture of what I've come to understand in the past year or two. Christ is not the means to an end; He is the end to which we all strive. It sounds catchy and trite and simplistic, but I don't think many people get this. Most days I don't. Ultimately what this is saying is that Christ doesn't exist to make our lives better, we exist to find Him. He is the goal. If we're using faith to live a more successful life or have more successful relationships or to be a better person, we've got it all wrong. God doesn't exist to make us better: He exists so that we might know Him, desire Him, and delight in Him. He is what we aspire to.

I think the purpose of all Bible reading can be answered in a brief phrase found in Mark 4:41 (and in many other places). After the wind and waves obey Christ's admonitions, the disciples turn to each other and ask, "Who is this?" And this is what we must ask with each passage of Scripture and with books like this one: who is this? We shouldn't read the Bible focusing on finding ways to fix our lives; we should focus on finding ways to fix our attention on who God is. We shouldn't look to Jesus to find help with our problems; we should look to Jesus to find Jesus, the All in All.

When we find Him, we get all the rest thrown in. At least the stuff that really matters. We will become better, we will have better relationships, and we will have more success in our ventures. Get God, and you get the rest. Go after God as a way of getting the rest, and the God that you'll have will be a watered-down, Santa Claus deity, seeking to keep a whiny child happy. And there is no joy there.

Faker, Faker, Faker

Phony. 

Poser. 

Scam artist. 

Fraud. 

Imposter. 

Deceiver.

Listen to those labels. None are good. In our culture we demand that others are genuine (aside from our presidential candidates, apparently). Few are - lying has become an art form of sorts; however, get caught being less than yourself, and you risk being branded like this, with little way to repair the reputation.

I used to be in this boat, demanding accuracy in all my statements as well as those of others, refusing to pretend. I wanted to "get real" and "just be myself." I think I was wrong.

In Mere Christianity C.S. Lewis encourages Christians to fake it sometimes. The goal, however, isn't to fool others; it's to fool yourself into becoming exactly what you're pretending to be. Writes Lewis, "Very often the only way to get a quality in reality is to start behaving as if you had it already." Getting more specific: "Do not waste time bothering whether you 'love' your neighbor; act as if you did. As soon as we do this, we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him."

What I'm beginning to realize is that it isn't just sometimes that we ought to "fake it"; most of us would be better off if we faked it all the time. We are far less than we should be. If I behave as genuinely impatient and self-centered as I actually am, I couldn't function with others. My nature, my natural, fallen condition means that in my heart, daily, I'm out to get mine. I want to know what's in it for me. 

I can begin every day revealing how tired, grumpy, and irritated I really am, or I can decide to at least appear as if I'm loving and excited to be doing what I'm doing. When I remember to pretend, usually I become loving and excited. 

Some days you've just got to fake it, especially those days you don't feel like being good. So go be an imposter. Pretend to be disciplined. Pretend to be patient with your spouse and kids. Pretend to be dedicated to your job, whether you like it or not. Pretend that today, whether it's a Tuesday morning or Sunday afternoon, is going to be a good day. You might just end the day genuine after all.

But I Don't Feel Like It

As evidenced by my last post, I don't feel like going to work on Tuesday mornings. I don't even feel like getting out of bed. I don't feel tolerant, happy, friendly, or at peace. The only thing I feel like, frankly, is bitchy.

That's understandable, as Tuesday mornings are, by definition, the bane of my professional existence. However, there are plenty of really good things in my life that I often don't feel like. I love to write but often don't feel like writing. I love God but don't feel like praying or reading the Bible at times. I love my children but don't feel like reading to them, I love cleanliness but don't feel like cleaning, and I love basketball but don't feel like watching game tape. Mark Twain wrote once that classic books are "something everybody wants to have read but hasn't." That sounds like most of the virtues I seek in my life.

What we want and what we feel like is often at odds. It is rare for us to feel like doing something when it is that something that we most desperately need. I always feel like becoming a more disciplined eater after a huge meal, a couple of candy bars, and a tightening belt. When 10 pm comes around, I'm winding down for the evening, and the bag of Doritos is calling, what I feel like is significantly different. What I feel like I often can't have, and what I most need I rarely desire at the essential time.

C.S Lewis calls this "undulation," or a series of troughs and peaks. He uses this term regarding faith, which is of much greater consequence than Tuesday mornings, dieting, and exercise. And he's right. To rely on "feeling" to feed faith, one has a vision of God that metaphorically operates on a dimmer switch run by a two year old. And this is why when we feel least like praying, it is all the more essential. I used to reason with myself that I shouldn't make God into a chore - if I didn't feel like Bible reading or prayer, then I shouldn't fake my way through it. If God loves a cheerful giver, then surely he only has times for a cheerful pray-er as well. But it's amazing how little I pray when I leave it up to feeling.

God is infectious - the more of Him we have, the more we desire. But more so than infectious, God is unchanging. My mood is not.

Whether it's God, exercise, loving your spouse, or being friendly during the most unfriendly of professional obligations, don't wait until you feel like it. Do what you ought, and then see how you feel.

New Game Plan for Tomorrow

The part of my job for which I have profound distaste happens every Tuesday morning. Like all other employed individuals in the world, there are parts of my job that I enjoy and others that I don't. I'm paid well to do all of my job, even those activities that don't incite passion within me. However, I find myself dreading Tuesdays. I wake up irritable, enter the building sarcastic, begin my job dejected, and then I endure.

My Bible reading tonight was from Colossians. In it, Paul's letter challenged me to be better than "enduring" tomorrow:

"Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering. . . But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection. And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful." (3:12-15)

I was angry when I read that on this, a Monday night. I want so badly to go into work tomorrow and get through with anger and pride and loathing. I want to complain and mock and exasperatedly question. I really don't feel kindness and humility coming on. Longsuffering doesn't sound all that appealing. Thankful will be a tough stretch as well.

But if I am indeed elected by God, if I am seeking holiness, and if I am beloved of God, that is the calling, whether I feel like it right now or not. I will hold on to my own distaste, or I will allow myself to be ruled by the peace of God. Am I really saying that God can move mountains, but He can't move my attitude? Or am I saying that I'd rather be angry than thankful?

Tomorrow will be a challenge. But tonight God has called an audible, a change to the game plan. And good players stick to the game plan.

One In, One Out

A while back my wife and I were at a friend's house, and she offered to my wife a large serving dish that she no longer had need for. My immediate thought went straight to our current kitchen. Though not tiny, it's not exactly the Taj Majal of kitchens either; and we have, by my estimation, many dishes. While I certainly embrace my wife's creative cooking proclivities and penchant for presentation when hosting others at home, I selfishly imagined one more dish falling out of a cupboard I opened while dutifully putting dishes away (or, more likely, searching for M&M's). What I requested of her, then, upon the offer of the dish, was a one in-one out approach. One new large dish in, one unused dish out. We agreed.

For anything that's full, the one in - one out approach isn't mere philosophy, it's fact. I discovered that this week in my teaching. After going to a conference recently and picking up several great strategies for teaching better, I wanted to try many of those ideas in my class this week. What I found, however, was that to do those cool approaches, I had to cut out something that I currently do. And all the preparation time the new activities took came at the cost of time I would have spent in timely evaluation of the current stack of essays that are haunting me. As much as I'd like to be the best of the best at everything, whatever I add comes at a cost.

The same is true of schools as a whole. I read in the Des Moines Register this morning about the number of Iowa kids that go to school hungry every day. To combat this, the most-implemented strategies involve the public schools. Schools are being called on to feed kids breakfast, to send food home with kids for supper, and to teach them during the day about nutrition, wise grocery purchases, and healthy living in general. All those are really important; however, if you put something in, you've got to take something else out. Something else will suffer. You either want schools to combat starvation or literacy. You can't have it all, despite what the press and the government attempt to get you to believe. 

As I sat in church this morning, examining my week and my fumbling efforts to live life well, I realized that personal improvement is a one in - one out reality as well. If I want to add something to my life - more Bible reading, more prayer, more peace, more writing, more time with my wife/kids - something's got to go. If I want to focus on being more disciplined, I've got to focus less on other aspects of personal growth. I can't do it all, all the time. The key is to take in only the really essential proverbial serving dishes while putting out the ones that are merely cluttering my cupboards and preventing me from serving an excellent meal. And if the cupboards are full, and they're full of essentials that I need to create that perfect supper, then I've got to learn to make do with what I have, polishing and shining and presenting with those dishes to the best of my ability every day.

What I'm Thinking When I See You

Tomorrow I will walk into school after an absence of 4 days. A friend of mine will probably be one of the first in my classroom after I arrive, seeking a cup of coffee and good conversation. He will ask about my weekend, I'll respond, we'll talk, we'll laugh, and we'll wish each other well for the day. He will be a welcome guest.

Soon after, I will likely face an unwelcome guest. An administrator perhaps, or a student. Some well-meaning individual will walk in with a problem of some sort, seeking my input or looking for me to do something about whatever it is they are coming in for. They will walk in and disrupt my rhythm, my rush to prepare for 1st hour. They will expect to interrupt me, and they will succeed. I will resent them, most likely.

Later in the day I'll see another friend who will make me laugh. We'll share an inside joke, exchange weekend details, and move on in our day. A student who I don't teach will invariably walk past my room, looking for nothing more than a greeting and a quick smile. They will say something humorous, and I'll respond in kind. They will validate my existence as an instructor, my value to students and humankind in general. I will like seeing them.

I will check my email accounts several times throughout the day. Parents will want answers. Co-workers and bosses will demand my presence at meetings or my reaction or two cents. Friends and family may chime in - a picture of my new niece, perhaps; a request for my presence at an event; a humorous story retold; an interesting article shared; a favor requested.

My day tomorrow will move along with various people exactly like those mentioned above moving in and out of my bubble of consciousness. And if I'm not careful, if I merely behave as I usually do, I'll view each of these people in through the exact lens through which they are described above: How will you affect my day? Are you going to make my day better or worse? Easier or more difficult? More fun or more work? In what way might you benefit or cause harm to me?

Every day I will run across hundreds of people. I will make hundreds of decisions about how to interact with them. And for all of them, I will have some sort of effect on their day. I will improve or harm their time, make them better or worse, help or hinder. Some will choose to come in contact with me, others I will seek out, still others will stumble across me by mere chance. But tomorrow there will be hundreds. And for the next day. And the next. And the next.

If I view all encounters through the lens of their possible effect on myself, the percentage of people I send away better will be much smaller. And every encounter will produce a ripple effect. The point I'm trying to make here is that before I ever do anything or behave in any manner with someone else, I come to that interaction with a mindset. That mindset, more than the actions themselves, will mean something to likely thousands of people this week. Whether I want to or not, I will affect them. And so will you.

How will you view your thousands this week?