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.

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:

• "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.

I Can't See the Volcano, But I Know It's There

The first time my wife and I were in Costa Rica, we experienced the wonder that is Arenal. Staying at an inn approximately two miles from this active volcano, we spent an evening with friends watching lava slither down its side while cannon-like echoes of the flaming boulders filled the night-time air. It was surreal, and it was also quite fortunate. Site of the volcano is usually blocked by cloud cover, especially at night, providing us a rare glimpse of Arenal's true majesty.

When we returned a few years later and stayed at the same bed and breakfast, we were not nearly as lucky. Cursed with cloud cover, we could only attempt to explain to the friends who were with us on this trip what we knew to be true. Our story seemed but a fairy tale. But we knew what we saw. We knew the truth of Arenal, despite the clouds.

I was reminded of this story while reading my children a short piece out of Sally Lloyd-Jones' masterful book, Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing. The book is a collection of short devotional-type reflections on faith and joy and God aimed to be accessible to children. I must admit, they often hit home with me as well. One of the pieces is entitled "Clouds and Mountains and Stars." In it Lloyd-Jones describes how when it's cloudy, you can't see stars. Sometimes you can't even see something as big as a mountain, but that doesn't mean that it ceases to be there. She then drives home her point: "Feelings can be like clouds - they blow in and hide things from us. . . Our feelings come and go. But God stays the same. His promises still are shining."

Feelings don't change facts. What an appropriate message in the midst of a basketball season. Sports are and should be a deeply emotional affair. But that emotion shouldn't hide the truth. In one of the most frustrating evenings of the season, I forgot a lot of truths. I forgot that I had vowed not to run my mouth towards officials, since that's not my job as an assistant. I forgot that bad officiating doesn't make someone any less of a person, or any less of an immortal and immensely important being (as C.S. Lewis would say). I forgot that several hundred eyes were on me, and the words I want them to associate with me include steadfast Christian character. I forgot in my anger that later that night I would go home and still have a great family, a great home, and a great job. Obviously it was a cloudy, cloudy night.

We should feel. We should feel intensely and deeply and be affected by those feelings. Feelings can and should drive us towards and away from all kinds of deeds. Enthusiasm and despair instruct. But they do not change the deep, rock-solid truths in our lives. That's why we need so desperately to remind ourselves of the truth and embed it into our minds when the sun is out. Then anger towards a spouse won't change the truth of their love. Frustration with children won't change the truth of their blessings. The infuriating actions of your boss won't change the truth of your paycheck and the good you do in your work. And the thrill of immediate pleasure won't change the long-term ramifications of your choices.

Gaze upon the volcano. Sit around a table and talk about it. Stand in awe. Share it. Stare some more. The next time you're there you might not be able to see it. But you'll know it's there. And you'll be glad.

Your Work Today Matters, and So Does the Way You Do It

The new year brings with it to blogs like mine posts filled with advice on making your resolutions successful. This is a worthy topic. However, often the goals we have for ourselves involve areas of our personal lives and even of our great passions. It was true of me in my goals of 2013: read books, write blog posts, and write letters. These were (and are) important aspects to me not only being the me I can be, but the me I most desperately want to be. Our resolutions tend to come from such a place.

What is rare to hear or read about, however, is how people intend to approach their job in the coming year. Goals at times involve occupation; however, those goals are typically based on obtaining new positions or climbing some ladder. What I want to take a look at here is an improved mindset for your daily duties, whether they are your passion or not.

Work is a hard thing to figure out; or at the very least, it's proven to be difficult for our culture to balance. On one end, work is what we complain about. We trudge through, survive, grumble about our boss, punch in and punch out, always looking for something better. On the other extreme, work is our identity. It is who we are, defining how others see us and the importance ascribed to us. High school kids are asked "what" they want to be, not "who." College students are told the perfect job, and therefore the perfect life, awaits them and is owed to them upon graduation. We alternatively bow down to this golden calf and curse it's control over our otherwise happy lives.

As always, there is a different way. I just finished reading How Then Shall We Work by Hugh Welchel. Through a study of the history of the views of work both in American culture and in the Christian tradition, Welchel examines how we are called to work. The answers, which should not be surprising, ask for a focus other than the self. The book is worth your time.

I've collected some of the passages I think are best and included them below. Hopefully you find them helpful in your approach this week to your vocation, whether it be part-time or full-time, a dead-end or a dream, with the famous or with your family. Enjoy:

1) The Church’s approach to an intelligent carpenter is usually confined to exhorting him not to be drunk and disorderly on Sundays. What the Church should be telling him is this: that the very first demand that his religion makes up on him is that he should make good tables.

2) From T.M. Moore: “So no matter what your job, or whatever your work might be, God intends that you should devote your labors to something greater than personal interest, economic prosperity, social good, or future beneficence alone. God intends your work to contribute to the restoration of the creation, and the people in it, to raising life on this blue planet to higher states of beauty, goodness, and truth, reflecting the glory of God in our midst.”

3) Because of the curse of sin, our work will be difficult, and we will not feel God’s pleasure all the time or at the level we will enjoy in the world to come. But we should feel satisfaction and joy from doing our best with what God has given us in the place where His providence puts us.

4) Alister McGrath regarding John Calvin: “Work was thus seen as an activity by which Christians could deepen their faith, leading it on to new qualities of commitment to God. Activity within the world, motivated, informed, and sanctioned by Christian faith, was the supreme means by which the believer could demonstrate his or her commitment and thankfulness to God. To do anything for God, and to do it well, was the fundamental hallmark of authentic Christian faith. Diligence and dedication in one’s everyday life are, Calvin thought, a proper response to God.”

5)The Cultural Mandate, according to Richard Pratt: “The Great King has summoned each of us into his throne room. Take this portion of my kingdom, he says, I am making you my steward over your office, your workbench, your kitchen stove. Put your heart into mastering this part of my world. Get it in order unearth its treasures; do all you can with it. Then everyone will see what a glorious King I am. That’s why we get up every morning and go to work. We don’t labor simply to survive, insects do that. Our work is an honor, a privileged commission from our great King. God has given each of us a portion of his kingdom to explore and to develop to its fulness.”

The Journey of a Year

At the beginning of 2013, over a couple of cups of coffee and good conversation with a friend, I set down 3 measurable goals to match my priorities. The end of the year is here, and I've made it. I put two more letters in the mail today, I finished Steinbeck's Winter of Our Discontent on Monday night, and this is my last blog post. It came down to the wire, but I finished it: 75 blog posts, 25 letters, and 25 books in one year. Here's what I learned along the way:

1. Personal pressure beats peer pressure.
I got this done for no other reason than I said I would get it done. It had nothing to do with anyone else's expectations of me. Frankly, I don't think any of us will ever live up to the expectations from others, and we know that. That's why we largely ignore them. Oh, we'll try to keep others happy, but only to a point. Ourselves, however? That's a tougher master. Too often I believe we don't require enough of ourselves; we keep our own expectations vague, if not low.

I use the term personal pressure here because I did feel the pressure. At times I was downright stressed trying to squeeze in time to follow through on this commitment, especially during the stretch run when I battled illness, fatigue, and some unexpected additions to the schedule. And that stress is good. To reach closer to who we want to be requires us to go beyond the comfortable. Some people spend their whole lives only allowing others to dictate when they step beyond the easy. Making the decision to create personal pressure allows you to guide the ship. The waters will be choppy, but you'll know exactly why you're treading them.

2. Deadlines force me to do what I want to have done but don't want to do.
A major lesson from my 2012 reading was the paradox that is our desires. That which we most want, we often least feel like doing. Exercise, reading, writing, serving - these are often high on many priority lists, but follow through is low. I realized that if I wait until I feel like it to do all that I say I want to do, none of it would ever get done. Also, it's usually when I least feel like doing something (praying, apologizing, communicating, serving my wife) that I most need to do it.

The process this year of the monthly deadline helped me to keep that dichotomy in check. Knowing that I needed 2 books, 6-7 blog posts, and 2 letters by the end of each month created built-in demands that I act regularly on that which I said is important. Most months I came to the last week and realized that I still had 2 letters to write. I rarely felt like writing them, but I was always thrilled when I put them in the mail. Despite the fact that the whole letter writing thing was what I most wanted to do, it was the hardest on which to follow through. Regular deadlines increased the urgency, forcing me to take action whether I felt like it or not.

3. You get what you emphasize.
This is an old coaching maxim, and it held true in this venture as well. I emphasized 3 goals, wrote about those 3 goals on this blog, and told people about them. I committed to following through, and I did. However, everything that wasn't part of those 3 goals became less of a priority, cast aside to the realm of "when I get a chance." My Time magazine frequency suffered. I read manageable books, not huge anthologies that wouldn't count towards my goals. More importantly, the routine of written prayer and Bible reading was anything but routine.

All three of my goals were worthy of my focus, and I'm glad I chose what I did. They all three held true to what I said I wanted - writing and relationships. If you emphasize nothing, you get nothing. And you can't emphasize everything. However, 2013 is now over, and I will move to something different. It's time for a different emphasis.

4. Numbers matter.
The best part about these goals is that they were measurable and controlled entirely by me. I've made the mistake in the past of creating the goal of being a better friend, or father, or husband, or writer, or teacher. There's no way to measure that. I could have gone a different way as well - for instance, require publishing a book or an article, or building 5 new relationships. But those aren't controllable. Sure, if factors are right, they can happen; however, they are neither certainties nor actual determinations of improvement. By putting a number of what I would do, and making sure that number was directly related to improvement on my stated priorities, I set myself up for success. There is no doubt I am a better writer after posting 75 times this year and reading 25 books. I know I've valued relationships through those letters and connections made on this blog. I can't count the improvement, but I could count my actions. The controllable numbers drove the journey.

So there it is. Done. With 3 hours to spare until the end of the year. I think I'll take the time I've got left and curl up with my wife under a blanket on the couch and watch a movie. It wasn't on my goals list, but perhaps it should have been. I want to thank all of you who have read the blog this year. It continues to be a major influence in my life, and I appreciate the opportunity to be read in yours. Here's to a productive, purposeful, and humble 2014.

Laser Sharp, Loud and Proud

The week before Christmas and New Years is an an annual time of personal reflection. It's a great time to look back and look forward. Some advice I read this year about writing from the book Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark is helpful in this process

In looking back, I look to the blog. I write to reflect and to think. I also write to remember. This blog is a journal of sorts that reminds me of my journey this year, of what I thought and studied and learned. And I want to remember all that I learned this year. I want it all to mean something, and I want to take it all with me in my next post, my next practice, my next meeting with friends, my next month with my family, my next workout. But I can't take it all with me. Part of life is knowing what to keep.

Clark writes about the challenge for writers of sorting all that they've gathered and narrowing their focus: "New writers often dump their research into a story or essay. 'By God, I gathered all that stuff,' they think, 'so it's going in.' Veterans use a fraction, sometimes half, sometimes one-tenth of what they've gathered. But how do you decide what to include and, more difficult, what to leave out? A sharp focus is like a laser."

All of what I've written and thought about is important into getting me to where I'm at today, but there's no way I can prioritize all 50-60 thoughts and "lessons" that constitute my 2013 writings. If you attempt to be good at everything, you'll be good at nothing. Instead, I've got to look back at common themes, at both the major events that really mattered and the minor thoughts that consistently, from some unconscious corner of my brain, nudged my thinking. Ideas like the reason sports are worthwhile, the approach I have to maintain in coaching, and the approach I have to take amid the uncertainty of not coaching. Or the realization that appears over and over again in blog entries - that I'm not just living my story, I'm in hundreds of stories going on around me that I get to be a part of, and one big story that is already determined. Or what I've learned from sticking with goals for a solid year (see tomorrow's post for more on that). In looking back, we can keep all our memories; but we can't keep them for long. Use the laser and take with you what you can, what you must, to grow into who you need to be tomorrow.

In looking ahead, I'm influenced by Clark's advice of "saving string." We often feel too busy to do the big projects we'd love to tackle, but Clark writes that we do not have to drop all of our responsibilities in order to chase what we'd really like to do: "Right now, buried in routine, you feel you lack the time and energy to undertake enterprising work. . . As you perform your routine work, talk about your special interest. Gather opinions and anecdotes from across the landscape. Scribble them down, one by one, fragment by fragment, until one day you look up and see a monument of persistence, ready to be mounted in the town square."

Whoever or whatever it is you want to be but can't be right now, what you can do is talk about it. Talk about what's important to you, what you want to do, or what you're interested in. Gather conversations, ideas, and thoughts on it. Infuse what you want to be into your identity; eventually other people and you yourself will see you in that light. In the same way that some people's identity is as a Hawkeye guy, or a Ford guy, or their thing is quilting, or gardening, or biking, and therefore that's what people ask them about, make whatever it is you want to do or be your "thing." Read a little, talk a little, write a little, and all of a sudden you've gathered enough string to start something. You become what you started just talking about.

Whether you want the future to hold you as a runner, a reader, a biblical scholar, a bowler, a devoted spouse, or a comic book aficionado, announce your intentions. Boldly speak where no you has spoken before.

Join me if you choose in looking behind and looking ahead this week. Use a laser, then shout out loud.

Comfort and Joy

God rest ye, merry gentlemen.

God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the gifts are put away. The shopping, the wrapping, the quick-calculating - "I spent this on her, now this gift plus this gift is this much, but if get this for his stocking. . ."  - all can cease for another year. The presents, perfect and flawed, are opened, and proper thanks have been delivered. The pressure of surprise, of risk, of heart-felt offerings is released in once giant, collective post-Christmas sigh.

God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the feasting has subsided. The meals, immaculately prepared, carefully planned, dutifully designed, have been served. The family has been fed, several times. We have all eaten, and eaten well, heavy from another bite, another handful, another slice, another piece. Heavy from the guilty pleasure of day after day of exercise-free dining. Breathe deeply; the next meal can be popcorn, or cereal, or frozen pizza, or even leftovers, eaten on every day dishes on couches with no candlelight or festive napkins.

God rest ye, merry gentlemen, the events have dwindled down. The parties, the meetings, the concerts, the dinner parties, they disappear from the calendar. The have been given due attention, provided ample joy and laughter and catching up. There are now fewer places to be and no hurry to get there. There are jobs to be done, but not with the pre-holiday demands, not the same deadline urgency. Whatever your schedule speaks, it gently and soothingly reminds rather than declares and announces.

For a bit, rest. The demands on your time, your attention, your money, and your love have been met. New stress will arrive, but not yet. Not until a deep breath. A days long one.

Perhaps most importantly, though, God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day. Rest deeply in that. The battle has been won. Whatever new stress comes up, whatever new demands arise, whatever new pain and joy and laughter and relationships and work requires your energies, you can still rest well in the confidence of eternity conquered. The Grand Plan has saved you from all temporary fatigue in favor of everlasting comfort and joy.

"Fear not," then said the Angel. "Let nothing you affright. This day is born a Savior." Fear not. Rest. All is well. Endure and enjoy, in comfort and joy.