Why be normal?

Sitting on the J train flowing with the crowd toward Manhattan thinking about my trip North.

Everyone wants to be extrodinary these days. "Go Beyond your Barriers" an advertisement in front of me says, but folks at the end of life don't say that.  They talk about more normal things like spending time with people, like recognizing when you don't know something, and loving amid uncertainty.

The advertisement continues, "You have seeds of greatness."

But I think, "What about bed pans? Who changes the bed pans if we are all busy being great? That's what I would like to know."

Dad gave me this book. It talks about normal things like death and forgiveness and grace.  That's what we need -- normal stuff.

NYC doesn't value normal things very much. Everybody seems to want to be the next Donald Trump or Jay-Z or Picaso or they just want to stand out. Where else can you see giant waterfalls 6 stories high erected as art, or like today, a chair shaped like a giant hand. That's one of the reasons I like it here; there's always something abnormal to see or do.

But tonight I think I will just go home and do normal things -- like playing with legos or asking my wife about her day.

What does love look like exactly?

Recently, my 7-year-old son and I were out shopping for mommy's birthday present.  I asked him what we should get, and he said, "Oh, I guess chocolate and flowers . . . stuff like that."  He is getting the hang of it I thought, but today I am thinking again.

What does love look like exactly?  Is it the embrace of two Hollywood stars as the music rises and the cameras rotate around the immaculate couple?

I think it looks like a step-mom getting up at 1 and 4 am every night to check on her husband.
I think it looks like the same woman loving his children and grandchildren as if they were her own.
I think it looks like a meaningful card and kind words.
I think it looks like a twinkle in the eye when planning family visits even if they take away from time she could have spent with her other family.
I think it looks like scrubbing all sorts of bodily fluids out of the carpet.
I think it looks like her being willing to reminisce about her husband's other wife with reverence, openness, and sorrow -- setting aside her own unique journey to enter into ours.
I think it looks like someone willing to work hard providing primary care only to make a quick trip to the funeral home to hold the hand of another grieving grandmother.
I think it looks like someone willing to read the fine print of 6-10 prescription bottles and know things so well that she can even correct doctor's mistakes.
I think it looks like romance created uniquely within a complex story long after the typical age of Hollywood lovers.
I think it looks like traveling all over the country and world to the point of exhaustion just to be with her hyperactive husband.
I think it looks like a kind word even after cancer turns most of us into grumpy old men.
I think it looks like laughs at the silliness of hospital appliances and clothes.
I think it looks like pausing to understand hard news.
I think it looks like tears in the night.

Move over Hollywood,  this is what love looks like.

Why is going home such a big deal?

Waiting for my plane. Ready to fly North.

 

It is the third time I am traveling those 2,000 miles in the last 4 months, but, like every trip home, it feels entirely unique.

 

What is it about going home?

 

I am sure you know the feeling. There is excitement and also a feeling like a wet rag is stuck in your gut somewhere.  Places we live as adults are chosen.  I moved on my terms. But not home. You don't choose where is your home.  It chooses you, and you are internally compeled to go back.  There is an un-named longing, part joy and part anxiety. In relation to your home, I think one is always a child.

 

Maybe that is why it is hard. You must become a child to go home.

 

Is that why so many stay away?  Is it why others refuse to leave?

 

I am going home.  My dad is also getting ready to go home. 

 

Jeaus said you must become like a little child to come to him. I wonder if this is the feeling he was talking about, the feeling that something deep is carrying you along. Something wonderful and scary and entirely greater than you is gently compeling you, carrying you home. 

 

God give me the strength to let you carry me home. God, please give dad the same.

 

 

Why don't my sand castles last?

It happened again last night. One of my key staff resigned. Over ten years it has happened about that many times. A staff member that is competent moves on to bigger and better things.

I am happy for them, but I have a bit of that "left at the altar" kind of feeling. Or like that feeling when you build a nice big sand castle only to see a big wave come and level it in a moment.  There is nothing to do but sigh and start building again.

Bummer.

Why is life is like that?

When I got my first job after high school, my brother told me that sometimes you can't see that you built anything, so you have to get satisfaction from knowing what you have survived.

I would rather have a monument to my success -- something to "justify my existance" as an old friend used to say.

But it seems that sometimes we are called to be poured out. I am thinking I will stumble into heaven all exhausted without a lot to point to. My proverbial tail will be dragging, and I will have nothing to say.  Gabriel will ask, "What did you accomplish on earth?" I will say, "uh, nothing much."

He will say, "Why are you here?"

I will say, 'cause for some random reason God decided to let me in.

That's it.

That's all.

I guess come to think of it, that's enough.

What is it about birthdays?

I love birthdays.  People over 40 aren't suppose to love birthdays, but  I still love birthdays. Today is my wife's birthday.

I love birthdays because I love sugar.

I also love birthdays because my wife makes them special.  She has helped me to love birthdays in a new way.  She brought the prayer of blessing and thanksgiving into birthdays.  It is so appropriate. 

Birthdays make me think about life, the beginning so many years ago, the end ever closer. I think the candles, bright colors, joyous song, and sugar are all made to distract us from sinking down into these existential questions.   

But the questions are good. Why am I here? What have I done? What am I going to do?  What about this story leaves me empty? What matters?

I am so glad I live with a wife and a God who can ask hard questions

It's what birthdays are for?

Why does life make me want to cuss sometimes?

In my 5th year of college to become a counselor, I finally stumbled on a theory that made sense to me. I remember right where I was sitting in class when the professor explaned it. A light bulb went on. It was Existentialism. Before you send my name out on a prayer chain, hear me out.

Existentialism as a counseling theory says that we need to get to a place of exasperation where life doesn't work, then and only then true change happens.  Our life must become meaningless before we will seek true meaning. The theory clicked and since that day I have seen this all through Scripture. Solomon was a prime example. He had it all yet he called it all meaningless before he whistfully came to the chief duty of man.  The man who found the pearl of great price is another example.  When he knew that all his posessions were meaningless, he was changed.  Job feel down with his hand over his mouth and gave up all his rationalization.  I also see this thought in the statements of Jesus, "except a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die" and "he who  would save his life must lose it."

Paul is my favorite and he is the one who gives me the courage to cuss about it. In Phillipians 3, he called it all a pile of sh@$#.  All his success, all his theology, all his reputation, all his relationships, all his safety, all his heritage -- everything he was and had achieved was only worth getting flushed down the toilet.

Sploosh!

And can't you tell when you meet someone who has been to the bottom? Like Gandalf after the battle in the Mines of Moria. Like Aslan after the stone table is broken. Like C.S.Lewis after his wife dies of cancer. Like my dad after the accident.

No need to sugar coat anything anymore. The carefully laid house of cards comes crashing down.  Well defined theology rattles. Only what is real remains.

Sploosh!

What's the thing about corporations?

One of my favorite places in New York is Union Square.  You can't go more than 20 feet without seeing an artist or political protester and inevitably there is someone there decrying the evil of some corporation.

Honestly I can see their point. Corporations have done much evil the world over all in the name of efficiency which can be another term for greed. It is too easy for them to hide behind "policies" and do things that no indicidual would choose to do on their own. (similar in some ways to armed forces).

But the more I reflect on it, I also love corporations. I like going to Wal Mart and Home Depot and Geico.  What keeps me going back to these places? 

I like the low prices but I think there is something deeper because I will even waste gas to get to a corporation sometimes!

I think the reason I go is that corporations provide predictability.  I know exactly what I can buy and what it will taste like the minute I see the lovely Panera Bread logo.  It provides a little shelter and sanity for my otherwise battered existance. Rather than go talk to a real person I prefer the ease of looking at the familiar Starbucks glass case of pasteries.  Corporations are one of the most predictable parts of life. They are my pacifier. How sick is that?

What if?

Yesterday was not the best of days.

There were 200 or so people in a room made for 150. I was one of the people standing along the back of the room trying to take notes on the back of the agenda while holding the other handouts.  The meeting was three hours long.  The microphone didn't work well.  Worse than all of this, the tone was typical of many government agencies.

You need to color within the lines !  No coloring outside the lines !  Ever !

Us community-types huddled like little parochial school children on the first day of kindergarten.

A few ventured random questions and were soundly scolded as I knew they would be. I had been in that room many times before.  I knew the drill. You have to figure out stuff on you own.  I can figure stuff out on my own.  I have been coming to this room for 10 years now.

After 2 1/2 hrs. or so, I saw my chance.  I slipped out undetected and made a hasty escape down the elevator.

I took a little walk in city hall park just to clear my head.  The expectations and obligations of life were like a 5 foot tap worm eating the life out of my bowels.  The tone of the meeting had crept into my thoughts about life generally.

Then a new thought crossed my mind -- a questions actually -- that went something like this:

What if you heard the words, "You are doing enough."
What if someone who truly knows said that I had done all I need to do?
What if there was no one left to impress?
What if there was no more wondering if I had been successful?
What if there was no more wondering what I need to do next to stay ahead?
What if no one ever yelled at you?
What if you didn't have to hold it together?
What if you didn't have to play any more games?
What if you never got in trouble for anything ever again?
What if you knew you were taking care of your family well?
What if there was no doubt they felt loved and cherished and protected?
What if your work could be filled with beauty and creativity?
What if you never had to worry about food on your table and clothes on your back?
What if you didn't have to wonder if someone might wrap your knuckles with a ruler?
What if you were accepted?
What if you were in?
What if you were no longer out?
What if you were accepted?
What if you were important?
What if you belonged?
What if you could rest?