The Road Goes Ever On and On

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference - Robert Frost

I was in the town of  Waxhaw with time to kill and a hankering for a cup of coffee.  There were two choices: Starbucks, located in a nearby Target, or Crossroads Coffeehouse, the local java joint downtown. 

Starbucks needs no introduction, except the biased comment that their roasting method is to burn otherwise good beans in order to ensure the highest goal of any chain, consistency.  You are probably familiar with their clean stores, soothing music and modern decor.

Crossroads, on the other hand, is found in an historic log-cabin.  They sell coffee roasted in small batches, cigars from a cabinet humidor and truly delicious, unhealthy desserts (home-made, plastic-wrapped, fried apple pies, gooey brownies, etc.).  The tip jar says, "Support Counter Intelligence."  They may be playing bluegrass or hard rock music. They do not wear green aprons and the place feels like your grandmothers house; disheveled, worn and dated, but cozy and welcoming.

At Starbucks I see individuals with heads down in a book, or more likely a smart phone or laptop.  The last time I sat on the front porch of Crossroads, everyone was smoking and the ash trays were overflowing and the conversation was too.  Not a laptop or book in sight.  Someone saw my "Harold's Diner" t-shirt (another no-chain joint) and asked me about it.  The talk flowed from there.  Discussions about Harleys, Pratt and Whitney jet engines (don't ask why, I really don't know), deer hunting, pissing in the woods, irritating people, and the list goes on.  Did I mention they have rocking chairs?  How can you not love a place with rocking chairs, tobacco smoke and colorful characters?  My need for caffeine was satisfied, but more importantly my need for the human touch was too.

I choose the road less traveled and it has made all the difference.

Blessings of Empty Space

I'm well into my third year of unemployment.  Unlike many, it was my choice.  Well, not three years of it, but the initial decision to leave my job was all mine.  I've been homeschooling the kids while my wife stepped up full-time as a speech therapist.  Men tend to find their self-worth and identity in their jobs;  I'm no exception, so there are times not working a "real job" just plain sucks.  But I've discovered blessings by being out of the work force for awhile.

1. I spend a lot of time with the kids. Yes, there are times I wish I were somewhere else, but it has been great to spend more time with my kids than just about every other man I know.  In about 7 years we will be empty nesters; life comes at you fast and I'm grateful for my time with them.

2.   My work isn't tied to a dollar amount.  Our culture is really wrapped up in putting a monetary value on one's performance.  Believe me when I tell you living contrary to that mindset is a struggle; I find that my self- esteem takes a huge hit when I see the financial or social success of others.  But really, do the salaries of Tiger Woods, Johnny Depp and Peyton Manning reflect the ultimate value of what they do? 

3. Quiet and rest.  People take a week off here and there, but three years?  I am schooling the kids and maintaining the household, not laying around drinking beer (at least not every day).  But it is very different than 40+ hours at a job.  Without the time and effort a job consumes, there is a lot chances for my inner world to bubble up to the surface.  Much of it stinks.  But by coming to terms with it, I know myself better and have found peace with a lot of things I've struggled with over the years.  So quiet and rest are not as pleasant as they sound at first; some days it seems like torture.  But it really is a gift which has allowed me to change, hopefully for the better.

There are more, but these are huge for me.  Thank's God, for this season of life.

Child of Appalachia

I am a child of Appalachia.  I hail from the mountains, the land of bluegrass music, bootleg whiskey and blood feuds; deep coal mines and blacklung, to high mountain vistas that can also take your breath away. Tobacco is in our blood, in spite of government efforts to make us see its evil. 

Some have called us Southern Highlanders, where family/clan is your identity, and we just want outsiders to leave us the hell alone.  If you are from the goverment, you are definitely NOT here to help.  More than once in my younger days I've crossed somebody's land hunting and been asked, "Whose boy are you?"  The last time it happened, I was 21 years old, back from college. 

Most of us have Scots-Irish in our blood.  Our music betrays the heritage.  When you hear it, you hear the influence of jigs, reels and ballads.  Nothing stirs my blood more than good Celtic music or heart-felt bluegrass. 

I can raise a garden, raise cattle, butcher cows and pigs, pressure can vegetables, fish, hunt, shoot and survive in the woods.  I know how to split wood, start a fire, and use a wood cook stove.  I love the smell of wood smoke when the weather turns cold and the illusion of mountains on fire when the leaves turn.  I love the space, the elbow room to breathe and grow as a human being should.

I left it all when I went to college and have felt lost ever since.  You can take a man out of the mountains, but you can never take the mountains out of the man.  I have worked in cubicles and office buildings and feared suffocation. I've seen people treated like rabbits in a cage, and never could get used to the indignity of it. 

I left 80 wild, mountaintop acres to live in a low-land suburb with "community ordinances." I've joined the masses in my attempt to maintain an emerald green yard, but can't shake the nagging feeling of stupidity when spending so much time, sweat and money on grass. Its all very clean, pretty and neat, but its not me.  Looking over the manicured yards or parks in the city doesn't feed my soul like the woods, rocks and mountains back home.

I left because the world has changed.  The small family farm went the way of the 8 track.  There was no work in Appalachia, at least none that earned money. Even now I know how to do hard work, but not how to make a career. 

I watch my kids grow up in suburbia. They can't understand my grief for a world they have never really known.  It seems the virtual world of TV, Xbox and Wii has overcome the woods and fields I loved.  But this is the world as it is and I do my best to make peace with it and pass on the independence, self-reliance and hardiness of my heritage.  I just hope heaven has mountains, high places with hanging valleys, bold streams, pipe smoke, fiddles and a moonshine still hidden in the laurel thicket. 

Taking a Bullet for Jesus

Several months ago I finished Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell, a read I highly recommend.  In 2005 Marcus led a four man team on a mission to locate a Tali-ban commander.  They took up an observation post overlooking the village where intelligence said he should be.  They were discovered by three goat herders and the team debated killing them. Instead, they let them go,not wanting to commit atrocities like the men they were hunting. Turns out the Afghani herders ratted them out, and 200 Tali-ban fighters came to kill them. Marcus alone survived.  

There are many exciting details, but this one stood out above the others.  While they were literally fighting for their lives, one member of the team had a cell phone.  They were pinned down against a rocky hill, and the cell didn't have a signal.  The team member, Michael Murphy, leaves the safety of the hillside, sits on a rock while under fire and makes the call for backup.  He takes a bullet in the back which comes out his chest.  Murphy then thanks the officer he spoke with, ends the call and keeps fighting with a fatal wound until he dies.  Wow.

US Navy Seals are among the highest (some would argue THE highest) trained warriors in the world.  But every one of them knows the goal of their training:  to make them fit to fight and possibly die to defend their country. 

I'm currently reading several books by Christian authors about personal growth.  It is good stuff, and most of it echoes a lot of principles from the business world.  For example, the concept of promoting your "brand" (i.e., developing, defining and presenting yourself) is pushed heavily.  And I would agree with it as far as it goes.  But one thing about branding, self-promotion and even self-improvement bothers me. Namely, that it focuses your attention squarely on yourself.  

Question:  when Jesus asks you to take a bullet, and believe me he will, does the branding mindset prepare you for that kind of self-sacrifice?  When Jesus asks you to sacrifice a lucrative career, a successful ministry or your very life, does this mentality prepare you to do that?   I've seen people make a momentous decision that changed their lives forever.  They sacrificed successful pursuits in order to give their lives to something beyond themselves.  Others I know live lives of day-by-day self-sacrifice, out of the spot light, in order to serve the "least of these". 

Do I trust Jesus that much, trusting him with my life, career, reputation, future or even my very existence?  Would I take a bullet for him?  I hope to God I would say yes. "Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends" John 15:13.

Life Isn't Fair

I had breakfast with two friends a few days ago.  I'm 42.  Both of these friends are retired.  They both had strokes.  They have both suffered financially because they cannot work anymore.  They still have health problems as a result of the strokes.  They keep the faith, and we encourage one another over morning coffee, but life for them is hard every day.

Recently,my family put our house on the market and sold it in 11 days, which if you know anything about the current market is quite a feat.  We found a new house and were able to do a double closing.  The new mortgage came through no problem.  Our realtor said she had sold 20 houses this year, and the only two deals that didn't have major problems or challenges were the house we sold and the house we bought.  As a result of our move, we are in the best financial shape we have been in our family life.  I could name detail after detail which points to the fact that God's favor was in our move.

How do you reconcile my current success with the hardship of my friends? Honestly, I don't know. Did I work harder than them?  No.  Does God consider me his favorite? Don't I wish. Do I know some secret that they do not? I'm clueless.  I think it goes deeper. Up to this point, my family has suffered a lot of financial hardship. Money has always been tight. But I can see where God used those 15 lean years to help us learn discipline and to overcome the common temptation to make money an idol. We (mostly me) have learned to master it, and not let money master us.  Not saying I'm Dave Ramsey, but I'm learning.  And we could have lean years again, as much as I shudder at the thought. But it won't be because I'm stupid with handling the money.

So what about my friends? What can God possibly be doing in their lives through these difficulties?  My heart goes out to them when I see them struggle to find the right word. It is painful to watch how two very successful, hard-working men feel useless now because they can't do what they used to do. 

All I know is that God still loves them, he is redeeming them, and God is focused on making all of us fit for eternity.  He is growing great souls in us all.  If that means suffering in this life, so be it. I know my new house could be gone tomorrow. But God is my rock.  My health could be gone.  God is my rock. This life is uncertain, but God is my rock.

Man, the Glorious Ruin

Last post I shared my personal experience as a hybrid, a mix of good and evil.  I'd like to borrow from Francis Schaeffer and broaden that idea.  It was Schaeffer, by the way, who coined the title of this post.

Glorious ruin.  A very keen insight into human nature.  We are created in the image of God, lovingly designed and bestowed with gifts and powers similar to our creator, if not in extent.  But the gospel also points to our fallenness, our need of a savior.  We are ruined by sin, disconnected from our original intent and purpose, which is to know God, enjoy him forever, and reveal his glory. 

Instead of living for the glory of God, however, we live for number one, numero uno, me, myself and I.  Our selfishness separates us from God, each other and ultimately ourselves, for if we are living for our own pleasure and not God's pleasure, we rebel against our fundamental reason for being.   Fulfillment never comes from a steadfast focus on ourselves, even if it is a passionate desire for self-improvement.

Most of us focus on one half of our nature and ignore the other.  Some folks have low self-esteem, seeing only the ruin.  Others succumb to pride and see only their own glorious potential or current greatness.  Oh, we might piously speak about our faults, but if we truly face the extent of our sinfulness, it would be devastating, so we pretend it's all "under the blood."  But we are a mix of both good and evil, and denying one or the other is unwise.

God sees us just as we are and loves us dearly.  He knows our potential and greatness.  He also knows our ruin, the ugly side we desperately try to hide.  When we view ourselves as we really are, we can grieve our fallenness, and graciously accept God's grace.  We can accept our humanity and limitations and live honestly.  We embrace the fact that we can't live up to our full potential every day.  There are just too many variables, known and unknown, in our heart, emotions and world to live on top all the time.  But the love which envelopes us doesn't draw away in the presence of imperfection.  To the contrary, it is the needy cry of our hearts which draws God close to us, not our accomplishments.

But we can also humbly accept the compliments given when we do come through.  When I'm there for my kids, when I say or do just the right thing for my wife, I can feel good about being the husband and father God intended me to be.  But my worth doesn't depend on my performance.  So the flip side is that when I don't come through, when I'm tired, grouchy, or just plain selfish, it doesn't devastate a fragile ego because I'm not trying to maintain a fictional character, the perfect, awesome "Me."

So failure doesn't destroy us and accomplishments don't validate us.  We are glorious ruins, people with faults but also  great strength; in a word, hybrids.  The pressure is off.  We are free to be real people, that beautiful, volatile mix of all things human.  We can receive both correction and compliments, avoiding depression or pride.  We can succeed, we can fail, we can be known by God and others and mostly we can live and take risks because the father will never stop loving us. 

Life as a Hybrid

I read once about a family that adopted a hybrid dog.  It was half-dog and half-wolf.  The hybrid apparently made a great pet.  Until it attacked their son and killed him. 

Being a human being, and specifically a man, is a similar situation.  I'm not saying I'll go out and kill someone, but the seeds of murder do lie within my sin nature, and to deny that fact is arrogance.

Men are like the force; we all have a light side and a dark side.  Every day we choose the impulses to which we will listen and respond.  We have all experienced both the good side and dark side of masculine strength.  The good side is found in the policeman and fireman that put their lives on the line for our safety, or the good samaritan who stops to help us change a tire.  The bad side can be discovered in the abusive father, the cantankerous old man, or the Bernie Madoff shyster.  But the world isn't divided into good men and bad men.  As Solzhenitsyn once said, the line dividing good and evil is found in every human heart.

I will be a hybrid till the day I die.  What blows my mind is to see them operate at the same time.  For instance, I've been in situations where a young, single, attractive female is in genuine need of masculine strength and encouragement.  I've been able to step into a fatherly role and speak into her life.  While doing this, the wolf side of me whispers in my ear about taking advantage of her vulnerability.  The needy part of me that wants feminie attention would like to take this opportunity for self-gratification. In those instances, I choose to take life or give life.  Fortunately, by the grace of God and solid, intentional accountability, I haven't acted out on my dark side in those situations.  But the temptation is there.

I long for the day when the church will be more open to using and accepting men as they are, not the angels they wish we were.  Jesus attracted and discipled men, hybrids like me whom he redeemed and used for his kingdom. They could be real in his presence, and still accepted.  It's much easier to deny the dark side and pretend our churches have only perfect men and women with their lives all together.  But reality eventually bites. 

The Power of the Table

I've heard it said that most of the ministry Jesus did was on the streets.  That would be true; he taught in the synagoge, but most of his miralces were done in the marketplace.  If you look at how Jesus evangelized, however, another interesting trend emerges.

The gospel accounts show that Jesus did most of his evangelism in the homes of average people while sharing a meal.  This stands in stark contrast to our stadium-driven events complete with internationally known evangelist.  Are things just different nowadays, or can we learn from Jesus' example?

I think we can.  Here are a few points I take from Jesus' use of the table:

1. He had the potential to wow the crowds with all manner of signs and wonders, yet curiously chose not to. When he did miralces, it was because he was "moved with compassion."  He chose not to perform, but to engage.

2. Presumably, as God, he could have chosen to utilize speaking abilities bordering on the magical; if he can speak worlds into existence, certainly he can hypnotize human hearts with words.  Yet again, he chose not to.  He spoke and he listened.

3. Not only was his intervention in our world incarnational (i.e., he became one of us), his ministry was incarnational too.  In other words, he ministered in very human, ordinary ways, such as while sharing a meal.

4.When Jesus chose the table as his primary means of encountering people, he sanctified the partaking of meals and fellowship and made it holy.  Even our reunion with God in heaven will be a "marriage supper," again a very regular, human event.

5. Finally, if we as the church empower the ordinary, everyday saint in the pew to engage their neighbors this way, perhaps we can see more impact in lives and number beyond the loud, flashy, event driven experience that creates spectators and not individuals.

All this is just food for thought.  Not saying I'm right, but I'm just wondering if there might be a better way to engage people than some of the ways we've tried.  Thoughts, replies, snide remarks and amens welcome (just be civil please). 

The Preaching of Pixar

Sometimes the best sermons are not preached in church . .

My two oldest kids went to church camp this week, so I've been having some awesome time with my youngest son James.  Among other things, James asked to see the movie "UP."  Being a Dad who likes to say yes whenever he can, I agreed.  I'm more drawn to your action/adventure genre, so I wasn't necessarily pumped about seeing it, but I was more blown away by "UP" than any thriller I've ever seen.

I cried in the beginning montage and I cried at the end.  If you haven't seen it, you should.  I won't give away the plot (though by this time most of you who are going to see it have seen it), but here is what I will say: what a sermon!  If pastors in churches across the country could preach this good, the church would be bringing 'em in more than the local cinema 24.

I was never reminded so strongly of how powerful human relationships can be.  I for one tend to be drawn to the big, the flashy, the "important" stuff like position or accomplishments.  But as one of the quotes in the movie goes, "It's the boring stuff that's the best."  The little boy character was referring to the times spent with his dad doing nothing in particular.  God has lived in relationship as three persons throughout eternity, and we who are made in his image find our greatest significance in relationships too.  Everything else in life is temporary, but people are forever.  Sometimes I forget that.  "UP" reminded me that if I live my life without love, I'm nothing (I Corinthians 13).

By the way, if you don't believe sermons can come from outside church, check this out: 

One day I walked by the field of an old lazybones,
   and then passed the vineyard of a lout;
They were overgrown with weeds,
   thick with thistles, all the fences broken down.
I took a long look and pondered what I saw; 
   the fields preached me a sermon and I listened:
"A nap here, a nap there, a day off here, a day off there,
   sit back, take it easy—do you know what comes next?
Just this: You can look forward to a dirt-poor life,
   with poverty as your permanent houseguest!"  Proverbs 24:30-34 (The Message)

I'll take God's word any way he wants to send it, whether it be through nature, Hollywood, a good novel or my wife and kids. 

Land of the Free

Yesterday I read something by Eugene Peterson (the guy who translated The Message) commenting about why he wrote one of his books.  In essence, he wrote the book (can't remember the title, sorry) as a pastor concerned about American Christianity.  His main idea was that those living in the land of the free and the home of the brave should have a bit more spontaneity in their lives.   Instead, we live very boring, secure, insulated lives.

I don't want to come across as a cultural critic, because I value security just like the next guy.  But you can't take all the variables out of life, nor should  you try.  That is where faith comes in.

As a man who is stepping over the threshold of middle age, I find myself bored in many ways.  Don't get me wrong; I don't want to hear that my wife has cancer or one of my kids has a meth addiction.  But does our demand to insulate ourselves from the messiness of life also insulate us from some of its blessings?  It can be like the couple who refuses to have kids because they fear bringing them into the world, they aren't sure they can afford them, or they just don't want to sacrifice a secure income. And then you miss out on one of life's greatest blessings, nurturing another human being to maturity. Yes it is messy, risky, and downright difficult.  But the payoff can be one of the greatest joys in human experience.

I want to live more like Jesus, who didn't have a place to lay his head, yet lived to the full, in dependence on his Father, bringing the coming Kingdom into the world now.

Modern life can confine and even imprison us in our security, simply because we don't want to take risks or mess with the challenges.  But I'm asking God to show me how to live with "responsible irresponsibility instead of irresponsible responsibility" (Mark Batterson, Wild Goose Chase).  I'm asking God to lead me from the secure slavery of Egypt into the unknown freedom of the promised land.