Monthly Archives: January 2019

“On Missing Wonderful Gifts”


I nearly missed a wonderful gift from my thoughtful, creative wife the other evening.  It all started with a phone call, and a silly comment that I made.

I had finished a long day of teaching at the university.  It is a hybrid class that only meets on campus three days during the semester.  Everything else is online.

I felt that the day had gone well, and I was very happy.  The students were smart and engaged—an interesting group.  I learned a lot.  I hope they learned something as well.

I called the restaurant where I normally work as a host on Friday nights.  I had requested the night off, and I was pretty tired.  Happy tired, yes, but even happy tired is tired.

Nevertheless, I called.  To my joy, they said “I think we’ll be okay.  Stay home.”

So, I called my wife, and told her the good news.  Yes, the class had gone well (I think), and I did not need to host tonight.  I would be home for supper.  And then I added, “We can just sit together in front of a crackling fire, talk, and watch a little T.V.”

Now, there was one little catch to my proposal.  I like our house, but it does not have a fireplace.  So, of course, sitting in front of a crackling fire was not an option.  However, my sweetheart is, as already mentioned, thoughtful and creative—and she has a very quirky sense of humor.

I was listening to NPR’s “All Things Considered” on the way home to catch up on the news.  Thank God!  The partial shutdown is over!

I was almost home, and it was about the time when NPR features a couple of folks—one conservative, and one liberal—who discuss the week’s political news.  The conversations are often spirited, but not angry.  Hearing some intelligent and civil conversation is quite a treat in these days when yelling seems to be the norm.  So, I really wanted to hear what these commentators had to say about the week in politics.

So, I rushed into the house, leaving my computer and books in the car, and barely said “Hello!” to my wife.  I am not sure if I kissed her or acknowledged how happy our little dog was to see me.  I did notice that my wife had set up the card table in the living room.  I rushed over to the radio in the kitchen, and turned it on.

“I made you a nice supper,” my wife said, rather plaintively.  It still took me way too long to get the obvious point.  I was being a jerk.  Yes, I was being an NPR jerk, which may be slightly better than a generic jerk, but only slightly.  I can be exceedingly oblivious at times.

However, my obliviousity doesn’t usually last as long as it used to last.  I walked into the living room.  My sweetheart had a little candle on the card table, and the T.V. was on.  There was crackling fire in a fireplace from You Tube on our T.V.

I had three simultaneous feelings: dismay, tenderness, and joy.

The joy and tenderness were because of my wife’s creative thoughtfulness.  The dismay was because of my insensitivity.

I turned off the radio.  I sat down at the table for a nice meal in front of a crackling fire.  I also told my wife how nice this was and how sorry I was.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying NPR.   There’s nothing wrong with appreciating civil discourse.

But there is something profoundly wrong about getting so invested in my own little expectations that I miss grace, that I miss love.  Flexibility is not a native plant in my heart.  Perhaps it isn’t native to anyone’s heart.  But I need to import it, tend it carefully, help it to grow.  Sometimes, the wonder in life comes not from having our expectations met, but by something that blindsides us.  As George MacDonald used us say, “The door opens behind you.”  And sometimes, the fireplace is in front of us.

“How I Really Am”


“How are you today?” asked the young people behind the desk at Planet Fitness.

And, without thinking, I replied with a standard “I am fine.”  Then I added, “Don’t you get tired of asking the same question, and getting the same old answers?  I’ll try to come up with something better.”

I then took about ten steps toward the locker room, and stopped dead.  Wait a minute!  The pastor had challenged us this morning to be bold in our testimony for Jesus.

So, I went back to the desk, and said, “Okay!  Ask me again how I am!”

The young man behind the counter obliged.  (I think the young ladies were a little afraid of what I might say.)

“I am wonderfully blessed, and madly in love with Jesus!” I replied.  “And madly in love with my wife!” I added.

I need to think of more creative ways to deal with simple, routine questions.  But even more, I need to live a consistent, kind, and holy life.  The folks at Planet Fitness will be watching.  And, of course, so will God.

But this one time, I was bold.  Who knows?  I might get in the habit of doing this sort of thing.

“Happy Birthday, Spiritual Self!

Thursday, January 24, 2019

You must be born again.” (Jesus Christ, to Nicodemus, a religious leader who needed to start over)

Today is my spiritual birthday.  Happy birthday, spiritual self—whatever the heck that means!

It was January 24, 1976 when I realized that I was lost.  Well, I wasn’t exactly lost.  I just didn’t know where I had been, where I was going, or where I was.  Other than that, I was in pretty good shape.

I would like to tell you that I cried out to God in my despair.  However, the truth is that I only had the emotional energy to whimper.  Fortunately our multilingual God understands the language of whimper.

I would also like to tell you that, once I had invited Jesus into my heart and life, my life was never the same.  The truth is much messier.  The truth is that I have had to come to terms with a terrible addiction since that day.  The truth is that I still struggle daily with my runaway mind and heart.  The turning point in a war doesn’t mean that there aren’t a lot of battles still to be fought.

Still, these celebratory moments are good.  It is good to pause and consider how much love God has lavished upon me in the past forty-two years.  It is good to remember that God has never let me down.  I have let myself down repeatedly.  I have let others down.  Yes, I have had to repeatedly started over.  There have been times when God seemed conspicuous by his absence.

Yet, while I have at times been a sorry believer, I have never been sorry that I am a believer.

And increasingly, I get it right.  I am growing into a better man, the man I always longed to be , and thought I never would be.

So, happy spiritual birthday, self!  And now, may you begin again!

By the way, you can also have a spiritual birthday. If you can’t cry out to God, at least whimper.

“Knowing What I Don’t Know”


It is so easy to go amiss in my judgments.  In fact, even making judgments in the first place may be my first mistake.

Let me illustrate with a fairly recent incident that you may have heard about.  At a Right-to-Life march in D.C. an American Indian, an older Viet Nam veteran who was participating in another march, felt threatened by a group of teenagers from Kentucky.  Some of them were wearing “Make America Great Again” paraphernalia.

When I heard about the incident, I immediately sided with the Indian.  Why?  There were several reasons.  Some of my reasons may have been rational.  Some, probably not.

For one thing, the slogan “Make America Great Again” belongs to President Donald Trump, and he has made quite a few anti-Indian comments in the past several years.  This was probably my best “reason,” which shows how weak my case is.  To immediately think ill of the young people was crazy premature of me—as my wife wisely pointed out.  (I sometimes wear shirts from Goodwill.  This doesn’t mean that I endorse everything that is written on them.)

Another reason that I sided with the Indian (Mr. Phillips) is that I was a short, scrawny kid when I was growing up.  I couldn’t have fought my way out of a paper bag.  I was teased and taunted and bullied by bigger kids—which was just about everybody in my class, and many who were two grades behind me in school.

Teenagers were a special terror to me.  I remember (I was about 13 at the time) a kid in about the 11th grade, picking me up by the neck for no reason that I could discern at the time, and holding me off the ground until I nearly passed out.  He was all by himself.  I can understand how a crowd of teenagers could be intimidating to an older guy, or any person for that matter.

We all respond to things and people out of our own autobiographies.  However, it is best to be skeptical about interpretations based on our own experience.

So, I began to ask myself questions, trying to get past my own prejudgments.  Do I know the teenagers who were involved in this event?  Did they have a prior history of taunting?  Do I know Mr. Philips?  Do I know who really provoked this confrontation?  Were any of the participants really aware of their own motivations, or the motivations of others?  Am I aware of anyone’s motives other than my own?  Am I even aware of my own motivations?  Even when there is lots of videos (as there were in this case), can I be sure what was going on?

All these questions have the same answer: I don’t know.  Having asked the questions, I now know what I don’t know.  Or, at the very least, I have a suspicion as to what I don’t know, and it is a lot.

Now, of course, my ignorance cuts both ways.  I don’t know that the teenagers were guilty of anything.  I also don’t know that they are innocent.

But there are two things that I do know, beyond any doubt.  The first is that I need to not jump to conclusions, one way or the other.  The second thing is that I need to think about my own actions, words, and attitude.  In what way might I make other groups or individuals feel threatened or disrespected?  Do I give enough attention to how my attitude, words, and actions might be taken by others, no matter how I may intend them?

It isn’t the evil outside of me for which I am primarily responsible.  It is my own evil.  I am afraid in my zeal to condemn evil (as I perceive evil) out there, I have neglected to address the evil in my own heart.  I need to know what I don’t know.  Even more, I need to know—and deal with—what I do know.

“Extraordinarily Ordinary”


Sunday, January 20, 2019

“The power of a man’s virtue should not be measured by his special efforts, but by his ordinary doing.
  —Blaise Pascal”

How is my ordinary doing doing  today?  That is a question that I need to ask many times during the day.  And I need to reply as honestly as I possibly can.

God will not judge me my extraordinary doings, but by my mundane trust in God, and tasks done for God and others.

Too often, I despise the little deeds, willfully forgetting that almost all of life is comprised of little deeds.  If I despise the little moments and the little things, I am despising most of life.  And to despise life is to despise the God who gives life.

Do I even know what is big or little or medium-sized?  I doubt it very seriously.

So, right here and right now, I pledge myself to God, to myself, and to this day as follows: Today, by God’s grace, I will do ordinary things with extraordinary attention and love.  Whether I am shoveling snow off the drive, grading papers, conversing with my sweetheart, or playing with our little dog, I will do my best to do my best with the ordinary.

“Old Testament, Old Friend”

One of my earliest memories is of my mom and I sitting in an old overstuffed chair, with her reading to me.  Sometimes, I would ask for her to read the Bible.  She would then ask a counter-question: “The Old Bible, or the New Bible?”

“The Old Bible,” I would usually answer.  Mom was puzzled that a four-year-old would request a reading from the Old Testament.  She would sometimes ask, “Do you understand what I am reading to you?”  And I would answer, “Yes, momma.”

I was, of course, lying.  The truth is that I liked the pictures in her Bible.  I liked the picture of David slaying the lion and the giant.  And what’s not to like about Noah and his floating zoo, with the giraffes’ necks sticking out the window?!

I still don’t understand a lot about the Old Testament. Yes, I understand more than I did at age four for sure.  But not much.  Mainly, I understand that I don’t understand a lot about the Old Testament.  A Ph.D. has not dulled that insight into my own ignorance.  If anything, graduate studies has accentuated it. I now know more of what I don’t know.

I am currently teaching am Old Testament theology course online for my university.  One of the books I am requiring my students to read is by Matthew Richard Schlimm, This Strange and Sacred Scripture.  It is a strange book about the Strange Old Testament.

However, it is a good book and well worth reading.  I am speaking of Schlimm’s book here.  I am also talking about the Old Testament itself.

Schlimm uses an analogy for the Old Testament that I had never considered before.  The word picture that runs through his book from beginning to end is that the Old Testament is “an old friend.”

Here are some comments I made at the end of one of my Old Testament Theology student’s excellent paper.

Patrick,

Very good work!

I do not always (often?) agree with Schlimm either.  However, he does get my mental juices flowing for sure!

I think that it takes many analogies to get at a book as rich and difficult as the Bible.  One of the things that I like in particularly like about Schlimm’s analogy of the Old Testament as an old friend is that this analogy is literally (pun intentional) a more personal analogy.

Old friends have a different background and experience than I do.  That is one of the many reasons why I hang around with old friends that I don’t entirely understand.

While I don’t have a lot of old human friends, I do have a lot of old books that are my friends.  In particular—indeed in a class by itself—is the Old Testament.  How I love this old friend!  But love is one thing; understanding is another.

I hope that if I love well enough and deeply enough, I will come to a better and deeper understanding.  I see some evidence that this may be happening in my life.

Friends stick with friends through thick and thin. I hope to stick with the Old Testament until my Friend closes my eyes in death.

“Being Around vs. Being There For”

A good friend of mine prayed a wonderful prayer for me the other day over the phone.  Most weekdays we pray for our work that day and for our relationships.  We especially pray for our relationships with our wives.  So here is what my friend prayed for me the other day, in relation to my wife.  “LORD, please help him not just to be around.  Help him to be there for his sweetheart.”

Being around, vs. being there: what a wonderful distinction!  And what a difficult one to live out!  Why do I find this so difficult?

For example, I am frequently around my wife.  I am usually at home.  Now that she is retired (sort of), my wife is also usually around.  However, that does not mean that I am always there for her.  Absence comes in many forms.  Not listening deeply, not respecting her thoughts, feelings, needs, and desires, not thinking the best of her—all these are ways of not being there for her.

Being around is easy.  Being there for somewhat is exceedingly difficult.

Rod Argent, keyboardist and frequent lyricist for the group The Zombies, wrote a song that had the hook, “But she’s not there.”  He wrote the lyrics right after his fiancé called off the wedding a week before it was supposed to have taken place.

But sometimes, even married people are not really there.  At least, sometimes this married person is not really there for his sweetheart.

Being there is a crucial aspect of love and commitment.  According to the Bible God is the One who is always there for us.  Ezekiel ended his prophecies to a people who were exiled to a foreign land by speaking of the restoration of Jerusalem.  Jerusalem is even given a new name. “And the name of the city from that time on shall be, ‘The LORD Is There.’”

Even better is Psalm 139:5-12.

5         You hem me in, behind and before,

                        and lay your hand upon me.

6           Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

                        it is high; I cannot attain it.

Psa. 139:7       Where shall I go from your Spirit?

                        Or where shall I flee from your presence?

8           If I ascend to heaven, you are there!

                        If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

9           If I take the wings of the morning

                        and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

10          even there your hand shall lead me,

                        and your right hand shall hold me.

11          If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

                        and the light about me be night,”

12          even the darkness is not dark to you;

                        the night is bright as the day,

                        for darkness is as light with you.”

According to this psalmist, God is there, not matter where “there” is for us.  Classical Christian theologians have called this attribute God’s “omnipresence.”

But, even if we believe that God is everywhere, questions still remain.  Is God’s every-where-ness good news?  Too often we think of God merely being present in order to judge or condemn us.  Is God there for us¸ or is God simply around?

Psalm 118:6a says, “The LORD is on my side; I will not fear.”  And Paul, after talking a lot about the mercy, grace, and forgiveness that God has shown us sinners through Jesus Christ (Romans 8:31-32), says, “What shall we say to these things?  If God is for us, who can be against us?”  Who indeed!?!

However, as wonderful as it is to hear these things about God, the question remains: Am I there for those I love?  If I really believe that God is there for me, then I am called upon as his creature, made in his image, to reflect that to others.  I need to determine at the beginning of each day to be there for people.  During the day I need to ask frequently if I am being there for people.  And at the end of my day and at the end of life I need to ask the same question.  Who knows?  That may be one of the questions God will ask all of us when we stand before him.  Of course, God will already know that answer.  So will we in that moment.

“Praising Yourself a Little”


The following is a quote from a 12-step reading I did today (January 16, 2019).  It is from Today’s Gift: Daily Meditations for Families.

“When you do something you are proud of, dwell on it a little, praise yourself for it.
—Mildred Newman

Each one of us is very good at something. Maybe it’s baseball or tennis where we display talent. Maybe we’re good in math or at giving reports. A few people are talented at being good listeners or helpful friends. To recognize our own talents we may need help from others. It’s always so much easier to see our faults, or the ways we don’t meet our own expectations.

But the fact is we are all skilled in many areas of our lives. To accept praise–better yet, to quietly give it to ourselves–is a sign of healthy growth.

What things have I done well lately?”

After reading this, I said to myself, “I haven’t done anything well lately.”

But then I thought to myself, wait a minute!  I just solved a Canvas problem.  Yes, I created the problem.  Honesty compels me to admit that.  But that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t give myself a little credit for solving the problem.  And I learned something, too.  At the very least, I’ve learned how not to create one problem.

Of course, bragging too much on myself isn’t good.  But then, neither is ragging on myself.  Quietly giving myself praise for a job well done—or even for a job adequately done—might be an energizing activity.

I think I’ll try it.  “You wrote and posted some random thoughts today.  Well done!”

There!  See?  That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?!

“Unethical Behavior and Speed”


A friend of mine woke up during the night a few days ago, and had a wonderful insight: “Unethical behavior does not have to be caused by malice or ill intent, and is just as likely to be the result of hurrying.”

That is a profound truth, and very well said!

I helped him remember that he wanted to share that with me, because of a little vignette that I gave him from my own morning.  I had a couple of very small victories this morning, thanks to slowing down.  I was trying to fix a zipper that was stuck on my gym bag.  “Fixing” it meant that I was about to strong-arm it in the direction it was stuck.  This would, no doubt, have fixed it permanently—sort of.

But then, I believe that God told me, “Slow down, and think!”  The reason that I think this was probably a God thing is that I am a very impatient, impulsive person.  I would never have thought of something as obvious as slowing down and thinking.

So, instead of forcing the zipper in the direction it did not want to go, I gently zipped it in the opposite direction.  Then I very slowly and deliberately zipped it in the direction of its stubbornness.  There was a bit of the lining of the gym bag that was in the way.  I smoothed it down with my finger, and the zipper went all the way with great ease.

A few minutes later, I was about to throw away a pair of earbuds, since they were no longer working.  But again, I slowed down and thought.  And then it hit me: Hadn’t I changed my settings on my smart phone to “Do Not Disturb” yesterday?  Maybe that was the problem?

It was.

Of course, zippers on gym bags and earbuds are small potatoes.  But what about bigger things?  What about being in a hurry in my car?  What about being in a hurry to “fix” my wife’s problems, instead of slowing down and actually listening to her.

Speed is a drug that no one can afford to use.  It leads to unethical behavior.  And maybe, something that leads to unethical behavior is unethical behavior itself.

“Living the Story”


“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.
—Muriel Rukeyser”

I ran across this quote from Muriel Rukeyser this morning, and was immediately filled with wonder.  Perhaps the atoms themselves are stories.

And then I thought, well, if God created all that is—with the huge exception of God’s own self—then the whole shebang is a story.

I looked around at my messy work/writing area with awe.  Every atom of the walls, of my desk, of the cobwebs I really ought to clean, all of these are stories.  I am a story, God’s story.  So are you.  So is everyone you meet today.  So is everyone you don’t meet today.  Everyone you like and everyone you don’t like.

The story has boring bits, or at least, bits that seem boring.  And yet, the story that our atoms are is filled with tragedy and triumph.  Sometimes it feels like a comedy.  At other times, it is more of a tragedy.  But always, it is a story.

And we are given, by the very God who also has a story, freedom to choose.  We are stories, living in stories, writing stories by the way we live.

The best stories include interesting characters, whose character grows or diminishes during the story.  There is a quest, there is danger, there are companions, there is failure, there is success.

God is writing a story.  God is also part of the story.  God allows us to write our own parts.  You are not a bunch of random atoms, even though it often seems so.  You are a story, and you are a writer.

Write well!

Follow on Feedly