Of Waiting and Joy [10'TU]

 "Less is more" the saying going, conceding quietly that we always think "more" is better. This is a bane of my life, perhaps of all people in measure. For one of countless examples: "If one chapter a day is good, five would be better. wouldn't it? Of course it would, who could think otherwise!" 

And so it's off to the races with nary a question as to why or whether, by some odd and wild chance, the assumption could be wrong.

"Patience is a virtue" I always heard, but I never believed it. My disbelief was a mix of incredulity and simple denial. "How could waiting be good in any life, on any planet, for anything, anywhere? Really, how could it? Tell me, tell me now!"

This business is at the core of life and the right answer offers keys for life well-lived. A happy life is a good life and goodness is not easy in the early going as habits are built and desires denied. Suffering is required, sometimes suffering for a long time. But it is a trade off -- suffer now and odds are you can avoid suffering later. This is also known as the ability to wait, the willingness to delay gratification.

Life is in the waiting -- one might even say life is waiting. Waiting for what? The better, the good, the joy, the eternal. Bearing with the weight of waiting now is wisdom distilled. It surrenders to reality, that more is not better, that being underlies all good doing, that eternal good will come, will come, in time.

So wait and sing and dance, for joy -- eternal joy -- comes someday and it will make the pain of waiting seem as nothing.

A Musing on Wendell Berry and Sabbath

What might the heart and mind know when we finally rest?

  

Wendell Berry will be ninety this year. What an amazing guy. You should read A Letter to Wendell Berry by Wallace Stegner. It reveals two gifted men, depth of friendship, joys of life that call us higher and make us feel the sweet pain of tasting the best and knowing there is even more and better. There are secrets to seeing and being thus.

Wendell comes to mind today because for some decades now he has written poems on Sunday. This hints at how much can be done with regular effort over time. He writes more than he can use and he doesn't use a laptop to enhance quantity. His life-long habit is to write long-hand and then his wife, Tanya, types it out for him.

I would wish for such a record. It would grow a writer, though few will be in league with Berry. I began with a stretch for free verse because I like the idea of Sunday poems. Weekly Sabbath is a gift and discipline. Who needs it? All of us do, and very much. What might the heart and mind know when we finally rest?

Wendell Berry

Today

I write because it is today, a day when I am supposed to write. No one cares, I suppose, about said rumination, especially since it is only to fulfill a task. And yet, tasks are committed to pull us forward, or in some direction.

There is always, always, the question of worthiness. Are all tasks equal in value? Hardly. 

Comes to mind the old word,  first heard from my beloved pastor during college years, G. R. French. He said, "Big people speak of ideas,  average people speak of events, small people speak of people." He was quoting someone. I took it to be true in the main, and still do.

Yet, many people are unable to speak of ideas, perhaps quite literally so, and we should not look askance at them. Nor do all who speak of ideas do so well, with clear-headedness, thoughtful rationale, devoid of fallacy or severe bias, etc. 

In a word, we need help with all kinds of talk, and writing blogs is no exception. I love ideas but such hardly makes me a "big person." (A too easy fallacy sticks its head in here. The pastor did not say all who speak of ideas are big, but that big people do it.)

The only answer for me, really, is prayer, though I easily and often fail it. Seek the living God, ask His presence, ask His forgiveness, ask for wisdom and good sense. Pray for your loved ones: yes, because they need this or that, but more because you need to learn to love them and praying for them is non-negotiable if you would be successful that forever journey.

Enough for today. I fulfilled my task. No, not that task, my pesky writing goals. But the greatest gift of life,  i.e. to hear within the call to God and to kneel in heart and life before Him.

I hope you will join in that eternal joy and pursuit. 

How do we meaningfully ask adult males to be men?

How do we meaningfully ask adult males to be men?

There is no end run on life which is another way of saying there is no end run on character.  The only way to ask adult males to be men is to be men ourselves.  This requires first of all something which should not need to be said:  it requires we believe there is such a thing as manhood, as masculinity.

The very need to define this is without doubt universal and old as time, but we cannot pass without mentioning that feminism has been no friend in this arena.  I mean clearly and plainly this: insofar as feminism and other sex/gender ideologies have made masculinity wholly subjective -- to that extent it has not been good.  That seems axiomatic to me, though I would of course listen to rejoinders and admit freely that it is -- as are all things in our current life-of-mind -- all but impossible to prove. (Which indicates it is premise level knowledge -- you either accept it or you do not.)

So, assuming there are universal and identifiable aspects to masculinity, if I were to give a minimalist answer to the above question it would look like this:

1. Men should always be honest, hard-working, provide for their own, and do their best.
2. Men should be sexually responsible.  This means saving sex for one woman, and that after marriage; and then keeping it within marriage with that one woman until death.  Singleness is a sound option, to be seriously considered as preferable for some men.  But it is not honorable unless chaste.
3. Honor really matters. Honor means to do what is right, reward rightness in others, look down upon un-rightness in others.
4. Men should use their gifts to the best of their ability to serve their loved ones and communities.
5. Men should cultivate and promote a willingness to protect their homes, communities and fatherland -- with force as necessary -- with the goal of protecting the more vulnerable and assuring that maximal life is preserved and prolonged.

That's my best effort and I hope it helps someone somewhere, just as I was helped by my own Dad, Uncles, Grandfathers, brothers, and other male examples.  Which underscores the main point: the best way to help boys become men is to be faithful to those we father by loving their mother and staying home; and by living faithfully otherwise as an example to sons not our own. For after all, when we adopt a modicum of C. S. Lewis' moderate realism about masculinity, we know that it is an innate characteristic in all men, to be cultivated, enriched, and strengthened.  This, as they say, quite literally "makes the world go 'round."

These simple truths, lived out though in weak vessels, give solid foundation to any community and nation.

Cross

“It's really my cross,” he said, “This thing I did not plan.”
Nor would he, nor would he know why it could ever be good.
How do we know what is good and what is not, when
our best is known to be otherwise by the Eternal God?

“Be careful what you pray for” the elders say, an echo of the
ancient text: “God gave their desire but sent leanness....”
We strive and wonder why we have not, forgetting that
which we are sure is good may be nothing of the sort.

Are all crosses good, all burdens beneficial if borne with
patience and faith in He who does all things well?
What of self-caused burdens? What of eyes washed with tears
so we see the beauty and joy that make the cross all worth it?

If I knew I might not say for would be too much for me.
But I pray for grace to bear my cross – whatever it may be – with gladness.
For if, as we hope, there is good in the very bearing,
then imagine the joy that awaits when we lay our burdens down.

Dealing with Life as it is [100WW]

[I've long wondered about the role of motives in life: how easily we assume them, how painful presumed motives can be, how easily we are wrong about our own motives and those of others, yet can scarcely be dissuaded in our opinions. It is a minefield of pain and difficulty. I thought I'd try to address it week by week with a few of these 100 Word Wednesdays. It is all fictionalized, drawing from life as I've seen it, experienced it, and thought about it.]

“Why didn't you let me play baseball?” Father and son were in my office. The son, age 30, was trying to heal a divide with his Dad. “Didn't you want me to succeed? Didn't you want me to have fun?” The son continued with questions that put his dad in a corner of assumed bad motives. It was, to say the least, painful. Parents do what they do for all kinds of reasons, and they don't always get it right. The son's face was more pain than anger, but both were at play. I wondered how this would go.

Revisiting Woods and Bears and Women and Men [10'TU]

I've thought much on this woman-meets-man-or-bear-alone-in-the-woods meme, and I tried to write on it yesterday. Among other things my effort to understand is an example of visceral reaction clouding judgment.

If you know the meme it says something like this: Women say if they were on a walk in the woods alone and had the choice between meeting a bear or an unknown man they would choose the bear. Who knows the evidence for this claim? I do not know, but I have seen where women claim that, yes, given the choice they would take their chances with the bear.

Truth be known, meeting a bear in the woods is very seldom dangerous, as hard as that is to believe. Who knows how often a woman alone in the woods meets an unknown man, or how dangerous that indeed is? A woman would have to judge by her past experience with unknown men she meets alone away from any possible help. Barring that experience in her past she would have to rely on ideas she has gained about men in general.

What might her dad have taught her about men and how she should feel if she met an unknown man in person. Hard as it is to accept, I think an average father might say odds may be better for good treatment with a bear than an unknown man.

Wow. This just feels so wrong! And when I wrote about it as best I could I ran into the ditch on both sides. If I take the meme at face value I have to say I see the point. But I just can't stay there. The visceral reaction won't let me.

What do we do when things don't feel right? Sometimes our mind can't function for the feelings; sometimes the feelings need to set pause on the best conclusions of our mind.

In this case I know I am reacting to something that feels like an unjustified and damaging insult. Men get enough belittling -- lay off already! The problem is, what does a woman do if she meets an unknown man in the wilderness alone? It is a difficult hypothetical. Are men as bad as the meme suggests? I do not think so. Can we demonstrate objectively the inclinations of women in the meme? No.

Such is the nature of hypotheticals. The set of encounters alone in the woods with bears is vastly smaller than that of encounters with unknown men alone. I wager it would have to be something like 1 to 10 million throughout human history, but no one knows.

And perhaps that is where it ends. This is based on normal human fears and an hypothetical that is virtually impossible to quantify. 

The mind can't do much with it. Feelings reign. 

Maybe admitting that is the hardest thing for me. And possibly that is true for the "other side" as well.

Of Bears and Meeting in the Woods

Of Bears and Meeting in the Woods

Sadly, the meme, while giving voice to fears of women, added insult to injury instead of healing.

I've seen of late the assertion that a woman meeting an unknown man alone in the woods makes for an uncomfortable situation for the woman. So much so that, given the option of meeting a bear instead, she would prefer the bear. I've dutifully tried to perceive the sense of this on its face without whataboutism, defending the integrity of manhood, or other visceral objections.

If alone in a wood, a woman prefers to encounter a wild animal rather than an unknown man. Perhaps it is right to ask why. Why?

• A woman, most of the time, is physically weaker than a man. The man may overpower her and abuse or kill her. Or he may do as a man should do: greet her with respect, and leave her alone unless she asks for help.

• A woman, all of the time, is weaker than a bear. The bear may overpower her and abuse or kill her. Or the bear may, as often happens, readily run off. It is simply not the case that all bear encounters result in attacks. Most do not.

  
  
  

This fictional situation deals with setting, nature, fear and hope: given certain settings what are people most prone to do, what should they fear, and for what can they reasonably hope?

• Setting: alone in a wood.

• Nature: 1) Man is a man. 2) Woman is a woman. 3) Bear is a bear.

• Fear: 1) Man will act like a beast. 2) Woman will be vulnerable. 3) Bear will act like a beast.

• Hope: 1) Man, may act rightly. 2) Woman, vulnerable. 3) Bear, he may run off and do no harm.

Conclusion: Odds are greater the man would misbehave. Take chances with the bear.

What may be said beyond this? A look at implications seems fair. A few that seem true would include:

• Vulnerability is the key issue. How must it feel to know you are at the mercy of another person or a wild beast? We have all been in both situations on some scale, though death is seldom one of the possible outcomes. Vulnerability is not comfortable, to say the least.

• It is a matter of odds: What are the odds the man would kill the woman? The whole thing is necessarily hypothetical so it is very hard to say, but I would think odds of death are very low.

• Abuse and harm, but not death? Odds could be slightly higher that the man would do actual harm.

• It should go without saying that any woman would have cause to fear meeting an unknown man – or a bear -- alone in a wood.

Difficulties?

• What's a man to do? Be a good man. Of course it is awkward to meet alone. Respect that difficulty, act with discretion and utmost respect, and move on unless help is requested.

• If help is requested, be a man and offer it if possible but, as a matter of principle, avoid any relational entanglement. Merely talking about this is difficult but it is the reality of life. No blame, just reality. It is highly likely the woman will respect that and all will be well. The man: do right, help if needed, move on.

• Does it feel insulting to men that women would prefer a bear? Yes, but so what. Some men have earned that fear for the rest of us. Women are more vulnerable than men in some situations, and this is one of them. Forget the offense and be a man which means you always treat a woman with honor.

• Are men sometimes vulnerable to women? Of course, but that is another discussion for another time.

• Should the woman have been in that situation? We all encounter situations we could not anticipate and we learn discretion thereby, or not. Since this is hypothetical, it is a teaching tool and certainly it is possible the woman could have avoided the scenario without undue constraints on freedom. In our world we have no guarantees of good conduct by others so we have to plan accordingly and we will sometimes misjudge the possibilities.

The perils of male-female relations are ever with us in this fallen world. It does no good to malign all men as beasts, nor to slander all women as irrational. Both are capable of causing and receiving incredible hurt.

Happily, both man and woman are also capable of incredible love, self-giving, meeting the need of the other in ways we were designed to do. Such a path is the answer to the painful problem, and if odd discussion of bears and men and meeting in the woods can help us remember that, so be it!

Sadly however, I conclude the meme, while giving voice to fears of women, added insult to injury and did not improve the situation. Perhaps my effort to take it at face-value has merit – and I tried, I really did. But at the end I cannot overcome the insult. It helps nothing to malign men this way.

In every man is a yearning to be all he should be. Encourage that, dare to believe that. We already feel hated and ridiculed in countless cultural voices. It is not helping. Calling us less than beasts only piles on. Encouragement to true manhood is a better strategy, but the morass of immorality we currently suffer only makes it worse.

We have lost our way and there are ways to find it again. We can start with a cease and desist on messages that demean men.

Trust in the Keeper of your Life

Psalm 16:1 Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust.

What a beautiful prayer: "I'm counting on you!"

I know this Psalm gives voice for Jesus, our Messiah: "Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither...suffer thine Holy One to see corruption." (v. 10) None will suffer in the same way He did, but we all have our cross to bear, and we learn from our Lord. 

This helps as I remember hearing the woes of a friend, whom I will call "Steve." He had said something like: "My son dislikes me, my job is failing, I can't make ends meet, I fear my wife will leave." And then almost as an after thought he said, "And my only car is dying and I have no money to fix it." I knew he was catching rides to work so his wife could drive. And I knew he was faithful in church and well-regarded by his peers.

He had called me for counsel and I knew I just needed to listen. For an hour he told me the various problems: grown children colliding with life's obstacles, a son still home struggling with school and perils of adolescence, extended family troubles that spilled over into their life from time to time. His wife was devoted and faithful: he knew this in spite of his fears. But he could barely talk when he thought about how his various shortcomings and their many troubles had made it hard for her.

After long listening and a few pauses, by a miracle of grace I opened my Bible to Psalm 16 and, barely knowing what I was doing, read aloud: "Preserve me O God, for in Thee do I put my trust."

Steve began weeping loudly. Through the tears I heard, "That's what I pray everyday -- every day -- but God is nowhere to be found. He doesn't even know where I live. If he did He would come and help me!"

He had spoken the truth of his soul and was taken back at his own outburst. I had nothing to offer but God Himself, and of course "God Himself" is infinitely more than nothing. At the end of our rope He is all we have. Problem is, Steve already 'knew' God didn't care.

I wish I could say we talked and he left healed and trusting. Perhaps that is true in part but then, and now, Steve suffers daily with struggles downstream from what he shared with me that day. Is there any hope?

This morning I look to this verse and wonder what I can take away for Steve, for myself, and for all who suffer in this world, convinced God has forgotten them. I came away refusing to go to weary platitudes, if even I could. It is amazing how the simplest and worn of words can sometimes bring transforming grace. I know not what I have or what can help. I'm looking, and here's what I see.

• The preserving of God -- the keeping -- is very earthy, physical, life-sustaining. It entails all aspects of our life but it is grounded there: in the real feelings, fears, troubles, woes of every day life as we experience it.

• We do well when we come to God if we do not varnish the reality of our life but rather voice it to him as it is. He already knows all about it.

• Finally, there is no path in any direction without trust. God is our only hope when pressed to the wall and if we abandon hope in Him what do we have left? Ourselves alone, with all the hardship that brought us to the end of ourself.

At the end of ourself we learn to say, "in Thee do I put my trust."

Fling yourself on Him. He will come through for you when you need Him most if your trust is stayed on Him.

Pascal on Eternity

"...a nothing of eternity, and an eternity of nothing..."

Ran across this from Pascal -- had never seen it before. So true and cuts to the heart of Jesus' command not to worry and Paul's "do not set affections" on this world and James' "life is a vapor". How could it be that we have things so backwards? The Fall did more than we can imagine. As Peter Kreeft has it, "We read the Times when we need to read the eternities." Pascal says it so well:
   

"Our imagination so powerfully magnifies time, by continual reflections upon it,
and so diminishes eternity for want of reflection,
that we make a nothing of eternity, and an eternity of nothing;
 and so vigorous and deeply rooted is this propensity, that the utmost efforts of our reason cannot extirpate it."

A Simple Guide for the National Day of Prayer

National Day of Prayer 

A Proclamation [excerpts]

During the Civil War Lincoln said that he was driven to his knees in prayer because he was convinced that he had nowhere else to go. During World War II, an unknown soldier in a trench in Tunisia left behind a scrap of paper with the verses:

Stay with me, God. The night is dark,
The night is cold: my little spark
Of courage dies. The night is long;
Be with me, God, and make me strong.

America has lived through many a cold, dark night, when the cupped hands of prayer were our only shield against the extinction of courage. Indeed, the true meaning of our entire history as a Nation can scarcely be glimpsed without some notion of the importance of prayer, our Declaration of Dependence on God's favor on this unfinished enterprise we call America.

On our National Day of Prayer, then, we join together... to petition God to show us His mercy and His love, to heal our weariness and uphold our hope, that we might live ever mindful of His justice and thankful for His blessing.

Now, Therefore, I, Ronald Reagan...call upon the citizens of this great Nation to gather together in homes and places of worship to pray, each after his or her own manner, for unity of the hearts of all mankind.

- - - - -

Prayer Guide

As you pray today, ask God to intervene in the following arenas of influence. Dare to believe hearts could be changed and a revival of righteousness would sweep through. Pray for:

Family: pray for your own family, families throughout the nation, and that the value of family would be restored

Church: pray for the church, pastors, and congregations; for encouragement and renewal; for courage and strength in their various callings

Education: pray for our schools, Pre-K through college. Administrators and teachers need the help of God to be a force for good and righteousness

Government: pray for those whose daily decisions impact our lives in so many ways

Military: soldiers and all who lead them need encouragement and a sense of purpose. Pray that righteousness will prevail

Business: pray for a humility and generosity – the fear of God – to be manifest in all the business endeavors in our nation. With God all things are possible.

Arts, media and entertainment: these arenas have enormous influence. Pray for mercy, repentance, and truth.

- - - - -

The Prayer of our Lord Jesus Christ has been a guide for the Church for two millenia.

Let it guide you as you pray today.

Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

Hallowed: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” It is right to bend the knee and honor God who made all things and in whom our lives consist.

The Kingdom Come Thy Will Be Done: God's ways are good, we can count on that. When we pray for His ways we are asking for blessing, and putting ourselves on the line to shape our hearts in God's ways. Ask God to have mercy and let His goodness prevail no matter what it may cost.

Give Us This Day: When we stop and pray we must remember we are children. Like children we are needy, we cannot make it on our own, so very  much is beyond our control. Like children we must ask. Here we humble ourselves, remember our neediness, and ask for the blessing of God. Yes, for daily provisions, but also for the life-giving presence of God Himself.

Forgive Us, As We Forgive: Our nation is deeply divided. Pray for grace to forgive those who deeply offend. Pray for a heart of mercy toward those you find to be destructive and terrible in their ideas and actions. Remember your own shortcomings and let go your anger toward others so that you, yourself, can be forgiven.

Lead Us Not Into Temptation, But Deliver Us from Evil: None of us will escape all hardship and peril, but we can ask. God is merciful. He sends sustaining grace for both just and unjust. Hardships come: pray that God will intervene and deliver.

For Thine is...the Power and the Glory Forever: It is right and true to recognize the place of God. He is great and mighty and eternal; we are frail and needy and time-bound. When we recognize this it sets our world aright, puts the lie to tempting pride, and helps us walk aright in gentleness and peace.

Amen: “So be it.” This is almost a shout of praise: “Do the good you long to do, O Lord! Let it be so!”

Grace to Receive [100WW]

The young man helped the elder. I started to help him with his shoe and then knew he needed his pride. It was enough to let the other man help him. He spoke with gladness, this unknown elder. George W. Carver put it something like this: “Bear with those who suffer, who are headstrong, who fall short, who must be helped: for in your life you will, sometime or other, be in all of these conditions.” Indeed. I watched and knew. I will someday need what that man needed. I hope I receive the needed help with his same grace.

Form and Substance: Decorum & Religion Help Shape Proper Expressions of Being [10"TU]

I have long wondered about the relationship between form and substance, action and reality. Like everything, I suppose, the question is deep and wide, and books have been written to explore it. It came to mind as I watched a man help an elder in a wheel chair. It seemed obvious the man was not his father, yet he treated him as if he were: gentle and patient with the wheel-chair, helping with a shoe after check-in at the gate, caring and giving and being-with.

Of course these things happen constantly everyday between un-related folks. Indeed, blood relation is hardly a guarantee of civility, or even good manners. Too often the very opposite is the case.

Yet, the substance of being related, of being a son or daughter suggests something. Implies. More than that: the substance requires particular responses and actions. This is the is-ought problem of philosophy and it is all over our everyday life.

We were considering son-to-father, but if we flip it we may find easier clues. What is implied in the substance of being father? This is the is question, begging for an ought. If I am a father, or intend to be, what is required of my behavior? What form must I adopt that will be the proper expression of my being father?

It simply is the question of ethics: what is the nature of things and how does that nature insist I act if I am to cohere with it?

To do otherwise is to incohere, and incoherence is not a good outcome on any reckoning.

Estate Sales, Letting Go, and Hope

I see the yard and trees and driveway through the window and wonder if anything stays the same.

In '61 a man and woman marry and 7 children come from the union. The first dies in infancy. Thirty-two years pass and the husband dies, too soon, leaving wife, two young sons, four other children grown and gone. Fifteen years later a life-time family friend dies after long illness and her lonely husband finds a widowed mother with children no longer at home. This man and woman find wedded joy on a small farm, “young at 70” and then “young at 80.”

It is that 3-acre farm I observe this morning as I remember the husband's recent death and the path my dear mother will take after selling out. She is 83 and longevity is in her bones. But no one lives forever, or so I'm told.

I'm no fan of this passing of time. I sort through the too much stuff, a lifetime of love and living, almost countless things that meant what life was. No one, least of all my mom, is foolish enough to think things matter most. All of this stuff of life mattered to my Mom because life mattered.

Now we are getting rid of it and dozens of people came by and bought this and that. “Should we get a dumpster, Mom?” I asked, knowing the days of the sale were ending and the thrift store would not take everything.

“I don't want my China going in the dumpster,” she replied simply and kindly. “I have friends that will help me box it up and we will take it to the drop off.” There were several thrift stores but only one could bring a truck. We six children helped her for a week but had to return to our work and families. I was glad to know some other someones in unknown homes would enjoy her life goods.

Where now? Elders lead the way, following the path of their own elders. My Great-Great Grandpa Markey moved to Kansas about 1908 to help build a Wesleyan Methodist College in the small farming town of Miltonvale. His daughter Elizabeth attended that college and married a man she met there, my Great-Grandpa Ray Davidson. He died in a drowning accident in the early 20's when my Grandma Freida was a toddler.

My Great-Grandma Elizabeth re-married a few years later to a widower, Lewis Currie, with child, Dorothy. Soon there was “his, hers, theirs” and the Currie blend comprised a family of 3 girls and 1 boy: Dorothy, Freida, Laona, and Lewis. Lewis still lives in Oregon at age 93.

All these elders followed those before and so will my Mom and so will I in time. No one knows when. It is a too well-worn path, one too weary for speaking, one that lodges in the throat like mud: Why must it be so?

There are clues, and clues abundant for dealing with it, like the one I heard this morning: “Better to give thanks you had the gift at all than complain it doesn't last forever.”

Give thanks. It is the only and best response. The wonder of life, rightly received, reduces us to thanksgiving, to worship.

But forever is written in. We cannot escape it. And what we call nostalgia hints of the beyond. We were made for forever but we are bound in time. We gambled with reality and lost.

But my Mom and Dad taught me the Gospel, that Christ who made the world also redeemed it. What was lost can be found. What was lost IS found. The second Adam outwitted the damning results of the first. The heal-bruiser will not survive the mighty head-stomp, and all will be new someday.

This is the blessed hope and lets me dare to believe this life really matters: the 3 acres, the stuff, the years of love and joy and trial that disappear as if never even there. An infinite personal God holds it all, He is with us, and He will do all things well.

That's the faith I have. And that's enough for me.

Bogus Bleak

   

there is a place where bleak meets wonder and pretends to win the day

for things that are more than things and we can never say

all that is there

  

but wonder wins or so I say and so I see within my soul

the knowing a thing so good as life could never go

into the doom

wonder wins for it did not rise of its own a layered response

rather it is real and speaks the lie to what is not

the bogus bleak

 

On Abiding the Contrary

A dear friend gently offered the counsel that I tend to posture myself in a way that "cannot abide the contrary." Perhaps preachers, those who often have a gift of 'forth-telling', are prone to this. We know what we know and we know it is right and pity the person not likewise enlightened! (I am thinking of signing all correspondence with the acronym moniker CAC.)

I know this can be annoying. OK, I know it can ruin dialogue and even friendship. As is our human wont, the things true of we ourselves are often the things of which we complain in others. Thus, when friends speak self-assuredly of things 'I know to be wrong' I tend to think they are guilty of CAC and need to be corrected and instructed. "If only they would tone down a bit they'd see the error of their ways. Why won't they listen for a change?"

Can I be free of such confidence in my outlook? Probably not, for thinking requires confidence in one's opinions. Yet, I long to be able to speak peaceably with those whose ideas I think are nuts; to listen well and dialogue without judging.

Here's my partial prescription, offered with the necessary dose of CAC:

• Offer ideas to think about, not conclusions ripe for attack. (Opinions are for sharing, not imposing.)
• In perfect Stephen Covey style: "Seek first to understand, then to be understood."
• Attempt to disconnect ideas from feelings and personal identity.

There is more I suppose, all offered with the smiling caveat 'of course I know there is more -- don't imagine you knew it first!' Alas, CAC is omni-present, the blushing and stubborn pride born of painful insecurities.

But I am glad my friend is still my friend. He is able to overlook this flaw and love me anyway.

I'm learning!

CAC

"Freely you have received, freely give..."

 "Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. 
You open your safe and find ashes." 

(Annie Dillard, Write Till You Drop)

She is on to something.

"Channels only, blessed Master, but with all Thy wondrous pow'r
Flowing through us, Thou canst use us, every day and every hour.

This old lyric is only true in loving relationship with Christ. Channels, yes, but also friends, devoted servants, sons and daughters with our Elder Brother, redeemed Children of Light, "workers together with God."

Yet, if we hoard what we receive it rots like the secreted manna.

Lord, you are the Safe for our lives. Let me not fashion my own private safe, imagining I can keep something there, only to find ashes on that Final Day when all is opened.

IF [100WW]

“If I can,” we say: subjunctive, possible, contingent. The ever-present IF. “I will do” the toddler says. Years later the boundless energy of young adults never stops, never wonders. The chutzpa of youth has no “if” in its vocabulary. Contingent? “Contingent on me!” Until we learn there are rocks on which we break, reality bigger than us, people who care deeply and see differently. They mean no ill, but can't cooperate. So we add one of many “ifs” to our plans and learn to live in the world as it is, instead of how it is in our head.

Miracle of Life at the Airport [10""TU]

Ten minute Tuesday finds me in the airport. O'Hare, no less, not your country runway. I first remember an airport in Ulysses, Kansas. We could see airplanes come and go about a mile away from our house. These were small Cessnas and crop dusters and such. In later years we passed the small Clay Center airport nearly every day of the week.

As an adult I lived near many airports that were large enough for jets but small enough to enjoy: WPB (in the early days), Jackson (MS), Lexington (KY), Roanoke (VA), and now Fairbanks, Alaska.

But today I am in one of the world's largest and as always I am amazed at the people. I have always loved people: variety, languages, personality. Even with the triumph of tech – nearly all the people waiting at my gate are on their phones – the differences are overwhelming and beautiful. I scarcely know what to do with it, in my understanding I mean. Changing it is the definition of impossible.

I grew up in beloved rural Kansas in a beloved church context that emphasized fundamentals. Conservative fundamentals. Ways of life and details for living that have very little obvious expression in the mass of people I see at a place like O'Hare. It is an eye-opener. And painfully wonderful in all the good, human ways.

There is the constant problem of substance and form and I am reminded we all err in different ways on this continuum. I sat next to a couple that in form seemed to violate all that many – not just a conservative fundamentalist – would find wrong. Yet they had a child they obviously loved, and they cared for one another in apparent old-fashioned ways of love and devotion. Form one way, substance tacking opposite. I decided not to ask them how that works. 

And as I think about all of this I pray with a joy that bursts forth in praise for all that God has made, and for the privilege of living in this marvelous world.

On Disagreement, Motive, and Dealing with the Issue at Hand

Charity can help avoid the mire of polarization

Amazing how readily we find fault. Steven Covey says we get our "emotional jollies" by pointing out fault in others. I always heard we put others down to lift ourselves up, but this never made sense to me. Not sure why. Likely because I wasn't asking why I found fault with others. I just did it. If I did ask why the answer would be sure and certain: "I found fault because there was fault to be found. Why need there be more explanation than that?"

Why indeed?! I'm trying to sort this out because so often it seems we try to explain an action based on motives instead of accepting it as an action. And this seems wrong, except it is not.

There's the old relational wisdom that says we tend to judge ourselves on intent and others on their actions. That is, we excuse ourselves because we mean well and disregard possible good intent when assessing the action of others.

But what can happen when we obsess over motive? We excuse the action and fail to hold the actor accountable. This is a two-edged sword in controversy. I'll take a public figure as an example and see if I can work this out.

James Dobson served the American public for many years, trying to help us all think better about family and the things that matter most. He had his faults, like all of us, one being his leaning more and more into politics. It made his work more difficult I think but I always assumed he did it because -- here comes motive to explain and justify -- he felt the political arena could help him further his mission.

During the Clinton Presidency a scandal erupted around Clinton's alleged 18-month sexual relationship with Monica Lewinsky. This sordid affair, mixed with any number of other misdeeds, gave major ammo to his opponents. In the mix of the 1996 Presidential election Dobson and others made the earnest case that this flaw in Clinton's personal character disqualified him for the presidency. Adultery, with the mitigating factors of doing so in office and with an intern no less, was an offense so egregious one could never vote for Clinton in good conscience. Character matters and we must not compromise.

Fast forward to June of 2015 and one Donald Trump declared himself a candidate for President. Easily half of the electorate couldn't believe he was serious. But he was serious and because -- I assign motive again -- he was Republican and at least ostensibly promoted traditional values, the Evangelical mainstream and right embraced him.

Now the fight was on. Trump's life openly ignored traditional values. Twice divorced, his various escapades in business and family put him in the same broad moral category as Clinton, some would say worse. Granted he did not violate said norms while in the White House, but that's a small detail in a political scrum.

So in 2016 we had that same voter base – largely Evangelical Christian and social conservatives – deciding they could overlook Trump's sullied personal life. Character matters, yes. But some things matter more.

Many in what we might call the evangelical left, saw red: “Dobson and the Evangelical right is just doing this because they want political power!” Or likely more to the point, and more charitably: “Dobson supports Trump because he thinks he is best for the country.” But both deal with motivation, not the fact in hand. Why, exactly, did Dobson go in for Trump? Not sure. Probably several reasons. Why must we assign motive?

Another axiom says something like this: “Never assign ill will or malice as an explanation when ignorance or a simple mistake may do.” This seems a minimum of charity. We can surmise motive, and it is deeply human to do so, often very charitable. But why always go there? Why not just observe the action and deal with it?

So how did much of the Evangelical world assess Dobson's support of Trump? They charged him with gross inconsistency; some even use that overplayed word hypocrisy. “He said character matters for Clinton, he doesn't think so with Trump. He's a hypocrite!” Or worse, “He's a liar!”

Really? Is it possible we just deal with the action and allow that maybe, just maybe, he simply changed his mind? Maybe he overplayed his hand in the mid-90's and since came to believe he can't let his scruples rule out a candidate with whom he agrees philosophically. Maybe his motive is good in a tortured situation, dealing with multi-layered hierarchy of values. Ya think?!

 
Maybe the comparison between the two candidates is not one-to-one in Dobson's view. Maybe we should just deal with the facts on the ground and quit assigning motives that allow us to disdain. We have enough trouble knowing our own motives in difficult matters; pray tell how we can know the motives of others? And besides, I thought the great mantra governing all of life was “judge not.”

Dobson was no fan of Clinton, and I can presume he liked Trump for some inverse reasons he disliked Clinton. And Dobson apparently decided he could live with Trump's character issues regardless of what he had said about Clinton in 1995. Was an explanation in order? Maybe. But I am not sure most would even care. They had already decided his motives were sullied and he was a hypocrite.

There's a lot of fault to be found: planks and specks and a cruel vortex of exchanging barbs. When we step in that arena we step in quicksand. So we should stop and remember: beside the plank in my eye that keeps me from really seeing the speck in yours, there is a mirror. Find fault if you must, but start with yourself and you'll find you have enough problems to keep you busy for a lifetime.

Finally, I'll admit this is about heroes and the desperate need for them. Dobson was a hero and like all heroes – and all persons alive – he had faults. Newsflash: he even made some serious mistakes. But in this world of shocking polarization and devastating loss of friendship due to these kinds of disagreements, I'm trying to hold on. Dobson was one of my heroes and if I can – if the analysis and charity and judgmental habits will stretch far enough – I am going to keep it that way.

 
I hope my dear friends on all sides can find the grace to do the same with me. And I'm not even a hero.

The Limits of Analytical Powers Portend

analysis finds its nemesis
in wayward streets of the soul
where reason lives
but cannot reign for reasons

the reasons clear
for mind beyond
and mere mortals know
but can't say

must it be said
the truth which lives
and shapes our living
though unknown

seducing soul this thing
that must know and say
being quashed somehow
until the soul is whole

Strolling, Stones, and a Better Way

Comes to mind the stroll I often took in my growing up years. We lived in Ulysses, a farming and light industrial town in far Southwest Kansas. Our house was on the corner, one block off of Main Street and the four stoplights that controlled it. In a town of 3,500 or so, that was no problem, except those who spent hours "dragging main" used the block adjacent as their turn-around. But that was a small inconvenience and my dad's patrol car was often parked in the back, giving an instinctive brake-check to the High School-age drivers.

Since the town was small I did a lot of walking. We could be to school in 8 blocks or so: to the bank, grocery, general store, library, hospital, and a local park in less. The main grocery store was a mere two blocks away and before it was a small lumber yard with long, low yard buildings parallel to the street. What brings this to mind is a lot of pleasant, and some not so much. Today I'll consider the not so much.

I remember walking along beside that low building, not two blocks from my house, heading home, early evening. Who knows why I was there -- perhaps an errand to get a grocery item for Mom. Or maybe walking home from hunter safety course at the Law Enforcement Center in Court House Square one block behind me.

Whatever the case, I saw rocks on the ground, picked them up, and tossed them over my head like a hook shot. I was aiming for the windows of that lumber yard shed. And I hit them. Several of them.

These were old single pane, glazing and grid and all. But windows. Someone had paid good money and worked hard to install them. Someone would have to replace them and soon, for broken windows are bad for many reasons.

Who held me to account? Only my conscience, and without good training it would fail me. Who would make it right? No one, unless authorities caught me and made me pay. A few years later I did send them some money. That's another story, and right, but I doubt I sent enough. In today's money the damages would be worth $100 per window at minimum. Today, the old building is long gone. Was it any big deal?

Of course it was. If we measure justice according to "whose ox is getting gored" we quickly know when there is a wrong. The lumberyard suffered wrong. It matters not any explanation. I took from them and owed.

This is as real as life but it came to mind as I thought how easy it is in this world to tear down. For my part I am sure I was "acting out" some kind of inner strife or anger, for such is the human lot, though it does not make my actions right. But in other matters we often tear things down out of frustration: "It ain't working right -- get rid of it!" And that is always easier than finding a solution.

"Anything is better than what we have now." 

"Really? What do you propose?"

And so dies the discussion. This is the French Revolution. This is most revolutions, I suggest. The miracle of the so-called "American Revolution" is that it broke the rules of revolutions and certainly was not tearing things down as an end in itself. Rooted in common folk and citizen-soldiers grounded in the land, we built something on an idea that amazed the world in time and gave us a treasured civilization.

Do we have problems? Is that even a serious question? 

Too easily we throw stones because of our own problems or perceived problems in the civilized order, such as it is. This is not noble of itself and is easily ignoble. Throwing stones is easy. Anyone can do it. Breaking those windows was a piece-of-cake, even made me feel triumphant. But it tore down. It did not build.

We can agree that all fault-finding is not destructive. But what can we do to build instead of tear down? What solution do we have to remedy that which we declare wrong?

And perhaps most of all, what real serious attention are we giving to repair and strengthen our own personal character? Any one can throw a stone. But as the old song would remind us, "It's me, it's me, it's me O Lord, standin' in the need of prayer." 

Fix yourself and you have a lifetime job that pays back in spades and blesses the world. Throw stones and you degrade yourself while hurting another. It is not a good strategy for the good life, for the neighborhood, or for a civilization that blesses the world.

The intersection near where I did the vandalism.
The lumberyard was in top left quadrant.

My beloved boyhood home.

Tinker Creek: You Don't Know What's There Until You Do

A view of Tinker Creek in Hollins, VA.

I am reading Pilgrim at Tinker Creek this year, the 50^th year of its publishing. many lines are gold: “It snowed all day yesterday and never emptied the sky” or “the earth absorbs and releases heat slowly, like a Leviathan breathing.” And words like “quince” let me know Annie Dillard's vocabulary is vast.

I am in the first half and can't get away from the geography. Malcolm Muggeridge says exactness can hinder meaning, even truth. I find the same when I try to analyze and find exactly where Annie was as she wrote. The place has changed and it is not obvious where she perched to view the valley, though the wonder of google maps helps me get an idea.

The geography matters because I've been there. Tinker Creek bordered the home where we lived for 5 years. I had never read the book nor heard of it, but I spent a lot of time working near Dillard's vantage points. When I first realized this I wondered why it mattered. Is this mere fascination with the celebrity of a book and its author?

Maybe. But I've always loved books, and books about thinking and wondering and trying to see carry all the more value. Throw in a Pulitzer and you have my attention.

I can't spend this whole year reflecting on the geography, but the book is nothing without it, and I keep wondering what it means. Hundreds of families have lived along Tinker Creek. What did they see, what did they know? Did any of them think about – not just see – the starling flock that filled the sky. Odds are high they never watched a beatle eat a frog. For them – for the bulk of us – life and trees and birds and small islands are barely there.

Comes the old philosophy saw: “If I'm not there to hear it, was there actually a sound?” Or for non creek-dwellers like me and most others, “If I didn't stop to watch and listen, did it really happen? Was the Creek even there?”

We take life for granted and then we die. We cry for meaning and miss the clues all around us. Thinkers throughout time speak of something we call natural law: life reveals some fixed things if we give honest attention to how it is put together. Annie knew this better than most and is trying to tell us what the Creek taught.

“It's just one person's experience,” comes the worn rejoinder. “And why the worse for that?” one might reply. Besides, are you going to do the work of observation? Am I? As my best-ever teacher said about literary analysis: “You don't know what is there until you know what is there.” Annie was finding out what was there so she could share it with the rest of us.

So I'm left settling in to this book, thinking of existence, and the basic questions rise: What makes a person who they are instead of someone else? How is another's experience different, and do I share in it at all? Does our sharing transcend time? What has awareness to do with wisdom? Can wisdom be had without effort?

Annie's reflections can help us even though we are not her and had nothing of this experience. That much seems obvious. But for myself, I can't help being lost in the mystery as I remember trudging that same creek bank, busy with tasks at hand, missing the trees for the forest. As I think of the 'trees' Annie saw that most of us miss, I see frequent mention of shadows, shades, light ever-present and life-giving.

I wonder about the shades and the miracle of light the photographers, as opposed to logographers, rely upon for their magic. And I know Annie mimics their craft when she sees the light and speaks of its wonder. By my reckoning I'm a novice in trying to think like this book, but I'm leaning in, and I see something in the dim light. Take a moment to see, to really look, and you'll learn something. You'll see what is really there. You'll see things you had no idea were there at all.

Like Annie often does, I hear the echo of Scripture:”If you have ears, listen!” One might say “If you have eyes, look!” Few admonitions are more wise and Dillard took the advice. This book is an how to manual, a first-class “Watching for Dummies.” I'm looking forward to the rest of the journey.