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Time
puzzles me. Last week, a dear friend, a long-ago love, sent me a
long-forgotten photo of a young man. It turned out to be me, age 17,
1968. I didn’t even recognize this young man at first. He is long
gone, a different person today, in both looks and spirit, at age 61.
(However, that boyish smile and life-embracing elan still come through,
don’t you think?) A
month ago, a friend and member of our church family was a seemingly
healthy women in her 60s. She felt a little off, went to the doctor,
was diagnosed with leukemia, and died last week. Gone in an instant.
Sure, such things happen all the time. Still, I do not think I will
ever truly get my arms around the understanding part.
I
don’t know about you, but every day, I tend to judge and assess the
day. I do this by myself, as well as when anyone asks, “How are you
today?” as I go through some mental left-side, right-side inventory of
good stuff, bad stuff. But isn’t every day a
blessing, a gift from God? Sure, we may not always see it as such
(this past month, one friend had a stroke; another was diagnosed with
leukemia, so I suspect neither one of them is all that thrilled with
these blessings), but it is all in God’s hands. If He is good, He is
good all the time. So, even if something makes no sense to us, that
does not mean that it makes no sense.
Denver
Broncos Quarterback Tim Tebow has stirred up a lot of controversy this
year with his on-his-sleeve Christian faith. I have no opinion either
way about the man, except that (A) he seems genuine in his faith, the
expression of which is tasteful and humble, in spite of how naysayers
want to pretend otherwise; (2) hooters and mockers have delighted in,
well, hooting and mocking; and (3) those same hooters and mockers have
done soooooo much to further the cause of faith in this country. Kind
of funny, really.
I
used to try to make something significant out of the end of one year
and the ringing in of a new one … but it never really rang true. Years
ago, I even tried, just once, the raucous New Year’s Eve celebrating in a
noisy room filled with a few friends and a few hundred strangers. (I
was okay with it until the lead singer in the band thought it would be
great to drop his trousers and moon the audience at the stroke of
midnight. The significance was lost on me.) These
days, I no longer celebrate endings. Instead, as my Mother was wont to
do, I usually (no, not always; I’m not perfect) ring in each new day,
each fresh morning, each new beginning with a simple prayer: “Thank
you, Lord.” (I even sometimes sing it loud and long.)
For
many folks, our Christmas lists (as well as our prayers, wishes, and
hopes all year long) tend to be about what we want. We pray for just
one more break, one more goodie, one more pony under the tree. Our
petition may be as serious as the recovery of health for ourselves or a
loved one, or the restoration of a broken relationship. Or it may be as
frivolous as … well, back to that pony again. That’s why we often
get disappointed, what with all these petitions and here’s-what-I-want
prayers. Very egoistic. Well, what about what God wants? What about
what He wants for us? See
I
know a man who, by at least one definition of success, has everything,
but who, in reality, knows nothing. He has several homes, a handful of
boats, more toys than he can shake a stick at. Plus, he walks with a
swagger, an arrogance, a false friendliness and chilly warmth that I
once almost admired … until one day I happened to catch him in an
unguarded moment, a moment when he could not be in control of a fairly
simple event. It betrayed way too much insecurity and inner fear …
almost terror. (He reminded me of the All-powerful Wizard of Oz with
the curtain pulled back.) He had surrounded his life with objects and
ideas to protect him, and it hadn’t worked. My admiration turned to
sadness bordering on pity.
As
many of you know, I have a special place in my heart for stray dogs,
people like Chicago Mike, who is doing time in federal prison, or Gary,
the married, hard-drinking womanizer. But I also include on that list
my friends who have not seen the political light (as in: they don’t see
it my way), atheists, agnostics … even a few Muslims. Worst of all, I
have family and a few friends who are – gasp, gasp – homosexuals … and
darn nice folks they are, by the way. For this (and more), I have on
occasion be roundly criticized for not doing my own separating of the
sheep from the goats.
Once
upon a time, when I was down and almost out, a couple reached out to me
and helped me up. They gave me a glimmer of caring and support (and
they fed me regularly) during a time of loneliness and borderline
despair. They were the friends when I could not find a friend. To this
day, I hold them in a special place in my heart, and I still cherish
the continuation of our periodic meals together, accompanied by lively
conversation.
Years
ago, I knew of a man who went off to fight in World War II, and he
became very good at it. However, when he came home, he could not handle
the peace. He died a sad, miserable alcoholic. Well,
I know how he must have felt … kind of. Over the years, I have
struggled through many challenges. Every day I arose to do battle with
dragons; that was much of my life. So, you can imagine that most of my
prayers have been calls for support, relief from pain, or just
complaints that the reinforcements had not arrived on my time schedule. Well,
here’s the scary part: My prayers have been answered (well, except the
one about the pony and the Mercedes). No, my life is nothing like I
had imagined or prayed for -- it’s better, much better.
We
used to have a dog called Jackie. One day, roaming the property, she
took a nap under a tree. For reasons no longer remembered, I quietly
opened a window and tossed a cookie in her direction. It landed by her
nose. Slowly, her nose twitched as she sniffed its presence; then she
opened her eyes, stretched out, grabbed it, ate it, and went back to
sleep. So, I threw another, which she also found and ate. Of course,
being a pea-brained dog, she never gave a thought to how those cookies
got there.
As
a young girl, my mother could not figure out where eggs came from.
After her family told her, she still didn’t believe, even though she
spent a lot of time turning over and over and inspecting one of their
poor egg-laying hens (which, I suspect, pretty soon quit laying
altogether after such maulings).
In
my travels, I did not see God today, but I saw His footprint. I am
traveling a lot these days, doing writing and business seminars across
the country, sometimes “seeing” four cities in four days. It can get
lonely at times. Last night I checked
into a hotel in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. It was an everyday, decent,
mid-range motel. And then I saw God’s footprint: In the info rack on
the desk was a card titled, “A Prayer for Today.” Ah, I was in a house
of believers … no longer alone. On the other side of the card was
another message, shared in part below.
Joseph,
husband of Mary and earthly protector and father of Jesus, is one of my
favorites. He had steadiness, and that, to me, is the highest
compliment. He wasn’t brash or rash, but quiet. We hear and know
little about him, except that three times an angel of the Lord spoke to
him, told him to pack up the family and move great distances … and he
obeyed without hesitation. He never walked on water or did miracles,
but he was steady. My kind of hero.
I was
somewhat saddened this weekend because I was unable to enjoy two special
events due to timing and schedule conflicts. One was the wedding of my
dear cousin, Karen, several states away; she and I had been through
much together and had held each other's hearts through old sorrows. The
other was to see my daughter, Nicky, visiting from Seattle; she and I
had rooted for each other and stood by each other in past times when few
others would. In neither situation, however, did we let our
expectations (being together) darken our expectancies (love and trust
and ongoing appreciation). We all accepted the unavoidable
disappointments without complaint.
I
have few talents. Give me a hammer, board and nail, and I will
struggle over what to do with them. My only talent - and it is a small
one - is words. I can write a fairly decent letter and I can, on
occasion, bring an audience to its feet (in enthusiasm, not protest)
through my public speaking.
I've
never met a saint. I've never met a man or woman so overwhelmingly in
tune with God that I was left awe-struck. All the spiritually striving
folks I know are flawed and imperfect, and that's fine. They (and I
include myself here at the top of the list) stumble, fall and disappoint
God pretty much every day.
But, guess
what? God cares anyway. That's why, in spite of Peter's cowardly
retreat from Jesus Christ on Holy Thursday ("I tell you, I don't know
the man!"), he wasn't banned or condemned. Instead, he went on to
become the head of the Church and to spread the Good News.
This
falls under the category of we-always-hate-the-one-we-hurt. I had a
friend for better than 25 years. I was loyal, true, supportive through
tough times. We were buds ... at least until I went through a divorce,
and he took the opportunity to put the moves on my almost-ex-wife. Nice
guy, eh? (She laughed and told him where to go.) But the real kicker
was that he never apologized to me, or ever talked to me again, for that
matter. After trying to screw me over, he turned away from me.
Interesting. I call it wrongful indignation.
In
business, "Relationship Selling" is a primary key to success, to
getting what we want. That means that before asking for the sale, we
should have a solid working relationship with the prospect. We do not
just walk up to a stranger (or even a past buyer) out of the blue and
try to make a sale. It doesn't work. That's exactly how a lot of folks
pray, however. I know a young man who wouldn't give God the time of
day. He never prayed or went to church.
I
had the pleasure recently of watching my four-year-old grandson,
Charlie, enjoy his first solo ride on a mini-go kart. All he had to do
was push one pedal to go, another to stop, and steer clear of the
walls. Easier said than done. He was constantly distracted: one moment
deciding to rub his sandal on the front tire and crashing head-on into
the wall; another watching one side of the wall only to crash into a
parked go kart right in front of him.
A tad longer than usual. Sorry. People
who know me know that I spent my first 45 years building wealth and
arrogance, followed by another nine or so of mixed battles with angels
and demons, and the last six struggling with great material losses and
beautiful spiritual healings. It's no wonder I have a bit of an edge on
me. Whew!
"I
have a death wish," my brother, Lou, once told me with a shrug when I
asked why he does medical mission work to the most dangerous places on
earth. I almost believe it. Almost. He got mobbed by a
group of street children in South America who discovered he had a
knapsack full of tennis balls. (He brought them for the children, but
had to abandon the knapsack for his own safety.)
He
faced armed and nervous teenage militants in Darfur who weren't sure
his papers were in order. (He kept working on patients in a makeshift
clinic while, guns aimed at him, they sorted out the papers, which I
suspect they could not read.)
Jesus
Christ would have failed as a super hero. Sure, He could heal an
illness, give sight to the blind, cure a leper. (Cool.) Sure, he could
wither an under-producing fig tree with a glance. (Way cool.) Sure,
He could even control the weather and command a storm to stop making
such a fuss. (Awesome.)
But He never
smote an enemy. Not a one. (Sigh.) He didn't knock down walls or
beat up the bad guys. I mean, imagine Him standing on a hill and mowing
down legions of Romans with a flick of His fingers; or at least
shutting up some of His major critics, such as the Pharisees, by making
them run out of the temple with loose bowls.
I
know people who believe the most outrageous things, often without
thought or proof. They love what they believe (how they "feel") mostly
because, well, because it is their idea, their thoughts. In truth, it
is an ego thing. No need to bother them with the facts. They believe
what they choose to believe, even when you hit them with contradictory
information - including facts or at least a reasonable degree of
probability. Frustrating.
I
have an acquaintance - a bit of a reprobate - who snarfs down God's
blessings at the buffet table without the slightest thought of paying
the bill. He is a taker who acknowledges the existence of God (as if
God should be grateful), says he tries to be nice to kids and old folks,
and then uses and abuses pretty much everyone else. He never considers
the questions: Okay, God, so why am I here, and what can I do for you?
Lord,
give me this. Lord, give me that. Lord, help me. Lord, Lord, Lord.
Too often, that is what we do, or at least it is what I do, when we
pray. I'm no theologian, but I'm also not all that sure that this is
how we should be praying ... reciting a long list of very specific gimme
prayers. Why?
Because I have come to believe that we may know what we want
(sometimes), but we have not a clue what we really need (often) or, more
specifically, what God wants for us.
I
am not an earthy guy. I get no deep, spiritual high by putting my
hands in the soil. However, I am always in awe of the miracle of
spring, as I drive by farmers' fields that were brown, plowed dirt just
weeks earlier and are now lush with corn or soybeans. What awes me the
most is that seeds do not just become bigger and better seeds; they
become something quite different from what they were. They are
transformed into plants, shrubs and trees. Amazing!
From
my experience, it is the same with faith. I believe the seed of faith
is given to all of us -- ALL of us, without exception. But then it is
up to us to plant it, nurture it, feed it and encourage it. We do this
by prayer, by studying the Bible and other good books, and by actively
seeking the Truth. We do this, and God will find us and transform us …
slowly, gradually over time.
I
had never seen a baptism like it in my 60 years. Six baptisms were
scheduled for Pentecost Sunday at Seattle's St. Mark's Cathedral, an
open, vibrant faith community that seems to juggle easily the
traditional rituals of the Episcopal Church with an all-embracing joy
and comfortable, accepting casualness. Integrated into the service were the six baptisms, all of children ranging from a few weeks to perhaps 18 months.
I
confess that I sometimes feel abandoned, as if God booted me off the
back of the turnip truck and drove on. But then there are times ... Last
evening I drove 200 miles through Kansas' Tornado Alley, and I was
surrounded by wild winds and dark, roiling clouds the whole time. At
one point, as the storms and I raced on a parallel northeasterly route
between Garden City and Salina, I was tearing along beside huge wind
turbines that were shutting down, literally, as I was passing them one
by one. (To avoid being damaged in high winds, turbines are programmed
to stop when winds reach a certain speed.) With ferocious winds hitting
me broadside and dodging small debris (I got to see my first tumble
weeds as they flew by), I watched the turbines ahead of me spinning and
behind me locked down.
Updated constantly ... What's going on in Door County
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