Whoop, Whoop!

I spent the last few days in Virginia preparing for a wedding.  Most of the people involved either graduated or attend Texas A&M. The bride and groom are graduates.  All the bridesmaids are graduates, and one of the groomsmen will graduate this fall.  There were also a large number of the friends in attendance who graduated from this university, and many of the parents did as well.  I am just guessing, but maybe two thirds of the guests went to this school.

This is a unique group of people. When they talk about their experience at Texas A&M they speak of the many traditions that have been handed down from generation to generation. They have hand gestures, calls, songs, and rites of passage that they all share.  Several times at the reception they would break into their school song, gather to take a photo, or circle up for a cheer.

These were kind people.  They also had strength of character that you noticed as soon as you began to talk to them at any length.  The women are strong, confident, and feisty.  They men are honorable, chivalrous, and capable.  It was great to spend a few days with them in preparation for the wedding and reception.

One of the other things they all share in common, at least those who have graduated or have nearly graduated, is that they wear a gold ring that marks them as an Aggie.  Except for the date, this ring is the same for each class.  It serves as a common link for former students.  Whenever an Aggie sees the ring on another Aggie’s hand, an instant reunion takes place.

Since I have been here, I have heard multiple stores of how wearing the ring has caused another graduate to pay for dinner, offer a place to stay for the night, or even take up a contract dispute and win the case.  The ring marks you as part of a family that takes care of one another, even if they have never met before.  This happens because they have a shared history, set of values, and core commitments.

To witness this draws you in.  You wish you had attended the school.  You wish your children had chosen to go there. Even though you did not even buy your class ring from the university from which you graduated, you wish you had the right to wear theirs, because it means something significant.

It struck me as I was experiencing this community over the past few days, that is exactly how the church is supposed to be.  After all, those who believe are sealed with the Holy Spirit.  It may not be as immediately visible as a gold ring, but it should be just as symbolic of who were are and how we are to interact with one another.

Maybe it would be easier if we all wore rings, but then again that would leave people wishing they had somehow earned the right to be able to wear it.  Instead, the seal we receive is given to us freely.  While it does set us apart, it is not intended to create a division between those who have it and those who do not.  In fact, it is supposed to do just the opposite, it is to be something that draws others in and enfold them into the community we share.

This is where I see the Aggie community being able to remind us of how we are supposed to be as the community of the church.  They are generous, kind, and loving towards one another.  If someone has a need and an Aggie can meet it, they do.  There is an unbreakable bond between them.  Their traditions, calls, and songs unify them.  They are always excited to see one another, especially if they have never met before.  In short, they are a community centered on Texas A&M and all that it stand for.  This has a very profound effect on how they live.

We, who make up the church, are a community that is centered on the person of Jesus Christ, and it should have a very profound effect on how we live.  This reality should conform us into His image.  We should become like him; generous, kind and loving.  If someone has a need and we can meet it, we should do it.  There should be an unbreakable bond between us.  Our psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs should unite us.  We should always be excited to see a brother or sister in Christ, especially if we have never met them. 

I want to be part of this kind of community and I believe others do as well. That is why when you experience an expression of that kind of community; you want to wear their ring. 

What would it be for the church to be the kind of community it is called to be?  What would it look like for us to act like people who, do not wear a ring, but have been sealed by the Spirit of the living God?  What influence would this have on the people around us?  What influence would it have on us?

I do not know about you, but I am willing to go to school to find out.

Whoop, whoop!

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. - Acts 2:42-47

Be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. - Ephesians 5: 19 & 20

Ghosts From the Past

This was our last full day in Oklahoma.  If you have not been reading this blog, you may not know that one of my best friends and I discovered that we grew up for a period of our life in the same corner of the world.  Having made this discovery, we decided to take a road trip back there so we could put places and faces to the stories we have shared with one another throughout the years.

We ended our last day by driving out to a place call Ghost Mound.  Why it is called that I do not know, nor does my friend, but that doesn't really matter.  We had taken his mom and her friend out to dinner. When we arrived back at her house, her friend suggested we head out to the place.  I was surprised at how quickly Dana said lets go. 

As we drove to the mound, he told me of how when he was 7 or 8 his school had gone on a field trip to the spot.  He remembers how when they arrived he was kept at the bottom as the rest of the children climbed up to the top of the rock formation.  It was a painful memory.  He had thought of going back there and climbing it when he was in High School but never did.  Now 43 years later, our bellies full from dinner, we were driving through the back roads of Western Oklahoma in search this ghost from the past.

We pulled up to a chained gate, parked the car and started to walk to the base of the mound.  Grasshoppers, too numerous to count, were swarming at our feet, and bounced off our legs.  The sun was getting low in the sky, the light was golden and the air was still humid and warm.  It was beautiful.

Needless to say, we did not stop at the bottom of that rock.  Straight away we scrambled to the top.  Dana had the satisfaction of finally getting to climb up Ghost Mound. I got to share the moment.  We both beheld the beauty of the plains that rolled out before us like a carpet.
 

It was a great end to the day.

We began the day by going to the place where I had lived, Burns Flat.  Back then it was an Air Force base.  My dad was stationed there for nearly three years.  I moved there sometime after I turned one.  We left when I was four.  Just hearing those facts may make you wonder if I had any memory of the place at all.  

Surprisingly, there are several vivid memories I have carried with me for my whole life.  The kinds of memories that get cemented in a little boys mind and have a way of shaping how he see himself and the world for the rest of his days.  Unless of course, the man he becomes is willing to take a journey back to revisit them and see them through adult eyes.

That is a big reason why we are here.

I used to have a metal peddle car that some of the older kids would push up the hill behind our house and ride down.  Now there are fences there, but back then it seemed like a bid wide open space.  To get to the top of this hill, if you can call it that, we would climb up the side of it.  Back then, it was kind of abruptly cut at the side walk and climbing to the top involved scaling what seemed to be a steep embankment of red Oklahoma dirt.  It was an easy task for the older kids.  As a three year old, I could barely make it, and often fell behind.  This was the first time I remember feeling as if I did not measure up.  It is the first time I felt like I did not fit.

On the corner of the street was a storm drain.  One day I was playing there and I dropped my toy rifle down into the hole.  I was probably trying to see how deep it was.  I ran and asked my dad to get it for me.  He was not happy.  Instead of getting it for me, he opened the grate and then lowered me into the drain.  I was terrified.  I knew there were snakes in there.  I cried and asked him not to put me in there.  He refused to stop.  He dropped me down in that hole and waited for me to retrieve my gun.  I grabbed it as quickly as I could and begged for him to lift me out. 

You can bet I never dropped my riffle down that storm drain again.  I also never felt like I could fully trust my father, or maybe anyone else for that matter, to keep me safe.  I had to do it myself.

I when I walked up to that drain it was clogged with wheat stocks that had blown into the neighborhood from the surrounding farms.  I kicked it away and sat down on the curb.  I had expected that it would be quite shallow. Maybe it would have only been made deeper and more sinister by a little boy’s memory.  I was surprised at just how deep it was and how big the pipe leading out of it was. When I reached down to pull off the grate it was stuck fast.  I commented to Dana that my father must have been very strong to be able to remove it.  Dana pointed out that it was welded shut.

If only it would have been welded shut back then.

There were other feelings that came to mind as well, not so much connected to the house, but to the place because they were awakened here. I remember feeling as if I was betraying my mom when she dropped me off at the babysitter because I climbed into bed with the lady.  I remember catching fireflies with Valarie and thinking how wonderful it was to be with her. I thought, one day, we would be married. I remember a bunch of families getting together to watch football and thinking I was the only one who did not like it.  I remember going to play with three brothers, and wishing I had one.  I remember never being able to keep up with any of them.

As we drove around the neighborhood and what is left of the base we talked about all of these memories, which were formed in the mind of a little boy.  They may seem silly to us adults, but they have had a real impact on who I have become.  Valarie was not the last girl I dreamed could make everything in life all right.  That incident with the gun was probably the last time I willingly put myself in a position where I would have to depend on someone else to keep me safe, and I am not sure I ever fully felt as if I measured up, fit in or was fully loved.

At least, not until I found a community of people, in a church in the town where I spent the rest of my childhood.  These people desired to create a place where people were loved, accepted and could find forgiveness.  I experienced all of that there.

This community helped to heal so much of what I came to believe from those early memories about the world and myself, but it didn't heal everything.

This was very apparent as we drove around Burns Flat, as I talked about these memories as an adult, and as the pain rose up from a deep place in my heart.

Now I know what you are thinking, “Why would you go back then?”  I went back because whether we realize it or not, the emotions of those early memories have a way of continuing to affect how you relates to the world and others.  Even if you do not realize it is happening. 

You might say parts of ourselves gets stuck back there at age three and the only way get unstuck is to go back and allow yourself to see it as an adult. 

I wish I could tell you it is all tied up neat in bow, that this trip has somehow healed all that remained broken.  I cannot.  I am still remembering what it felt like back then.  I am still pondering what I came to believe because of these experiences. I am thinking through how those beliefs have influenced my life since then. Where these beliefs are false, I am laying truth over them.

This does not all happen in one day, nor can I do it by my own will.  I simply acknowledge what I have discovered and ask God for the grace need to heal these places.

This too is a journey.

As we climbed to the top of Ghost Mound, sweat was dripping down our faces, stickers were clinging to our legs, and we found ourselves scrambling precariously over loose rocks, but it was worth it. With each step that took us higher, I witnessed my friend’s hurtful childhood memory being replaced with the joy of finally reaching that peak.   When we got there he stood there in triumph.  I was blessed to share it.

This experience gives me reason to press into my own ghosts from my past.  It gives me hope that the journey is well worth it, and all things can be indeed be healed and redeemed.

Ghost Mound is a 1,572 ft mountain peak near Hydro, Oklahoma, United States. It ranks as the 155th highest mountain in Oklahoma and the 47991st highest mountain in the United States.

Surreal

Yesterday we had the opportunity to drive through the section of Oklahoma City that was hit by a tornado nearly a month ago.  We knew it was going to be significant when on our way into the city we saw fields with a sprinkling of debris, pieces of which were the size of large automobiles. These piles of twisted metal were probably parts of buildings that were ripped apart miles away and tossed here.  I say probably because you simply could not tell what they had been.

Remember, this is just the stuff that has been thrown in the field on the West side of Oklahoma City from a much smaller tornado than the one that hit the suburb of Moore.  The sight of it in no way prepared us for what we would see.

We approached the area on Highway 35.  On the way to the 19 street exit we passed the part of the freeway where the tornado jumped over it.  Here the damage seemed random.  You might have a sign torn and bent and the next sign over was perfectly straight.  You could see roofs of houses that looked as if someone had reached down and tried to pick them up but pinched too hard and pulled the tops off.  There were broken trees and piles of debris.  It gave you the sense without seeing it fully that something very big had happened here.

Turning off the freeway, we headed west until we reached the corner of S. Santa Fe Avenue.  On the corner the Walgreens had been damaged, they had a modular building set up in the parking lot as a pharmacy and repairs were already being made.  Across the street was a CVS.  It was totally undamaged.  We turned the corner and the businesses directly behind Walgreens were so damaged that you could not tell what kind of establishments they were.  Behind them the neighborhood lay in waste..

I will not be able to completely describe the devastation we saw.  We turned onto one of the neighborhood streets and there was a couple working on one of the utilities of their home, digging near the road.  The problem with the picture was there was no home, just piles of debris.  In this whole neighborhood, there was only one structure that remained that even resembled a house, and even then, your mind had to fill in a lot of the empty space.

Trees were broken and stripped bare.  Many were toppled.  The ones that remained standing had metal bent and wrapped around their trunks.  This was probably roofing or siding from structures miles away.  The path of this tornado was 17 miles long and 1.3 miles wide.  Who knows where it came from.

While the piles of rubble were large and there was no order to where things had come to rest, we were told that cleanup had already begun.  The autos that had lifted and tossed about like matchbox cars had already been removed.  One gentleman showed us a photo of two cars that had been bent and twisted together with such force that you could not tell what make or model they were.

What did remain was splintered 2 x 4’s, broken televisions, and crushed furniture. All you could think about was how the people who lived here were probably feeling just as splintered.  When you looked close, you could see evidence of this fact.  Lying admist the rubble were little signs of the life that was lived here.  We came across a bright red YoYo, and a bucket of trophies that someone had begun to gather, and apparently then decided to abandon.  These were reminders of the families, and children that are bearing the burden of this disaster.

We went back in our car, crossed S. Santa Fe Ave., and drove through the next neighborhood over.  Here there were men loading eighteen-wheelers with the piles of debris that had already been gathered for removal.  

This neighborhood was on the edge of the tornado’s path.  On one side of the street it looked exactly like the neighborhood we had just come from, piles of debris, concrete slabs where house had once stood and trees stripped bare. 

On the other side of the streets were cul-de-sacs where the homes on the ends had roofing damage, and blue tarps tacked down to protect the insides of the house which remained un-damaged.  As you looked down the street, you could see that the houses on the end of the courts remained undamaged. For the most part, these streets remained intact.

In was the juxtaposition of the two sides of the street that I experienced one of the most surreal moments of my life.  In the middle of the destruction on our right, a father stood on the concrete slab of what used to be his house.  His son was playing with some of the rubble that lay nearby.  I had noticed them when we first drove in this neighborhood.  We had been here for 15 minutes and I don’t know if I had seen the father move.  He just stood there as if trying to make sense in his own mind of what he was seeing.

On the right side of our car, where the streets were mostly intact there was a man in his front yard mowing his lawn.  His street is surrounded with destruction that I cannot even begin to fully describe to you.  His neighbors are picking through piles to try and find something of their life before the storm, and he is worried about the length of the grass.

Then it hit me, he too is probably trying to make sense in his own mind of what took place, why his house is standing and his neighbor’s is just gone.  Without rubble to pick through to process the grief, all he can do is mow the lawn.

Go West young man!

Yesterday we drove up the 174 towards Flagstaff, through Sedona.  It is one of those drives that draws you in.  Not long after making the turn off highway 17 you catch your first glimpse of the red rock formations that make this area such a beautiful place. The first formations you see act like a sentinels marking the beginning of a very stunning journey.  With each turn in the road, another vista is revealed and your soul is drawn deeper into the scenery.  

 

Eventually you pass through the city of Sedona.  Here, even the buildings seem to be married to the surrounding landscape.  They too are beautiful.  As you drive past Sedona proper, the wide-open space above your head slowly is filled in with the green canopy of the forest. 

This provides an entirely different experience of magnificence creation has to offer.  The hot sun now shielded from your face, you are enveloped in the cool breeze and the smell of the woods.  It remains this way as you climb out of the valley towards Flagstaff.

Given all of this, it is totally understandable why so many people get off the main highway and take the longer route through this scenic area.

Today we have been driving from Albuquerque to Oklahoma City.  The landscape is much different.  It is wide open and for mile after mile, flat.  It is covered with dry grass and trees that are no taller than a man.  These do not grow straight up, but rather are bent and misshapen by the winds that come sweeping through the plains.

When you do see a tree that is of substantial size, it is often isolated and alone and gives no hope for shelter, water, or rest.

There are areas where there are Mesas in the distance, and though these possess their own majesty, they too seem like isolated and desolate places. 

Do not get me wrong.  It is a grand and beautiful landscape, but it does not draw you in like the place we were driving yesterday.  If anything, it invites you to stop.  The drive yesterday enticed you with new vistas around each corner.  Today’s drive makes you feel as if you may never get there.  The land is so big and unending.  You are so small.

Looking at this for the past few hours I could not help but think about the fact it took those who were headed West days, maybe even weeks to cover this same distance.  Each day they were confronted by a landscape that was always beckoning them to stop.  It offered no hope of what lay just around the corner, but rather sweeping views of another day, another week, maybe months of traveling through what seemed to be an endless land.

And yet they headed West.

What called them to make such an arduous journey?  What enabled them to get up every morning and head out once again; knowing the placed they stopped at the end of the day would look very much the place they just slept?

I can only think of one thing.  Hope.

They hoped they would be able to leave behind the poverty, hardship and lack of opportunity of their old life.  They hoped they would find a land flowing with milk and honey.  A hoped for a place they could make their own, fertile farmland, and the promise that there was gold simply laying in the streams.  All you had to do was pick it up.  They hoped for a new beginning, a new life, and a new home.

This hope enabled them to rise every morning and look past what they could see to the promise of what lay before them.

I thinking of this, I could not help but think about Abraham, who also left his home to go to a land to which he was called.  I wondered what it must have been like each morning for him as he rose and set off for a place he could not see.  Did the land ever beckon him to stop? Was he pulled along by the promise?

I am confident that he was.

As I sat there, staring out the window I realized not every journey is measured in miles.  Sometimes the beautiful, desolate landscape lies within.  We have left the place we call home and we have not yet arrived at the place of promise.  We find ourselves waking each morning, with no sign on the horizon that we have arrived, no ability to go back, and the internal terrain inviting us to stop.  What will we do?

I suggest we hope.

I think of the Rocky Mountains that would eventually rise before these sojourners.  I think of the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Range that would lead them to the fertile ground of the San Joaquin Valley.  I think of the waters of the San Francisco Bay, and the trade and industry it would support.  I think of that man, who was working at a sawmill, reaching down into the stream to pick out a nugget of gold, and I cannot help but suggest their hope was not in vain.

I think of Abraham’s decedents taking possession of the land.  I think of them becoming a great people, more numerous than the grains of sand on the shore or the stars in the sky.  I think of how every nation on the earth has been blessed through them, and I have to assert that the one who promises is faithful.

I think about you and me, and I know that we too have received a promise.  We too have been invited to leave our home and set off for a distant kingdom.  Sometimes it feels as if it is so very far away, and yet we are told it can be present within us, if we but dare to believe, hope and trust.

Without having fully seen it, I can imagine what it would be like to arrive there.  All things would be rooted and grounded in love.  Ambition and fear would give way to freedom and selflessness.  People would be changed by compassion.  Shame and guilt would be washed away by rivers of forgiveness. Those who fear rejection would be accepted. Those who are lonely and isolated would find a place belonging.  Those who are sick would find healing.  Those in need would not want. People would find joy in generosity and delight in sharing.  People would be kind to one another.  They would keep no record of wrongs. There would be peace, and we would all find a place to call home.

Each time we arise and are reminded of the vast landscape separating us from that place, let us dare to hope. Let us covenant together that we will not give in to the temptation to stop. We will set out once again, holding on to the promise of what is and will be.

I am confident; it will not be long before we see the Rocky Mountains rising from the plains.

Remember This

Great illustrations help you to remember the concept being taught long after you have forgotten much of what was said and maybe even who said it.  There are a hand full of illustrations I have heard over the years that have stuck with me, and still cause me to think about their meaning.  These kinds of illustrations eventually change your life.

One of the most powerful illustrations I ever heard gets its strength from the simplicity of the image and the depth of truth it represents. The person who shared it was Matt Hannan, a former pastor at Bethany Church.  He talked about it at a couples retreat over 25 years ago. (I think that is where it was, but then again it is not important because the place he shared it is not why it has stuck with me)

Every spring, every time I water the lawn, each time I wash the car I think about it.  That is how good of an illustration it was.

Let me share it with you.

Matt was talking about the brokenness in our lives and he likened it to a kink in a water hose that prevents the flow of water.  All of us have probably at one time or another been watering the plants or washing our car and have experienced a kink in the hose which cuts off the water.  Chances are, all of us have the same initial response.  We stand there at the end of the hose and begin to try and undue the twist.

At first, we may just give it a slight flick with the wrist.  When this does not dislodge the knot, we put a little more energy behind a good flip of the hose.  This often moves the hose, but rarely unkinks it.  Not to be deterred, we then resort to making wide sweeping circles with the hose, hoping this will untangle the twist.  While we may look like we are practicing our ballet in the backyard, it rarely works.  It is then that we resort to erratically flailing the hose. 

By now, we are frustrated.  It has taken far longer than we wanted to clear the obstruction.  It feels as if it has become personal. That the hose is willfully keeping itself from being unkinked.  We dig in our heals and refuse to be beaten by a 50 foot synthetic rubber hose.  It is then that the hose gets all of our anger and fury and we thrash that hose with all the energy we can muster. We have invested far too much in the process of removing this kink while holding on to the end of the hose to give up now.

Now, every great once in a while, when the planets align, the kink will be removed by this process.  By then, however, our frustration level has grown to the point that all the peacefullness of a quiet afternoon watering the plants has been shattered.

In reality, most of the time this process simply does not work.

If you want to unkink the hose and allow the water to begin flowing again,  if you want to do this with minimal effort and maximum effectiveness, and if you do not want to engage in a process that leaves you frustrated and in worse shape than when you began there is only one way to do it.  You need lay down the end of the hose, walk back to the place where the hose is twisted, and unkink it.  Then the water will flow.

This is true of the brokenness in our lives.  If we want the thirst quenching, life giving waters that have been choked off by the twisted places in our lives, the only way to really bring healing is to lay down the end of the hose, walk back to the place where it got all bent up, and do the humbling and often painful work of unkinking it.

I cannot tell you how often I have watched people, groups, organizations and even churches stand there thrashing about with the end of the hose, hoping to remove a kink that will allow the water to flow once again.  This often brings even more pain, frustration and dysfunction to the person, group, or body.  Unfortunately, it also almost never works.  It only puts more kinks in the hose that cuts off even more water. 

What it takes, even in an organization, is one person who is self-aware enough and brave enough to lay the end of the hose down and walk back to the kink.  This is when healing will begin.  This is when the water begins to flow.

I am able recognize the propensity to fling hoses so easily because I have been prone to flail a few hoses in my time and can still be tempted to stand there swinging that hose through the air.  I have to be reminded from time to time just how ineffective, frustrating, and damaging this whole process can be.  

That is why this illustration has been so helpful to me.  Almost every time, I go water the plants or wash the car and I get a kink I am tempted to begin flicking that hose.  Then I remember this illustration and I lay down the end, walk across the yard, and untwist the hose.

This has done more than simply getting water flowing again.  Like a golfer who practices his swing, or a pianist who practices a difficult piece of music, unkinking my garden hose has somehow built into me a “muscle” memory that has effects how I deal with the kinks of brokenness. When I become aware of one of these in my life that is choking off life I more naturally now lay down the end of the hose and walk back to do the work of untwisting it.

Today my friend Dana and I head out on a road trip to Oklahoma.  We plan to see some sites, do some work, and have some fun.  The truth is, however, what we are really doing is laying down the end of the hose, driving back to some places where we suspect there are a few kinks, and trusting that God will enable us to untwist them.

I will let you know what we find.

Depth of Field

I love beautiful things.  I love taking pictures of beautiful places.  I especially love when a photo captures something beautiful amidst the clutter of what surrounds it.  You have seen this kind of photo.  The object of beauty is vibrant and fully in focus and everything around it is out of focus and fades to the background.  Capturing this kind of picture turns a photograph into art.

In order to take this kind of picture you need to learn the art of controlling the depth of field in your lenses.  The depth of field is the distance between nearest and farthest object that appears in acceptable focus in the photograph.  The increasing the depth of field in the picture decreases the sharpness of the image of the objects being captured.  However, if you decrease the depth of field, the background will appear out of focus, but the subject of the photo will appear extremely sharp.  This plays a significant role in capturing the beauty of the object you are photographing.

Now imagine if you do not master the art of managing the depth of field.  Either you will always have everything in perceivable focus, thus never really capturing the full extent of beauty before you, or you might find yourself focused on the wrong object, missing the beauty all together.  Given how much can be lost in a photo by not learning this skill, it is worth taking the time to learn to use a few adjustments on your camera to master this art.

I was thinking about this because I am going on a trip.  I know there is bound to be great opportunities to capture beauty and I am now wishing I had finished my DVD photo course before now.  My mind tends to move from one thing to another and before I knew it, I was no longer thinking about photos, but about people.

It struck me that capturing beauty in people is a lot like capturing beauty in a photograph.  With people, we tend to think they are beautiful or they are not, but what if that is not true.  What if recognizing the beauty in someone else takes the same skill necessary to capture beauty in a picture.  What if recognizing the beauty in a person is dependent on your ability to master the art of adjusting the depth of field in how you see them.  If you were able to master this art, how would it change the way you see, value, and interact with people?

I have noticed that our experience of people is directly related to what we focus on.  This explains why one person can find great beauty in a particular individual, while another person looks that the same individual and does not see anything attractive. 

Those who have allowed selfishness, bitterness, pain, discord, envy and jealousy to be the mechanisms of their focusing often only see ugliness. 

Those, however, who have allowed the instruments of truth, nobility, rightness, purity, loveliness, admirableness, excellence and praiseworthiness to be what controls their depth of field, find beauty everywhere.  These are the artist who are able to takes pictures of common objects and turn them in to art.  They are also able to see in those who appear to be ordinary people great beauty.

What would it be to develop this kind of vision? 

Like taking good photos, this takes discipline and practice.  I would suggest you begin today.  With each person you come in contact with, ask yourself what do I see in them that is true, noble, admirable, lovely, worthy of praise, in short beautiful.  When you recognize it, take a mental picture of it. 

I wonder how this little exercise would change your perception of the people you encounter today.  I wonder how it would affect how you relate to them.  I wonder how much more beauty you would encounter as you go through your day.

It is worth a shot.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. – Philippians 4:8

Redeeming Loss

My wife volunteers at Meals on Wheels each week.  They send them out in teams, a driver and a friendly visitor.  My wife is the friendly visitor.  This position is responsible for taking the food up to the door.  She loves this job, because in her mind she is not delivering food, she is delivering Joy.

If there is any frustration with what she does with this organization it is the fact that she only gets a few minutes at each delivery to be able to connect with the people.  This is enough to bring a smile to their face, but it is not always enough to bring to them true joy.  This frustration led my wife to consider volunteering at an organization that provides hospice care for those who cannot afford it.  This company gives significant training in exchange for a number of volunteer hours.  More importantly, for my wife, they provide the opportunity to enter into someone’s life at a deep level and bring joy to what is typically a difficult situation.  She is very excited about it.

Last night was her second training session.  They were working to help sensitize the volunteers to the reality of the life circumstances their clients find themselves facing.  One of the exercises was to take five small pieces of paper and write down the five most important things to them. These were not to be names of people, but categories like my spouse, family, friends, faith community, the ability to see and read, good health, financial security, living in my own home, or my life’s work.  (It might actually be good for you to take a moment and do this before you read on. Come back when you are done).

When they were finished they were told to turn them face down on the desk and mix them up.  The instructor then came around and randomly picked one of the pieces of paper, removing it.  The students were then asked, what would it be like to have to adjust to not having this thing be part of your life anymore?  When you think about the kinds of things that were written on those pieces of paper, it is not hard to see how significant this question is.  (Maybe take just a few moments to do this yourself.  Pick one of your pieces of paper and ponder what it would be like to lose this person, ability or thing.)

After they sat with this awhile, the instructor then came around and took another piece of paper from their desk, explaining that rarely in life do we only experience one loss.  Often they come in multiples.  Again they were asked to consider what this compounded loss would be like.  They were then asked the question, what would enable you to cope with these kinds of loss in your life? (You might want to take a moment an answer this for yourself.)

It was heavy stuff.  It is heavy because these are big losses to absorb.  It is heavy because if you live long enough, you are bound to experience some, if not most of these losses.  It is heavy because you realize that when you go to serve the people who sign up for the care this organization provides you are stepping right into the middle of their experience of loss.

It was moving to listen to my wife talk about her experience and what she was learning. As she did, however, I began to think about it and I recognized that you do not have to wait until you are 85 to experience the kinds of loss they about which they were exploring.  I have more than one friend who lost their spouse very early in life.  I know multiple people, who in the middle of their career had it stripped from them.  I have watched parents grieve over the death of their child.  I have seen spouses walk away, people battle cancer, homes lost, bank accounts run dry, families become estranged, parents pass, and the relationship with a faith community damaged beyond repair.  All these things happened to people who were under 40 and decades away from being the average age of the people this organization serves.

While the frequency of loss may seem to increase, as we grow older, the chances are, most of the people you will encounter today will already have experienced significant loss in their life.  In fact, they may be going through it right now.

The goal of this exercise was to help those being trained to be sensitive to the people they will serve.  It makes it so much easier to be patient, kind, good, gentle, and self controlled towards others when you understand the loss and grief they are experiencing.  This realization causes compassion to well up inside and the desire to bring comfort to grow. For my wife it causes her to feel privileged to be able to sit with them right in this place and hopefully be a safe place to learn to laugh and hope again.

It may be easier to assume people are in need of this kind of compassion and comfort when they are old.  Given the fact that nearly everyone you will meet today has confronted significant loss, what would it be to recognize this and allow compassion for them to well up inside of us and the desire to bring comfort to grow?  What would it be to see yourself as the person chosen to bring into their loss care, hope and joy?

It strikes me that in seeing the opportunity to meet other’s loss with compassion and comfort, we in a very real way are able to be an active participant in redeeming the loss we have experienced in our own lives.  The empathy or experience our loss brings enables us to connect with compassion to one another.  While this does not erase the pain and grief we have experienced, it does turn our hardship into a life-giving gift.  It takes the isolation our loss may have caused and turns it into connectedness.  It turns the ashes of our lives into beauty.  In the process, we discover in the midst of our own experience of loss the seeds for life, hope, and joy.

I encourage you to take a long look into the eyes of the people you encounter today.  Do you see in them the haze of grief?  When people do something that bugs or irritates you today, can you look past their actions, sense their loss, and offer them comfort?  Would you be willing to be an instrument of compassion that brings deep joy, even in the hardships of life?

Recently my wife was talking to a friend about this issue of compassion.  Our friend, speaking from both her observations and experience, simply stated, “There is never any compassion.”  This may be truer than we would like to admit, but we can change all of that.  It is possible. I have a sneaky suspicion to be part of it would bring life and much joy.

I am all in, how about you?

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. – 1 Corinthians 1:2-4

Significant Events in the Neighborhood

Several months ago, we had a significant event happen in our quiet little neighborhood.  A young man who stole a car in Redondo Beach ended his joy ride at the end of our street.  The high-speed chase concluded with him crashing into a house in the middle of the night.  He exited the car and began shooting at the police, who had surrounded the accident scene.  They returned fire, the young man was struck several times and he died.  What a waste.

In the morning, the neighbors awoke to a crime scene investigation.   Bullet holes were scattered in houses and cars.  Shell casings dotted the street.  The car he was driving, along with a trailer, a parked car, and a garage were all crushed together in a heap in a neighbor’s driveway.  And, on his lawn, laid the body of the man who had forfeited his life for reasons we will never know.

Soon after this, the Long Beach Police department sent a notice around the neighborhood stating that they wanted to have a quick meeting with all the neighbors in someone’s front yard.  Because of the impact of all that happened, everyone agreed to be there.  This was a brilliant move on the part of the police department.

At the meeting, the Lieutenant they sent out helped the neighborhood process the tragedy that had taken place just a few doors down.  He listened, allowed us to ask questions, gave insight from his experience and told us what was going to come in the next hours, days and weeks.  For those who needed comfort and reassurance, he gave it.  For those who needed someone to express their anger to, he took it.  For those who just needed to be heard, he listened.  It helped our neighborhood heal and move forward.  It was just what we needed.

This weekend another significant event took place in our neighborhood.  Our next-door neighbors of 10 years moved.  Over the past decade, we had the privilege of rejoicing with them when their children were born.  We have witnessed many of the children’s milestones in life and benefited from the joy they brought to our street.  The long conversations we shared with the parents about children, work, politics, faith and life are too numerous to count.  If we ran out of something, we shared with one another.  If there was a need, any kind of need, we met it best we could.  We celebrated holiday’s together, colored Easter eggs, hung Christmas lights, and barbequed on the 4^th of July.  When there was no family to be with, we would be together.  They became much more than the people who lived next door.  They became a part of the fabric of our lives.

This is not true just for us, you see we live in a special neighborhood where most of our neighbors share this experience.  On Hackett, we know what it is to live with neighbors in our neighborhood.  Given this reality, you can envision just how hard it is to see one of the families on our street move away.  

It is also not hard to imagine that such a significant loss has elicited varying responses from the people on our street.  Some have responded by pressing in and wanting to connect with the family who is moving, it is as if they are savoring every last moment before the move.  Some have shown anger.  My guess is this is really evidence of the hurt they feel at the loss of relationship. Others now talk about the freedom of moving themselves, as if now that one family has exited the neighborhood it would be better to get out before you are the last one left.  Some have simply kept to themselves, probably not wanting to engage the reality of the loss.  For others there is just numbness, the reality has not yet set in.

I thought to myself, what we need is another neighborhood meeting where we can be heard, and express the hurt and loss we feel.  Where we can ask questions, reassure one another, and comfort one another.  Where we can offer to one other the gift the officer offered to us the last time something significant took place in our neighborhood, the opportunity to heal and move forward.  I wonder if they would be up for it?

The day my neighbor’s were moving out, I stepped out the front door just as their son was walking to school.  He said to me, “Hi Ron. I am moving today, I won’t live here anymore.”  I said, “I know Xavier.  It makes me sad and we are going to miss you. I want you to know that we would love to have you come and visit any time. You are always welcome in our home.”  You could see that tears were welling up in his eyes.  He was doing his best to hold back the urge to burst out crying.  He said, “I will miss you too” and then he changed the subject.  He told me that he had to get to school because he was going on a field trip.  I told him to have a great time, and then I said, “Xavier, I want you to know we love you very much.”  He nodded and then turned and walked off to school.

That brief interaction contained nearly all of the elements we need to be able to journey through the loss we now feel as a neighborhood.  Xavier and I were able to acknowledge the reality of what was happening.  We were able to communicate the value we have for one another.  We were able, albeit in a very quick moment, acknowledge the loss we were feeling, and we were able to find some hope in what comes next, even if it is just an end of the year field trip with the class to the park and the hope of future visits where we will catch up.  Thankfully, the first one came right after school when he told me all about the fun he had on the field trip.

As much as I would desire that none of my neighbors would ever move, it is not reality.  Life happens.  Loss happens.  People move.  Yes, it is painful, but it is only painful because the relationships have been important, meaningful and life giving.  I would rather go through a season of grief than never have experienced the gift of relationship I have been able to share with my neighbors.

One last note, Xavier means “bright new house”.  My prayer, as he and his family move to their new home, is it would indeed be a bright new house, where they will make many new friends. Where their neighbors would become like family and where he and his sisters would feel as loved as they are here on Hackett.

The Scar

It has been a month since I was laid-off from the ministry where I had served for 21 years.  Giving was down by 25% in the first quarter and leadership decided they needed to cut staff.  I was one of two who were let go.  I know that in our microwave society, a month can feel like an eternity, but in reality it is far too soon to say much about it at all, except for the fact that God has been faithful in communicating to us that He is present with us through all of this.

The morning I was called down to the office to be given the news I had spent some time in Scripture and then in a small devotional I read each morning.  The message from God that morning, do not seek to find your peace in circumstances.  All it will do is lead to an anxious heart.  Instead, look to my presence and there you will find peace.  Little did I know how soon I would be given the opportunity to apply this Truth.

A few minutes later, I received an email from a man who has had issues with the church and these issues have kept him from being able to maintain relationship.  I have sought over the past year to seek restoration.  He has not been ready.  I saw that email as a crack in the wall that had been built which has separated us.  It gave me hope.  This was a gift.

I then had the opportunity to go encourage, listen to, and be prayed for by a fellow staff member.  His prayer was sincere and kind and offered gratitude and blessing for me.  As I walked out of his office, I offered up a quick prayer to God and said, “Even if I am not here forever I am grateful I have been here long enough to see you bring our relationship to this good place.”  Little did I know that this was the last interaction I would have with a coworker before everything changed.

Each one of these was a gift.  They were gifts God was giving ahead of the news, to prepare my heart for what was about to happen.  This was a great grace.

Over the last month, my wife Tammie and I have continued to see God give us such gifts.  There are too many of them to recount them all.  Last night was the latest example.  Tammie was driving to a meeting at a church in Fullerton.  As she drove, she was thinking about how grateful she is for the place God had been creating for her at this church over the last year in preparation for the transition we find ourselves in now.  She also thought about the loss we have experienced and the grief we have felt.  It was then that she heard God tell her, “Don't you think I am grieving these things with you as well?”  This was a thought that had not crossed her mind before.

While we did not, and still do not fully understand all that God is doing, we trusted that He has permitted it for a purpose that we cannot see.  In some ways, we just accepted the pain and the grief as a byproduct of what God is allowing.  It never dawned on either one of us that He might be just as grieved as we are.  His heart may feel just as broken as ours.

When my wife shared with me what God had spoken to her, it both comforted me and perplexed me.  God was grieving this loss with us, which was a great comfort, and yet He is God, he could have prevented it all together.  He did not.  If he knew it would be so painful, if he could have stopped it from happening, why would he allow it?

It took me a while to process this.  As I sat there half thinking, half praying a picture came into my head.  When my daughter was very young she crawled over to the fireplace (Don't worry, it was not lit.) and reached in and grabbed something that cut her hand. She of course began to cry and held out her hand.  When we first looked at her hand all we could see was black soot, but it did not take long for it to become wet with blood.

We took her over to the sink and washed out the wound.  The cut was significant and we knew in a moment that she was probably going to need stitches.  We rushed her to the emergency room where the doctor confirmed our diagnosis.  They cleaned out the wound as best as they could and then prepared her for receiving the stitches.

Because she was so young, they did not want to give her much in the way of injections to deaden the pain.  Instead, they wrapped her in a blanket, like a papoose, with only her arm sticking out.  They asked us to hold her tight as they administered the stitches.  She was terrified and crying.  There were big crocodile tears running down her face and she was looking up at us with a look on her face that was asking, “Why won’t you save me from this pain?”

This made us weep.

We knew, however, as much as this was breaking our hearts, we had to allow her to endure this pain.  In fact, it would have been far crueler to have pulled her away from the doctor, freed her from the blanket, and allowed her hand to remain the way it was.

Our daughter has a scar on her hand that she has carried with her ever since.  It is more pronounced because the soot could not be fully washed out of the wound and still colors it. It would, however, have been far worse had we not allowed her to endure the pain of that moment and provided opportunity for the physician to close the wound.

I have to trust that God is both the parent and the great physician in my present circumstance.  He sees the hurt, pain and grief and because of his love for us, he holds us and he weeps.  It is a great grace that he reminded my wife, and through her me, of this truth.  He is also at work, to mend the wound that has cut us deeply.  It has not healed yet, but he is applying the sutures.

This too is grace.

Not long ago I asked my daughter to show me the scar on her hand.  When she was little, it almost ran the length of her entire hand.  I had not noticed it for some time, so I was surprised at how small it now looked.  It is still darkened by the soot.  It is still a scar she will carry with her for the rest of her life, but because of the growth that has taken place, in her between the time of the injury and now, it seems much smaller.  In fact, you probably would not notice it unless you knew to look for it.  Back then, it was all pain and tears, now it is a family story.

She will tease us and say, “What were you thinking letting a toddler play in the fire place?”  Next time she asks I am going to reply, we needed a picture that would remind us of how close the Father is to us when we are hurt.  How much his heart breaks when he sees us in pain. How much hope there is that this huge wound will one day seem so much smaller, especially when it is viewed in relationship to the growth that is to come.

What a beautiful, gracious scar.