Life is unfair!

I got a tough call late this afternoon. I was informed that a very good friend of mine has stage four lung cancer. It was horrible news to get. She is one of the nicest people I know. She is beautiful both inside and out. She has a great husband and three small children. She doesn’t deserve this.

Life is just unfair. In our busy lives of attempting to get ahead, we have the false belief that we control our lives. When it comes right down to it, we have little control over what happens to us. It is an illusion. A diagnosis, like a slap, wakes us up from our stupor, revealing what we really control: our response to the information. When life is stripped down to the basics that is all it boils down to.

So they choose to fight. Her mom said it best. “When you combine God with medicine, wonderful things can happen.

Fight, my friend! We will be praying for you, sending you our love and best wishes, and anything else we can do to supply the courage to keep fighting.

Penis on the path

Some naughty person with spray paint left their mark. As I gazed down on this modern day hieroglyphic, I pondered what it meant. Did this person try to articulate that he had a penis, or a graffiti Christmas list from someone hoping she would get a penis? Are they part of the PEN-15 club?

Looking at the position of the penis, it appears to be flaccid. What does that say about their belief about potency or power?

This mystery message is cryptic. I understand gang tags, and the “f*** the police” graffiti, but I must admit, this makes no sense. I wonder if it is a sign, for a gang called “the Penises”. My mind went a little off kilter, wondering if there was also a “Vagina gang”, who would fight the “Penis Gang” late into the night, producing young gangs months later? Enough. This is idiotic.

The point here is that I leave signs attempting to define myself. Some of these signs are misunderstood. I believe I am being clear, because it makes sense in my own mind, but other people may be confused. Sometimes I don’t even know why I define myself the way I do. Sometimes past hurts and scars have their way with me, and I send out signals that muddy the waters even more.

I don’t know why the person left the sign on the path. Maybe it was significant. Perhaps that was all that came into a person’s mind when maliciousness was upon them. Maybe it was a cry for help… “help, help, I’m flaccid and I can’t get up!”… Sorry. Maybe it was a child just trying to say something sexual. Whatever the reason, it makes no sense and the symbol remains cryptic.

As you read this, you may be puzzled as to why I even brought this topic up. I guess I thought there was material for a blog, I’m not sure I know why. Maybe I just wanted to use the word “penis” in a blog. Viva the Mystery!

Listen if you dare!

Someone shared her frustration over sending an e-mail at work about the lack of effective communication. What she got back was e-mails about who's job it was to do what, not addressing the concerns that the employee had. When I suggested that she write "I rest my case" she laughed and said she thought that would be fun, but the problem goes pretty far up the chain, and she would not be viewed in a positive light. She vented and then she left, and as far as I know, the communication is still lacking. The e-mails had the desired effect of silencing her.

As I was heading to class, someone in the learning center was talking on and on about nothing of substance. He loves to hear himself talk. I looked in to see who was staffing the lab. The instructor there had her head buried deep in her work and looked oblivious to the steady stream of verbiage going on. No one told him to stop, he was just made irrelevant, by ignoring him

We struggle to listen. Listening may reveal parts that we don’t want to admit about ourselves. As long as we fill the room with our voice, we don’t have to hear the critique of others. Talking silences the critic.

The departure of wonder

On the lawn in front of me was a light sabre, some inattentive child had dropped and lost interest in. I had an impulsive desire to grab the lightsaber and cut the foes of the rebellion to ribbons. Only an impulse. I walked by.

I could have picked up the lightsaber to fight invisible enemies. But I am a middle age adult. We don't do that. Besides I know there is no unseen enemy that would respond to that threat. And it feels just plain silly.

As a child, wonder was a part of my daily life. Now it's getting as stiff as my back when I stand after sitting for a while. It's hard to be inspired by rhetoric anymore, because that is what I feel it is. I listen to politicians attempting to inspire, I listen to music that attempts to move me, I sit in church and see those around me raising their hands in worship. Mine stays stoically by my side. I'm suspicious of wonder these days.

When wonder gets up and leaves the room, it is usually cynicism that hurries to sit in the chair. And once it sits, it is very difficult to get the chair back again.

The blessing of slugs

On my walk today I noticed glittering threads woven on the walking path. As I investigated, I saw that there were slugs at the end of each thread. Small, dark, fleshy. I had inadvertantly stepped on a few in my haste to complete my walk. They looked disqusting. Yet behind them, they left a trail of silver that shone in the sunlight. Some paths were straight, some meandered, and some looped. They didn't look like they are even moving, but the silver threads disputed that.

I have wandered through much of my life, trying to move forward. Along the way I have left a trail of something. I don't always see the good, but happily, when the Son shines on it, even if I am just a slug, He makes it a beautiful path. Joy, and sadness, success, and failure. He has the ability to illuminate the goodness and purpose that have comprised my life.

The benefits of hate

"YOU CAN'T BE CATHOLIC AND PRO-ABORTION." The car with that bumper sticker raced past me. I was mildly disturbed about the randomly polarizing in-your-face approach to the topic. It seems it was intended to ramp up a person's blood pressure. Granted, most Catholics don't adhere to abortion, but who is this person to blast those who believe different than her.

As I thought about the statement, I thought of all the unkind words that have been spoken by people who call themselves Christians. Many unkind labels came to mind. It made me feel sad for all the hateful things that have been said in God's name.

There is a verse in the Bible that says "everyone will hate you because of your allegiance to me". (Luke 21:17). And Jesus, talking to his disciples, says it like that is a good thing. There are other verses as well that talk about the benefits of being hated for belief in God.

Maybe this polarizing speech could be considered in other ways. If being hated is desirable for a Christian, then maybe by stirring up a backlash from others, these Christians would be able to achieve "I'm hated because of you" status in God's eyes There might even be brownie points awarded. Maybe the bumper sticker is just an opportunity to get the hate flowing in their direction.

Or maybe these Christian insulters are trying to give others the opportunity they themselves desire. A chance to share the blessing with others. This is a chance for others to be hated as well. What's good for the goose might be good for the gander. If this hate is such a good thing, then maybe we should be spreading it around, to make all our gods happy (at least the ones who talk about being encouraged in the face of being hated for affiliation with them).

I think Jesus was most brutal to the religious leaders that condemned other people's sins and energetically pointed out other people's wrong beliefs, while ignoring their own. I think that Jesus was trying to warn of tough times ahead for certain beliefs, not to teach his followers how to inflame hate in others. We do such a good job of that on our own.

Here's an idea. Maybe these bumper sticker believers should put signs on their vehicles outlining their own sins and wrong beliefs. I don't know if that would invoke hate. Others might just drive by in disgust.

Does disgusting others count in the hate category? I don't know. I guess I'll have to keep searching my Bible for that one.

Hail

Hail rained down on our community several days before. It punched holes in our siding, and left divits in our cars. As the hail fell, all ran for cover. When it had passed by, everyone came out of their houses to survey the damage. Today on my walk I saw a number of dead animals that may have been killed in the torrent of ice balls. I'm sure many ran for cover. Some were not so lucky. What was alive and vibrant before, now lay there like litter strewn about.

We are all marching through life on our way to death. To feel better about our lives, we factor death out of our lives. We can acknowledge that we will die, but we don't believe it. Enjoying life is important. But it will end soon enough. We can't stop hail and we can't stop death.

Maybe that is what funerals are. Maybe it is a time when everyone comes out of their shelter and surveys the damage.

An angel among us

What or who are angels? We have seen mythical images of white robed, winged men or women. Their purpose is to give aid and protect. They are there to serve.

Angels don’t always come in shapes so otherworldly. Sometimes they are the people we bump up against in our daily life.

I must acknowledge one of those angels. I will not mention the angel’s name, because that person would be embarrassed to have it invoked. That is not why this person acts on our behalf. It is simply that this person is that giving. This person’s gifts to us has come at times of some of our deepest needs.

The gift may seem small and inconsequential to this person, but we have received it as a gift from the very hand of God. I know that may sound like a gross exaggeration of the magnitude of the gift, but what one does and what another receives may be wildly different. For example, a gift can be given sacrificially while the recipient may not understand or appreciate the cost. There is no way to measure the impact of gifts given.

So let me say to our angel, thank you for your giving heart. Thank you for your gifts. Most of all, thank you for your love. God bless you as you have blessed us.

God is listening

I am sitting in the hospital lobby waiting for my bride to get prepped for surgery. Five minutes ago, she was taken to the second floor and I was told to stay on the first. I wander around, lost in the waiting area until I find a secluded area to hide in. I wipe my tears. I don’t know if it is separation or anxiety from the looming trauma.

Next to me, a man dials a number on the lobby phone and starts updating someone’s medical condition. I don’t want to listen to his conversation. I put my headphones on, I load iTunes, I select shuffle, and choose the “inspirational” genre. The first selection that randomly plays is “God will listen to you” by Mark Heard. It is so powerful and moving. I wipe away more tears. This time it is gratitude. God is here and listening to me when I am tearful and afraid.

It is amazing how God communicates his love to me. I feel so undeserving, and yet I am so grateful for His affection toward me. This is such a simple gesture, but love is holding me. It is exactly what I need.

The attack

Yesterday I attacked me. Inside, an accusing voice took inventory of my life. It gave witness to what a loser I am. It examined how much I don’t matter and what I haven’t done with my life, resulting in me questioning the actual value of my existence. Indictments rained on me with “shock and awe”. I felt small and insignificant. I hadn’t made anything of myself. I hadn’t moved up the corporate ladder. I haven’t completed anything significant. What good is my life?

I don’t know if I’ve emerged yet. There were affirming moments yesterday. It doesn’t feel like they quite liberated me, but the hits aren’t reverberating as hard.

Considering the origins of the attack, I realized there was an event I felt prompted to attend on Tuesday night. I went with the implicit belief that if I was there, I may receive some enlightenment as to future direction for my life. I didn’t receive anything close to my expectation. I left the event feeling unsatisfied and let down. But what did I expect? I went to the meeting with unsubstantiated beliefs.

I was disappointed and I believe that triggered the attack the next day. When expectations were unmet, my mind stopped looking at my future and focused on parts of my past. Feeling trapped in my job and confused about what direction I move next, accusing voices in my mind cold-cocked me. As I reeled from the blow, accusations rained down on me like boxing gloves.

Sometimes getting perspective is hard work. Standing up to those voices feels daunting and intimidating. It is hard to call those voices liars when the world around affirms and supports them. It is hard to not call yourself a failure when your direction has little to do with ambition and a lot to do with vocation. It is hard to move away from what society affirms.

But it is my sincere belief that these voices are not telling me truth. I have no idea the impact I have had on this world (both positive and negative). Attempting to diminish the impact of my life regardless of my status in society is nothing short of wicked.

Voices, it is my turn to talk. SHUT THE HELL UP!

A dose of humility

I watched a man yelling at a car from the sidewalk. He looked like he was trying to start something with the person in the car he was yelling at. His hands were agitated and he looked angry behind his sunglasses and goatee. He walked into the store as I was getting out of my car in the parking lot. He emerged from the store as I stepped on the sidewalk.

He smiled broadly and said “Hi, Jim. Do you remember me?” I confessed that I didn’t. He then stated his name and as I looked at him, I did remember. He introduced me to his girlfriend and went on and on, telling her what a wonderful human being I was, and how I had changed his life. I was grateful to hear that, as it beats the alternative.

However, I don’t think I ever encouraged him to be an “ass” on sidewalks. He had changed his appearance. I remember him being kind of a geek in scrubs. He was now a “player”.

Whenever I am tempted to puff myself up on how wonderful and effective I am, I visualize people like him. I realize that I am just not that powerful.

It does make me wonder how God feels when acting like jerks; we state, “I owe this all to God!” I visualize God in heaven shaking his head muttering, “please stop; you look like an idiot, and I don’t want the credit.” It makes me grateful I am not God.

Kindness or compulsion

I accompanied my wife to a sale at Nordstoms in the Mall of America. There were chairs placed on the sales floor to accommodate the men's exhaustion from shopping with their women.

Between two chairs in the department, was on an end table. A piece of trash lay unmolested on the table; a discarded receipt.

A couple walked by, the woman stopped. She backed up, picked it up the paper and threw it in the trash.

At first I felt a pang of guilt. I had been content to let the crumpled paper lie there. Here was a woman who performed a kind responsible act for the environment. I was willing to allow the trashing of the planet. This woman, a self-appointed guardian of Mother Earth had stepped in and acted.

But then, as I thought on, I speculated what she must be like to live with. Maybe she’s not a planet guardian. Maybe she's just compulsive. Maybe she couldn't stop herself. Trash NEEDS to be picked up. Perhaps inside she was dying, trying not to pick up the trash. Maybe it wasn't a personal triumph, but rather a private failure.

A reason I believe it is the latter explanation is that this happened in the Mall of America, the shrine of the American consumer. Unlike much of the earth with its unprotected soil exposed, the mall is covered in concrete.

So to the woman I say: for peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe. Fight the urge, let some things go. You'll feel better. That's why I didn't pick it up. Or was it because I didn’t care?

Being watched

This morning I was out walking. I had to cross a county road, which meant I had to stop to let cars pass by. On my left a police car came to a stop in front of the crosswalk. I looked to my right and a white Chrysler minivan was proceeding, not appearing to be stopping.

I watched the face of the woman driving the van as she realized that the police vehicle was at a standstill. I could see the look of understanding as the front of her van started to dip from quickly applied brakes. I waved at both of them in appreciation.

I had to think though about why we do what we do. I don’t think she would have stopped if the squad car had not stopped. There was an understanding that if she didn’t stop, the police might give her a ticket, and it might not have been worth the risk to find out.

We can be so good, obedient, kind, thoughtful, ______(fill in the blank) when we are aware we are being watched.

Changing

I have started to address my weight. I am going to eat better and walk. I started today. I am hoping that if I announce this in cyberspace, it will have a greater impact on my willpower.

The irony is that there is never any good place to start. The heavier you get, the more you have to lose to get to your ideal weight. The ideal weight never needs to change. What increases is the weight you need to lose to get to your ideal weight. The longer you wait, the more pounds you put on, and the more you have to lose. Another factor is that you also an increasing number of years in which you pursued poor eating habits, and those habits are hard to break.

I thought about that in terms of changing other things about your life, like habits, or unhealthy thinking. I have begun to wonder if the longer you wait to make those changes, the less likely you are to change because it is another year of a habit, another year of incorrect thinking. Our worldview may have increasingly solidified, making us more set in their ways.

There are people I care about who refuse to change some of the things in their lives, even though those things aren’t working out well for them. They blindly plunge ahead continuing to wound those around them. When confronted by change they become belligerent. I have gotten old enough to let go of the anger and frustration, but the older I get, the less I think things will work out.

It appears that each year brings more dependence on the habits and thinking of the past, and less chance for considering change. Thank God that one of the things that comes with age, for me anyway, is an increasing sense of tolerance.

The power of believing

The second day out on the backpacking trip we stayed by a river. We were drying things out from getting dumped on the night before. The kids want to go play in the river. I suggested to my daughter that she put her suit on. She declined the idea and headed off with her brother and her cousin to explore. She came back pretty soon after leaving to put on her suit so “I don’t get my clothes wet.” I told her that she needed to be careful in the river. Her response was “I’m with Bill (her 20 year old brother). I’ll be okay; he’s a lifeguard. She then ran off to join the guys.

A short time later I went to see where they were. They were nowhere to be seen. Their clothes and shoes were on the rocks, but I couldn’t see them at all. I turned back to the campsite, believing that they were okay. And they were. They could see me, even though I couldn’t see them.

I was struck by the powerful and simple faith of a preteen. To her, the world is safe, and those around her, who care about her, protect her. What a potent belief!

Adventures with hip belts

I went backpacking this weekend. The first shock I had to deal with was feeling like Mr. Incredible getting into my backpack’s hip belt. Apparently a LOT of water has run under the bridge, and some has stayed there. The hardest part about attempting to buckle a belt is not being able to see it. I push and from my vantage point it looks like it is lining up, but one of the prongs may not be in the clasp. If it is lined up, there may be part on my tee shirt that won't let the buckle snap closed. I pirouette. I gasp for breath. I release the clips, palms on my knees trying to catch my breath. I try again.

My 12-year-old daughter is watching me, amused by my antics and concerned by my red face. The telltale click says we have contact. I don’t have to tighten my belt, just my breathing. As we set off on the trail, I’ve already experienced adventure.

Dead in church

This week in church I sat there, numb. My throat hurt and I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel any energy to move or sing with any kind of gusto. I didn’t get much out of the message as I thought it was delivered somewhat clumsily.

At the end of the service the speaker read a story. I went from an immobile face, to tears on my cheeks. The story was powerful and moving and it woke my spirit.

The great thing about God is that He accepts me just as I am. When I am in a worship service, I don’t have to pretend. He knows where I am at and is willing to wait quietly for my response.

Sentinel in the skyway

An old man is sitting ahead of me in Starbucks, and dressed in mismatched plaids and stripes. He casually watches as the employed wander by him with places to go. He gets up to get another cup of coffee and sits back down. He crosses his legs and watches the flow of foot traffic as it wanders past the window like a waterless aquarium. A woman, who appears to have interacted with him in the past, knocks on the pane and waves at him. He smiles mildly, revealing pink gums, then turns and stares again in another direction without a word.

How did he get this way? He is obviously not competing with the people on the other side of the glass. There is no rhyme or reason as to what captures his interest. He stares at random times. I think of other older people I know. I think of my work at a nursing home. They all stare, as if the world has moved off tilt.

Chasing feathers

My pup, Coco and I walked the streets of Duluth. Traffic whizzed by and Coco seemed oblivious to the cars moving past. She was straining at the end of her leash, literally choking on the tension.

On a road with less traffic, there was a white seagull feather tumbling along in the breeze. Coco went like a shot, attempting to apprehend the piece of fluff. Of course she was constrained by her leash. She hacked, and wheezed. I held the cord firmly for her protection.

Rounding the corner, it was out of sight, and out of mind. She went back to sniffing out all the seagull poo.

As I look at my life and the stuff I have pulled at my tether to acquire, I would have to say most weren’t too different than that feather. I have been grateful (usually later) for the tug of the leash that denied me those obsessions. For me there are many things better than a mouth full of fluff.

Into the water

Two girls were playing by the water’s edge of Lake Superior. Their pant legs were rolled up and they were pushing the limits of what they could do and still remain dry. They monitored the waves and moved accordingly.

One of the girls appeared to slip and hang precariously over the water. Balance was rediscovered and she righted herself. The other one must have found the rock with algae on it and she showed the first girl how to fall in the water.

She came up sputtering and clamored on the dry rocks, sitting there shivering.

Life is generous. We are free to make choices. You can walk close to the edge if that is where you want to be. And sometimes when you walk close to the edge, you can fall over, or in this case, you fall in.