peaking

We love the defying-the-odds stories, stories of second and third chances.

The true stories of athletes craftily finding ways to still compete (here, here, & here, for example). 

 

The true story of professional ballerina Wendy Whelan, who brilliantly kept on performing years past the typical age of ballerinas.

Or the true story of pro boxer George Foreman. He lost his boxing championship to Muhammad Ali at his peak physical condition of 25 years old...

then retired soon after, totally left the profession for 10 years...

...but regained the same boxing championship, about 20 years after losing to Ali.

 

Not just athletes, of course.

There's the true story of singer Mavis Staples, all of 71 years old when she won her inaugural Grammy ... even though she'd received her first Grammy nomination four (!!) decades earlier. 

I could go on with more examples. 

There's a reason we gravitate to these stories. It encourages us to hear examples of triumph with people who succeeded, despite not being at what we might presume is their peak condition.

For me, these true stories relieve me. I hope they relieve you as well.

 

They remind me that should an opportunity come my way, and even if I KNOW I'm not at my best, there still could be a way to work it out. It's a relief to remember that I can still have off days. 

 

You can have off days as well. Doesn't mean all is lost.

We don't know when our chances will come with whatever God would have us pursuing.

And yes, of course: we should try to make much of whatever chances we're given. But it's false to believe that we're gonna blow it unless we're at our absolute best.

Real-life examples remind us this isn't true. Real-life examples from ancient times and places remind us this isn't true.

So this is why I love stories of a near 50-year-old champ, a quinquagenarian ballerina, or a 71-year-old Grammy winner. No doubt they were not as sharp as their younger selves. 

 

Mavis's voice couldn't lilt about the higher notes like it once could. 

 

Wendy's joints required more upkeep than her 23-year-old self. 

 

Big George couldn't bounce around the boxing ring as deftly as his younger self.

They weren't at their peak. But they were still good enough for when the opportunity came. 

Whew.

 

what don't belong to me

Data about our home planet tells us that the earth's surface curves at about eight inches per mile.

Ergo, IF: 

a) your eyesight is top-notch, 

b) it's a clear sky

c) and your view is about five feet off the ground, 

 

you would -- AT MOST -- be able to see about three miles away.

Which is not that far at all. We can see only so far ahead. 

 

This is true, not just in distance, but in life. We can only be prepared ... so far in advance. We can only be usefully anxious ... up to a certain point. Past that, we have to trust God that he'll equip our future self to creatively work with whatever will be before us.

There's this scene from the first Indiana Jones film that shows this ethos.

Indy's on a mission to stop the stealing of a historical artifact (yes, I know there's way way waaay more to the film ... I'm trying to not spoil it ... work with me here). 

 

When all appears lost, the following conversation ensues between Indy and his companions:

 

Indiana Jones: "Get back to Cairo quick and get us transportation to England -- a plane, a ship, anything. I'll meet you at Omar's. Be ready for me. I'm going to get that truck."

Sallah: "How?"

Indy:

This plan contains sufficient detail only up to a certain point. And then: "I have no idea, but future me will think of something." This is a life posture that I'd love to more naturally adopt.

Jesus sometimes teaches this way. He says, "Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble" (Matthew 6:34). Such a non-sentimental posture.

 

The first bit would look glorious on a motivational poster, amiright?

But if that poster shared why Jesus says to not be anxious, it dropkicks that pithy vibe straight in the teeth.

Like a silent fart released in a boutique candle shop, it trades pithiness about anxiety for something more grounded.

Jesus is pragmatic: don't be anxious about tomorrow.

Why? because today has enough to occupy our anxieties.

This sounds like advice from someone who actually knows how anxiety can -- in a matter of seconds -- hijack a day, a meal, a moment, a mood, a conversation, or a night.

… that feeling of trying to will your heartbeat to settle down (and it beats ever faster)
… that feeling of trying to corral your thoughts from cycloning into a a mess (again)
… that feeling of trying to steady your breathing in the middle of the night (when worry pries open your eyelids)
…. that feeling of trying to not send another text or message, when all you want is to hear back

In those moments, someone telling you to ‘just stop being anxious’ or ‘just stop worrying’ does no good. But someone helping you redirect the anxiety to a sensible time frame … this shows compassion. Understanding. Grace. Attainability. This helps.

This is why, when someone offers us sips of this sort of hope, our fears seem a little smaller, and a bit less inflamed. It reminds us that future anxieties don't have to belong to us just yet.

So, is some situation causing you anxiety?
-Probably.

 

Is it a today thing or a tomorrow (or someday after) thing?

-Your answer determines how much weight to give it today.
 

Ergo: is all lost?
-Hardly. You’ll be amazed at what--when you ask God for help and wisdom--future you will work through. So pray about it. Give it some thought, then take a break from thinking about it. Talk to wise people you trust.

After all, we’re sorta making it up as we go, aren’t we? 

 

Prioritize today's anxieties over future anxieties.

snipers on the watchtower

"Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour." -1 Peter 5:8

 

Prologue: years ago, I hiked this mountain trail in southeastern Colorado. Five miles up to a lake. I hiked alone. The summer foliage, thick. The only noise came from me trudging along the trail. About three miles up, a jarring series of thuds alarmingly jolted my senses: a massive elk bounded away from near the trail, from near me, and into the forest. 

Elk vs Average Human Size

Until it moved, I didn't notice the elk's presence whatsoever. Elk can sometimes act aggressively toward people. If, in that moment, it'd decided to charge me, I would've been badly hurt. I wasn't doing anything wrong, but my choice to hike alone and unprepared wasn't wise.

-----

So I recently finished reading a provocative and sad biography about Pete Rose. 

For the non-fans: Pete Rose played pro baseball for 24 years. Rose holds the all-time record for most hits. A 17-time All-Star, Rose also won three World Series titles.

But he's not eligible for the Hall of Fame because, as a manager, he placed bets on baseball and was banned from the game. MLB forbids(*) its players, umps, baseball teams, or anyone employed with any team to place bets on baseball games. This rule is posted in every MLB stadium locker room; every time Rose walked into and out of any locker room, he walked past a sign reminding of this rule.

 

He still gambled on baseball. Sometimes, he gambled thousands of dollars a day.

 

Rose himself estimated that his permanent banishment from baseball has cost him recognition, his reputation, and hundreds of millions of dollars. He appealed for reinstatement, but never received it. He died, polarized and a pariah from the game he loved so much.

Why? Why risk so much achievement and blessing for something so banal?

 

It is true that God can redeem all things. It's true that God can make something out of the sins, mistakes, and wrong choices we choose to make in our lives.

But that doesn't mean it will be the same as if we'd chosen the wiser path from the start. Undoing a wrong turn doesn't happen instantly. When we choose a path that isn't right for us (or when we end up on such a path non-purposefully) it follows that it'll take us longer to get back to where we should be.

If we get back at all.

And that's the sobering, scary part. Sometimes, I'm prone to thinking that I'm more resilient and stronger than I actually am. Don't you also sometimes think this way? It's not just me. We dabble with this behavior or this way of thinking or living, breezily confident it'll have no long-term effect on us. And then I read a verse like 1 Peter 5:8, admonishing his hearers to 'be watchful'.

How watchful am I? Are you?

 

Are we watchful over our lives, our hearts, our minds, our souls? Probably not as much as we should be. And if we are, we're super-attuned to one sort of pitfall, but naively ignorant of many others.

Every lie we tell helps us become more comfortable with telling another. So many addicts began with one dabble, not meaning for it to consume everything about their lives. Every gossiper began with one ordinary conversation. Every embezzler starts with some small amount of cash. Every jealous thought we entertain and don't resist makes it easier for other jealousies to fester in and poison our hearts.

I'm not saying to stay paranoid and spooked about everything in life. That's no way to live. 

 

I guess what I'm saying is what 1 Peter 5:8 says. Stay alert. Stay street-smart (in the spiritual, emotional sense as well as the physical sense). The adversary roams, looking for any way to distract and devour us if given the chance. The road of any sin, if continued to its logical end, eventually leads to absolute ruin. It's like choosing the path that goes past snipers posted on the watchtower, hoping that they all have bad aim when you stroll past.

    “Good and evil both increase at compound interest. That is why the little decisions you and I make every day are of such infinite importance. The smallest good act today is the capture of a strategic point from which, a few months later, you may be able to go on to victories you never dreamed of. An apparently trivial indulgence in lust or anger today is the loss of a ridge or railway line or bridgehead from which the enemy may launch an attack otherwise impossible (p. 132).” Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis

 

It's not worth it. It's not too late to turn back.

 

Respect how you're created. Respect whose image you represent. Remember you live in a beautiful world, and that this beautiful world has its evils and dangers as well.

-----

Epilogue: I briskly turned around and descended down the mountain. Two more miles of hiking to see a lake wasn't so alluring anymore. If I'd chosen a wiser way to hike to begin with, there'd be no qualms to continuing on the trail. I'll see the end of that trail some other time.

*For those keeping score, the MLB rule states: "Any player, umpire, or club, or league official, or employee, who shall bet any sum whatsoever upon any baseball game in connection with which the bettor has a duty to perform shall be declared permanently ineligible."

further up and further in

As a kid growing up with a much older brother, I lost a lot of games playing against him. Baseball. Basketball. Checkers. Video games. Street races. Ping-pong (especially ping-pong).

For years, I'd lose. And lose again. And lose some more.  

"Why can't I be as good as him?" I'd think. The obvious answer was that he was older, farther along in development as a person. 

Truth is, when we compare ourselves to others in any area of life, it gets challenging. This also happens when it comes to faith. 

We look at other people's relationship with God, and then we look at our own. And sometimes we can't help but think 'I don't feel like I have the same sort of relationship with God that they do.' And you think this in a way that leaves you wishing your relationship with God was different. Was more. Was more vibrant, more connected, more everything. More like theirs. 

So let's unpack.

Truth #1: We're meant to pursue God and our relationship with God with others, in community (Heb. 10:25). It's essential. So avoiding all comparisons by avoiding all people can't be the way to go (sorry, introverts!). 

Truth #2: Comparison is the thief of our joy?  Sometimes. This can drag on our countenance. By constantly wondering why our relationship with God isn't like others, we can easily overlook the fact that God relates to us uniquely.

Case in point: In John 21, Jesus tells the apostle Peter about Peter's own future. Peter then (referring to John the apostle) asks Jesus, "Lord, what about this man?” Jesus said to Peter, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!” So this isn't just a comparison we're prone to make. The disciples did this too. Jesus lovingly redirects Peter's attention: 

"You follow me."

Truth #3: Comparison can't just be the thief of joy. It can also be the thief of complacency. And this can be a backhanded lift to our countenance.

It's a fact of life that if you want to improve at any task, you put yourself in the company of people who are better than you at that task, and know what you don't (yet) know. 

If I want to improve at tennis, I play tennis against people better than me. If I want to improve at singing, I sing with voices more developed than my own. It's a well-tested way to truly improve. 

So observing someone's relationship with God, and thinking 'I wish I had that' can help motivate us to know God more like that person knows God. We're meant to grow with God by watching others (1 Corinthians 11:1).

First, we should check our perceptions. Comparing what we feel inside vs what we perceive on the outside about others is rarely a fair comparison. Knowing more about that person will help our comparing be more fair to ourselves.

Second, we sometimes learn how to love something by observing others. An older sister with a new younger sister learns how to hold the baby by watching how her parents hold the baby. A guitar player learns how to care for their instrument by watching a more accomplished player take care of their guitar.

"Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way." -Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz.

Do others have a relationship with God that we'd like to emulate? Certainly hope so. Are we meant to motivate one another to seek the Lord? Absolutely. The funky thing is that pursuing a better, closer relationship with God might not make you more like someone else. It'll more likely make you a stronger, healthier, more vibrant version of yourself.

Jesus loves me, but does he like me?

Ah, love. We find so, so many ways to confuse ourselves about this vital topic.

We devour sappy, lyrically suspect songs about love. 

We (the royal we, the editorial 'we') purchase loads of fiction stories of love lost and regained. We watch shows with such titles as 'Love Island' or 'the Bachelorette', even though we know the premise has little to do with actual love.

(when I said 'we' watch such shows, I definitely meant more 'you' than 'me).

Still for some of us, 'love' has infuriatingly, maddeningly, wrongly been the premise for some sort of unloving-type control or mis-use of us. Many of us, quite reasonably, have discerned that someone can love us, but not particularly like us. Some of our parents have loved us in ways we feel loved ... and also that we're an annoyance, a burden. Love has been made to feel like some obligation we're owed, but don't really want. "Who needs enemies when you have friends like this?"

So, when we hear that God is love ... that God 'loves' you, and 'loves' me ... we can (understandably) react with wary confusion. 

"So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him." -1 John 4:16

What is that sort of love from God? Is it the sort of love that includes some side orders of anxiety, control, hectoring, manipulation? Is this is a love that gives the silent treatment if I say the wrong thing the wrong way, or don't text back in a reasonable amount of time?

Thankfully, no.

There's a sort of love that delights with someone or something just because it is. Just because it exists. There's a sort of love that because it loves, it also likes/delights in/finds funny/genuinely enjoys/appreciates being around.

You're not a rehab project to our Lord. You're not an investment of under-realized gains. He's not tapping his foot impatiently. He doesn't get mad when you spill the cup of water on the dinner table. When we look at our lives and see scattered debris of minimal progress here and there, we can't presume that Jesus sees us this way too.

"The Lord is merciful and gracious."

nothing gold can stay

"Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay." -Robert Frost

-----

My kid recently checked out this interesting book from the library. 

 

It's titled Astonishing and Extinct Professions (89 Jobs You Will Never Do). It gives succinct descriptions of long-forgotten vocations, such as Whalebone Rippers, Armpit-Hair Pluckers (ouchie), Waker-Uppers, and so on (if you're looking for a gift to give a nephew, niece, or young cousin in your life, it's informative and enjoyable to read).

Three of the professions caught my ear as the book was read to me: the roles of 'Wailing Women (Professional Mourners)'/'Mutes' and 'Funeral Jesters.' In many ancient civilizations, these pros were paid to come to a funeral, cry, pull out their hair, spread ashes on themselves. They often didn't know the person who'd died. Their wailing helped the family and loves ones of the deceased grieve more deeply. 

 

The mutes were men hired to stand silently with the mourners, to look somber. They walked with the funeral procession. They wore all black, except if a child had died -- then they wore white.

 

The funeral jesters would imitate the deceased person during the funeral procession (can you imagine??). The jester would re-tell their favorite jokes, act out important life moments. They humorously revived the dead for one last time. This would give the grieving a chance to reminisce about the departed in a playful, loving way.

 

"Wow," I thought when I heard this. This reminded me that past civilizations and customs have a lot to teach me. I'm sure you could learn a lot too. There's such wisdom in these ancient practices. 

 

How often do we truly make purposeful effort for remembering good times, and for celebrating good things? How well do we make purposeful effort -- truly, set time aside -- for thoughtfully mourning sad things? Always in a hurry to move past. Onward and upward. Gotta get to the next task, gotta keep moving. Always something else to do, somewhere else to be.

 

The train almost never makes an extended pit stop.

Maybe it should.

To stop to acknowledge a blessing reminds us we've been blessed. It also helps counter the weight we feel when a blessed thing comes to an end. 

 

To stop to acknowledge a sadness reminds us that, save the love of God, nothing lasts forever. As good things come, good things go, and that is the reality of life. Nothing gold can stay. 

What's a blessing you have that you would do you well to stop, to ponder more, and to thank God for it? Surely there's some blessing.

What's a sadness you have that you would do well to stop, to ponder more, and to ask God for comfort and hope in your time of sorrow? Surely there's some sadness.

 

We rejoice, and we weep. Many sadnesses mourn blessings that were never designed to last forever.

 

A time to mourn, and a time to dance. Many blessings are of sadnesses vanquished.

 

God doesn't ask us to experience any feeling in this life that he hasn't experienced. It fills our hearts with joy to feel the blessings. And it hurts like hell to bear the sorrows.

"We are not infinite
We are not permanent
Nothing's immediate
And we pretend like we're immortal" -Gone (Switchfoot)

Gone - Switchfoot

the silence of God

The silence of God can unnerve, agitate. You ask God about something, and you wait for an answer.

It's the prayer screamed against a mirror that's fogged with our frustrated breath. It echoes, but no reply. The room is still. 

It's the fading ambulance siren as it drives away with a shattered dream. Now what? What now, Lord??

Why would God ever be silent when we call? 

There's this story about Jesus. The apostle Thomas (unfairly nicknamed 'doubting Thomas')  hears from the others that the risen Lord visited them, and he says, 'Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe' (John 20:25).

A bold statement. A not-unfair statement. He's calling Jesus out.

The next verse (John 20:26): "Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them ... [and] Jesus came and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you.' Jesus proceeds to respond to, and reply to, Thomas' confusion.

I've read this passage more than once. The perplexing part of this verse (for me) always sits in the first three words:

Eight. Days. Later. 

For Thomas, eight days of silence from God.

Imagine playing a game of tag in a pool. You call out 'Marco!' -- only for someone to reply eight ... days ... later ... with 'Polo.'

Imagine leaving the most crucial voice mail, or sending the most important text message of your life, to someone important to you -- and hearing nothing back in the first hour. You wait one hour for the reply text. The call back. The news about the diagnosis. The job opportunity. The grade. The relationship. The future plan. The news.

 

Then it becomes eight hours of waiting. Then, you fall asleep waiting for a reply to ping your phone. 

 

You wake up the next morning and check -- no notifications.

One day of waiting becomes two. 

 Why have they not yet replied? Your imagination and nerves imagine every worst-case scenario. You wear yourself out with worry. You cry. You scream. You feel numb at times. You try to stay strong. You can't eat. Your sleep suffers. For seven days.

But then let's flip it. 

Say you've known someone for years. The waters of your friendship run deep. These years and the history have built in you both a certainty that you matter to one another.

So when there's a delay in responding, you don't sweat. "My friend won't let me down," you say. "If I haven't heard back, it has to be for a good reason. They'll respond to me when they can." And your friend does get back to you. The silence becomes evidence of a trust, a relationship deep enough to not require instant responses, instant soothing, automatic replies, realtime responses.

What's this built on? 

Trust.

Could it be that God trusts you with the silence? Could it be that's God's trying to show you how to trust him more deeply? There's a point -- in every friendship, every relationship, every collaboration -- where the trust gets stretched just a bit more, so that it can handle more.

It's when you've waited a few days to hear back from someone -- but you don't fret -- because you've waited longer for them before, and they've come through. When you loan a friend some money, and you've never loaned them money before ... and then they do pay you back in a reasonable time.

We trust, and give grace to, the silences we experience with our dearest loved ones and friends.

So what can we infer from the daunting, unnerving silence of God? I guess that question has multiple possible answers. Ergo, one possible answer is this: it's possible that God's trusting you with silence because God trusts you, wants that sort of connection with you, that you're able to handle the waiting.

Anyway, as you wait in your silence, give this some consideration.

dance on the teeth of pain

Science re-learned old truths about dancing. I love what this re-reminds us.

In a fresh-off-the-presses study published in the BMJ (British Medical Journal), physical exertion was compared for how well it helped people who suffer with depression.

As you've heard before, exercise helps to fight back against depression's tentacles of despair.

But that's not what -- in this study -- caught my attention. 

It was this, from page 8: 

Dancing does the most to ward off depression. Dancing, by itself. 

Dancing! Better than yoga, mindfulness, tai chi.

"We're going out dancin'

Chase our blues away..." 

-Go Out Dancing, Rod Stewart

"Just dance, 

gonna be OK..." 

-Just Dance, Lady Gaga

"You turned my wailing into dancing, 

you removed my sackcloth 

and clothed me with joy..." -Psalm 30:11

I love when super-smart people (scientists, in this instance) reaffirm wisdom that the Bible elaborated upon in ancient times. We should dance. 

How many times has this happened to you: You're supposed to go out. But you're in a cranky, funky,  nothing-fits-right, life-sucks sort of mood. You rather wallow in this vibe, listen to your sad playlists, eat chips, play a video game, and doom-scroll. BUT you already said you'd show up.

"I don't even know if I want to go," you think. "I'm not feeling it."

But you force yourself to get out. You push yourself to be with people enjoying themselves. And voila -- you have a much, much MUCH better time than you would've predicted.

"Here we have a lot of fun,

Putting trouble on the run,

You find the old & young

Twistin' the night away" 

-Twistin' The Night Away, Sam Cooke

I look closer at these songs about dancing I mentioned above, and I see something I missed before. The lyrics all juxtapose dancing with the chasing away of trouble. Psalm 30 also does this. 

It's as though God designed it like this: dancing plays a role in reinforcing to us that, with our Lord, it'll be OK. The specter of doom wilts on the dance floor.

Of course it's natural to sometimes feel depressed. But why should depression get unresisted squatter's rights on our moods and days? Just because we're in that state doesn't mean we should -- without protest -- accede to all it brings. We can try to push back a little bit. We can work to stand up underneath it.

Sometimes we gotta kick pain in the mouth, and then dance on depression's busted teeth and gums.

I say this with supreme confidence: you do not dance as often as you could. Go do something about that, even if you feel self-conscious. Go get after places and times to dance.

"And David danced before the Lord 

with all his might"-2 Samuel 6:14

embers

In this life, times of great inspiration and hope typically precede times of serious challenge, malaise, or trouble. 

I've yet to figure out why this is. I doubt I ever will. It doesn't always happen. But it seems enough of a pattern to share about it.

Consider these Bible examples:

-Moses spoke with the Lord on Mt. Sinai. Moses & God, a DM chat! 

But ... Moses had to descend. What awaited Moses? Israelites were up to no good: perversely constructing a golden calf to worship. In other words, Moses faced a horrible, absurd situation that he had to deal with, immediately after the epiphany atmosphere of visiting with the Lord (Exodus 32).

-Some wise men from the east visited Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. They brought Jesus some opulent gifts fit for a king, testifying to who Jesus is. Wow, what an inspiring moment! Imagine how wild and otherworldly this would be for teenage Jewish parents such as Joseph and Mary. 

But what happened just after that? A horrible, absurd injustice. This family immediately had to flee to Egypt -- in the night, after an angel's urgent warning -- to avoid a massacre aimed at them (Matthew 2).

-Jesus, after being baptized by John the Baptist, was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to endure many days of temptation (Matthew 4). A tough, tough time of faith followed the time of inspiration.

-Jesus, during the Transfiguration. [First, a word: there's not the time, or bandwidth, to properly encapsulate all this event means, meant, foretold, revealed, continues to reveal -- just know that all the books written about this one event would fill several libraries]. It was a moment teeming with hope, inspiration, out-of-sight sensory, supernatural experience. 

But what came the next day? A horrible, absurd situation awaits Jesus and his disciples. 

Have you noticed this in your life? This ever happened to you? Maybe more than once?

Sure it has. You hear a dynamic, amazing talk. Or you attend an event that absolutely lights (or re-lights) that fire in your heart. Or you see a longtime prayer answered. Or you read a book that reorients how you perceive yourself, to help you forgive. You take a trip -- or a walk on a beach -- that changes your life for the good. 

You become so rejuvenated, like you could radiate LED bleach-white strobe light shots out your fingertips and your hair. That lit fire within you -- it roars with resolve, awe, inspiration. You're an energized, boisterous, walking stack of personified jubilation.

But then? 

But then. 

It eventually changes.

It won't "always" happen that tedious monotony, wrenching pain, or unsettled disillusionment will follow times of great inspiration. I'll just say this: it seems to happen enough in history, in the Bible, with people throughout time, to make mention of it. 

Every fire has to die down to embers sometime. Every wave meets a shore.

So if this is you  ... I'd encourage you to stay with it. It doesn't necessarily mean you're off track. We're never meant to stay in and hoard (this side of glory) those places of uninterrupted inspiration and insight. But those special places and momentous times do serve a purpose. 

They serve a purpose, particularly with how and when we face the harder times, the heartbreak, the disillusionment that life sometimes brings. God's continually reminding us through creation, through others, through the Bible, through a million other ways of this truth: the heartbreak, the s*** of life isn't all there is to life, to say it plainly. It's OK to need reminding of that.

"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." -Psalm 27:13

There's always one more wave heading to a shore.

There's lots of places out there where someone's stoking some embers to prep for another fire.

Grace never quits.

make your bed, text a prayer, love the day

Committing to life changes feels so daunting. Where should I start? 

It's mentally, emotionally paralyzing to try to answer that question. 

For what it's worth, it helps me to think of the smallest possible change I could make until I figure out the bigger changes. 

Lord, I don't know what big changes to make just yet, but surely I could make a small change -- help me take a tiny step in that direction.

But sometimes, the most minute, minuscule of changes causes giant improvements.

The littlest rock, once removed from your shoe, will remarkably improve how you walk.

The tiniest smudge, once wiped from your glasses, remarkably improves your ability to see.

Sending a text you've put off sending will do wonders to improve how you feel about yourself and your productivity.

Moving your phone away from where you sleep  will remarkably improve how rested you feel when you wake up.

For me, I always feel like I could pray more. 

 

ALWAYS. 

 

Yet a friend of mine recently commented that when people asked Jesus about how to pray, Jesus gave them the Lord's Prayer. Which ... is not a long prayer. Jesus also talked to them about the uselessness of heaping empty words into a prayer. 

 

A longer prayer doesn't automatically mean a more valuable prayer.

So maybe short prayers are the point. Like text messages. When you text with close friends, you rarely send a verbose, gotta-scroll-down-a-few-times-to-read-it-all text. 

 

It's short statements. 

 

It's incomplete sentences.

So talk like that with God. Doing a short prayer beats doing no prayer. 

 

And it's a minuscule change to the routine. I could pray while brushing my teeth. Or pray while walking to my car, or stepping into a meeting. Or when I put shoes on, or take them off. Whenever and whatever keeps the dialogue going.

Anyway, adjusting the slightest little routine can alter the course for an entire day. Or week. Or month.

Or life.

I've done an experiment lately: I make my bed just after I wake up. Before I pour myself some coffee, I make the bed.

If only it was like this

And then: whenever I make or look at my to-do list for the day, I always write 'make bed.' And I strike a triumphant line through it to signal its completion. 

 

Just helps set a tone for the day, I'm told.

Commit to some incremental adjustment. It often precludes huge strides forward.

We all have giant, gargantuan dream lists of what we'd like to see be different in our life. To lose weight. Renew our faith life with God. Smile more when we meet people. Stop snacking after midnight. Talk back to our anxiety to let it know who's boss. Pursue the dream. Stop obsessing over perfection. Talk to the crush. 

It all seems so out of reach. Where to start?

Start by making your bed. Start with a short prayer. 

Also, what other little step(s) can you take?

boys don't cry (such a lie)

"In the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of every glove that laid him down

Or cut him till he cried out

In his anger and his shame

'I am leaving, I am leaving' 

But the fighter still remains" -'The Boxer', Simon & Garfunkel

-----

Anyone can listen in; this one's for the fellas--

The ones quietly pushing against apathy, pushing against emotional muting, pushing against a hangover, pushing against their fathers or mothers (or both), pushing against the withering self-talk, pushing against overcorrection. Pushing against porn and its lies, pushing against checking out. Pushing against themselves sometimes.

Pushing against G!d.

Pushing for a break in the fog. How can it look to express emotional turmoil, as a man? Want to be authentic, do not want to inadvertently add to any cesspools of 'toxic' masculinity. Pushing for a way through. Squinting toward the horizon, hoping for some lived-in guideposts of what masculinity means, without that adjective 'toxic' in front of it.

[Before I say anything else, lemme say this: warnings about 'toxic' masculinity are entirely proper, wise, and warranted. Misogyny cannot ever be an answer. The fallout of sin taints everything -- in some way, for now -- about this world (Romans 8:20-22), including how we relate to one another.]

So some ink needs spilling about masculinity, not just as 'masculinity has to not be this', but 'a meaning of masculinity should include this [insert ideal].' Embodying masculinity has to reach beyond describing what it is not.

Just some observations about sloggging through emotional turmoil as a man:

1) Non-toxic doesn't equal healthy. As much as I love me some Cheetos -- and the snack does meet the FDA-approved standard of 'non-toxic' -- that doesn't mean my health would flourish via a steady intake of the enriched corn meal, garishly orange cheese seasoning, and maltodextrin.

So if you aim to be non-toxic with your masculinity, that's laudable! It's a swell start. Thankfully, there's more to it than that.

2) As many times as a torpedo sinks the cartoon-macho facade of the emotionless, stoic, never cries and never feels pain (except for kicks to the groin) masculinity, the image consistently washes ashore like a live grenade, ready to inflict pain.

We cognitively sense this facade doesn't work. It slowly corrodes from within. But where (and how) to start piecing together alternative ways to relate? Where can one feel safe enough to clumsily emote?

For me, my wariness to torpedo that facade stemmed from this: Once I blew it up, I had no idea what would take its place. At least with the facade, I felt some predictability (this wasn't actually true, but until I had an equally compelling narrative to counter this one, it was easiest to believe).

What did help me: observing up-close how other men dealt with this stuff. Wiser men, older men. Safe men who rooted for me, counseled me, laughed with me, didn't agree with me about everything, heard me through the rough emotional first drafts.

Choosing to spend time around other men showed me how they navigated emotional turmoil without either exploding, or stuffing it a million miles down into their chest. I could learn some by imitating these intriguing ways to relate. And by imitating, I could gain some confidence to continue onward. This still helps me.

2) Speaking of older men: a word on your father, or a father figure in your life. He may seem impossible to connect with, but he's walked some of these paths. Don't write him off prematurely. There's more there than meets your present understanding. It can be a frustrating, yet rewarding, exercise to unearth the long-ago person and lessons inside of him. It'll take you some time to do this.

3) Therapy can help. I've benefitted a ton in my life from talking my stuff out with a professional. Pragmatically speaking, it's meant that I don't assume the dual roles of participant and moderator to my internal nonstop dialogue. I can talk stuff out, and someone else -- professionally trained! -- can moderate, can assist to figure out how the puzzle in my mind might fit together.

If you need a more pragmatic reason in support of therapy: it's undoubtedly more budget-friendly in the long run than not going to therapy. If you're sometimes willing to drive 15-20 minutes out of the way to fill up on gas that's just 5-10 cents cheaper, then this mindset also applies for therapy > no therapy.

4) The end goal is not to show emotions just like the women in your life show them. So if you're concerned that emoting will make you appear more feminine, nah. It will expand your notions and range of how masculinity can and does express itself.

5) That being said, odds are quite good you have strong, wise women in your life that you trust (I don't only mean girlfriends, or potential future girlfriends. I mean friends. Co-workers). This is a gift from God. Of course you can learn much from their example, their counsel, their friendship, their observations, their ways of relating, their stories. In the Old Testament book of Proverbs, wisdom is depicted as a caring, street-smart, strong, supportive 'she'. That's not a typo.

6) You possess these capabilities already. So it's not like adding an external software update onto your hard drive. It's more like discovering some tools you already own buried in the bottom of your closet, figuring out their intended purpose, and how to use them well.

I do not write as someone who's figured this stuff out. HARDLY. But I write as someone who's been some of where you are, has tripped headlong on many exposed tree roots of similar trails, and knows something of the purposeful, resolute stepping needed to make headway.

So find the trails nearby that await your walking on them. It's near time to dump the puzzle pieces out onto the table; time to start to try to make sense of the larger picture. The fighter still remains.

(Thx J.N. for the prompt!)