parade fail

Be gracious with yourself. Take your screw-ups in stride.

I once participated in an Independence Day parade-I was 16 years old. My simple task was to sit in the back of a pickup truck and toss candy to roadside parade watchers. The parade kept a manic pace; sometimes we'd idle for a few minutes. Other times, our truck would have to zip along to catch up.

A few blocks into our route, I spotted this girl I knew from school (she was watching the parade). It would be fair to say I was interested in getting to know her better. Maybe I was also interested in asking her out on a date at some point.

'Ah ... here's my chance to make a glorious impression,' I thought. My quickly-concocted plan: I could hop off the side of the truck, say hi and give her candy, and then keep moving with the parade ('Gotta run; I'll call you later!!'). Then, I could indeed call her later, continue chatting ... and perhaps ask her out on a date.

Seldom do plans this good come together this effortlessly.

'Let's roll,' I said to myself, swinging my legs over to hop off the side of the idling truck.

At that same moment, it lurched forward to keep with the parade pace.

It's quite astounding how, in an instant, good plans turn to rot. Instead of hopping off this truck, I was now falling off this truck.

Thankfully, I did not hit the road face-first. Instead, I sorta ... belly-flopped onto the street, about five feet in front of this girl (and her friends who were all watching with her).

Until I fell out from nowhere, she hadn't noticed my participation in this parade. She for sure noticed now. The sting on my chest from hitting the pavement mirrored the sting of mortification I felt because I'd just wiped out before her very eyes.

It suddenly no longer seemed like the ideal time to chat. I'd just fallen off the back of a truck in front of her, and the parade continued moving. So I gasped out, 'Hey ... [lands on roadway] Oww!! ... Well, good to see you! Here's some candy -- gotta go!', and hurriedly shuffle-limped off.

Smooth. 

At that time, I felt unfathomably embarrassed.

At that time, I hoped no one witnessed what had just happened. At that time, I felt like I'd just socially kicked myself right in the teeth.

Perhaps, as you're reading this story, you're also remembering a time when you endured a similar embarrassment. Those moments stick in the memory bank. 

But at this time? It's one of my favorite stories to tell on myself.

If I'd face-planted out of a truck in front of my best friends, we would have laughed, and kept on laughing until we cried.

Slowly but steadily, I've come to learn that I can't totally trust my gut feelings about myself. I often overreact to my own screw-ups, and assume the worst fallout. In the moment, I seldom extend the grace to myself that I eventually will settle into later. I've learned that a lot of the time, my dear friends have a clearer view of me and my worth than I do.

Screwing up is a part of life. It happens to me. It happens to you.

Anyway, blessings on your day today. 

Perhaps you can reflect on some of your past screw-ups. Your perspective could be kinder now than it was before. That's the wiser posture to hold. Try to laugh at yourself when you can, and as your friends would laugh, from a place of love and warmth -- that's where much of grace resides.

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.

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.

heavy heavy sugar baby

Why in the world would God let such heavy weights in life fall into our arms, onto our backs, into our minds and hearts? What's the use of this?

Let's be clear: I don't mean actual weights. I mean weighty situations we face. Miscommunication. Relationships. Work. Fights. Choices. Turmoil. Angst. Dreams. Annoyances. Hopes. Hopes deferred.

I can say this for myself: part of learning what weights and burdens I should carry comes from the trial and error of learning what I cannot carry.

Like many of you, I possess a stubborn streak. So when someone -- speaking with wisdom, with experience, with grace -- suggests to me that a burden may not be meant for me to carry, I want to rebel. I wish to resist. No one tells me how not to handle something! I pick up and carry what I want!

And yet. Time eventually proves the sageness of this counsel lovingly offered to me. It was though God kept telling me, through the wisdom of others, "please let go of this -- it's gonna hurt you more if you don't" ... and I would not let go. Sunk-cost fallacy had me hypnotized.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." -2 Corinthians 4:7. It's wise to remember this descriptor of ourselves. We're clay. We're fashioned into jars. Clay jars can hold a lot. But jars are not invincible, nor indestructible.

When I've relinquished many heavy weight situations in life, it wasn't by choice. It was because I could not contort or warp myself to carry it any longer. It's not my design. 

Just because God allows a weight onto your heart doesn't automatically mean it's yours to carry, indefinitely. It's not your design. Every weightlifter puts the barbell back onto the floor. Weights, by design, should be picked up properly, and put back down ... properly.

Sometimes God lets such weights come our way so we can learn -- from experience -- what is not ours to carry. Sometimes we're given heavy weights so we can learn how to pick them up, just to give them to God and to let go of them. It's how we learn. And from there, we gain a sensibility of how to shoulder other weights. What are you carrying around in your clay jar heart and mind? 

WWJD - nap

"Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ." 1 Corinthians 11:1

It's never not intimidated me when the Bible says I/we gotta imitate Christ. For most of my life, I've understood this as meaning 'be like Jesus' to = 'don't sin, always be the best.'

While not sinning is part of imitating Jesus, it's not all of it. The imitation of Christ is too often equated with attaining for 'perfection.' And our sense of 'perfection' is warped, frankly. Icarus can never make it.

To be blunt: Jesus did not create daily to-do lists, complete with immaculate, color-coded penmanship. He never got into what his Enneagram type could be. He did not wake up at 4AM every day to fit in 90 minutes of cardio and strength training. He probably didn't floss after every meal. He did not show up 10 minutes early to every lesson at synagogue, just to ensure he wasn't late. When he gave a housewarming gift, he may have re-used a gift bag.

He probably let his food ... touch the other food on his plate.

In fact, Jesus:

-took naps on the regular (Mark 4:38)

-enthusiastically ran away when a crowd became too much (Mark 6:31-32)

-got hungry, and then became annoyed when he couldn't find food (Matthew 21:18-19)

-was not at everything other people expected him to attend (John 11:6, John 11:21)

-cried when he was sad (John 11:35)

-showed frustration at religious systems -- and didn't even try to hide it (John 2:13-17)

-every so often resisted his family's pressure on how he should live his life (Mark 3:21,31-35)

It's almost as though Jesus -- in telling his disciples and followers to imitate -- is saying we should copy *all* of his ways in how we live day by day. In the famous words of the penguin skipper from Madagascar when they made it to the beach: "Now THIS is more like it." 

So while we're trying to imitate Jesus and keep from sinning, and in trying to love our neighbors as ourselves, let's not forget about how Jesus didn't always go along with his family's wishes--we may need to imitate that at some point. Or when Jesus cried. Or how Jesus showed some frustration. Or how Jesus took those naps.

say the words (please, please)

Underneath my plate of Cheetos, grapes and cheddar popcorn, my sweaty hands fidgeted while I waited for the nearest chance in five years to say -- in person -- what I'd been praying and hoping and wishing to say to an old, estranged friend: 

"I'm sorry."

Five years of attempting to apologize, to connect with someone I'd hurt. A half decade of dialing this person's phone number, and it going straight to voicemail. Five years of unacknowledged emails. Five years of silence.

At the start of those five years, I felt affronted that my estranged friend would keep me two relational time zones away. After all, we'd hung out all the time in school. We were tight! An awesome, mutually beneficial, and loyal friendship withered to nothing.

 

But I remember,  after a particularly difficult conversation with this person, pridefully ending the call and declaring to myself, "I don't plan on reaching out to him ever again."

And I didn't. 

 

And my friend never called me again. That was that. 

Pride: it will rot the heart from the inside out.

Dry rot

With time, I had a humbler, clearer understanding on the mess I'd breezily created, and then left behind. It was part of my larger life direction that needed rerouting; it took me time to realize that God wished differently for my life. I began retroactively thinking of the people I had stepped on. Then a long, arduous road of repair, recovery, resurgence, and rejoicing took place. A dear friend referred to it as "one by one, those old clouds dissipating from your life."

I had forgiving to dispense, and forgiveness to seek.

[[Related tangent: One of my most appreciated songs of the past couple years is TS' 'All You Had To Do Was Stay.'  Sure, it's an ear worm. But there's deep roots below the pop sheen veneer. 

Its lyrical core describes an estranged relationship between two people who used to be close, a long time ago. One person who'd had taken the other for granted (but now might regret it), and one person who was taken for granted (and now might know it).

The reason I appreciate this song is because -- depending on the situation -- I've been one of both people. Maybe you have too.]]

So: five years after my starting this mess, this old friend and I were both attending at a mutual acquaintance's engagement party.

In the five years of trying to right this wrong, I'd come to bump up against some unmoving, yet grace-filled, requirements of forgiveness:

 

a) an apology should be unconditional, with no strings attached--

 

b) an apology should be specific, 

 

c) there's this encouraging word about forgiveness, 

 

d) whenever possible, the size and mode of the apology should be at least match the size and mode of the offense (i.e. if I were to hurt someone with something I said out loud, apologizing out loud is what's needed. Apologizing via text message, or DM, or through a friend isn't enough).

I wanted to apologize because I knew it was what my friend rightfully deserved. It was what I owed. Time, maturity, and the Lord did much to get my head straight.

Thankfully, I looked him in the eye, apologized for what I did, the mess I willfully made, and how I had been. My friend apologized too, and we smiled, and hugged. 

 

That was that.

It was a relief to turn that heavy, heavy page.

Who's out there to whom you owe an apology? 

 

What faces, or smiles, come to your mind as you read this? 

 

If you're trying to reach out to correct a past wrong of yours, but you're being stiff-armed, keep pursuing the chance to apologize.

 

It's worth it, regardless of how they receive it.

 

We've all been there, on both sides of the apology.

"Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." -Ephesians 4:32

sweat, and more sweat

 

The phrase ‘never let them see you sweat’ spread through our collective lexicon via an 80's antiperspirant deodorant commercial, of all places. The product sold well.

But I can at times act as though that axiom should apply everywhere -- whatever I set myself to do, it  needs to look like I've done it a million times, I'm prepared for every possible scenario, and it'll look smooth as silk to anyone who could be watching. No mistakes. No doodling, and starting over. Like an intro for a movie, I just want to skip over the long, tedious hours and practice it takes to improve at something.

Do you approach your self-critique this way? No room for off-days, no wiggle space for the inevitable face plant? That's a rough way to live. It doesn't work. 

Or maybe that's not how you self-critique, but others in your life -- perhaps well-meaning voices -- do come off this way to you. If only these folks could hear knew how counterproductive this was.

I had a professor in graduate school tell me that sometimes, we do get to cross a finish line on our to-do list with much fanfare, barely looking like we exerted effort along the way. Confetti and hype galore. 

But much more often, the prof said we limp and shuffle ourselves along, adorned with cuts and scrapes from tripping and tumbling upon the asphalt of life. That's the reality. That's the norm.

My pastor has sometimes talked about Jesus' story of the house built on the rock in relation to when a hurricane plows through a city. In the aftermath, the news stories inevitably will show the damage done. There's always a few houses still standing along those streets, but they never, EVER look pristine. It looks like they've endured a hurricane. Windows boarded up. A mess all over the yard. Trees fallen in the driveway.

No one would expect those surviving houses to look real-estate photo ready. They look weathered and worn, and it's totally normal.

Sometimes we endure struggles and times of serious testing. It's reasonable and expected that, if that's a time of life we happen to be mucking through, we would look like it.

'Never let them see you sweat?' 

It's a good ad line, but an unrealistic way to try to live.

grace forgets

 

Had a chance some time back to talk with someone named Rory I played basketball with when we were much younger; I had not seen him since then.

Basketball was never quite my sport (more of a baseball and tennis guy myself). I was OK but not great on the basketball court, and I harbored zero illusions that I’d ever progress beyond the basic lay-ups, free throws or jump shots (though I did show potential at drawing fouls).

What was a pleasant yet innocuous conversation took an unexpected turn when Rory began apologizing to me for the time many, many years ago when, out of frustration, he heaved a basketball at me during practice.

You know those mistakes you make, where if you ever get a chance to say sorry to a person you wronged, you plan to apologize (no matter how long after the fact it is)? I was hearing one of those apologies. He profusely expressed his remorse, and said that he now coaches young kids playing basketball, and that he always shares this very story with them when he discusses showing respect on the court, and being a team player.

Here’s the thing: I absolutely remember nothing of this ever happening.

I don’t doubt that Rory’s telling the truth. It’s not even one of those events I forgot, but then remember once it’s brought up. I just plain do not recall a bit of this.

So I’m grateful Rory apologized for something that so clearly anguished him for so long. But I also wish he could have known before apologizing just how much I didn't remember a bit of it.

In all our perpetual, crippling ways in which we critique ourselves, we could stand to reflect on this reminder: people are rarely as critical or as exacting on us as we are on ourselves. We quite naturally zoom in on our perceived flaws. We replay them over and over and over and over and over again. We claw our emotions in self-loathing over something we said that we thought was wrong or awkward. We can too often believe that everyone remembers and replays our self-perceived worst moments as vividly and as often as we do.

But they do not.

It is healthy to apologize for when we’ve wronged others. We could benefit from extending the same grace of healthy forgetfulness to ourselves. Doing this doesn’t feel as natural, but it is more like reality. It’s a relief to eventually truly realize that other people just aren’t watching us in a sort of nitpicky, hyper-critical, waiting-for-us-to-mess-up kind of way.

I remember Rory as a very good basketball player, a friend from scouting, and a decent guy, teammate and classmate. A moment that was a tsunami of regret from his vantage point … was absolutely nothing from my vantage point. It’s a helpful story he shares with his players. I do hope he also shares that he got to apologize to me, and that I remember absolutely nothing of it.

There’s much grace in learning to see ourselves as graciously, and as forgetfully, as others do.