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.

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."

a la carté kills

How I learned a valuable lesson about self-respect, dating, and relationships.

When I was in college (or shortly thereafter), this girl and I developed a friendship that, through time and conversations, became more. Talking with her on the phone once or twice a week morphed into talking on the phone every single night (this was before text messaging was a thing).

Texting on these phones took commitment.

 

We lived in different cities, but within easy driving distance. We'd confide about our life hopes, dreams, funny stories, day-to-day details, worries. We'd known each other for years, knew we had similar values and beliefs. We became each others closest emotional supports. 

 

It didn't take much for my heart to want more. She told me I was the best, someone she could trust ... someone she loved. "Wow," I thought. "This seems so good!"

 

And it was so good ... save for one detail.

She had a boyfriend. 

Of him she didn't speak much. 

 

What she did share with me: she knew they could never work out long-term. He wasn't much for meaningful conversation. He wasn't what she sought for her future. How she had all this time to talk with me while dating someone else, I couldn't figure. This unspoken question rattled around my skull: "then whyyyyy are you still with him?"

 

In my uncertainty, I never asked this question. I reasoned that if I showed myself to be an obvious step up, that she'd ditch her boyfriend.  Then, we could continue what we'd started.

 

So I kept on, with allowing myself to grow closer. Talking, sharing life, sharing laughs, sharing dreams. We poured more of our hearts out onto one another. I did my best to ignore the pesky "one detail" (that annoyingly remained a detail). Sooner ... or later, I reasoned, she'd end it with him if I kept giving pieces of my time, energy, my heart. 

How could I have believed this would work? I don't think hindsight is always 20/20 ... but hindsight can offer clarity and perspective.

Thank God for friends who love us enough to tell us the truth. 

 

Thank God for friends who love us enough to say hard truths we must hear. 

 

My best friend Matt's wife was (and is) wise beyond her years. In talking with them about this conundrum, and my hopes for how this would work out, she leveled me with a perspective I hadn't yet heard.

"You are a la carté-ing yourself," she told me. "You should not do this. You're gonna get hurt."

"A la carté-ing ... myself?? What does that mean?" I knew what 'a la carté' meant: it's a term often used at restaurants. It refers to a menu or list of items that can be ordered separately, rather than altogether. I hadn't yet heard it about dating, or relationships.

 

"Here's what I mean," she replied. "Right now, you're offering pieces of yourself, in hopes that she'll end up wanting more. But that's not how it should be. God made us to be loved completely, not piecemeal. None of us as whole people are ever too much for one person. Someone should either get all of you, or none of you. That's self-respect. As it stands, she's got you for emotional support and camaraderie, but then there's this boyfriend who's somehow still in the picture. Why would she commit to wanting all of you, and ditching this other dude, if you're offering just parts of you? Don't devalue yourself, do not a la carté yourself. Connection without commitment is not stable, and you're gonna get hurt."

This perspective changed my life, y'all. I'd never heard this from the vantage point of standing up for myself and my worth in an appropriate, respectful, and resolute manner.

It's been more than two decades since I heard this. I share this wisdom a few times a year with people in similar scenarios, and it's absolutely right. If it's true for me, it's gotta be true for you as well.

Don't offer a la carté versions of yourself when it comes to dating relationships.

You're worth way more than that.

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.

hope, and wisdom

When I hear news that hurts, I personally gravitate toward an Irish-influenced disposition (not that any of you asked; I just thought you'd be interested to know). 

By 'Irish disposition', I mean that I dislike any syrupy, tone-deaf optimism response to heartbreaking news ... but on the flip side, I also don't want to project a grim, doom-and-gloom aesthetic onto everything either. 

(I'm not even really sure there's anything strictly Irish about this sort of reaction. It could just be me. It's probably not that important. I digress.)

Two words percolate in my mind and heart when I hear news that hurts, try to take a break from scanning headlines of news that hurts, and try to filter fact from hysteria: 

Hope. And also wisdom.

Every world faith tradition has resources for dealing with suffering and calamity. As a Christian, I'm most familiar with my own faith's resources, so it's fitting to share from within that. 

There's this passage in the New Testament book of Matthew, chapter 2, when an angel visits Joseph & Mary (Jesus' parents) to warn them of danger, and tells them the plan for what they should do. Jesus is a baby at this point. This passage, with its blend of hope and wisdom, has long stuck with me...

".....behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, 'Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.' And [Joseph] rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed to Egypt and remained there until the death of Herod."

The hope the presence of the angel. In Scripture, angels are nothing like the Precious Moments figurines that collect dust on your great aunt's bookshelf, wearing doilies and adorable harps; they are warriors, and look quite alarming. In fact, almost every time an angel meets someone in the Bible, the angel has to say 'Do not be afraid!' Why? Because they look fearfully strong, and genuinely threatening. So if they have your back, you'd feel good about your odds in a tight spot.

And yet, the wisdom -- 'Rise, take your child and his mother, and flee...'  The angel, this warrior, this messenger of God, has just one command:

RUN. 

Hit the road. Get out of here. Flee.

Who cares if the car's all the packed, start the engine! Less chatting, more moving. Hurry, hurry.

There's nothing fancy about these words.

The angel avoids syrupy optimism ... "just believe it'll all work out, and it will!" 

Nor does the angel turn gloomy -- "This sucks, why bother? All is lost..." 

Nor does the angel take a defiant stance ... "I'll never let them get to you!"

It's none of this. The fact that there's something to do invites hope! But there's urgency too. Scripture-infused hope always includes some wise, anchoring roots in this world.

Hope and wisdom, woven together. 

This is where I find my emotions today amidst continual washing ashore of heartbreaking news.

There's hope amidst all this going on. And urgent wisdom to observe in the meantime.

Where does this leave you with whatever you're dealing with? Which do you lean toward carrying with you ... the hope, or the wisdom? The euphoria, or the gloom?

When my feelings start to tank toward doom-and-gloom, I try to remind myself that the angel's words carried hope. When my feelings get euphoric and invincible, I remember the angel, the powerful angel, told them to run.

May we continue in hope. And may we anchor this hope in wisdom.

boredom is a friend we need

 

Boredom kinda seems like that acquaintance/friend you’ve met once or twice, and the conversation kinda lagged. Then you’re both invited to hang with mutual friends, but everyone bails except you two … so you hang out, even though you don’t like spending time with boredom. You're not sure how it's supposed to go, how to keep the conversation going. And the passing of the time downshifts from the speedy hum of wireless ... to that clunkiness of analog.

Boredom kinda seems like that it recognizes that song that points out our aversion to it: “Why are you so petrified of silence … here, can you handle this?!? [SILENCE for a few seconds] Did you think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines, or when you think you’re gonna die / Or did you long for the next distraction?” Many of us seek out that next distraction … attending our eyes from computer screen, to smartphone screen, to computer screen, to tablet screen, to smartphone screen, all the day through. Raise your hand if this is also you (it's not totally your fault ... these devices are purposefully designed to perpetuate this behavior).

There’s this phenomenon where, during the night hours, we can hear AM radio stations much, much farther away from their signal source. It has to do with the refractive layers of the ionosphere being higher from the earth's surface at night than the daytime. I see this as a canopy over the earth, being lifted higher on cue every night ... to open the windows of the sky and let fresh air in, as it were.

I sometimes imagine our inner reality in this way ... when we're hustling to avoid having to hang out with boredom (because we prefer our familiar distractions) there's so much to find to attend to, and accomplish, to peruse. Deadlines. Projects. Catching up. Staying in touch. Watching that show. Deleting old emails {(then reading old emails you were supposed to be deleting). Cleaning your room. Cleaning your car. Responding to those texts. Checking back in with the parents. (Slightly) rearranging the closet. Such mundanities can keep that canopy from being lifted beyond where we prefer.

But when boredom lifts our inner canopy, there's this whole other kind of mulling, discerning, heart pondering that can occur. The questions tend to be less deadline-driven urgent, but just as important.

Is this relationship good for me and what I want, long-term? 

Am I doing what I'm doing because I'm trying to please (or appease) others, or is this what I want to do?

Why do I wear this shirt, even though I don't like it that much? 

Why did that friendship of mine fall away, and what role did I have in that? 

Whoa, where the heck is that smell coming from? 

How can I open myself up more to people, to make new friends? 

How can I relate differently to my family? 

How can I resist fear and anxiety from unduly limiting my life choices?

Seriously, what is causing that smell?? That's kinda nasty.

How do I tell my friend how proud I am of her?

What am I thankful for today?

Boredom allows space for these questions so we can meander about with them -- the canopy lifted so any weightiness isn't so compressed it's knocking us over. 

Boredom doesn't demand immediate answers, or immediate fixes. Boredom can help show us how to be around ourselves. It invites into the places of ourselves we don't often explore. It helps us get used to a more sustainable pace of living (because really, that life pace you're trying to keep up with? You know that won't work long-term). We're created not just to do, but to be. There's more to us than what we've done, where we've failed, where we've succeeded, who our parents are, where we come from.

So here's to boredom as a friend we need, among other friends.

With this, my hope and prayer for you is that when boredom sends that text that it wants to hang out ... you sometimes invite it over to hang out, and then set aside the screen in front of you for awhile. Y'all can kick around some of these important questions that life's deadline urgency always pushes aside. 

And while you're at it, figure out where that smell's coming from.