I am a slow learner. I hope you are doing better, but probably not. God lets most of us live for decades. Those appear to be decades we need to learn lessons he has for us before we move on to a world with no more crying and no more pain. I believe I will still learn in the next life, but it will have to be learning that can occur without pain as our teacher.
I realize that much learning does occur without pain. I am very grateful that it does. Joy, beauty, and love make wonderful teachers. I would be very happy to have them as the complete faculty for The Academy of This Life. However, God loves me too much to give me an incomplete education.
If I am honest, however, I must admit that pain has taught me lessons that I refused to learn from all other teachers. God knows all things and knows me better than I know myself. God knows that there have been and will be lessons that only pain can teach me. I have spent so much of my life avoiding pain or wishing that pain would go away, that I have failed to appreciate how instructive pain can be. I don't think I really appreciate it now. But I am learning.
I am a slow learner. But God will grant me exactly as much time as I need for the lessons I am able to learn.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
A Source for My Stuff
George Carlin recorded a comedy album entitled "A Place for My Stuff". I remember it being hilarious. We who are blessed to live in rich countries (or who are just plain rich) often laugh about or lament the status of all our stuff. Stuff accumulates. We have silly stuff, good stuff, important stuff, and useless stuff. I believe we would generally say that we have too much stuff (or at least too much of the wrong stuff and not enough of some other stuff). When I am in a generous mood, it may occur to me that many other folks are actually quite short on stuff. Not merely poor, but actually starving or freezing to death.
We all need to spend some time thinking about where all that stuff comes from. It is not enough to just say, let's divide what we have more equally. Even the best stuff only lasts so long and much is quite temporary (as with food). So what is the source for all the stuff we hope to share? I devised a thought experiment to help:
I imagine myself standing out in a wilderness somewhere with nothing on my body and nothing in my possession. Naked as a jay bird was the common phrase when I was a kid. Without even a pot to piss in was another.
Water, food, clothing, and shelter will soon come to my mind. Where shall I start? Perhaps I will cut a few branches and make a rude shelter (oops, no knife, this is nasty hard work with no knife).
I look for something to eat and soon realize that I have virtually no knowledge of what I might eat safely. I may manage to eat a few berries or a grasshopper without getting violently ill, but I am still pretty hungry. I see a rabbit grazing nearby, and amazingly enough, I manage to hit it with a rock and kill it. With a jagged rock and a lot of jerking and tearing I wind up with some raw meat and a raggedy piece of raw pelt. Not the finest dining and casual wear. Assuming I don't die of exposure, and that I can find some water, it looks like I have a good shot at living a week or even a month in abject misery before something kills me (hunger, disease, insect bites, or an accident of some sort). The local predators leave me alone, but I suspect that it because I seem unappetizing as opposed to threatening.
If I could have just a few things, what would I hope for? A knife or hatchet. A few articles of appropriate clothing. A fish hook. What is the source of such things? A store or a peddler, of course, but where do they get them? A blacksmith could whip up a metal object, assuming access to metal and tools to work it with. Where do they get the metal? Rocks. It's something about digging up rocks and wresting the metal from them (uh oh, need some tools again).
Just keep thinking it through. The crudest bare metal knife requires a very involved set of processes, lots of knowledge, and a lot of work. Something as simple as a cotton T shirt starts with "cultivate and harvest cotton". Making thread and turning thread into cloth will prove to be daunting tasks.
Being all alone seems to be a big part of the problem. Suddenly, I discover a crowd of ten thousand people who have been miraculously transported to a meadow near the scene of the rabbit carnage. Hurray, I am saved! Oops. Maybe not yet. They too are naked as jay birds and are urinating without containers. We are relieved to discover that we all speak a common language, but dismayed when we find that few of us know much at all about making things. Eventually, however, we find that there are a few of us that know a bit about one thing or another. A few more explore and experiment and learn a bit more. Those with knowledge and ability divide their time between actually doing those things and teaching some of the rest of us to help. Others care for the children (I didn't say 10,000 adults!) or fetch and carry whatever is needed by those who seem to know what they are doing. Gradually we begin to accumulate a bit of food, a few rude articles of clothing, and find a cave or built a hut or two. Even supposing a miraculously loving group of 10,000, we have problems deciding how to divide up the fruits of our collective labor. We certainly want to keep the knowledgeable and able people fed, or we will all die. We all love the kids and do what we can to help them. How long before we start looking for someone who doesn't "deserve" a share or who ought to be willing to sacrifice for the sake of others? It's only stuff, but suddenly living and dying depend on how much we get. And even if we are so noble as to be willing to sacrifice ourselves by going without, will that help the others in the longer term? Will our children be better off? If I happen to be the only authority on edible plants, shouldn't I keep living for the sake of the others?
Water and food. Dry and warm. All depend on the sum total of our knowledge and work.
Now I fast forward quite a few thousand years and discover that many of the ten thousand survived to prosper and propagate themselves. Now there are 10 billion. However, some are comfortable and well fed, others hover on the edge of catastrophe, and many millions are dying for want of basic stuff. Would a forced redistribution of all the stuff owned by these 10 billion guarantee survival and comfort for all? Even if it could,how would such a thing be enforced? Nor would a redistribution remain static thereafter. Stuff wears out. Stuff is consumed. We still need sources for more stuff.
I will end the thought experiment here for now. I see the need to produce stuff. I see the need for knowledge. I see the need for work. I know that some sort of social cohesion must be fostered. I may even be more inclined to share my stuff with those who have less. I pray that I will be given wisdom about meeting those needs. I pray that God will grant me the ability to work effectively and to share generously. May God help me to love even those who seem bent on disrupting whatever fragile peace we manage to attain. May he give me discernment about when I must forgive and when, if ever, I must fight.
We all need to spend some time thinking about where all that stuff comes from. It is not enough to just say, let's divide what we have more equally. Even the best stuff only lasts so long and much is quite temporary (as with food). So what is the source for all the stuff we hope to share? I devised a thought experiment to help:
I imagine myself standing out in a wilderness somewhere with nothing on my body and nothing in my possession. Naked as a jay bird was the common phrase when I was a kid. Without even a pot to piss in was another.
Water, food, clothing, and shelter will soon come to my mind. Where shall I start? Perhaps I will cut a few branches and make a rude shelter (oops, no knife, this is nasty hard work with no knife).
I look for something to eat and soon realize that I have virtually no knowledge of what I might eat safely. I may manage to eat a few berries or a grasshopper without getting violently ill, but I am still pretty hungry. I see a rabbit grazing nearby, and amazingly enough, I manage to hit it with a rock and kill it. With a jagged rock and a lot of jerking and tearing I wind up with some raw meat and a raggedy piece of raw pelt. Not the finest dining and casual wear. Assuming I don't die of exposure, and that I can find some water, it looks like I have a good shot at living a week or even a month in abject misery before something kills me (hunger, disease, insect bites, or an accident of some sort). The local predators leave me alone, but I suspect that it because I seem unappetizing as opposed to threatening.
If I could have just a few things, what would I hope for? A knife or hatchet. A few articles of appropriate clothing. A fish hook. What is the source of such things? A store or a peddler, of course, but where do they get them? A blacksmith could whip up a metal object, assuming access to metal and tools to work it with. Where do they get the metal? Rocks. It's something about digging up rocks and wresting the metal from them (uh oh, need some tools again).
Just keep thinking it through. The crudest bare metal knife requires a very involved set of processes, lots of knowledge, and a lot of work. Something as simple as a cotton T shirt starts with "cultivate and harvest cotton". Making thread and turning thread into cloth will prove to be daunting tasks.
Being all alone seems to be a big part of the problem. Suddenly, I discover a crowd of ten thousand people who have been miraculously transported to a meadow near the scene of the rabbit carnage. Hurray, I am saved! Oops. Maybe not yet. They too are naked as jay birds and are urinating without containers. We are relieved to discover that we all speak a common language, but dismayed when we find that few of us know much at all about making things. Eventually, however, we find that there are a few of us that know a bit about one thing or another. A few more explore and experiment and learn a bit more. Those with knowledge and ability divide their time between actually doing those things and teaching some of the rest of us to help. Others care for the children (I didn't say 10,000 adults!) or fetch and carry whatever is needed by those who seem to know what they are doing. Gradually we begin to accumulate a bit of food, a few rude articles of clothing, and find a cave or built a hut or two. Even supposing a miraculously loving group of 10,000, we have problems deciding how to divide up the fruits of our collective labor. We certainly want to keep the knowledgeable and able people fed, or we will all die. We all love the kids and do what we can to help them. How long before we start looking for someone who doesn't "deserve" a share or who ought to be willing to sacrifice for the sake of others? It's only stuff, but suddenly living and dying depend on how much we get. And even if we are so noble as to be willing to sacrifice ourselves by going without, will that help the others in the longer term? Will our children be better off? If I happen to be the only authority on edible plants, shouldn't I keep living for the sake of the others?
Water and food. Dry and warm. All depend on the sum total of our knowledge and work.
Now I fast forward quite a few thousand years and discover that many of the ten thousand survived to prosper and propagate themselves. Now there are 10 billion. However, some are comfortable and well fed, others hover on the edge of catastrophe, and many millions are dying for want of basic stuff. Would a forced redistribution of all the stuff owned by these 10 billion guarantee survival and comfort for all? Even if it could,how would such a thing be enforced? Nor would a redistribution remain static thereafter. Stuff wears out. Stuff is consumed. We still need sources for more stuff.
I will end the thought experiment here for now. I see the need to produce stuff. I see the need for knowledge. I see the need for work. I know that some sort of social cohesion must be fostered. I may even be more inclined to share my stuff with those who have less. I pray that I will be given wisdom about meeting those needs. I pray that God will grant me the ability to work effectively and to share generously. May God help me to love even those who seem bent on disrupting whatever fragile peace we manage to attain. May he give me discernment about when I must forgive and when, if ever, I must fight.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Inner Circle and Outer Circle
C.S. Lewis wrote an excellent essay entitled "The Inner Circle". It is difficult to do justice to it with a short summary. The gist is that most of us are plagued by a desire to join an "inner circle" of acquaintances purely because we want to satisfy the pride of knowing that we are in and others are out. Lewis makes it clear that close circles of friends or colleagues are a fine thing when their purpose is relationship with each other. The perversion is when our lust is to know that we are in a circle that has excluded others, but included us. Lewis did a great job of clarifying an area that I had struggled with for years.
Tonight I find myself wondering about a corollary desire to touch an "outer circle". Modern communications, especially the Internet, have enabled me to stay in touch with people from all over the world. Indeed, at times my initial contact is via the Internet, and face to face comes much later or never. As with the inner circle, it seems a wholesome and desirable thing to maintain relationships for the sake of the relationships. What I wonder is this: How much am I driven by a desire to simply enlarge my "outer circle" to show what an influential fellow I am. Using others, even just using them electronically, to gratify my ego and prop up my sense of importance is a very sad possibility. I am not consciously doing so, but I am left to wonder about the purity of my motives.
The word "motives" reminds me of something that has given me solace. I thank God that often my motives are mixed selfishness and love. I thank God because there have been and still are times when my motives are pure selfishness. Mixed is progress. Pure love will probably not be an option until I am made new in the next life.
Tonight I find myself wondering about a corollary desire to touch an "outer circle". Modern communications, especially the Internet, have enabled me to stay in touch with people from all over the world. Indeed, at times my initial contact is via the Internet, and face to face comes much later or never. As with the inner circle, it seems a wholesome and desirable thing to maintain relationships for the sake of the relationships. What I wonder is this: How much am I driven by a desire to simply enlarge my "outer circle" to show what an influential fellow I am. Using others, even just using them electronically, to gratify my ego and prop up my sense of importance is a very sad possibility. I am not consciously doing so, but I am left to wonder about the purity of my motives.
The word "motives" reminds me of something that has given me solace. I thank God that often my motives are mixed selfishness and love. I thank God because there have been and still are times when my motives are pure selfishness. Mixed is progress. Pure love will probably not be an option until I am made new in the next life.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Pulse
I just watched the first half of a two DVD set of a concert that Pink Floyd did in 1994, "Pulse". It was incredible! Oh how I wish I could travel back in time and be at the live concert. Tons of my all time favorite music accompanied by a light show that surpassed anything I ever imagined. It was so good that I was delerious with happiness! And I started thinking about heaven. I thought, as good as that concert was, it was only a tiny taste of how good heaven will be. I could imagine myself in a vast crowd worshiping God as he shows us what light truly is. I don't mean that I think that I can actually comprehend it. I just got a glimpse of the fact that it will be better than anything I can imagine.
Barbara is gone. And I miss her. But I started the day with the privilege of playing with little kids while their mom got clothes for them at the kids kloset. I put in some time this afternoon helping folks connect with opportunities at Wycliffe projects. And then I had a taste of what it might be like to worship God in heaven. That is just plain cool.
Barbara is gone. And I miss her. But I started the day with the privilege of playing with little kids while their mom got clothes for them at the kids kloset. I put in some time this afternoon helping folks connect with opportunities at Wycliffe projects. And then I had a taste of what it might be like to worship God in heaven. That is just plain cool.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Back In the Day
"Back in the day" is one of those odd little idioms. I suppose it is an abbreviated form of "back in the old days". More and more I notice that the "old days" are different for people at various ages. For example, I noticed a group of "born in the 70's" Facebook members. I immediately thought: Oh, young people, 38 at the oldest. Then I realized that "born in the 70's" was supposed to be a group of relatively old Facebook members. Most Facebook users seem to be born in the 80's or 90's. However, since I was born in 1950, I was calibrated very differently than most.
That is one of a number of things that lead me to consider how our time sense is calibrated. Like many folks, I have come to the conclusion that as we age, we tend to see a year or a decade as an increasingly small increment of time. Supposedly a 100 year old woman was asked how her days were going. She said "It feels like I eat breakfast every twenty minutes".
Getting more specific, I think we tend to compare any given length of time to the total time we are aware of having been alive. I have only vague memories from before I was about 6 or 7 years old. So I could use 50 years as my "conscious life". (I am 57). I find that something that happened 5 or even 10 years ago seems very recent. My twenty something children have a conscious life of 15 or 20 years. A decade is a much bigger deal to them.
This also seems to work for multiples of my lifetime. The year 1900 happened about two of my lifetimes ago. It seems astounding to me that there where no airplanes, no computers, no radios or TVs, etc. etc. Just two life times ago. Three life times ago it was still legal to own slaves in much of the United States. Four life times ago, there were a few primitive steam engines, but the vast majority of work was done with human or animal muscle. Oddly enough, the little bit of mechanical power that was tapped was all renewable energy, mostly sails and waterwheels. Wealthy men wore tight capri pants and powdered wigs.
Now consider multiples of 20 years. Two life times ago, hippies and Vietnam war protests were much in the news. There was no Internet, but personal computers were common. Three life times ago, baby boomers were being born. Formal racial segregation was rampant. TV was in its infancy. Four life times ago, the great depression was about to begin. Movies were still silent. Traveling on an airplane would be very rare indeed.
The time calibration also affects how we look at the future. It is unlikely that I will live another whole life time. For a twenty something, several more life times may loom ahead. If I live another couple of decades, I will find that I have at most a small fraction of a lifetime remaining to me.
Meanwhile, I find that one hour can still seem to creep by if I am doing something I don't like (waiting for an overdue airplane, or having a root canal done). One hour can fly by if I am enjoying a good book, good company, or a good meal. Every thing I know suggests that it is no different for someone much younger or much older than myself. So we all have twenty four hours a day for all the days of our lives. And each one of those hours may be agonizingly long or regrettably short. Yet when we look back or look forward, our sense of time is very much affected by the total number of those hours that we have lived.
That is one of a number of things that lead me to consider how our time sense is calibrated. Like many folks, I have come to the conclusion that as we age, we tend to see a year or a decade as an increasingly small increment of time. Supposedly a 100 year old woman was asked how her days were going. She said "It feels like I eat breakfast every twenty minutes".
Getting more specific, I think we tend to compare any given length of time to the total time we are aware of having been alive. I have only vague memories from before I was about 6 or 7 years old. So I could use 50 years as my "conscious life". (I am 57). I find that something that happened 5 or even 10 years ago seems very recent. My twenty something children have a conscious life of 15 or 20 years. A decade is a much bigger deal to them.
This also seems to work for multiples of my lifetime. The year 1900 happened about two of my lifetimes ago. It seems astounding to me that there where no airplanes, no computers, no radios or TVs, etc. etc. Just two life times ago. Three life times ago it was still legal to own slaves in much of the United States. Four life times ago, there were a few primitive steam engines, but the vast majority of work was done with human or animal muscle. Oddly enough, the little bit of mechanical power that was tapped was all renewable energy, mostly sails and waterwheels. Wealthy men wore tight capri pants and powdered wigs.
Now consider multiples of 20 years. Two life times ago, hippies and Vietnam war protests were much in the news. There was no Internet, but personal computers were common. Three life times ago, baby boomers were being born. Formal racial segregation was rampant. TV was in its infancy. Four life times ago, the great depression was about to begin. Movies were still silent. Traveling on an airplane would be very rare indeed.
The time calibration also affects how we look at the future. It is unlikely that I will live another whole life time. For a twenty something, several more life times may loom ahead. If I live another couple of decades, I will find that I have at most a small fraction of a lifetime remaining to me.
Meanwhile, I find that one hour can still seem to creep by if I am doing something I don't like (waiting for an overdue airplane, or having a root canal done). One hour can fly by if I am enjoying a good book, good company, or a good meal. Every thing I know suggests that it is no different for someone much younger or much older than myself. So we all have twenty four hours a day for all the days of our lives. And each one of those hours may be agonizingly long or regrettably short. Yet when we look back or look forward, our sense of time is very much affected by the total number of those hours that we have lived.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Account versus Recount
I enjoy giving a recount of many of the episodes in my life. If I emphasize the right details and throw in a bit of self deprecating humor, there are times when it may even be enjoyable for my readers. Giving a recount sounds so close to giving an account, that we might be tempted to ignore the difference. However, an account includes the reasons for why one did something. An account is offered to someone who has a degree of authority. Hence the term, accountable, as I am accountable to my wife or he is accountable to management. As I recount events, I can relax a bit. I may bore my reader, but I am in little danger of judgment. Accounts are more harrowing. In the midst of an account I may realize that the one to whom I am giving the account wants a great deal more than entertainment.
We will be called to give an account of our lives to God. God is the highest authority. That is why he is referred to as the king of kings. There is no higher authority. God has made the necessary sacrifice to allow us to be forgiven our misdeeds. Nonetheless, I think that giving an account to him will prove very challenging. God is good. God is love. There is every reason that we would want to win his approval. However, a frank account of many choices we make in this life will undoubtedly strike us a very unsatisfactory when we stand face to face with God at the end of our days on this earth. I thank God that we can be forgiven. I thank God that there is another, eternal life, after this one.
We will be called to give an account of our lives to God. God is the highest authority. That is why he is referred to as the king of kings. There is no higher authority. God has made the necessary sacrifice to allow us to be forgiven our misdeeds. Nonetheless, I think that giving an account to him will prove very challenging. God is good. God is love. There is every reason that we would want to win his approval. However, a frank account of many choices we make in this life will undoubtedly strike us a very unsatisfactory when we stand face to face with God at the end of our days on this earth. I thank God that we can be forgiven. I thank God that there is another, eternal life, after this one.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
News from Julia and Viggo
I posted an update on Julia and Viggo's blog based on information we have received via phone calls from them. They recently moved to the camp in the Tanzanian countryside where they will study Swahili for four months. See it here: News from Julia and Viggo
New Day, New Perspective
I do learn something new most days. It also seems that I get lots of opportunities to adjust my perspective. I wanted to record a couple of such things that had a substantial impact on me in recent days.
Jennifer Goodenough (see her blog in my links) sent us an e-mail with an article about the impact of higher grain prices on people in Haiti. Life is marginal for many folks in Haiti during the best of times. As grain prices have risen lately, lots of Haitians have turned to a traditional practice to stave off hunger pains. They use local mud, mixed with a bit of salt and vegetable oil, to create dirt "cookies". These are made in large numbers and sold very cheaply (but not free!) in the markets. When grain is out of reach, families turn to eating this mud concoction: Eating Dirt . It is estimated that about a billion people are malnourished on this planet. Somehow, the extremity of eating dirt opened my eyes a bit wider to how terrible a problem that is.
The other perspecitve adjuster was watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly . The movie is based on the memoir of a man who was paralyzed by a stroke at age 40. He is completely paralyzed except for the ability to blink one eye. He can see out of that eye. He can hear. And his mind is fully functioning. His only means of communicating is to painstakingly learn to blink his eye at the right moment as someone recites the alphabet to him. In that way he is able to spell out words. Over months he "dictates" an entire book, which was published to critical acclaim. He dies of complications from the stroke ten days after the book is published. I walked out of the theater feeling tremendous gratitude for the ability to move, to touch, and to taste. This morning I added those to my list of things I regularly thank God for. I realized that I had been taking such things for granted. I hope it will be a long time before I do so again.
Jennifer Goodenough (see her blog in my links) sent us an e-mail with an article about the impact of higher grain prices on people in Haiti. Life is marginal for many folks in Haiti during the best of times. As grain prices have risen lately, lots of Haitians have turned to a traditional practice to stave off hunger pains. They use local mud, mixed with a bit of salt and vegetable oil, to create dirt "cookies". These are made in large numbers and sold very cheaply (but not free!) in the markets. When grain is out of reach, families turn to eating this mud concoction: Eating Dirt . It is estimated that about a billion people are malnourished on this planet. Somehow, the extremity of eating dirt opened my eyes a bit wider to how terrible a problem that is.
The other perspecitve adjuster was watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly . The movie is based on the memoir of a man who was paralyzed by a stroke at age 40. He is completely paralyzed except for the ability to blink one eye. He can see out of that eye. He can hear. And his mind is fully functioning. His only means of communicating is to painstakingly learn to blink his eye at the right moment as someone recites the alphabet to him. In that way he is able to spell out words. Over months he "dictates" an entire book, which was published to critical acclaim. He dies of complications from the stroke ten days after the book is published. I walked out of the theater feeling tremendous gratitude for the ability to move, to touch, and to taste. This morning I added those to my list of things I regularly thank God for. I realized that I had been taking such things for granted. I hope it will be a long time before I do so again.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Did I Mean What I Said?
About four months ago I was in the throws of withdrawal from oxycodone. I wrote the following in a post at that time:
I may regret saying this, but I welcome this chance to confront this nonesense about who I am. I am God's creation. I am also a sinner who does not deserve forgiveness. The very sins that I am guilty of are those which have created the chaos and misery in this world that also has so much beauty and pleasure. I am saved by grace, not by my own efforts. All that I own. All that I treasure. All good that I am able to do. All are by the grace of God. I am not defined by those things, they are gifts and blessings from God. Now for a season I am able to do less. That is a trial. What I am will be revealed more by trials than by the blessings God has bestowed on me.
I don't regret confronting the nonsense about "who I am" that was triggered by my surgery, subsequent drug dependence, and the change from HP lifer to "retired" . I am, however, surprised to see how difficult it is to get the nonsense to back down. The surgery and drug dependence feel like very old news at this point. However, I continue to struggle with feeling that I have lost meaning and purpose in my life, now that I am now longer working for a wage. I was aware that leaving my corporate job would impact me. I am surprised that the impact is as powerful as it has been at times. It seems so strange to feel locked in a struggle when all the outward aspects of my life are so good: family, friends, health, money, etc.
If it happens that you have read this far and that you are thinking about your own struggles, please be encouraged. It seems that the struggle is part of growing. You are growing. May God enable us all to grow to be more like him.
So I am still confronting a lot of nonsense about what it is that gives my life meaning. I am dedicated to using my life to serve God. I know that he has called me to encourage and serve others. I look for opportunities to do that, and I have been blessed with some great ones. Yet I am constantly fighting the feeling that the ways in which I serve are trivial. I think the foundational problem is that I became far too accustomed to judging my success in "worldly" terms: how strong, how handsome, how rich, how influential in world affairs, how smart, how adventurous, how experienced, and a multitude more.
I think God measures us by very different measures: how repentant, how humble, how patient, how kind, how faithful, how obedient, how loving. These sorts of things are the fruits of the spirit of God. If I seek to obey God and be reassured that I am succeeding, my success can only be measured by God's metrics, not by the world's.
So yes, I still welcome the chance to confront nonsense about "who I am". It is painful. But it is vastly preferable to the alternative, which would be to continue to measure myself by worldly standards. All the things of this world: looks, wealth, physical strength, fame,
I may regret saying this, but I welcome this chance to confront this nonesense about who I am. I am God's creation. I am also a sinner who does not deserve forgiveness. The very sins that I am guilty of are those which have created the chaos and misery in this world that also has so much beauty and pleasure. I am saved by grace, not by my own efforts. All that I own. All that I treasure. All good that I am able to do. All are by the grace of God. I am not defined by those things, they are gifts and blessings from God. Now for a season I am able to do less. That is a trial. What I am will be revealed more by trials than by the blessings God has bestowed on me.
I don't regret confronting the nonsense about "who I am" that was triggered by my surgery, subsequent drug dependence, and the change from HP lifer to "retired" . I am, however, surprised to see how difficult it is to get the nonsense to back down. The surgery and drug dependence feel like very old news at this point. However, I continue to struggle with feeling that I have lost meaning and purpose in my life, now that I am now longer working for a wage. I was aware that leaving my corporate job would impact me. I am surprised that the impact is as powerful as it has been at times. It seems so strange to feel locked in a struggle when all the outward aspects of my life are so good: family, friends, health, money, etc.
If it happens that you have read this far and that you are thinking about your own struggles, please be encouraged. It seems that the struggle is part of growing. You are growing. May God enable us all to grow to be more like him.
So I am still confronting a lot of nonsense about what it is that gives my life meaning. I am dedicated to using my life to serve God. I know that he has called me to encourage and serve others. I look for opportunities to do that, and I have been blessed with some great ones. Yet I am constantly fighting the feeling that the ways in which I serve are trivial. I think the foundational problem is that I became far too accustomed to judging my success in "worldly" terms: how strong, how handsome, how rich, how influential in world affairs, how smart, how adventurous, how experienced, and a multitude more.
I think God measures us by very different measures: how repentant, how humble, how patient, how kind, how faithful, how obedient, how loving. These sorts of things are the fruits of the spirit of God. If I seek to obey God and be reassured that I am succeeding, my success can only be measured by God's metrics, not by the world's.
So yes, I still welcome the chance to confront nonsense about "who I am". It is painful. But it is vastly preferable to the alternative, which would be to continue to measure myself by worldly standards. All the things of this world: looks, wealth, physical strength, fame,
Saturday, February 02, 2008
1:30 AM
It's early morning now. Instead of sleeping, I am messing with the computer. Why? Well, the short answer is that Barbara is gone (that would be "the wife" for those who do not know us). I thought, "Why stay up all night just because the wife is gone?" I have no answer to that question. However, it did occur to me "Why did I stay up all night, every night, for three months during the summer of 1969? Answer: Because I had a night shift job at a machine shop that paid a whopping $2 per hour. That is an even less satisfying answer than "I have no answer."
For a stream of consciousness grand finale: I suddenly realized today that I could use Google Earth to look at the town in Ohio where I spent my senior year in High School. I used the search feature to find Machine Shops in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. And there it was: Reuther Mold and Manufacturing. The site of that dismal summer of night shifts. Still in business. Still at the same location almost four decades later.
Some time I'll have to tell the story of why I kicked the 6' 8" shot putter in the butt as he labored at his station in Reuther Mold and Manufacturing. Not now.
Sweet dreams.
For a stream of consciousness grand finale: I suddenly realized today that I could use Google Earth to look at the town in Ohio where I spent my senior year in High School. I used the search feature to find Machine Shops in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. And there it was: Reuther Mold and Manufacturing. The site of that dismal summer of night shifts. Still in business. Still at the same location almost four decades later.
Some time I'll have to tell the story of why I kicked the 6' 8" shot putter in the butt as he labored at his station in Reuther Mold and Manufacturing. Not now.
Sweet dreams.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
