How Important is My Life?

How important is my life?

I want to be clear that the question is rhetorical. I am a bit afraid that a reader or two might decide to tell me how important they think my life is. Regardless of the nature of the assessment, I would struggle mightily with it. I am already struggling. Please do not throw an anchor to this drowning man.

I fervently believe that God commands me to love him and to love my neighbor as I love myself. I cannot believe that a loving, almighty, all knowing God would send me off on a fruitless errand. However, I can all too easily believe that I am failing to obey his commandments as well as I might. I want to love God. I want to love my neighbor. It seems that I have only a few ways to show my love for either.

I realize more and more that listening is important. God's voice seems elusive. I believe the difficulty is all the competing noise and voices in my mind. Hearing humans is straightforward. However, it can be very difficult to care enough about them to listen for what they are really saying rather than listening for what I want to hear or for an opportunity to add my own comments.

Speaking words of encouragement to humans and speaking words of praise to God are another fundamental way to show my love. It is very sad to think how often I have failed to use my ability to speak for the purposes of encouraging or praising. Often I complain, denigrate, or argue. It may be worse still to use the gift of speech to justify my actions or to glorify myself. I am certain that God is calling me to a season of my life where my greatest contribution to others will be my ability to encourage them. I pray that he enables me to speak encouragement.

Serving is another way to show love. God assures me that when I serve the lowest of the low, I am in fact serving the king of kings. I find joy in serving. However, I tend to find it easier to serve those that I believe to be most deserving. I pray that God enables me to prefer others without expecting them to meet standards that I set.

Giving, forgiving, and forbearing are all worthy ways to love others. May God grace me with the ability to do each more and more.

How important is my life? The more I love, the more important it is. I thank God for giving that purpose and that significance to my time here on earth.

The City of God

I recommend the following article to you:

In place of God
Culture Replaces Religion
May 3rd 2007 From The Economist print edition
FROM the earliest times, a central role of any big town was sacred or religious. Until the 16th century, the status of a city was in England granted only to towns that had a diocesan cathedral, and to this day the title metropolitan is in some churches given to senior clerics. Cities still tend to have bigger and more splendid churches, mosques and temples than do mere towns and villages.…

The article is excellent within the limitations that the author sets. He contrasts the role of religion, culture, and commerce as influences that draw people to congregate in the world's cities. Cathedrals, opera houses, and skyscrapers or shopping centers are cited as the icons established in major cities to suggest their preeminence in the various pursuits that we humans embrace to fulfill our "spiritual needs".

I found the article fascinating, but shadowed by the haunting emptiness of those worldly pursuits. The cold stone emptiness of great cathedrals. The sensory overload of shopping districts. The impressive, but very limited accomplishments of the arts, enshrined in museums and performed in opera houses or theaters. Even professional sports teams and their enormous venues are seen as the distinguishing traits of a true city.

Religious, commercial and cultural pursuits of the highest order may seem vastly superior to many other attractions of cities such as the carnal lure of the sex trade and sensational spectacles such as the gladiator contests (ancient and modern) or parades, demonstrations, and other mass gatherings. I have indulged in all of those pastimes and more. I was eagerly seeking fulfilment in the highest worldly attainments and the lowest vices that the great gatherings of humans have to offer. I enjoyed little success of a lasting sort.

I thank God that about 23 years ago he revealed the nature of the one truly significant city, the city of God. The citizens of the city of God are all who pursue relationship with God and trust him as the God who became a perfect and innocent man. A man (all man and all God) who willingly gave his life that we might be forgiven our many failings. The citizens of the city of God are those who share in the fellowship of faith in Jesus Christ as their lord and savior. Only God knows the exact population and demographics of the city of God. He encourages us to seek one another out, to love each other, and to proclaim our citizenship with the many acts of love and grace that God enables us to bestow on a hurting world.

Our faith in God as our saviour, and our love for one another should not be confused with the tedious, empty observation of religious rites and duties that many substitute for a genuine personal relationship with almighty God. He who created and sustains the universe and our very beings. Our faith and our love must inform all forms of culture or commerce that we pursue as residents of the cities of this world. Our faith and our love should preclude selfish indulgence in sexual immorality and a preoccupation with spectacle whether it be games, mass gatherings, or any other poor substitute for true fellowship.

The city of God is growing and prospering, yet it will not be obvious to those in the world who will carefully monitor all the wrong metrics: wealth, fame, sensual abandon. We will prosper as the genuine joy and the pervasive peace in our lives shine like a beacons to those seeking freedom from the fruitless pursuits of the cities of man.

If you are a member of the city of God, rejoice for your future is assured and you will receive comfort during the trials in this life. If you are clinging to the worthless idols that are worshipped in the cities of men, forfeit them that you may know the grace that can be yours as you submit yourself to the sovereignty of God. God who is love. God who longs to welcome you to his family.

Nuclear Family

Why do we call it a nuclear family? Apparently it has to do with being composed of a small number of fundamental building blocks.
Every human has had a biological mother and father with the exceptions of Adam, Eve, Jesus, and clones. I'm going to leave clones for another time. You probably have heard the same explanations for Adam, Eve, and Jesus as I have.

Whatever it is that makes us human, was designed by God. Once the prototypes were completed, ongoing production was assured. Father and mother have children. Children become fathers and mothers. Generation upon generation. Along the way uncles, aunts, grandfathers, and grandmothers and a host of other relations came into being. When biological moms or dads can't carry on their roles, others pitch in as needed.

Barbara and I have been blessed with a nuclear family that has only been altered each time we conceived another child. We have good reason to think that the alterations are now complete. The members of our family shift their positions on this globe. Our love for one another grows and matures as does each one of us. Our nuclear family remains composed of the same six persons. There will be a day when death may separate us for a season. After that, we hope to be rejoined for all eternity.

Our relationship with God is central to our being. Our relationship to our family is fundamental to our humanity. I thank God for our nuclear family. I thank God for the joy we have known. I thank him for helping us through the sorrows and for strengthening us to deal with difficulties.

Dichotomy

I scanned the past six months of posts on this blog, and observed a dichotomy that intrigues me. On any given day it seems that time creeps by. Even the biggest events, genuine milestones in my life, are filled with a creeping moment by moment sense that I am waiting impatiently to see if something important is going to happen. Occasionally, at a particular moment, I sense that something very important is actually happening, but that is rare. It is only in hindsight that the days of my life seemed filled with great happenings, significant progress, and elements of a compelling story.

The dichotomy is that between how mundane a given moment may seem and how dramatic those moments become when strung together into tales.
Tales of spiritual growth. Tales of sickness and tales of healing. Tales of relationships newly formed, then forged with the heat of circumstances and the relentless hammering of events.

Here I sit at 4 am in a silent house. I can hear the ticking of a clock. I gradually feel relief from the pain medication I took at 3:30. I struggle word by word to capture the dichotomy of the quietude nearing tedium of this moment contrasted with the rush of life changing events I have known in recent months and the oncoming rush of events ahead.

I am thankful for this tranquil island of now, in a storm tossed sea of what has been and what will be. It may even be a tiny glimpse of the eternal peace of a now spent in God's presence once the heavens and earth are made new and there is no more crying, no more pain, no more death.

Now What

I have had quite a bit of time at home due to knee problems and other illness in the past month. So I have had a bit of a sneak preview of what awaits me when I retire on May 31.

Many of the things that I focused my energy on for decades are now moving behind me. No more small children to raise. No mortgage to pay off. No need to work for money, at least for a while.

A few things have been non-issues for me for quite a while. No wondering about whether I will marry and whether it will work out. I am much less haunted by the vague fear that maybe I am not cool enough or handsome enough or successful enough to make a decent life for myself.

A few things stand as a rock solid foundation for me to build upon. God is love. God forgives me my failings. I have good friends who really help me to carry on. Dear sweet Barbara is the greatest friend after Jesus.

Now I am intent on setting some new objectives for myself. So I ask you, God, now what?

Celebrity versus Relationship

It seems easy enough to realize that I would rather be loved than be famous. My stained soul and my culture try to convince me that it would be best to be loved, and also famous. When I poke about in my motivations, I find that I am more eager to be known by others than I am to know them. I cannot love others unless I am willing and able to know them. I cannot love those whom I do not know. The greatest commandments are to love God and to love my neighbor as myself. Why then this urge to be known by others? In some of my foolish fantasies, those others will love me because they know me. The truth is that those who love me most are those who know me but are willing to overlook much that they know. God knows the most and forgives the most. My wife, family, and friends have also been able to know me, and yet still love me. It makes no sense to say that I could be loved by millions that hardly know me and are unknown to me. Were it even possible, what comfort would there be in that?

I live in a milleu where it seems almost impossible to avoid knowing celebrities. I am uncertain whether recognizing them as such is harmful to them. It is most certainly harmful to me, if I begin to envy their celebrity.

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The picture above is Ann Nicole Smith. I actually had to search some to get the name right. I took a big chance on searching out the image, but my browser's moderate safe search filtered out the some of the most exploitive photos of her and stll left a quarter million for me to choose from.

Until she died, I knew little of her. I am ashamed to say that what I did know fed my pride. In my heart of hearts I sneered at what I believed to be her use of youth and physical charms to gain the love of a wealthy old man. Pictures of those charms and hints that her motives were evil were enough to feed both my pride and my lust. How very sad for her. How very evil of me.

I really did not want to know her. I wanted to have someone to look down on.

God has forgiven me this sin. It is sin, nonetheless.

God loved Ann Nicole, just as he loves me. I hope she knew God and loved him. Only God knows. At times it seems that only God truly cares. I pray that I too would learn to care.

On the Solid Rock I Stand

I do not believe it is possible for me to know the best or the worst moments of my entire life. However, I experienced an excellent candidate for each within the past 60 hours.

Wednesday afternoon I comported myself as well as I could while my doctor used large needles to remove fluid from my knee and to add cortisone. As he worked I asked questions about the grisly details of the surgery that lies ahead of me when my natural knee will be replaced by steel and plastic. I left feeling glad that I had managed as well as I did.
But upon reaching home I felt fatigue flood me as I lay in my big chair waiting for supper to be prepared. I fell asleep for just a while. I awoke groggy but quickly aware of a horrid odor in the room. Within seconds I realized it seemed to be emanating from the skillet where Barbara was sauteeing vegetables. I was certain that some strange burning was creating a noxious odor so powerful that it might well sicken and kill us. I shouted urgently, "Can't you smell it?". But Barbara smelled nothing more than a bit of strong broccoli odor. Samuel came inside from doing chores and was also puzzled by my reaction. Within moments I had to run to our bedroom, hoping to escape the horrible odor. I tried to light candles and curl up on our bed. The smoke from an extinguished match overpowered me and I very nearly retched. I ran from the room to our hot tub. Perhaps warm water and fresh outdoor air could restore me. But the moment I opened the lid of the spa, it was as if I had uncovered a toxic waste dump of disgusting chemicals. I ran back to the house and this time truly did curl up fetal style with the bedcovers over my head. I was assaulted by the tremendously amplified odor of fabric softener. I was in terror that nothing could stop the smells. I jumped up and rummaged through a bathroom drawer, searching for two cotton balls. A mingled blend of perfumes from various bath products threatened to send me away without the cotton. Finding the puffs, I quickly compressed them into my nostrils and waited impatiently for the cotton to fill every crevice to block out all the odors. Somewhat calmed I was able to return to the living room, sit in my chair and pour out my fears to Barbara. Gradually over the next hour or so I was able to remove the cotton and force myself to choke down a bowl of plain vanilla ice cream to restore my very low blood sugar. I sat there in the chair from about 7 unitl 4 in the morning. Reading. Writing. Doing anything I could to ease my mind. Finally sometime after 4 I slept for two hours and then awoke, unable to sleep any more other than a short nap before rising for the day. That day was one of the longest and most despondent in my memory. I knew I was sleep deprived. I feared the return of the horrid smells. I knew that I had been delusional, experiencing things that no one else was aware of in the least. I sat all day without dozing, fearing the return of that terrible state of mind.

Finally, that night at about 10, I collapsed into bed and thrashed a bit and then fell into a deep sleep. I slept well, better than usual. I awoke at 5:30 feeling very refreshed and eager to meet the day. I ate cereal and drank orange juice, savoring every bit. I had already made plans to stay home from work that day. I did. It was a wonderful relaxing day. I read, I sunbathed, I enjoyed simple meals. I was very productive writing and reading HP emails that afteroon. In the early evening Barbara and I watched the mountain epsisode of the Planet Earth series on the Discovery Channel. Out of all of the incredible footage and narration in that remarkable television series, this seemed to be the best yet. I was entranced. Barbara was exhausted from a hard day of chores and cleaning. She proposed a bed time of 8:30, but then thought better of it and suggested a dip in our hot tub. The moon shone through a thin covering of clouds. The wind rustled in the trees near our spa. The light, the temperature, and our quiet talk was glorious. God seemed to be crying out to me, "This is good. This is what I have made. This woman is the wife I have given you" about an hour ago, I tucked her into bed at 9:30. She is sleeping blissfully. I feel the natural fatigue of evening falling over me. Soon I will sleep.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring. The best. The worst. Or something seemingly commonplace that will be one of many steps toward a life devoted toward serving God better and trusting him more.

I will trust in God. I am not home yet. There is work to do here and battles to be fought. There are also glimpses of the glory that we will share with him in his eternal kingdom when all things are made new.

I praise God for his goodness and mercy. I know he will use both the best moments and the worst to bring me closer to him: to conform my mind to that of Christ Jesus. It is his perfect plan.

Picture Phone

When I was a kid, futuristic scenarios always included a picture-phone. Usually it looked pretty much like the land line we had always used, but it had a little box that showed a TV image of the person at the other end.

So now we have that. Thank you, Viggo. I have been waiting to have a picture phone for half a century. You gave us one by enabling a Skype account and calling Barbara to walk her through how to use our laptop (which has a built in web cam and microphone) to access the account. The only thing missing is the handset. It would be superfluous. We just needed the little box with the picture, a nice big color picture; the microphone and speaker are built in.

Depending on the vagaries of internet bandwidth, the picture can be quite slow to keep up with movement and talking. That will only get better over time as connection speeds continue to improve.

This morning I realized that with just a little work and expense (very little of each), this communication tool is available whenever we want to use it for building relationships with folks all over the world.

Thank you, Viggo, for making a childhood dream become a reality.

Howard Thurman

Many thanks to Bethany Horne who published a quote by Howard Thurman in her blog. I am often arrogant enough to think that I would recognize most "significant" authors names. Nonsense. I have barely scratched the surface. Besides, my memory is failing me in ways I had not experienced in earlier decades.

However, the reason for me not knowing anything about Howard Thurman is painfully simple. He was a black man. I was educated in a culture that gave no credence to black people. Here is another quote by him:

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

This was quoted in Wikipedia just below the same quote that Bethany cited. It is a quote that I very much needed to read. The timing could not be better. I have had a very down day. Since March 2 I have never fully recovered the ability to do such things as take walks of more than a few hundred feet or ride my bicycle. I have pretty much been restricted to my Lazy Boy nest at home with occasional outings to my HP cubicle. Generally I have adapted well to this confined life. However, today I am struggling with a vague feeling of illness and malaise. My state of mind has approached that of the darker days of my clinical depression. And this at a time when I am pondering how I will use the remainder of my life now that I am retiring from HP as of May 31. In my current state of mind I find myself wishing there was no remainder. I am assured by those who love me that this will pass. I believe that. That's where the quote comes in. I have been thinking in terms of what the world needs. Those needs are overwhelming! I am glad for the chance to think about what makes me come alive. I believe that by truly coming alive I can serve the God who gave me a new life and eternal life. It is deeply reassuring.

Thank you, Bethany. Thank you, God.

Treasure Found While Not Seeking

I used a quote from my niece's MySpace profile recently: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere". A kind reader (I refer you to his blog :Coyets' Random Thoughts ) commented and gave the original context of that quote. It is a letter written by Martin Luther King while he was imprisoned for a nonviolent protest of segration in Alabama: Martin Luther King's Letter from Birmingham Jail . It is no surprise to me that I was not familiar with the letter. I was a boy in Lousiana at the same time that Dr. King was writing it. I was raised in the segregated south by a family committed to the idea that white people were superior to people of color. A letter of this sort was definitely not a part of my education.

What a joy it was to read it for the first time! It is so gratifying to see how well Dr. King stated his case protesting the injustice of segregation! It gave me a great deal of pleasure to read it from start to finish, yet all the while I felt challenged to find the courage to resist injustice with nonviolent direct action of my own.