Limping and Flying

“What does it mean to trust God?”

That was the opening question in our staff meeting recently. Then a devotion was shared which compared trusting God to the work between trapeze artists. In their work, there are two roles: flyers and catchers. The job of the flyer is to do what it sounds like-release from the bar and fly in the air to be caught by their teammate. And by fly they mean do nothing. Don’t try to help the catcher. Don’t reach for the catcher. Just be in the air and trust that you will be caught.

As I listened to the devotion and the following discussion, my mind went to the previous day and my personal experience of trying to help when I wasn’t supposed to. Since my second neck surgery in 2014, I keep regular appointments with my massage therapist, Mike. And we have some interesting conversations while I’m on the table. There are rarely any lulls.

My neck was particularly tight that day, so Mike was having to spend more time on it. He always starts on my neck while I’m on my back. And he always finishes working on my neck with the same move. I know it’s coming; after 8 years I pretty much know exactly what he’s going to do next. His final move is to put both hands under my head, lift, and slowly bend my neck toward my chest. Most visits, he’ll do this several times.

On that day, I immediately knew I had done something Mike told me not to do the first time he worked on me. Rather than let him do the work, I helped. I mean, do I really need someone to lift my head toward my neck? I wasn’t born yesterday. Mike is from New York; he’s got no problem calling you out. So on that first visit when I helped him lift my head he said, “Don’t do that. While you’re on my table, you need to let me do all the work. Just pretend you’ve lost all control of your body. Go limp. Trust me and don’t get in the way of my work.”

In my talking while Mike lifted my head on this visit, I knew instantly that I had helped and wasn’t limp. So before he scolded me I said, “I helped you, didn’t I?” He said, “Yes, you did. Stop it.”

Too many times I try to help God. I get in the way. He doesn’t scold me, but he certainly lets me know things could be done more in his way, in his time, and in his perfection if I’d just go limp. Sure, I can do all the work I should while off the table. But when I’m on the table, he’s most going to have his way when I’m trusting him to do what only he can do.

Fly! God will catch you.

Go limp. God doesn’t need your help.

You can trust him.

Photo by Joseph Frank on Unsplash

Mimickry

I’ve been at it for over two years. It’s a slow burn.

When I transitioned to a new job and anticipated working more from home and not having an office, I knew something had to be done. All my books weren’t going to fit on one bookcase at home. So it began. The personal library deconstruction. As the walls enclose, the books are finding new homes.

I’m guessing all book lovers have similar problems. Not only do we buy more than we need nor have room for, we tend to not get around to reading all of them either. I’d guess someone has labeled this a disorder. I mean, chocolate lovers don’t buy boxes of chocolate just to put them on display never to be opened and eventually discarded. At least I don’t. I enjoy what’s inside. The chocolate box, just to be clear.

To address this problem, I’ve continued the deconstruction in two ways. One, if I’ve never read the book and don’t see that I will in the near future, “off with its head (given away in some fashion).” Two, rather than buying new books (Kindle doesn’t count), I’m reading the books I haven’t read and then deciding if it deserves to stay or go.

Occasionally, I encounter deja vu. Happened yesterday. I finished a book, which deserved to stay on the shelf. So I picked out another one I was pretty sure I hadn’t read. Not even sure where I got it, honestly. It’s signed by the author, which most likely explains why it’s still on the shelf. As I’m reading the first few chapters, it reads like a new book-nothing familiar at all. And then, with the light on the page just right, I see faint yellow highlighting. Are you kidding me? I’ve read this book before, even highlighted it, and I don’t remember. Another book lover problem. Actually, there’s several problems in that realization, but let’s move on.

One joy in re-reading a book is your eye, your mind being captured with more. Something you didn’t engage the first time speaks to you the second time. Like re-watching a movie. Here’s the line in this book that captured me:

We mimic the god we serve.

God’s Resting Place: Finding Your Identity In His Peace, by Ron Marquardt

Marquardt explained that our belief of God’s character plays out in how we live. “If I believe God is angry and hard to please, I find myself behaving the same way. If I find Him happy one moment and angry the next, I will soon follow suit.” (p.19) Mind captured.

So I chose to meditate on that in a journal entry. Rather than analyze my mimicry, I decided to make a list of truths I believe about God. This list, certainly not exhaustive, can then serve as a checklist of how I’m mimicking Him:

  • God loves us as we are
  • God sent his son not to condemn
  • God receives us from our wandering
  • God seeks the lost sheep
  • God rests
  • God listens to his children
  • God blesses those who bless him
  • God humbled himself for his creation
  • God keeps his promises
  • God forgives
  • God is faithful
  • God has eternity in mind
  • God gives generously
  • God has compassion
  • God remembers we are dust

Deconstruction leading to deja vu leading to mimickry. Here’s to the slow burn!

Photo: Izabela Zagaja-Florek

“You’ve No Idea”

(Luke 22:15 MSG)

Three years in the making by your time

Eternity of anticipating by my time

Maybe just another meal from where you sit

Undoubtedly my most important from where I sit

A moment to remember the past in your heart

A moment to embrace the future in my heart

A flurry of questions through your mind

A calming of purpose through my mind

Confusing challenges for your spirit

Surrendered offerings for my spirit

Everything about this moment you’ve no idea

Before, now, and after I’ve every idea

(Photo by James Coleman on Unsplash)

Tucson Reflection #4

A little travel trivia for you based on an article by Livability (2016):

  • The average American has visited 12 states.
  • The top five visited states are Florida, California, Georgia, New York, and Nevada.
  • California, Florida, and New York residents have visited fewer states than the typical American.
  • 10% of Americans have never been to a state other than the one they live in.
  • Americans take more than four leisure trips per year.

My Thanksgiving trip of 11 days, counting airports, took me to five states. Looking at these trivia points, it would be foolish of me not to see my life as privileged.

At some point on this trip, maybe on a plane or driving around Tucson, a thought occurred to me. The more I travel to new places the smaller I get. I’m pretty sure it was while I was in Tucson. I’m guessing because Tucson was unlike any other city I’ve visited.

Sure, it is American. Sure, it is modern. Sure, it is multicultural. Sure, it is a University town. Sure, it is picturesque. Sure, it is probably just about anything you’d want a city to be where you live or visit.

Something about Tucson, though, expanded my world and reminded me that the world is quite big. Therefore, I am quite small.

Now, someone might read that and the takeaway would be, “That sounds depressing.” Thankfully, with the worldview I have, my response is the opposite. I’m grateful for the reminder.

Too often my world revolves around me. I’m “bigger” than I really am. Is that because I’m American? Single? Male? White? Privileged? Floridian? Alabama fan? Probably. But it’s also because I’m human, in the lineage of Adam. I fall prey to wanting to be like God.

The smaller we children of Adam see ourselves in comparison to God the better our lives are. We allow the fullness of His presence; we give him more space to reveal he’s bigger. Bigger than us. Bigger than our stuff. Bigger than our circumstances. Bigger than our doubts. Bigger than our fears. Bigger.

On behalf of all the children of Adam, thank you, Tucson! You remind us God is Big!

Photo by REVOLT on Unsplash

Tucson Reflection #2

Getting to Tucson was no joke. The trip started by a 5AM EST (3AM in Tucson) alarm in St. Augustine followed by a three-hour stop in Orlando before boarding flight #1 in Tampa. After a four-hour layover in Denver, the final leg of the trip landed me in Tucson; after a short ride to the AirBnB, I got in bed at 12AM. If you’re counting, that’s a 21-hour day. Not necessarily the smartest start to a weekend for running a half marathon.

When you arrive in the middle of the night to a place you’ve never been, you pretty much have no idea, nor do you really care, what that city has to offer. I apologize to you, Tucson, but I had no idea what you had in store for me when I walked out the door to go to lunch a few hours later. You slapped me in the face with this view:

I didn’t mind the surprise. In fact, I couldn’t get enough. For the next 48 hours, I kept shaking my head and saying to myself, and I guess to God, “What? This is spectacular.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve been in Florida most of my life. Maybe it’s because different is intoxicating. Or maybe it’s because most surprises just aren’t this good.

Regardless of the maybes, here’s what I do know. I will never get over that the Creator of things that slap me in the face also humbled himself to see me, to know me, to rescue me, to offer me hope, to say, “Just wait ’til you see what I’m making for you.”

On behalf of all who visit you, Tucson, thank you! You remind us there’s a matchless surprise to come!

We See What We Look For

Recently a friend gave me a copy of Michael Hyatt’s Full Focus journal. So I’ve taken the challenge to complete it’s 90-day design.

The journal page for today had a portion of this quote by author John Lubbock:

What we do see depends mainly on what we look for… In the same field the farmer will notice the crop, the geologists the fossils, botanists the flowers, artists the colouring, sportmen the cover for the game. Though we may all look at the same things, it does not all follow that we should see them.”

― John Lubbock, The Beauties of Nature and the Wonders of the World We Live in

I instantly narrowed that down to this thought: We see what we look for.

How we view what we see is very dependent on what we are looking for. For example, when we read current events or listen to the news, we have biases that filter what we read and hear. How often do we evaluate those filters? How often do we assess if those filters really are ours or are they residual from other influences? Do we ever alter what we are looking for?

As a suggestion, here is a list that I started in my journal to illustrate what I mean. As you read it, consider how such a list in your journal would read.

  • We see God when we look for him
  • We see enemies when we look for them
  • We see offense when we look for it
  • We see opportunity when we look for it
  • We see solutions when we look for them
  • We see danger when we look for it
  • We see rejection when we look for it
  • We see grace when we look for it
  • We see humility when we look for it
  • We see strength when we look for it
  • We see courage when we look for it
  • We see unity when we look for it
  • We see love when we look for it

What are you looking for today? This week? This holiday season?

Family Grace

Today I was privileged to attend the celebration of life for a friend’s husband who passed last year. Due to COVID concerns, the family put off holding a gathering until now. I had only met her husband once that I recall, so I was attending purely to support her. I have found that when I attend such gatherings without much history with the deceased I actually walk away with more to think about. No exception today.

The top thing that struck me was an admittance from the youngest son. In his sharing about his dad, he spoke transparently stating that they hadn’t always had the greatest relationship. He said he didn’t want to go on about that. Instead he said this:

As an adult I’ve come to realize that parents are people to. My dad was a person. We all mess up.

He then went on to tell terrific stories of how he relied on his dad in many ways and will miss his being there to give advice and fix his mistakes. He gave a terrific image of how he remembered feeling like his dad would be behind him watching him do something and sensing that his dad wished he could wrapped his arms around his sides in order to fix what he wasn’t doing right. He said he imagines that his dad is still doing that.

This husband/father/friend was loved. And it appears he was loved because he accepted everyone’s humanity including his own. Could that be the answer to a tight family? Each one receives and shares grace out of their acceptance of their humanity?

As I listened to this son laugh and cry talking about his dad, this passage came to mind:

As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust. The life of mortals is like grass, they flourish like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children’s children-with those who keep his covenant and remember to obey his precepts.

Psalm 103:13-18

May families remember that they are dust.

May families receive and share grace.

May families bask in the everlasting to everlasting love of the Lord.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Into the Silent Land (a book review)

A few days ago I included a reference to Into the Silent Land in a post. When I heard about this book, I thought it was going to be about the spiritual discipline of solitude. To my surprise, it turned out to be much more than that.

Laird shared in the introduction that his objective was to examine two contemplative practices: the practice of stillness (meditation or contemplative prayer) and the practice of watchfulness or awareness. He had my attention.

I won’t be able to compact his descriptions of these practices with justice. What I can do is relay that if you believe you’ve read or heard all there is to know about prayer, you might want to make sure by reading this book. What I thought I knew about contemplative prayer has been deepened. What I practice in meditation has been retooled.

The meat of the book is chapters four and six. Chapter four introduces and outlines what Laird calls the three doorways of the present moment. He describes a method of praying based on utilizing a prayer word. I found it familiar but not. He was putting words to my novice practices and revealing how to mature them. Then in chapter six-my favorite-he makes it real by sharing three overcomer’s stories. Their struggles include fear, pain, and compulsion. The victory in these three human stories support his label of their moving from victim to witness.

You may be wondering if this book is for you. Here are three descriptors to try on for size:

  • If you wonder if the practice of meditation carries value, this book is for you.
  • If you wish your prayer life to be more relational and not just petitionary, this book is for you.
  • If you are looking for a spiritual discipline challenge, this book is for you.

Laird doesn’t write to be quoted, but here are a few highlights worth sharing:

If we are going to speak of what a human being is, we have not said enough until we speak of God.

God does not know how to be absent.

There is a certain wisdom that settles into a life that does not attempt to control what everybody else ought to be thinking, saying, doing, or voting on. Wisdom, health, life, and love cannot be found in trying to control the wind, but rather in harnessing the wind in the sails of receptive engagement of the present moment.

It is very liberating to realize that what goes on in our head…does not have the final word on who we are.

If you want to make fear grow, run from it.

Fear, anger, envy-any afflictive thought or feeling-cannot withstand a direct gaze.

We commonly meet our wounds in temptation and failure.

Divine love doesn’t have to decide whether or not to forgive. Divine love is forgiving love.

Photo by Adam Rhodes on Unsplash

Parent, You Are Chosen!

Read Judges 13 this morning and a question came to me. What would it have been like to be Samson’s parents?

Manoah and his wife display such a teachable, humble, surrendered, and reverent spirit. Neither of them give a vibe of bitterness, doubt, or frustration at their lack of having a family yet. Neither of them display disgust at being told that with the promise of a child came a restrictive vow. Nope. Instead they reply with awe and an outlook of being blessed.

No wonder God chose them to be Samson’s parents. Unbeknownst to them, Samson would make some irreverent choices. He would not follow in their steps of humility. His surrender came by force.

Does this mean Manoah and his wife failed as parents? No. There’s where my judgment has gone in the past when reading their story. But it doesn’t seem to be the best view.

Rather than view them through their son’s actions, it seems better to view them through the eyes of the angel of the Lord who interacts with them in this chapter. They appear to be chosen. They definitely were heard. Without question, they experienced blessing through a promise personally delivered by “I Am” and its fulfillment.

God chose them. Just like all uncapable-of-controlling-the-future parents, they were chosen. God saw something in them and said, “You are the right couple to birth the last judge of my chosen people. You have the spirit to stay with me when your son chooses otherwise. I choose you.”

Father, you were chosen to father your children. God knew what he was doing. You can trust him, surrender to him, allow him to teach you.

Mother, you were chosen to mother your children. God saw your spirit. You can trust him, follow him, lean on him to sustain you.

Photo by Julian Hochgesang on Unsplash

Pick Them Up

When a baby is distressed, they’re distressed because they are sleepy, hungry, uncomfortable, cold. And the way we respond to newborns is we pick them up…We are helping them begin to learn that when you are in distress you express your distress and someone comes to comfort you.

Curt Thompson, MD

Several takeaways from this statement in Episode 7, Season 1 of Being Known.

  • It’s normal to express distress. We were born doing it.
  • It’s normal to comfort someone who is expressing their distress. The majority of us have been comforted and can reciprocate it.
  • Comforting someone is picking them up. We pick each other up when we respond to distress cries with comfort.
  • The ultimate picker-upper is God. We express our distress through prayer. He comforts. He picks us up.

Are you in distress? Who are you sharing it with? Where can you trust to go for comfort? Have you expressed your distress to God?

Do you know someone in distress? How can you pick them up today? Have you prayed for God to pick them up?

Psalm 113:1-9 (The Message)

113 1-3 Hallelujah!
You who serve God, praise God!
    Just to speak his name is praise!
Just to remember God is a blessing—
    now and tomorrow and always.
From east to west, from dawn to dusk,
    keep lifting all your praises to God!

4-9 God is higher than anything and anyone,
    outshining everything you can see in the skies.
Who can compare with God, our God,
    so majestically enthroned,
Surveying his magnificent
    heavens and earth?
He picks up the poor from out of the dirt,
    rescues the forgotten who’ve been thrown out with the trash,
Seats them among the honored guests,
    a place of honor among the brightest and best.
He gives childless couples a family,
    gives them joy as the parents of children.
Hallelujah!

Photo by Heike Mintel on Unsplash