I went to work against the advice of my wife, kids and mother.
I know. You're thinking "What a pioneering, lead-the-way spirit you have." Not, "You're dumber than a loose bag of liverwurst." Or "They should have tranq-darted you and then stuffed you in a closet for three days." I was blessed with a straight-forward surgery, rapid recovery, mostly pain-free. My thanks to God? I was bored with resting (nearly 3 full days after appendectomy) and decided to be antsy. Couldn't be happy with the attention of my family, quiet or the opportunity to be human. No. Wouldn't fall into that trap. So, I sacrificed and only worked a half day, first day back (3 days after surgery).
Found myself dazed, irritable and really wanting to jack slap my co-workers. Some should be jack-slapped, but I wouldn't risk bursting my stitches. My wife would have damaged me more than the surgery for that gaff. I was responsible, carried my load, set the tone, blah-blah-blah and came home like a good soldier. I am lying down after a pain-killer induced nap and wake up with every freaking work detail picking at the back of my mind like a terrier digging for rabbits. I reach for normalcy. I've seen people take days and weeks off work and act like "Oh, I'm sick/recovering/comatose. I'll focus on getting better."
I really tried. I used the normal people words: "boundaries" "rest" "contentment". Worked great. It was a bleeding surfer trying to distract a great white with a blob of tofu.
I caved. I made calls. Gave direction. Issued assignments. Asked for help. From my couch, in my pjs, under the cheetah skin blanket. Yes. I was bad. Broke boundaries, crossed lines, misplaced priorities, lived out of the moment, and did not see the big picture. Every self-help author in America is shaking their smug little face in disappointment.
I just don't give a fat rat's patootie. It's just too bad. They can really plant a wet one on my everloving butt.
Newsflash, oh great, wise ones: it's not natural to be in recovery. It's weird to rest that much. OK, if I had an amputation, I can see a few limitations. But an appendectomy? "You should be off work for 3 days". Yeah, if I'm the great tree licking sloth of Sluggeramia (check Wikepedia). What the deuce! Being still is....annoying. It's worse than walking in the mall on a Saturday afternoon after a Jonas Brothers concert. If I am lying, I am dying.
So, lighten up, Scooter! Give it a rest, Lunch box! Let it loose, Hop Scotch! My inner voice sounds like Andy Rooney in the "Night at the Museum". Old guys are always saying stuff that tears you up, but you feel honored because they gave you a nickname instead of just punching you in the guts.
I going with it. I am going to work while I can. As long as I can. I will rest when I have to. In a few days, it will be back to normal, with a few nifty scars and cool pictures. Yes, pictures. They wouldn't give me my appendix after they removed it. After some fierce haggling on my part, they agreed to take pictures. How often to you get to see your insides without a fierce ninja battle or horrible can-opener accident?
Lighten up, sparky. Don't be a Nancy. Count your blessings and get after it.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
What is Money?
This upstart quote sprang to our attention this morning: "Money is anywhere you need it". My initial filter of lack (reference any media outlet) was discarded as the idea warmed and came fully to life. The ongoing discussion turned up the idea that wealth is more than money. It is the resource or ability to accomplish a purpose. The world system with which we struggle says that money is the key that opens every door. If you don't have money, you can't do anything. Don't bother dreaming if you don't have money. "It is what it is" because of the economy, weather patterns, etc. Even the church has enthroned money over God: "If it doesn't make sense financially, then don't do it". That' right. If the money's not there, then don't build, don't go, don't tell.
The kingdom of God says "That ain't so!"
Peter needed to pay taxes. Jesus told him to get the money out of the mouth of a fish.
If Jesus had been responsible, He would have had Peter get a second job.
A throng of multiple thousands needed food. Jesus multiplied a child's lunch and fed them all, with left overs.
If Jesus had planned better, He could have had it catered and gotten a substantial discount for being a non-profit.
A woman with a debilitating, long-term health issue pursues Jesus. Doctors' bills have impoverished her. She believes that if she can touch Jesus she will be healed. She does. She is.
She should have taken advantage of her company's HSA for the long term care. She would have gotten better. Eventually.
A blind man obnoxiously seeks Jesus. Jesus uses mud to restore the man's sight.
If he had enrolled for state health care, he could have gotten a seeing eye dog and a cane.
True wealth is the resource or ability to accomplish a purpose. Money is a tool that can be used for this, but not the only tool by any means. Scripture shows that God delights in accomplishing His purposes for His children through mud, fish (big and little), wet/dry fleece, small people, handkerchiefs, water, hornets, long hair, etc. A powerful God with a sense of irony repeatedly uses mundane things and people to accomplish the impossible.
What wealth has God put into your life to accomplish His purpose? Because you may not have money does not mean that you are not a candidate for something great. By the same token, because you may be wealthy, it does not follow that you have a clue. Like with Moses, God asks you daily "What is in your hand?"
The issue is power. God is good and what He does is good. He has the Power. The world system thrusts forward a shabby imitation in money or Mammon. Trust the power, not the tool. God will always be worthy of your trust. He will change the tools you use.
"Money is anywhere you need it."
The kingdom of God says "That ain't so!"
Peter needed to pay taxes. Jesus told him to get the money out of the mouth of a fish.
If Jesus had been responsible, He would have had Peter get a second job.
A throng of multiple thousands needed food. Jesus multiplied a child's lunch and fed them all, with left overs.
If Jesus had planned better, He could have had it catered and gotten a substantial discount for being a non-profit.
A woman with a debilitating, long-term health issue pursues Jesus. Doctors' bills have impoverished her. She believes that if she can touch Jesus she will be healed. She does. She is.
She should have taken advantage of her company's HSA for the long term care. She would have gotten better. Eventually.
A blind man obnoxiously seeks Jesus. Jesus uses mud to restore the man's sight.
If he had enrolled for state health care, he could have gotten a seeing eye dog and a cane.
True wealth is the resource or ability to accomplish a purpose. Money is a tool that can be used for this, but not the only tool by any means. Scripture shows that God delights in accomplishing His purposes for His children through mud, fish (big and little), wet/dry fleece, small people, handkerchiefs, water, hornets, long hair, etc. A powerful God with a sense of irony repeatedly uses mundane things and people to accomplish the impossible.
What wealth has God put into your life to accomplish His purpose? Because you may not have money does not mean that you are not a candidate for something great. By the same token, because you may be wealthy, it does not follow that you have a clue. Like with Moses, God asks you daily "What is in your hand?"
The issue is power. God is good and what He does is good. He has the Power. The world system thrusts forward a shabby imitation in money or Mammon. Trust the power, not the tool. God will always be worthy of your trust. He will change the tools you use.
"Money is anywhere you need it."
Friday, January 1, 2010
Stalked By The Ordinary
When I order at a restaurant, I wait until the last second, open the menu, close my eyes and randomly point out my choice. I want to be suprised. I don't want to eat the same thing I ate last time. If you think about it, you can't lose: there isn't a section that says "The entrees we lied about. This will make you sick". Eating establishments want you to like their food. So why order the same thing every time? Eating the Chimi Changa Special every time is like daily deja vu for the taste buds. What a waste. You could could have discovered something new.
Repetition makes me twitchy. Maybe it's the sameness of everyday life that repels me. It's standing in the shower in the morning, realizing that not knowing the day doesn't make a difference. Does it matter if it's Wednesday instead of Thursday? Who cares? The unnerving part is knowing that something great can still be done. There is a distant call of close combat, sounds of argument, heated in pursuit of averting a crisis, movement in the periphery of my mind, away from the languid flow of the herd.
I married the love of my life. Been honored to be part of producing four unique, strong personalities who bless and lead those around them. I have been fit, running, wrestling, boxing, playing soccer, basketball. I have been mentally tough, completing the Army's Airborne and Ranger training, deploying to combat. I excelled in languages, getting my degree in Russian. I have led people, from being a jumpmaster pushing paratroopers out with the green light, to building a business, mentoring leaders. I have wept with people who are suffering, as well as with the rebellious, bent on destroying themselves and their families. I have been to several countries from the Middle East to Central America. I have been the pillar in crisis, in church, family, business and the military.
By my account, my life is only half spent. The only good I have done is with people. And people are tricky, camouflaged by the mundane.
I am stalked by the ordinary. I fight a war of attrition. I was not meant to sit in the same chair everyday, cleaning up other peoples' messes, conquering only the urge to run. People themselves are my only hope. The individual human is the cure to the ordinary. The existence of a person justifies the grind, the infuriating pettiness, the suffocating smallness of the day. The unique human, when known for who they are, when they are, where they are, is the only great adventure left.
Waiting in the airport, watching the flow of travellers pass back and forth, I am awed by the diversity of people. No two are the same. Nor have any two ever been the same in the history of mankind. And as they stride past me, rushing to their next stop, they are changing. Their minds, souls and bodies are in flux. All of them have a story, a purpose. And it will be unique, standing as one of kind across time.
The great adventure is to know people and to be known. The ordinary is simply the symptom of not engaging people, not serving them.
Today is Friday. It matters.
Repetition makes me twitchy. Maybe it's the sameness of everyday life that repels me. It's standing in the shower in the morning, realizing that not knowing the day doesn't make a difference. Does it matter if it's Wednesday instead of Thursday? Who cares? The unnerving part is knowing that something great can still be done. There is a distant call of close combat, sounds of argument, heated in pursuit of averting a crisis, movement in the periphery of my mind, away from the languid flow of the herd.
I married the love of my life. Been honored to be part of producing four unique, strong personalities who bless and lead those around them. I have been fit, running, wrestling, boxing, playing soccer, basketball. I have been mentally tough, completing the Army's Airborne and Ranger training, deploying to combat. I excelled in languages, getting my degree in Russian. I have led people, from being a jumpmaster pushing paratroopers out with the green light, to building a business, mentoring leaders. I have wept with people who are suffering, as well as with the rebellious, bent on destroying themselves and their families. I have been to several countries from the Middle East to Central America. I have been the pillar in crisis, in church, family, business and the military.
By my account, my life is only half spent. The only good I have done is with people. And people are tricky, camouflaged by the mundane.
I am stalked by the ordinary. I fight a war of attrition. I was not meant to sit in the same chair everyday, cleaning up other peoples' messes, conquering only the urge to run. People themselves are my only hope. The individual human is the cure to the ordinary. The existence of a person justifies the grind, the infuriating pettiness, the suffocating smallness of the day. The unique human, when known for who they are, when they are, where they are, is the only great adventure left.
Waiting in the airport, watching the flow of travellers pass back and forth, I am awed by the diversity of people. No two are the same. Nor have any two ever been the same in the history of mankind. And as they stride past me, rushing to their next stop, they are changing. Their minds, souls and bodies are in flux. All of them have a story, a purpose. And it will be unique, standing as one of kind across time.
The great adventure is to know people and to be known. The ordinary is simply the symptom of not engaging people, not serving them.
Today is Friday. It matters.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Answer To Fear: Plaid
Rest and harmony affect me strangely: I become creative, daring and unguarded. Other people need a few shots of tequila. I just need a vacation.
As is the ancient tradition, Cindy had purchased everyone in the family festive Christmas pajamas. These are not the mellow pjs that perhaps a librarian might wear. These togs shout "Merry Christmas". The men folk received, thick, bright red plaid bottoms. They had thick toggle pull strings and pockets. The fabric was a heavy, thick flannel. The ladies had white, patterned pants with bright red shirts. If we'd never decorated, the house would have been ablaze with color and energy with just the eight of us in the living room. And, so it came to pass, that it was decreed that we needed ice cream. It was evening, dark and cold. Being inebriated by rest, I decided to wear my new pj pants, dark leather jacket, and bright red scarf to Krogers.
My wife was appalled. "Go ahead", she said. The tone rang of 'you'll probably get arrested' and 'don't stick your finger in the electrical socket'. So off we went, my wife and two of my children.
For all the concern about drawing attention to myself, nothing happened. Nothing. No sidelong glances. No rushed whispers to small children.
Better still, while purchasing the ice cream, my son shared with me "I have the urge to lay down on the floor". I, the repository of maturity, counseled: "Do it". He balked. So I laid down on the floor (frozen food section). Once again, no response from the other shoppers. I would have hoped that someone would have called out "Nice pants" or "Are you conscious?" or even "Are you lost?" But nothing.
Conclusion: whatever you're uptight about - forget about it. Some other freak beat you to it and they survived, too.
But now I am troubled: plaid pj pants in public and lying on the floor in the frozen food section while thus clothed brought no response. What does a guy have to do?
As is the ancient tradition, Cindy had purchased everyone in the family festive Christmas pajamas. These are not the mellow pjs that perhaps a librarian might wear. These togs shout "Merry Christmas". The men folk received, thick, bright red plaid bottoms. They had thick toggle pull strings and pockets. The fabric was a heavy, thick flannel. The ladies had white, patterned pants with bright red shirts. If we'd never decorated, the house would have been ablaze with color and energy with just the eight of us in the living room. And, so it came to pass, that it was decreed that we needed ice cream. It was evening, dark and cold. Being inebriated by rest, I decided to wear my new pj pants, dark leather jacket, and bright red scarf to Krogers.
My wife was appalled. "Go ahead", she said. The tone rang of 'you'll probably get arrested' and 'don't stick your finger in the electrical socket'. So off we went, my wife and two of my children.
For all the concern about drawing attention to myself, nothing happened. Nothing. No sidelong glances. No rushed whispers to small children.
Better still, while purchasing the ice cream, my son shared with me "I have the urge to lay down on the floor". I, the repository of maturity, counseled: "Do it". He balked. So I laid down on the floor (frozen food section). Once again, no response from the other shoppers. I would have hoped that someone would have called out "Nice pants" or "Are you conscious?" or even "Are you lost?" But nothing.
Conclusion: whatever you're uptight about - forget about it. Some other freak beat you to it and they survived, too.
But now I am troubled: plaid pj pants in public and lying on the floor in the frozen food section while thus clothed brought no response. What does a guy have to do?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The Dark Unseen
The prince runs around the field, wildly singing the anthem of his father's realm, the blood-red banner pursuing him on the flexible pole. The lion-in-attack ripples above, dancing to the wind.
The fierce banner cuts whistling arcs, broad arcs of joy. The scarlet fabric flutters with regal celebration. The young, bold voice sings melodic boasts, the greatness of his father. The prince is a fountain of hope, bubbling with brightening color as he skips. The Counselor, sitting at the edge of the field, watches with dim eyes, but hears all, spoken and unspoken. The boy's praise coaxes a smile from the elder's wrinkled lips and tapping from his thin feet. As the bright melody continues to dance around the field, the wizened ears hear a another response to joy's young author.
In the dark unseen, hideous groans sing terrorized harmony to the prince's praise. Dark eyes bulge at the searing song of a grim-edged sword. In the land of light, it is the scarlet banner, dancing in unfettered praise of the king, directed by loving innocence. In the unseen, corrupt hordes press the youth, but the brilliant arc harvests a painful crop in the morbid throng.
In the light, the king's son at play, rejoicing, dancing. In the dark unseen, he is a tool of mayhem; relentless despair to those who hate the king. The sing-song voice of praise hammers unstoppable justice in the ears of the wicked.
The old Listener calls to the boy, who bubbles up to him on the bench. Hugging the youth close, the proven heart sings a low song of praise and protection. Joyful motion stops and the tousled, sweaty head turns to the Counselor.
"Babba, when can I be a real warrior?" The boy puzzles as the old man laughs. He laughs hard and loud. In the light, frail and precarious, the man bounces with laughter, while the boy, all elbows and knees, is enthralled. Black, unseen eyes, glazed in pain, bent on destruction, stare. They cautiously watch the older, laughing warrior, tall and light. His heart pulses with fire, visible through his translucent armor. The white fire surges outward, seeking whom it may consume. Next to him sits Young Justice, in his untiring hand a hungry sword, coated in the vain intentions of his enemies. Their bond flexes the unseen like a beating heart.
The Listener smiles grimly. "Your dancing with your Father's banner makes my heart happy. Let me hear more..." Old lips sing melodies, that danced, before time knew them. Young feet and a fluttering lion bring new justice to the dark unseen.
The fierce banner cuts whistling arcs, broad arcs of joy. The scarlet fabric flutters with regal celebration. The young, bold voice sings melodic boasts, the greatness of his father. The prince is a fountain of hope, bubbling with brightening color as he skips. The Counselor, sitting at the edge of the field, watches with dim eyes, but hears all, spoken and unspoken. The boy's praise coaxes a smile from the elder's wrinkled lips and tapping from his thin feet. As the bright melody continues to dance around the field, the wizened ears hear a another response to joy's young author.
In the dark unseen, hideous groans sing terrorized harmony to the prince's praise. Dark eyes bulge at the searing song of a grim-edged sword. In the land of light, it is the scarlet banner, dancing in unfettered praise of the king, directed by loving innocence. In the unseen, corrupt hordes press the youth, but the brilliant arc harvests a painful crop in the morbid throng.
In the light, the king's son at play, rejoicing, dancing. In the dark unseen, he is a tool of mayhem; relentless despair to those who hate the king. The sing-song voice of praise hammers unstoppable justice in the ears of the wicked.
The old Listener calls to the boy, who bubbles up to him on the bench. Hugging the youth close, the proven heart sings a low song of praise and protection. Joyful motion stops and the tousled, sweaty head turns to the Counselor.
"Babba, when can I be a real warrior?" The boy puzzles as the old man laughs. He laughs hard and loud. In the light, frail and precarious, the man bounces with laughter, while the boy, all elbows and knees, is enthralled. Black, unseen eyes, glazed in pain, bent on destruction, stare. They cautiously watch the older, laughing warrior, tall and light. His heart pulses with fire, visible through his translucent armor. The white fire surges outward, seeking whom it may consume. Next to him sits Young Justice, in his untiring hand a hungry sword, coated in the vain intentions of his enemies. Their bond flexes the unseen like a beating heart.
The Listener smiles grimly. "Your dancing with your Father's banner makes my heart happy. Let me hear more..." Old lips sing melodies, that danced, before time knew them. Young feet and a fluttering lion bring new justice to the dark unseen.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Are You A Cap Gun Soldier?
God pelted me with several new ideas. Probably like an owner trying to feed a clueless dog. The dog is thinking "Stop throwing things at me! I'm busy begging!". Owner is saying. "Stop being so distracted - I'm trying to feed you!"
One if the ideas stuck.
Premise: "Humble yourselves therefore under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you"
Initially, I was baffled. Why discuss humility and suddenly make a left turn to talk about anxiety. Perhaps some apostolic ADHD? Can the Holy Spirit inspire someone with ADHD....was Peter just disorganized?
Out of that attack of focus, it appears:
Humble people don't stress out. Arrogant people are anxious. You see, if I choose to be humble and trust God, then I cannot experience anxiety. He cares for me. But if I am arrogant, then I am guaranteed to be twisted with worry. Worry is like the reaction of a boy with a cap gun walking into a real fire fight. Loud proclamations of strength that are smothered by a hail storm of lead. The moment of revelation ignites a cloud of anxiety. I quickly discover that there is only one God. And I am not He. My facade of control and wisdom crumples like cardboard in the rain. Revelation: I am not the center of the universe. I must trust the One who is.
Don't worry. Be Humble.
One if the ideas stuck.
Premise: "Humble yourselves therefore under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you"
Initially, I was baffled. Why discuss humility and suddenly make a left turn to talk about anxiety. Perhaps some apostolic ADHD? Can the Holy Spirit inspire someone with ADHD....was Peter just disorganized?
Out of that attack of focus, it appears:
Humble people don't stress out. Arrogant people are anxious. You see, if I choose to be humble and trust God, then I cannot experience anxiety. He cares for me. But if I am arrogant, then I am guaranteed to be twisted with worry. Worry is like the reaction of a boy with a cap gun walking into a real fire fight. Loud proclamations of strength that are smothered by a hail storm of lead. The moment of revelation ignites a cloud of anxiety. I quickly discover that there is only one God. And I am not He. My facade of control and wisdom crumples like cardboard in the rain. Revelation: I am not the center of the universe. I must trust the One who is.
Don't worry. Be Humble.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Honor
Veterans Day prompts many memories. Mostly stories. Old voices sharing stories of sacrifice and fear and humor. Time has dimmed their short term memory, but has left their moments of service untouched. Young voices, still enthusiastic, tell stories filled with the moment. They are still working through what their memories mean to them. Both groups tell stories from a perspective of honor. Their recollections center on honor towards their comrades. What they did right, even when under fire. They are of course, patriots. But their stories tell us that honor to country is built on honor to our comrades in arms. Our buddies. The people we slept next to in a muddy fighting position. Or showed off their feet with blisters after a brutal road march. Or read a tough letter to during some down time.
We marvel at the bravery and endurance of ordinary men and women. But we forget that honor banishes fear. Where there is no honor, there is always fear. Fear kills initiative. And in combat, initiative is everything. When the plan meets contact, it comes down to a group of friends working out how to accomplish their mission. They are the microcosm of battle. Because of honor, the idea of failure is intolerable. It is not individual bravery, skill or particular fitness. These help, but without honor, the thing that binds men together, nothing great can be accomplished.
When we got out of the military, we say we miss the camaraderie. I believe we really miss the honor. Doing right because of who I am and who my buddy is.
I appreciate the example that veterans set. In service and honor.
We marvel at the bravery and endurance of ordinary men and women. But we forget that honor banishes fear. Where there is no honor, there is always fear. Fear kills initiative. And in combat, initiative is everything. When the plan meets contact, it comes down to a group of friends working out how to accomplish their mission. They are the microcosm of battle. Because of honor, the idea of failure is intolerable. It is not individual bravery, skill or particular fitness. These help, but without honor, the thing that binds men together, nothing great can be accomplished.
When we got out of the military, we say we miss the camaraderie. I believe we really miss the honor. Doing right because of who I am and who my buddy is.
I appreciate the example that veterans set. In service and honor.
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