Of everyday saints and heroes: remembering Jeff Valine

My good friend Jeff Valine died this past Monday.  His death made me realize that I am surrounded by saints and heroes disguised as everyday people, remarkable people who have shaped my life.  The grinding perspective of time, the soul-weathering press of disappointment or failure, and the inevitable uncontrollability of life humble us all.  And only through humility can we see the true greatness, the wonderful glory of the beautiful people alongside us.  In the impatience of youth, it can hardly be recognized much less appreciated or treasured.  Today I stare back through time and see the stabilizing power of good people who through providence and grace were placed in my path to form the way that I understand the world, to influence the way I respond to the people around me.  Jeff was one of these people.  He was an oak of stability in a forest of loneliness.  There were no outsiders to Jeff.  His inclination toward everyone was joy and laughter and acceptance.  He was humble, kind, unobtrusive and transparent.  He was simply a trustworthy friend, and that is simply invaluable. 

Love hopes all things, believes all things.  That was Jeff.  He saw the best in people -- he had a loving optimism that hoped all things. 

It is impossible to describe the impact Jeff had on me in ninth and tenth grade, difficult years full of insecurity and loneliness.  I had the good fortune of having a locker next to Jeff, and every day there was a friend who accepted me without expectation and with no terms.  Jeff lived two blocks from school, and I spent one or two evenings at his house each week during the fall and winter athletic seasons, waiting for football or basketball games at FHS.  The Valines were an extension of my family.  I felt safe there.  I was myself with no projection or pretense or anxiety.  It was a haven of joy, and Jeff was the prime instigator.  Recognizing the rarity of the gift Jeff possessed, I know with all certainty what a truly exceptional home he must have made with Lorna.  Alex and Kaycee have been raised by a father who loved others in such an extraordinary way that I can only imagine how he must have loved his children at home.

And this is the paradox which lies at the heart of grief and loss, especially an untimely loss like this.  Those nearest to Jeff, those who lived in closest proximity to his overflowing kindness and love, those who grieve most deeply, are also those who experienced his uncommon magnanimity and goodness most profoundly.  I don’t know how to begin to console a widowed wife of 22 years or two teenagers who lost such a wonderful dad.  The hole left by the departure of Jeff seems inconsolable -- indeed today it is inconsolable.  But the impact of Jeff on their lives is undoubtedly orders of magnitude more beautiful and lasting than his impact on me, and his impact on me was so profound that I am utterly inspired by the thought of what people they are and who they will become.  And that is hopeful for me today, on a day when sadness and confusion are palpable and oppressive.  My good friend is gone too soon, but his legacy is bright and wonderful and eternal, and I am immensely grateful to be a part of it.

The Dental Floss Fairy

I have a hard time being consistent with dental floss.  My guess is that this is unlikely to change.  I try to exercise, watch my diet, etc. but there is only so much self-discipline to go around, and, well, flossing has never made it very high on the list.

A few years back I figured out that I could do lunges while brushing my teeth with an electric toothbrush (I’m not coordinated enough to pull this off with a normal one).  That was good while it lasted.  Two minutes to brush your teeth and a decent quad workout to boot.  Now my electric toothbrush can’t charge here in Kenya, so much for that.

My dental hygiene is suffering.

I have thought for a while that maybe I could motivate myself by counting empty dental floss containers.  Sort of milestones or “Monitoring and Evaluation Metrics”.  I could confidently walk in to see the dental hygienist and coolly drop five or six empty containers on the counter. “Yeah, that’s right… flossing like a pro.”

Well, that hasn’t worked out so well either.

I realized yesterday, that what I need is a Dental Floss Fairy.  You know, the Tooth Fairy disappears for us after our baby teeth are gone.  That is only 20 visits, if you remember them all.  

What if I could put my empty floss box under my pillow and be visited in my sleep by the Dental Floss Fairy?  GENIUS!

Of course, the Tooth Fairy is only in for 20 visits max, but then, let’s be honest, I’m 44 and the odds of me emptying more than 20 boxes of floss before I die or my teeth fall out are pretty slim.  So hey, why not?  I’m calling the Dental Floss Fairy and putting her on alert.

But you know, a quarter under the pillow doesn’t do much for you mid-life, so I needed something more substantial.  What would really be worth emptying a box of floss for?  I need something akin to the gifts of Galadriel… a luminary glass bulb that gives you brilliant ideas when you are battling some impossible spider trying to suck the creative energy out of you while you work on a grant proposal.  Or maybe some elvish rope that could keep you from hanging yourself in office politics while deftly building substantial partnerships and collaborations.

Or maybe a strand of hair from her golden head…

;)

So that would get me through the first two or three containers.  But then what? I think the next iteration would likely be Mary Poppins… maybe a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine of my next performance review go down or a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious type presentation at the next big meeting.  Or absolutely a Jolly Holiday with no strained family relations or travel glitches.

Hey, maybe this could work.  Let me know if you think of something I could ask for to keep my dog from napping with his rear end on my pillow.

Not that Pinteresting

If I am standing in the kitchen and my wife walks in, places something in the sink, then leaves again without looking at me or acknowledging my presence, she is angry.  If my teen-aged daughter does this, she is self-absorbed.  After 22 years of marriage, of enduring highs and lows, my dear friend and beloved spouse has enough familiarity with me to know that if she were to ignore me, it would be painful to me. Not only that, she loves me very much and most of the time, she is genuinely happy to see me.  But my daughter’s world is different, she is an adolescent finding her way in a challenging world, a confusing world of instant information, relentless advertising, images, songs, digital friends.  A difficult world of looking to be accepted and appreciated in a social setting of equally confused and struggling young adults who bruise one another, often unintentionally, but still just as painfully.  There is a lot swirling through my daughter’s mind, papers to write, exams coming up, the dance Friday night.  So when she passes me in the kitchen and leaves again without a hello, it is likely not intentional.  At least I have to believe that.

But it is still just as painful. 

It says to me, in so many words, "Dad, you are not that Pinteresting."

This happens from time to time, or perhaps more often.  A few weeks ago it went on for two or three days.  Sadie Hawkins dance.  Which necklace to wear, what color clutch, dress needs to be altered… meanwhile the chauffeur in the front seat of the Toyota was just there to get her from place to place.  I have to confess, by the time the dance was over and my driving shift ended Friday night, I was dragging myself to bed at 11:00 PM with bitterness on top of sadness.  I only have 70 or 80 more Friday nights with my little girl at home, maybe 70 or 80 more Saturdays.  Subtract the ones when I’m traveling or she’s busy, and I realize that the moments are disappearing.  I realize that this young woman is so interesting and wonderful.  There is really nothing I would rather do that to sit with her at the kitchen table and to hear all about her world.

______

Saturday morning I was up at 5:30.  Going for a long run in the early morning while it was cool.  Ate a light breakfast and then sat down at the kitchen table to read from the Word.  It had been a few days, but I opened back up to Malachi where I had left off.  Malachi 4… “and he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers.” 

Providence.

Of course my first response was to smile and to think about this prophecy of restoration and why it would connect the affections of children and fathers.  Then it dawned on me that this word, even two days earlier, would have passed by me as familiar and not stood out in such dramatic fashion.  I realized that my being away from the Word for a few days was a part of the mysterious work of God in my life, strange as that may sound.  On this particular Saturday morning I was able to see and to understand this verse in a way that I am sure I could not have otherwise.

But then, that was only the beginning.

The object lesson in longing for a closer relationship with my daughter suddenly turned as I realized that I had just ignored God for two or three days.  The God who adopted me into His family and Who is ever-present with me.  I was suddenly so humbled to think that God loves me and longs to spend time with me, to listen to what is going on in my cosmically trivial life.  I can’t understand that. Why, in the scope of everything happening in an unjust and fallen world would God want to listen to me? More than that, I was ignoring God, not intentionally, but functionally.  Why would God, Who grieves over human trafficking and child abuse, Who takes up the cause of the displaced and the oppressed, Who will one day vindicate the victims of injustice - why in the world would He even care about someone who is ignoring Him? 

Because He is my Father, and He knows that I love Him, even when I’m self-absorbed and blind to His kindness.

Anyone who has tried seriously to walk with Jesus comes, at some point, to the realization that while spiritual disciplines are necessary, they must be approached with caution.  There is not a formula for growing closer to God.  I can’t set my alarm earlier and expect to meet God every day. And if I unwittingly fall into the trap of checking boxes, not only might I miss God, I might also delude myself in self-righteousness.  It is dangerous.  I can set out to read the Word every day, or spend some amount of time in prayer, or serve others in some way.  All things which honor God, but also which have the potential to blind me to Who He really is, if I am not careful.  If I’m not really seeking Him with my whole heart, I won’t find Him.

The older I get, the more I realize that the only practice which runs no risk of misleading me is to turn my attention to Him.  I can pray without really even focusing on God, I can sing without worshiping.  I can read the scriptures without listening to Him.  But at any moment if my heart is prompted to turn to Him, and I respond, it will not fail to honor Him and edify me.  

Certainly being in the Word is necessary for growth and setting aside time for prayer helps me turn to Him.  Gathering in corporate worship opens a door for me to experience God and serving others is an avenue to joy in Christ.  But all of it is really just straw if I am not aware of Him. He must be the purpose and end. And He is never far.

“… he will turn the hearts of children to their fathers.”