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.

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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.”

Minneapolis

Last night our friends hosted a gathering at Wabun Park near our home in Minneapolis.  It was absolutely humbling and deeply joyful to see forty or so people who have meant so much to us for so many years in one place together to wish us well.  I can’t begin the recount the stories and the kindness of these beautiful people.  All I can say is thank you.

In 2003, Carrie and I returned to Minneapolis after four years in Iowa.  We were on the brink of divorce that year, and when God opened the door for us to come to Minneapolis, it was a gift beyond recognition.  We needed the support of the community of those who loved us, and we found it in immeasurable abundance.

There was a night that July, I remember driving on 35W in the rain, when I first heard Norah Jones sing on the radio.  Tears rolled down my face then as they do now, my heart aching for my beautiful wife.  I didn’t know then if our marriage would survive, and with much trepidation, we settled in Minneapolis even though it meant a long commute for me.  The only joy I knew that year was that of our precious little kids, and the thought of an hour and a half each day commuting was a calculated risk, forgoing the time with them to gamble on the prospect that the community of those we loved would heal our family by the grace of God.  Such was the opportunity before me.  So we settled at 4645 33^rd Ave and rejoined Immanuel Baptist Church.  The friends we knew and loved poured themselves into our family.  New friends came and enriched our lives in unbelievably wonderful ways.  For eleven years, we lived among saints, among noble, generous people.

Within six weeks of moving into our home, Carrie was diagnosed with cancer.  The goodness of Providence was never more real to us than in the love and support of the people we had returned to.  And this home, and this place, and these beautifully kind people helped us to heal.  They are our family in every sense of the kingdom meaning.  Every face I looked upon last night at Wabun Park reminded me how much God loves us.  It is sad to say good-bye - but our family is eternal, we can never truly say good-bye.  We are linked to these people through shared immortality.  They shine in glory now, as they ever will, and in that great final unending Day, we will see them again with joy, and love, and inexpressible gratitude.

The Emigrants

July 18, 2014

The movers just left.  Most of our belongings are on their way to Kenya and in one week we will arrive in a foreign place far from here.  I thought I would be a little more sad to see our house empty, but it is a different feeling than I expected.  We are together again, and perhaps the joy of being together is off-setting the sadness of leaving a place so special.  Eleven years is a significant chapter in life, especially when those eleven years see your children grow from six to seventeen.  This home and this neighborhood, this place and this city have been good to us.  Even the trees are familiar to me here, personal friends in some sense.

And now we move across the ocean for some period of time, to a place unfamiliar and vastly different.  Yet we are always immediately in the presence of God, Who is everywhere and always there.  We are always and everywhere in the presence of the mysterious, unfathomable, yet deeply personal One in whose care we are entrusted.  I was reminded of this again yesterday.  Standing waiting to board in Houston, reading Kierkegaard on the Kindle app on my phone:

“But let us understand one another; the journey of which we speak is not long… it is only a single step, and you, too, have emigrated, for the Eternal lies much nearer to you than any foreign country to the emigrant, and yet when you are there the change is infinitely greater.  So then, go with God to God, continually take that one step more, that single step that even you, who cannot move a limb, are still able to take; that single step, that even the prisoner, who has lost his freedom, even the one in chains, whose feet are not free, is still able to take: and you are committed to the Good.  Nobody, not even the greatest that has ever lived, can do more than you.”

Step into the Eternal today.  Draw near to God and he will draw near to you.

SOWETO

In June of 1989, I first boarded an airplane.  For London.  And on to Johannesburg.  I traveled to South Africa with a group of college students to spend four weeks in this beautiful but deeply scarred country.  I didn’t know much about South Africa when I left the US.  My interest in visiting the country stemmed from my nascent knowledge of the Civil Rights movement and my deep respect for Dr. King.  I studied Dr. King during my senior year of high school, writing a senior thesis paper on the relationship of his life and experience with his writing.  As profound as his most famous speeches and letters were, it was a small collection of sermons compiled in the book “Strength to Love” which had the most lasting impact on me.  I read and re-read his sermon “And who is my neighbor?”; a searching introduction to the meaning of the parable of the Good Samaritan and the implications of the great commandment to love my neighbor in the context of injustice, social inequality, discrimination and poverty.  The Samaritan had compassion on a suffering person, his neighbor, acting courageously in the face of personal risk, reaching out across lines of ethnicity and class, and demonstrating abundant generosity and concern for a person he did not know.  These simple concepts permeated my thought and spiritual life, challenging me to think about how to love my neighbor as a global citizen in a world full of suffering and injustice.  These questions challenge me still.

In 1989, South Africa was a very different place.  We went to South Africa auspiciously to learn about reconciliation in a country still suffering under institutionalized racism and oppression.  Segregation, forced relocation, detention of political dissidents, and the extreme juxtaposition of poverty and wealth characterized South Africa at the time.  We made pilgrimages to places known and unknown among those familiar with the struggle for equality and freedom in South Africa.  We drove along the cliffs near Cape Town overlooking the ocean where Robben Island still housed its most famous political prisoner.  We visited non-descript shanty towns where displaced persons struggled to find shelter.  We stopped to see a communal housing area where men from rural villages lived in hostels while they worked in the mines, their families miles away in the homelands.  We spent an afternoon in the tranquil garden outside the church where Desmond Tutu ministered.  We stayed for a week with materially poor families in a homeland north of Johannesburg where our hosts gathered to worship in the evenings and the children led powerful songs of hope and redemption.

On the 16^th of June, we attended a remembrance service.  A remembrance service for the children who were killed in the SOWETO uprising of 1976.  We drove to the place where the shooting had happened, where the school children had rallied and where many had been killed.  At 18 years of age, 1976 seemed to me like the distant past.  Reflecting now, as a 43 year old adult, I realize that the scars of a people are not easily healed in the span of 13 years.  At that time, SOWETO was to the black South African community as raw and recent and painful as 9/11 is to the current American psyche.  I realize also that the children who died on June 16, 1976 were my peers.  They would be the community leaders of today, the teachers, the entrepreneurs and professionals of the South Africa that has come to be.

So much has changed in South Africa in 25 years.  Certainly I am not in a position to make any real meaningful comment on the metamorphosis of the country.  I can only really reference what I remember then in comparison with what I experience now, admittedly confounded by the changes in my own perspective and the influence of my independent experiences.  Still, to me, the story is a story of hope and reconciliation.  From my limited perspective, the free South Africa of today is healing, is progressing, is overcoming.  It is a vibrant and beautiful country, a place that I will always be fond of and a people I will always respect.

Partaking of the Divine Nature

I am reading Merton again this weekend.  New Seeds of Contemplation.  It has been a while since I’ve read New Seeds.  I can’t point to exactly why the Spirit led me to this little book again just now, but I have a distinct sense that God is telling me something profound, something that I need.  Not something I need to know as much as something I need to experience, no something I need to pursue.  I’m afraid that I can’t put it into words.  You will seek me, and you will find me, when you seek me with your whole heart. 

  

Yesterday I read and re-read “Things in Their Identity”, a reflection on the nature of created things and on who we are in light of Who God is.  Much of the chapter is quite abstract and would be difficult to explain here, but the words prepared my heart somehow for a pre-dawn encounter this morning with a remarkable biblical truth I had not seen before.

“His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature.” II Peter 1:3-4.

We are called to the glory and excellence of God, granted His precious and very great promises, so that we may partake of the divine nature.  We are meant to be drawn to God, to commune with God, to partake of His divine nature – an eternal, indestructible, immutable, unblemished nature.  We are not who we are meant to be.  In Christ we are becoming who we were meant to be, by His divine power, becoming partakers of the divine nature.

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From New Seeds of Contemplation, Things in Their Identity. Thomas Merton

“This particular tree will give glory to God by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or ever will do… each particular being, in its individuality, its concrete nature and entity, with all its own characteristics and its private qualities and its own inviolable identity, gives glory to God by being precisely what He wants it to be here and now, in the circumstances ordained for it by His Love and His infinite Art.

The special clumsy beauty of this particular colt on this April day in this field under these clouds is a holiness consecrated to God by His own creative wisdom and it declares the glory of God… The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road are saints looking up into the face of God… The lakes hidden among the hills are saints, and the sea too is a saint who praises God without interruption in her majestic dance.

The great, gashed, half-naked mountain is another of God’s saints.  There is no other like him.  He is alone in his own character; nothing else in the world ever did or ever will imitate God in quite the same way.  That is his sanctity.

But what about you? What about me?

For us, holiness is more than humanity.  If we are never anything more than people, we will not be able to offer to God the worship of our imitation… God leaves us free to be whatever we like.  We can be ourselves or not, as we please.  We are at liberty to be real, or to be unreal.

We are free beings and children of God.  This means to say that we should not passively exist, but actively participate in His creative freedom, in our own lives, and the lives of others, by choosing the truth.  To put it better, we are even called to share with God the work of creating the truth of our identity.  We can evade this responsibility by playing with masks, and this pleases us because it can appear at times to be a free and creative way of living.  It is quite easy, it seems to please everyone.  But in the long run the cost and the sorrow come very high.  To work out our own identity in God, which the Bible calls ‘working out our salvation,’ is a labor that requires sacrifice and anguish, risk and many tears.  It demands close attention to reality at every moment, and great fidelity to God as He reveals Himself, obscurely, in the mystery of each new situation.  The secret of my full identity is hidden in Him.  He alone can make me who I am, or rather who I will be… But unless I desire this identity and work to find it with Him and in Him, the work will never be done.

My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God’s will and God’s love – outside of reality and outside of life.  And such a self cannot help but be an illusion.

I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honor, knowledge and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real.  And I wind experiences around myself and cover myself with pleasures and glory like bandages in order to make myself perceptible to myself and to the world, as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface.

The secret of my identity is hidden in the love and mercy of God.

Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence… if I find Him, I will find myself…

But though this looks simple, it is in reality immensely difficult.  In fact, if I am left to myself it will be utterly impossible… there is no human and rational way in which I can arrive at that contact, that possession of Him, which will be the discovery of Who He really is and of Who I am in Him.

That is something that no man can ever do alone.

The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone.

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His divine power has granted to us all things pertaining to life and godliness…

Uncle Jack

My Uncle Jack died this past week.  He was 67 years old.  I found out as I arrived in Zimbabwe.  I’ve been thinking about Uncle Jack a lot this week.  There are two memories I have that really capture what he meant to me.

 

Uncle Jack was my biology teacher in 10^th grade and the high school principal when I was in 11^th and 12^th.  For some reason, my most vivid memory of Uncle Jack was a very simple encounter from high school.  One day as I was walking down the main corridor of FHS toward the office and the main entrance, Uncle Jack caught me from behind, put his arm across my back and gripped my shoulder while we walked together down the hall.  I have no idea what we talked about; but I was a shy, insecure kid, and that simple act never left me.  I have a feeling that he had some idea he was sharing with me, or maybe he was just checking on how I was doing; but I like to think that we were conspiring together to do something wonderful.  Perhaps we are still carrying it out.

The last memory I have of Uncle Jack was from Josh and Marni’s wedding last September.  As always, he met me with a firm handshake and several questions about what I was doing.  He listened intently with his mouth partway open and his eyes focused on me as if I were the only person in the room telling him the most fascinating thing he had ever heard.  When I had finished, he leaned back slightly with that same expression and then the unforgettable smile reflexively took over his face and a slow shake of his head communicated his approval without words. 

Reflecting on Uncle Jack, I remember something I first realized upon the death of my college advisor and mentor several years ago.  There is no higher honor in life than the affirmation of someone you esteem highly.  My uncle had a way of bringing forward the best of my character and affirming the good.  I will always be grateful for him and will remember him with honor, respect and joy.

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“Love believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” I Corinthians 13:7

Running in the Cold

I have to admit, I feel a little guilty writing about running in the cold this winter.  I mean, I’ve had my share of sub-zero runs, but I’ve also been away from Minnesota the majority of the time.  However, given that winter is still hanging on, I thought I’d share a few tips on running in the cold that I’ve learned by trial-and-error over the last 25 years running outside in winter in Minneapolis.

1.       Try to go out into the wind so the wind is at your back on the way home.  I know this is not always possible, but it makes a big difference if you can plan your course right.  Beside the mental “let’s get the tough part over first” trick, you really don’t want to work up a sweat before you turn into the wind.  Of course if you go out into the wind, your backside will get chilled on the way home, but your face will thank you.

2.       Tips for running long:

·         You can run long distances in the cold, you just need to do some planning and be careful.  I’ve found that if I carry a couple bucks, I can stop at a convenience store for bottled water.  It can be tricky to get yourself back outside after you finish the water to do the last 8 miles, but it’s doable.  I like to run the lakes, and from my house to the lakes and around Harriet and Calhoun is 17 miles.  I hit the BP station on the NW corner of Calhoun.  I did this one Saturday a few years ago on a -12 F day.  Probably the coldest long run I’ve done.

·         If you need to go longer, I’d recommend doing short loops and stopping by the house.  If things go bad, you can always drop out.  You also can get water and a change of clothes mid-run.  I learned this trick on a 20 mile New Year’s eve run a few years ago.  I just needed to log 20 miles, so I wasn’t worried about the time.  Changing layers on top after 12 miles made a huge difference for the final 8, especially since it was dark and the temp was dropping into the single digits.

3.       Find a friend who likes to run in the cold.  I have Randall Huskamp to thank for this.  I used to meet Randall at 6:00 AM at Lake Calhoun to run laps in the dark on Saturday mornings.  6:00 is the coldest part of the day in January, and we had a few -15 F outings.  The wind really gets you on Lake Calhoun too.  Randall clued me in to wind-blocker briefs.  More on that later.  BTW, we would meet at 6:00 so that Randall could be done in time to bike 100 miles with some buddies.  Cycling long in the cold - THAT is crazy.

4.       Snot will freeze inside your nose but don’t worry it loosens up again later.  At least at the temperatures I’ve run in.

5.       If it is -20 F and dark outside, be very careful where you go and let someone know your route.  Try to stick to paths where cars are going by or someone is likely to see you and wear visible clothing.  If you slip and fall or pull a muscle, you don’t have a lot of time to find someplace warm.  I pulled a calf on a 4 mile run once and had to walk the last 1.5 miles home on one of these nights.  Let’s just say my hands weren’t happy with me.

6.       My eyelashes freeze shut at around -5 F.  First time this happened, it was a little concerning, but I soon realized that it wasn’t anything to really worry about.  If it is bothering you, you can press your mitten on your eye for a minute to melt it off, but icy eyelashes look cool, so I usually just go with it unless my vision is too impaired.

7.       Tips on clothing:

·         This is obviously the biggest factor to consider.  You need to dress so that you are cold when you start because you don’t want to overheat later on.  And yes, you can overheat even if it is -10 F outside if you are overdressed.  This is really trial and error, but obviously, layering and staying away from cotton base layers are sort of the main things I’d suggest.  Beyond that, I’ll mention a few things I’ve figured out that I really like.

·         Polypropylene long underwear.  Must have for me.  A good pair of polypro long johns and a light or mid weight pair of Sporthills takes me from 30 down to -5 F comfortably. 

·         Heavy weight Sporthills for when it is cold, say -5 F and below.  I only use these running a few times a year because it has to be cold enough or I overheat in them, but they work great as a base layer for ice-fishing too and they work for recreational X-country skiing at 15 F and below, so they are a little multi-purpose and worth the investment if you like winter outdoor activity.

·         I need to use mittens from 25 F and below.  I’ve frozen my fingers enough times that they now turn white and go numb if they get moderately cold.  I use a pair of Saucony mittens that are awesome.  My hands are sweating from 25 to 15 F, just right from 15 to -10 F, and below that I put a pair of choppers over the top and I’m good to go.  The choppers look a little bulky, but honestly, there aren’t that many people out there on the days you need them, and at -20 nobody is really any cooler than anybody else anyway.

·         Polypro face mask – this is really one of the key things that enables me to run below 0 F.  I like the face mask that has Velcro in back.  This really helps your cheeks and your ears (the mask tucks up under my hat to give another layer on my ears). The main problem for me is that my glasses fog with the mask on, so it’s one or the other for me.  If in doubt I stick the mask in my pocket and see how it goes.  In a bind, the polypro face mask can also be used effectively to protect other vulnerable anatomical areas.  I had to loan one mid-run to a running buddy for this purpose a few years ago so I know this can work.  Three miles into a 12 mile run we made that transaction and it saved the day. Here’s hoping you never have to make that call, but if you do, it’s good to know you’ve got a plan B.

·         Windbreaker – something hi-vis if you will run after dark

·         Hats – have a couple options from light to heavy.  I have a good polypro that is good down to 10 F and a fleece hat for below that.

·         Wind-blocker briefs.  Yes, the name says it all.  I have a pair of Brooks wind-blockers and they are incredible.  If it is -10 or colder and windy, I’d also recommend like a Gore-tex shell outer layer to block the wind, but a good pair of wind-blockers goes a long way.  My wife calls these Superman briefs because they look like… well, never mind.  They are not ACTUALLY Superman briefs.  To be Superman briefs they would need to be red, give you X-ray vision, AND the ability to leap tall buildings… and, well, mine are black.

So there you have it.  If you like to run and enjoy the outdoors, or if you are averse to treadmills or don’t have access to one, layer up and give it a try.  With a little precaution and common sense, running in the cold is actually a lot of fun.  Winters in Minneapolis are beautiful and serene and wonderful to experience while running.  Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.