Your Most Beautiful You

This past Monday we learned that Carrie’s cancer is medically incurable. At 3:00 AM the next morning, the Holy Spirit reminded me of these precious words from 2 Corinthians 4...

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though our outer nature is wasting away, yet our inner nature is being renewed every day.

The time horizon for the decay of our outer nature is brief.  The outer nature is wasting away.  Cancer might accelerate that unavoidable process. However our inner nature is being renewed every day. And I believe that the inner nature is made more beautiful by this process of renewal. I see this every day in the steady, persistent sanctification of my beloved. So while cancer might accelerate the process of the wasting away of her outer nature, it is simultaneously hastening the perfection and beautification of her inner nature.

For this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.

Carrie, I have watched cancer change you. And I can say that it has changed you in the most beautiful ways. Because you have walked through this trial with humility and faith, your inner nature has been renewed -- yes, more than renewed -- day by day. The Carrie that I see and hold is only a reflection of the eternal Carrie, the Carrie who is loved by God in a beautiful, caring conversation of spirits. I can not see this inner version of you with my eyes, but I daily sense that she is growing stronger and more glorious. Your inner you, the you that is loved and cared for by God, is immutable and mysterious. Because I am also wasting away outwardly on my own timeline, I can only experience the effects of this growing eternal weight of glory in your words and disposition here in the temporal. I can not touch or see the real you. If my inner me could commune with your inner you then the process of either of us dying would be so much more a triviality for us both. 

But your inner you does commune with the Eternal. And He who makes all things new is perfecting you. And if I am still here when your outer nature has wasted away to the point that I can no longer communicate with you, when I will have no visible or audible sense of the you I love so dearly, even then, your inner you will be steadily and unstoppably becoming more beautiful.  And even though I can’t see this most beautiful you with my eyes, I am looking for her. Today, and for the remaining days we have together, however many they may be, I will continue to see the imprint of this most beautiful you. And I know that I will see her face to face one day -- one wonderful, unexplainable, unending day.  I am grateful for every day that I have with you.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen; for the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. 

Love Never Fails

Many of us are familiar with I Corinthians 13.  It is perhaps the most beautiful and poetic chapter of the New Testament.  It calls us to a profound and wonderful place beyond action and beyond motive.  It calls us to something that is humanly impossible.  It unfolds the mystery of God to us and opens up doors beyond comprehension.

In the middle of this chapter is an inflection point turning on the very meaning or definition of love – love never fails.  Everything to this point is a description of love, what love does or how love responds. Love is not arrogant, or resentful, or selfish.  Love rejoices with the truth.  Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. And then…

Love never fails.

This three word phrase does not describe love, it defines love. This three word phrase became the basis of understanding God for me, not really understanding God exactly, but understanding this aspect of how God relates to me.  We are called to love, even to love those who revile us or want nothing to do with us.  And when someone you deeply care about turns away from you, you are left with two choices – to abandon that person in your heart or to continue loving them with all good-will and compassion.  At the lowest point of defeat and despair in my life, this word came to me… “love never fails”.  Go on loving and you can not fail.  Everything may crumble, this person may never speak to you again, your world may come apart at the seams, but if you persist in love toward that person deep in your heart, you will not fail.

And it all seemed so simple, like a huge burden lifted from my chest, staring up at the ceiling in the dark cold of winter. 

But that was not all. 

In fact that was only the beginning. 

Because in that moment, God revealed to me that He loves me this way.  That nothing I can ever do will overcome His love.  His love never fails, it never ends.  I can turn away from Him, revile and want nothing to do with Him, I can ignore Him.  Nothing will change Him.  He will continue to love me. He will continue to patiently long for me to return.  He will receive me again with joy at the first moment of my responding to His kindness.  He will weep over my pride and pointless wandering.  And I suddenly and for the first time had no fear of losing His love.  I realized for the first time the impossibility of God not loving me.  It changed me profoundly and permanently.

 

There is now no place I would rather be than with God.  Understanding that He will love me as a father loves his children, understanding the nature of unconditional love, draws me to Him.  And all of life and death, joy and suffering, everything has meaning and beauty in Him.
________________

Sunday morning I woke early and sat next to Carrie’s hospital bed.  She had just spent two nights struggling through painful back spasms that kept her largely immobile.  She was lying in bed wondering what it meant to have a cancerous tumor in her spine.  She asked me to pray.  We held hands and I prayed.  When I was finished, Carrie prayed.  The high point of her prayer was unique.  She lifted up the hospital staff, all the people coming and going from her room.  She remembered that each of them is dealing with troubles and challenges and she asked God to bless them in some way on this particular Sunday.

A man should have the good fortune to spend one day of his life in the company of a woman like Carrie.

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.”

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.