Continuation

Have you ever gotten the feeling that you weren't able to finish something but knew that if you had had the time you wouldn't have been able to get it right anyway?  Often I have had this feeling as a father.  Since my kids have moved on my heart yearns for one more explanation...something to relive the gift of time together.  When their fingers slipped through mine my responsibility seemed incomplete...unfinished.  The present somehow still lay unopened...wrong tears for "I'll miss you, wrong hug for "I'm sorry", Wrong words for "I love you".

Is it possible I made a connection when I noticed that a conflict between a parent and child, or for that matter a child and an aging parent, may be with the perspective of conversation...one giving instruction the other receiving correction?  Why does the bow on this gift seem to be untouched, the knot still held tight?

Do not misinterpret this difference between instruction and correction.  As we age our search for independence doesn't really leave us, although the focus may change.  We want to be loved, noticed and congratulated for our inferences and discoveries. However, these struggles of acceptance seem to intensify during the teenage and elder years.  The young adult is breaking free and the older adult holding on.  In both cases their hope is in the understanding that trust and belief is needed from those who are closest, yet it is held at a distance, if accepted at all.

                                  "I can do this don't baby me" or "I can do this don't pity me"

When advice is given frustration begins to mount.  My attempt at instruction, meant to help, love and protect, was often met with this frustration, a push back of sorts. I often thought there was some kind of an irritation from the instruction when it may have been a condescending message of correction I was portraying.   My instructive words were coming through with a corrective attitude leaving people lessened not build up.

Jesus handled situations differently, for example, look in the Bible with me at the adulterous woman in John 8.  With simple questions and pictures in the sand, Jesus allowed the Pharisees to admonish themselves and the woman to feel true love and acceptance.  He was able to allow each of them to come to terms with their needed response.   Granted, Jesus is God and I am me so situations often work out differently. but this is a picture, nonetheless, of positive idea transfer.

Did I bolster my parents or my kids?  Do I offer real help to my co-workers?  Do I reach out and help the crabby customer?

I look back and feel somewhat of a failure at opening this gift of communication...the missed opportunities of instruction, the frustrating terms of correction.  But as I age, the picture seems clearer somehow.  Getting it all right pales in comparison to pressing on.  Other lives will experience wisdom I have gained from both triumphs and failures of the past because I have been blessed with the gracious acceptance of my family who have allowed me to practice these many years.

As in the example Jesus set before us in John 8, I pray that my words will be less distinct and my pictures in the sand more evident. This gift of time together continues on as the present does not lie unopened, but has been re-wrapped and the bow untangled to reveal a new gift...a grandson.  Welcome Avery!  Together there will be treasures opened that only we will see...places we will go...people we will meet and secrets we will share. 

BLAKE

Almost three years ago I wrote Christmas Child and the memories were sweet. As I revisit this blog post my heart is heavy.

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CHRISTMAS CHILD

It has been many years now since my wife and I have taken in foster children.  The kids were great but, at times, the advocacy was difficult.  At one point we had a little boy who stayed with us much longer than anticipated.  Karen worked tirelessly to protect and find a wonderful home for this little boy.  The whole process took a few years enabling me to do something I maybe should have shielded myself from....we developed a special kind of a bond.

The image never goes away.  As I would sit and read in the early morning my eyes would catch bouncing, curly hair traipsing down the stairs.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he would plop down next to me, wrap himself up in my arms and keep me company.  Sometimes we didn't talk, but often we chatted about "stuff".  It wasn't long now and he was gone, we had all finally settled on a good home, I didn't realize right away but this little boy had cut out a piece of my heart and taken it with him.

How much more must Christmas have felt to God?  He wrapped up His Son, set Him in a cold manger and left Him in a warped, crazy world.  God knew this baby would be mocked, ridiculed, beaten and killed.  But He also knew there was no other way to defeat man's sinful hearts. 

Oh how glad I am that God was willing to suffer the pain of separation so I could find this babe of Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

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After sacrificing his time and life in Afghanistan to protect our freedom Blake could battle no more. He passed away fighting the demons he was unable to cope with. After twenty some years Blake had reached out to us and tried to connect. If I could have just wrapped him up in my arms and talked about “stuff” again would it have helped? Of course there is always the “what ifs”… We were so close, I wish we could have reached him but the past was all too consuming.

That Babe of Christmas is still waiting to wrap us in His arms and shield us from the “stuff” we battle. Don’t give up…He’s waiting.

WRESTLING

Come back with me some thirty five years to LeTourneau College. To the heat of eastern Texas on a campus where the girls were diamonds and the boys were rough. The living quarters were as varied as a man's wardrobe of bell bottoms and leisure suits. " Sir, would you prefer an old army barrack, a room in our brand new plush cement bomb shelter or a suite in an old Hilton Hotel." I didn't need much, I was a man of little consequence. So I accepted the luxury hotel suite, the pool...the whole deal.

I had a wonderful friend back then whose biceps made my thighs look small and out of proportion. You see, Dan lifted weights and wrestled for the college. I had played a little basketball and tennis but had never participated in the sport of bad uniforms and humiliation. By bad uniforms I mean bad uniforms. What I mean by humiliation is that wrestling is not a team sport. If you won it was great, if you lost...you lost. You stood out there in front of everyone and took your lumps. There was no sharing the blame, you were alone.

As a fan it was so easy to watch someone out on the mat struggling and do the official annoying yell; " just stand up". I didn't understand the reality of that annoyance until Dan asked me to be his practice partner. I would go for a take down and find that moving his leg was like repositioning the foundation of the Eiffel Tower. This musclebound person would flop me around like a rag doll on a sweaty, smelly rubber mat finally jumping on top of me for my final demise. He would body slam me, put me in holds the names of which seem somewhat inappropriate, and continually pin me to the mat. My perspective changed. If someone would have told me to "just stand up" during my drubbing I may have lost whatever composure I had left.

This may not make sense to you but thoughts like these caused me to quit writing for a spell. A friend of mine created a pod-cast which explained the difference between a thinker and a doer. Often I think and draw conclusions leading to frustration as I analyse why people act and do what they do. I draw ideas from my perspective, my dealings...my way of life. With my brilliant overtones I think I can solve these dilemmas which have caused such anxiety. But really my conclusions are only the annoying "just stand up." Of course I care. But the empathy is often self served because I want a change to alleviate the hassle in my life. It was time to put the pen down and the wrestling shoes on.

Jesus got in the face of people. He didn't conjecture from a wing back chair in the den. He didn't assume the woman at the well was scummy and should be spanked. He didn't assume the Pharisees were perfect because they were religious leaders. He didn't assume Peter should just stand up. He entered their lives and saw what they needed. He saw a woman who needed a different kind of love. He saw a bunch of men that completely missed the point of His Father's words and needed a boot in the shorts. And He saw a man reaching out and helped him stand up. Granted, He is God, He knows what to do... of course He will help us as well.

Do I always know what people need? Generally... no. Do I know the brokenness behind difficult relationships?Do I know the hurt, the struggles or the void? Should I be a coach, a father or just a friend? I do know that sometimes they can't just stand up. I wrestle with myself. Many times my pen scribbles, but my feet can walk with them. Too often, however, I say what to do before I do what

I should.

Miracles

Some time ago I wrote a letter to a friend of mine, let me recount some of it to you.

My friend 's daughter had written an entry on "caring bridge" about her sick mother. Bravely, she approached the difficulty of praying for a miracle and yet showed us her fortitude to hold firmly onto her Savior for clarity no matter the outcome.

This exact struggle has plagued me for most of my life. When I was a boy my father lay dying, would my God answer my prayers and heal him? As a young father would I only be able to helplessly stand by while my son struggled to survive? When I got sick was my God powerful enough to reinstate my dreams and overpower my failures? Could I handle praying for a miracle and see nothing? If I prayed for a miracle and he didn't provide would He be less of a God? Because, you see, the worse option for me, by far, was not the "no miracle", it was the "less God."

It hasn't really been that long now since my perspective has changed. "No miracle", no longer has the possibility of "less God." Somewhere I came up with thinking miracles were mine. Miracles are not mine they belong to God. I am the recipient of His power. God is not more sometimes and less other times He is "all" all of the time. He never stops working on my behalf...His miracles are continuous! 

The reality, I feel, is that my involvement changes my perspective of each situation. God has allowed me to love deeply so my heart will burn for my desires, my answers and for results. I think He created me like this because He desires me to desire Him. However, because of these deep desires they often shadow God's workings. So, within moments what I had desired and prayed for has changed into something completely different. I am sure God is pleased with my desires and prayers but knows even I would not truly want Him to bring to life my confusion.

God can create situations to grow me. But I also believe God can use life as it happens and even Satan's conniving to help me grow. God has this incredible ability, that I can hardly understand, to work things out and make it good. 

So, though I have no idea what God has in store I am commanded to pray and ask, not only for His will, but for my God centered desires. God created us, I have no doubt He can fix us. I will not be ashamed to pray for just that...just like the daughter of my friend so bravely conveyed to us. She put it simply yet concise. She didn't talk herself out of it, her focus was sure:

"It's hard but I will continue to pray for miracles."

Laughter

Laughter

Often, when I was a kid, our family ate supper together. We brothers would usually tell some dumb jokes or wear some weird outfit and mom would get us all laughing with her uncontrollable giggling. Her laugh was insatiable, it would entice us to keep it coming, not to just put off doing the dishes but because the laughter seemed to clean out some of the toxic world.

Will there be laughter in Heaven? If so what will it be like? Of course there is that uncomfortable, awkward laughter we are sometimes forced into. But it seems that most laughter should come from something which is actually funny. Will it be self- deprecating? This hardly seems as if it would be part of Heaven's humor. Maybe pointing out something peculiar or idiosyncratic would lift our spirits. But wouldn't idiosyncrasies be classified as gifts in Heaven...not something goofy at all? There must be some types of jokes Jesus would tell. Do you think His sense of humor would be dry or roll back and howl funny? Surely there is laughter in Heaven. 

Our world is full of hurting, lonely and sick friends. There are uncomfortable decisions being created and acted upon within our society. We see too many odd situations developing within our political realm. The suffering we see around the world is epidemic. All this makes our hearts heavy...oh for a little laughter.

Kent, my buddy who passed away earlier this year, was a great joke teller not because of the jokes he told but because of how he told the joke. I can see him walking past Jesus on some golden side street, their eyes meet and Kent gives Jesus the "up nod"... " knock knock", and without flinching, Jesus, in all His omniscience, flashes a quick smile..."who's there." Neither of them would make it past the "who's there" because Kent would be in hysterics and although Jesus would already know the punch line His laughter would also be hysterical as he watched His created laughter be so perfectly exhibited through Kent.

Sure, in Heaven there will be everlasting joy. But what about here, what about now? Is laughter necessary? Although sometimes it's hard to come by I do believe it is important. There are healing qualities for the struggles we encounter keeping us healthy and capable for the work God has given.

Proverbs 17:22

A cheerful heart is good medicine,

 but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

The more we let the bones dry the more susceptible we become to the taunts and testings of the evil ones. Don't give in. LOL 

Disease

                                   Disease

My Father was an incredible man.  He had an amazing drive and desire to serve his God, to the point some may have felt, it was overdone.  He was a diabetic and a researcher, so was often unconventional in his treatment and tried his own way to control the disease.  Often this meant he would end up with some kind of reaction.  The benefit of the malady was that he always had a bag of candy in the car.  However, most of my life these reactions meant cramming concentrated frozen orange juice into his system to regulate him.  Later on they created a syringe, loaded with the good stuff, that we had to inject into him.  When dad had these reactions, many opportunities erupted for angels to stay vigilant by keeping the house from burning down, watching over approaching vehicles and stalling out runaway tractors. 

One particular time Dad and Mom were in a back alley in Watertown, MN, right next to the river.  I must have gotten a text from God because somehow I tracked them down.  Now understand, Dad would either get wacky funny or angry during a reaction.  This time he was extraordinarily angry.  I kept running up to the car and he kept driving away.  My worry was he was so erratic that he may drive into the river.  I finally reached the car and turned it off and while I was wrestling the keys away, dad began swearing at me (he never swore) and punching me in the face.  As I wrestled to restrain my dad so mom could use the syringe I looked into his eyes and longed for my real father to come back.  Finally the medicine took hold...he came back.  He never really spoke to me about the event but I knew he felt awful.  Even though it wasn't who he really was it affected us both somehow.  I think it hurt the most because he felt so bad.

Sin is somewhat like this disease.  It comes over us unexpectedly and its effects somehow overtake us and drag us where we don't want to go.  It makes it seem a grand thing to take life over the cliff into the river.  Satan is really good at that and takes on the form that applies to us; a driver, a debater, a counselor, a thinker; the thing we would have considered a gift not a disease. 

Will I allow friends to restrain me so God can stab me with His Son and let the Holy Spirit drain into my life and bring back the me God wants to see?

 Psalm 43:3

Send forth your light and your truth,

let them guide me; let them

bring me to your holy mountain.

Often when I slip away from God I feel bad just as my father felt so many years ago.  But God offers hope.

Psalm 43:5

Why so downcast my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God

for I will yet praise Him

my Savior and my God.

Now these are not words from a weak willed blubbering Scandinavian.  These are words given to a powerful and mighty king who needed and received the same hope I do.

                                              

PIOSITY

As I glance back in time I uncover acquaintances helping me to maneuver through disasters that awaited me. I also see myself shying away not wanting to relegate these maneuverings as warnings from others but instead as a design bestowed upon myself as brilliance. It seems I become frustrated when people, friends or otherwise, dictate the hows and whys of my life; what I do or things I say. The approach of these situations should be my business and decision should they not? These pious ne'er-do- wells are like irritating burrs under my saddle.

But really now, the people who I feel are full of piousness are no different than myself. They are not without temptation or tendency. No one is perfect in all areas of life but we all may have some contribution for betterment.

When I ask for an opinion I most usually am looking for resolution not absolution. Therefore I go to my friends who believe as I do and ask if my participation in some such matter is OK. If I do ask someone who may oppose me, and they do, I consider them pious not practical. I make an attempt to analyse their life and call them heretics not realizing they have succumbed to temptations with which they wish me not to struggle.

Sure there are Pharisaical frumps who have nothing better to do than stomp on my creativity.  But, I must make sure I am dealing with frumps and not parents who care for me or friends who hold me accountable or pastors who use the Word of God to sear my conscience.

Tendency to question, the still small voice or even the reason to reevaluate my steps are there for a reason...I must take heed lest I 

fall. I must be careful not to categorize people who warn or differ as pious for quite soon I may discover that what I thought pious is truth and what I felt was truth is actually piosity.