gratitude

Last Night

This is what I just wrote for my personal blog (lovewithacapitall.com). I’m posting it here, for you, a little because baseball has taken so much of my time. But mostly because you care for me so much and so well, and I think you’d like to know what happened…

With this blank screen in front of me, I know what I want to say, I just don’t know how to say it. Or even if I should, Our words should be used to build, and that is usually what I try to do in this space, but sometimes the point is in our bad behavior, hidden in our our most regrettable moments. And writing anything is about honesty, especially in a non-fiction blog situation. If we feel like the writer is curating an image, what on earth is the point? Anybody can wear a mask and lie. The only way to find connection is through a mutual authenticity, and sometimes that is ugly on the outside.

Last night the baseball season ended. The first day, I sat the boys down and said something like, teenage boys are awful a lot of the time. But that’s only because they usually deal in Lord of the Flies type social dynamics. They’re mean, sarcastic, cutting. They mock and tease, try to shrink others to make themselves appear taller. This is ridiculous and rooted, as everyone knows, in fear and a raging insecurity. They wear masks to try to hide the overwhelming inadequacy in their hearts. 

Of course, this is not just teenage boys. It’s just as much women at your office or men at the grocery store. We act out of our perceived lack, and that makes us nasty and awfully dangerous.

So I tell them we will not do that here, we will operate from a different reality. You don’t have to be insecure here, you don’t have to be afraid. We’ll stand up straight, support and love each other. And that’s largely what happened. Errors and mistakes were easily forgotten, lots and lots of encouragement was poured out like water, and we won everything there was to win.

A side note: It’s not often enough that the best people are the best performers. The kindest, gentlest, most caring people don’t always win. When they do, as was the case this season, it must be acknowledged and savored. As written in the masterpiece Horton Hatches The Egg, “and it should be, it should be, it should be like that!”

Last night was the league celebration, where they got the trophies they had earned through hard work and commitment – to themselves, their gifts, the game, and each other. The second place team in the year end tournament was also there to collect theirs, as well. 

Then the coach was invited to give the medals to the players, and he (clad in sunglasses and a skull t-shirt instead of a team/sponsor/uniform shirt), wearing an uninterested disguise, walked to the front, using foul language and disrespect as weapons.

Another side note: I don’t mind foul language, not much is offensive to me, but there is a time and a place. A youth sports event, in front of the league administration, players and parents, is not the place (whether they’ve all ‘heard it before’ or not.)

He handed his medals to the players without regard for them and their work. Then as we got ours, he made a derisive comment and they all refused to acknowledge any of us, as we collected tournament and league championships, and our players received their all-tournament & MVP awards. 

It was so so sad. It might have been something, anything else if the behavior wasn’t so hollow and obvious. My heart broke out loud, I wanted to cry and give him a hug.

My question was, why? Why would anyone want to discount or diminish an achievement, any achievement, of another? But I already know. The desperate quest for proving your worth, and the accompanying terror of not knowing if you’ll ever find it, is very powerful and has crushed far more than just him.

I don’t know if my team made the connection. When we were alone, I reiterated the importance of living free of the inadequacy/insecurity that weighs down so many of our moments – I wonder if they recognized that they were given a perfect illustration of the result of a lifetime under the vicious boot of unworthiness, like the ghost of Christmas future.

As for the boys I coached, I told them they were beautiful, that I was so proud of them (championship or not), and that they were loved. I told them every minute we spent together was an honor for which I could never adequately express. Then we said goodbye for the last time this season.

As for that guy, I wish he hadn’t embarrassed himself so thoroughly. But more, I wish and pray that he finds some sort of peace in who he is and feels the familiar arms of a loving God around him, whispering in his ear that he is, and has always been, loved.

And as for me, (to again borrow from Horton and his egg), they sent me home happy, one hundred percent.

Meaningless?

I’ve been reading Ecclesiastes the past 2 days. I’ve said it’s one of my favorite books in the Bible, but I’m not exactly sure why anymore. That’s not to say it’s without value or beauty, it certainly isn’t. The 12 chapters are overflowing with wisdom and application, but the refrain of “everything is meaningless” is honestly pretty depressing and sounds/feels hopeless.

I’m here at my dining room table reading, because I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. That’s an unusual thing to say, but here’s what I mean: I carefully place guardrails along the road we’re walking, so when I get lazy or distracted or overly rebellious, I can bump into them and remember why I put them there. More specifically, I am reminded who I am. This has been a topic before. We discover who God says we are, decide (with the guidance of the Spirit) who we are becoming and going to be, what we value, what weighs more, so that in times of stress and trial, we’ve already answered those important question regarding our identity. This helps to eliminate overreaction or inconsistency, and decreases the time we are forced to spend reconciling our behavior and our beliefs.

Now, with these guardrails, when I begin to sway or follow the directional signs not meant for me, I can pull the wheel back onto the path. Lately, this has been the case for me. I have wavered in my commitment and focus, making unhealthy, unhelpful choices. For instance, I haven’t read my Bible in some weeks (gasp!). I mean, my work requires study of the Scriptures. But it’s like this, I date the Angel because I like to and I like her in addition to the daily tasks and routines involved in creating a functional home together. In other words, I like to read my Bible for pleasure, because I like to and I love God and He reallly loves me.

I’ve decided this is an integral part of who I am (or who I have been created and called to be, and who I will become), and when I slide away from this lovely, loving practice, I feel incomplete. I am the kind of man who sits at the dining room table to read my Bible. See? Everything isn’t meaningless. This is meaningful.

Of course, this isn’t what Solomon meant, that everything is meaningless. The things we spend so much time chasing, thinking will fill us, satisfy us, are temporary. And compared with the eternal, temporary is sort of meaningless. But we don’t compare, and these things, to us, aren’t meaningless at all. This day, this breath, this table, this song, Samuel, board games, laughter, pulled pork sandwiches, are all gifts from God, blessed by God. I imagine He makes pineapples and thinks about how great they’ll taste, and how much you’ll love them. “God has made everything beautiful for its own time.” (Eccl. 3:11)

So what are we supposed to do with these wonderful lives of ours, given that everything is temporary, vapor, meaningless (in a manner of speaking)? Well, “Enjoy every minute of it! Take it all in.” (Eccl. 11:9) “Enjoy what you have!” (Eccl. 6:9) “Live happily with the woman (or man) you love through all the days of of life that God has given you in this world.” (Eccl. 9:9)

I wonder if we miss those people we love or the things we have thinking/wishing for things we don’t have? Maybe we’re not enjoying them. Maybe we’ve been given those delicious pineapples and we’re disappointed they aren’t blueberries. Maybe we can’t tear our eyes off of the ‘meaningless,’ taking the gift for granted.

SO, the invitation/confrontation of Ecclesiastes that I’m seeing today is that we dive into these messy, beautiful lives of ours, love the people around us well, and eat all of the pineapple we can, and we do it all with an overwhelming gratitude. Now I’m starting to see why I like Ecclesiastes so much – it’s not depressing or hopeless, it’s here and now, it’s the same wisdom of my dad from Bull Elephant Day, it’s presence, and it is, above all, loving engagement with the God that made it all.

Elephants

In my living room, right in front of me, is a beautiful photograph of a line of elephants, led by a gigantic bull elephant. It was a gift. It’s always a wonderful surprise when you receive a gift that is perfect, that someone really knows & understands who you are.

Anyway. At the end of the Bull Elephant Day service at the Bridge, the invitation was, as always, to be present to the gifts we’ve been given by our Creator. Especially each other. This invitation was given by my dad, who taught me (in an excruciatingly painful way) that we don’t always get another day, another conversation, another game, another sunset, another moment.

So I’m thinking about you & me and him.

We had a baseball game last night. It was a Big Game. So Monday we practiced with the intensity a Big Game requires, and yesterday I was thinking about what to do, who to play, where to play them, situations, and on and on. Then I remembered Sunday morning & my dad. He missed so much of his life, was often distracted thinking about this game he loved, this game we loved. We spent a lot of time together, and lost a lot of time together, because of this game. There are times when you’re alone together, when you are unbearably lonely inches from another, right?

I coach baseball for the connections: with my life, the game, the players, other coaches, and my dad. What a tragedy if the thing I use to connect disconnects me from all of it. What if I woke up today with a win last night saying, “surely God was in this place and I was unaware?” Then what? That win wouldn’t mean much, wouldn’t matter at all. And then, conversely, if we lost in the middle of 3 hours of engaged sacred activity and interactions, respecting & celebrating our many many gifts (not least of which is the amazing gift that we are able to play at all), what a wonderful loss!

My pregame talk (On another note, can you imagine how much and how often I talk???? The combination of preacher and coach has to be a very dangerous thing;) with the team consisted of de-emphasizing the “big” part, and instead, holding the “game” half with grateful hands. I looked them all in their bright faces. As the season began, they asked if they could paint their faces with anti-glare eye black. There was a time I would’ve said no, but I’ve learned a lot, and now to see the wildly creative ways they express themselves is one of my favorite parts of every game. So I looked in each of their wide eyes and soaked in their company, totally present.

Then last night after the game, tired and spent, I met (over Zoom) a lovely couple from Texas I’ll marry in a few weeks. both of my boys came home from different places – Elisha from basketball games and Samuel from fishing. We all sat in my and the Angel’s bedroom watching videos of the game, seeing photos of hooked fish, and hearing shockingly detailed stories of everything. Then, too late, I kissed my wife and immediately fell asleep.

It was an awesome day.

And to think, I might’ve missed it all. I might’ve paid so much attention to a final score that I missed all of the important stuff. That’s why the word “remember” is found a million times in the Bible, because the God who made us knows we’ll forget anything and everything. I’ll surely forget that we won (that is the only word that would have been different in this post if we hadn’t – “I’ll surely forget that we lost…”) but I won’t forget those fish, the buckets, the painted faces, and that smooch. And I won’t forget the Living, Loving God who generously gives all of those amazing gifts.

Last Times

So I had this pet rabbit (I can’t even tell you how depressing it was to change the word “have” to “had”) for over 9 years. Her name was HoneyBunny. The Angel named her, and I loved it because Tim Roth’s character in Pulp Fiction called his special lady (Amanda Plummer) Honey Bunny, and I can always hear him say, “I love you, Honey Bunny,” in my head. Bunnies live 5-7 years, it says on cards at pet stores. They live much fewer in the wild, but in houses, there are far fewer predators. Ours live forever, in rabbit years.

Smoothie lived to be over 11. We asked the vet if he looked good for 11, and he answered, incredulously, “I don’t know.” He had never seen one that old, which made him in GREAT shape.

I work from home, so I was the primary caregiver for HoneyBunny. Every day for over 9 years, I let her out of her cage, feed & water her, change her litter box, and love her. Thursday was the last day I did any of those things. I let her out and she went under the ottoman, as was her recent practice. I gave her lettuce and treats on a plate under there. Then, around 4, she had an ‘episode’ that I can’t accurately describe. I held her tightly while my boys called local-ish veterinarians. We finally found one to see her by the time the Angel came home, and went there immediately.

She fell asleep in my hands, with the Angel stroking her ears and back. Of course it was horrible, but way too many pass alone, I’m grateful she had 4 hands on her with care and love. She deserved at least that much.

At home, I dug a hole to place her in and watered it with my tears.

Now, why I tell you all of this is because of Thursday morning, when I let her out and gave her the last treat I’d ever give. Sometimes we know when the last times are…

Friday morning Samuel went to the Annville-Cleona high school as a student for the last time. Last night he and his friends said goodbye to a young man who came as a foreign exchange student and was leaving as a close friend.

And others we don’t. How often do I reference Genesis 28:16, “Surely the Lord was in this place and I was unaware?” It’s a serious danger to live these beautiful lives of ours asleep, walking through the days & moments in a daze, oblivious to the fact that the ground on which we’re walking and the people we walk alongside, is all holy. I’d like to think I spoke to her with kindness and intention many many many many more times than I was absent or in a hurry or treating her like she was a nuisance, under my feet or chewing cords, boxes, and furniture. I’d like to hope I was as good to her as she was to me.

The message is always the same – God has so graciously given these blessings to us, we need to stay alert, keep showing up expecting wonder and beauty, keep our eyes open to/for this extraordinary grace.

Yes, she was just a rabbit, but if only you knew her, you’d know there was nothing “just” about her. And now the cage she slept in is empty and I miss her. This is the deal – to love something or someone means, at some point, it’ll hurt, it’ll break our heart into a bazillion pieces. Those pieces are a wonderful gift. She’s gone, but I had her for a long time, forever it rabbit years. My heart is broken but it grew 9 sizes while she was here. I’m really thankful.

I loved that HoneyBunny, and I love her still.

Disruption!

My focus seems to be pulled in many directions. It’s hard to stay on one path of thought or on one task. Lately, I don’t always listen, and certainly don’t remember all I hear. These months are very full with responsibilities – and that is a factor – but they are also full with MAJOR life markers/events. Our people are changing. Our home is transforming. Yes, it’s transforming into something wonderful, but it is transformation and that sort of stretching and metamorphosis is painful. Distraction is a danger every day, but especially in times of overwhelm. How do we focus and find peace in that?

I have found distraction to be a wholly negative state, but a word that sounds similar – disruption – is usually positive, even as it is uncomfortable. Disruption shakes us out of our ruts, out of our mindless routines. This season is one big disruption of the status quo. We are faced with new, unpaved roads to travel.

What I’ve learned is to hold myself gently (as I would hold others) in my own disruption. My heart is overflowing, with everything. So I’m not writing a new Bridge post, other than this introduction. But what I have done is included the post I wrote about songs and albums earlier this week for my other website, for 2 reasons. A, because maybe you want to read something. And 2, because it includes an answer to the earlier question (How do we focus and find peace in times of overwhelm?), which is, of course, jigsaw puzzles. You already know jigsaw puzzles are simply a tactic I use to remember to get, and stay, present and engaged, right? Whatever our “jigsaw puzzles” are, we just can’t miss the invitations, the disruptions, or the attention. We do what we must to turn our hearts to thankfulness – the pain and grief of the loss is simply gratitude that we had those people or relationships or journeys or moments or years for a time, and the glorious celebration we now get to share as new people or relationships or journeys or moments or years begin.

It’s called Round Here, and I hope you like it. I’ll see you soon.

Round Here

The site prompt today is asking if I remember life before the internet. Yes, I do. For some reason, I’m often very nostalgic lately, so at those times that life B.I. seems preferable. Whether the time actually was more simple, or I was, doesn’t really matter in my head.

I love to put together jigsaw puzzles. Don’t ask me if I do that on an app – you already know the answer. I still read physical books, still turn pages. Now that I think of it, it’s mostly for the same reason. When life gets noisy and heavy, finding pieces that fit perfectly (or opening a book and turning pages) turns that volume down. These small acts reduce the complexity of everything that surrounds me. It’s a little like that aphorism: a journey of a million miles begins with a single step. We can’t finish a puzzle now, we can only give our time and focus to finding the next piece.

The puzzle on the dining room table is one called Rock ‘n’ Roll, and is made up of artists, album covers, ticket stubs, and instruments. It’s pretty good puzzle artwork, the overwhelming sadness in Kurt Cobain’s eyes is obvious and as heartbreaking on my table as it was in real life. There is Ray Charles, The Beatles & The Stones, Joan Jett, and Kiss to name only a few. There is also the album cover from the 2nd best album ever recorded: August & Everything After, by Counting Crows. (The best is, of course, The Queen Is Dead.) 

So now I’m listening to the live version of August & Everything After. It’s the whole thing, in order, and it’s unusual in that Counting Crows live versions are mostly unrecognizable from the studio album tracks. You have to know the lyrics to know Mr. Jones at a concert to realize it’s Mr. Jones, but you still can’t sing along. This particular release, though, sounds like the original, but…extra. They’re a terrific band, even as they sort of under-achieved, never building on the perfection of this debut. But how could they, honestly? I am sometimes angry at the Goo Goo Dolls. I want them to make an entire great full-length album, and they don’t, they won’t. It’s like an act of rebellion. But Counting Crows made this 100% A+ masterpiece, and they deserve a pass forever.

Round Here is the first track and makes me cry every time I hear it (with both hands, it’s so sad and so beautiful. Like the great philosopher Rob Base once said, “joy and pain.”) 

My wedding Anniversary was Saturday, and my son graduates high school on Friday. Those are the bookends to a week marked with the challenge of holding 2 life-changing events carefully and joyfully. I married the Angel 22 years ago, and the term soul mate is casually tossed around but rarely appropriate. She is easily mine and I hope I’ve risen to even 3% of what she deserves. My son is 18 and steps into an adult life that I get to watch from a front row seat, the best one in the world. He is everything I dreamed he’d be and more. 

This week will have baseball games and work and blog posts about music puzzles and phone calls and workouts, but the majority of the week in my heart will be a staggering gratitude. I began this by talking about nostalgia, and I sort of miss Swatch watches and Atari 2600’s and getting up to change between 3 TV channels, but preferable? Baby, I wouldn’t change one thing about this amazing, messy, wonderful life that I have been so graciously given, and I wouldn’t miss these people and this week for anything.

Hands

Last night I gave a talk for a big room full of students who will graduate in 2 weeks and their families. It’s still shocking to me to find myself in these spaces, standing in front of people, talking, yet there we were.

Events like this (singular significant moments, like weddings, funerals, etc) can be particularly heavy, where the usual Sunday morning butterflies become birds and I find myself nervous. I’d tell you that’s a good thing, those disruptive birds mean you’re alive and that it matters. I’d say the problem would be if you didn’t feel anything, if you were indifferent to the gift you’ve been given. And now it makes perfect sense that you want to punch me in the mouth when I say those things, whether they’re right or not.

The birds aren’t nearly as big as they were years ago, when all of this began, but seconds before I was scheduled to go up onto the stage, they were certainly active.

The students plan this Baccalaureate service. I have no idea what this word means or how/why this has become a tradition. I’ve never been to one and had no idea what to expect. And I guess they have to plan it without teachers direction because church and state are separate and must remain that way. So, they plan it and I got to attend their meeting. They chose hymns, Scripture passages and readers, and ordered them. Mostly, I kept in quiet deference to their leadership, but I did suggest that one Joshua (1:1-9) passage might fit perfectly right before the message. That passage ended:

“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them. Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

How many times can you command someone to “be strong and courageous?” I suppose until it takes, right? “Don’t be afraid…for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Sometimes moments are so noisy, it’s hard to hear God’s voice. In those spaces, it’s awfully helpful if He repeats it.

What is remarkable is the extent of the care God gives freely to us. We often think of God’s presence in one moment, comforting us, giving us peace, deliverance here and now. But this was proof that His hands had been working all along, even into this seemingly insignificant detail that meant the world to me. If His hands were holding me weeks earlier in the meeting, they were there months earlier as I was writing it, and they’d be there on the stage, behind a truly enormous pulpit.

And they were, the entire service was really beautiful, and I got to tell everyone in that room how much that same God loved them and would be with them wherever they go. I’m not right about everything, but I’m absolutely 100% spot on about that.

Youth Sports, pt ???: Fathers & Sons

I think I said I was finished writing posts on youth sports. Apparently not…

As my son Samuel’s final high school baseball season comes to a close, and Elisha’s final summer baseball season begins, I’m doing quite a lot of reflecting on fathers and sons, baseball, sports, and just how deeply all of it has shaped me.

I grew up with a dad who was a ball player. He was very very good, played professionally, and cast a wide shadow. I was never nearly as good as he was – as much as I asked, nobody ever paid me to play – and never stopped to consider if I even wanted to play. I simply did; I was a ball player raised by a ball player. He coached me for many years, we connected on fields and in dugouts and on our back porch reliving each inning of each game. It was really the best. And it’s what we do here, too. Maybe these boys value it as much as I did or as much as I do (probably not, we have a different kind of relationship), but when we coach, play, watch, and rehash every pitch and at-bat, it’s like there are 4 of us in that room instead of the 3 we can see and touch. I wonder if my dad would make the same decisions I do – he would almost certainly not. But mostly, I think about how much he’d love to meet and watch my boys play, or do anything, how much he’d love to see them live their lives and become the men they’re becoming. I miss him more than I can tell you, especially in baseball season.

I’m sappy and sentimental because it was our first game last night (I coach Elisha’s 16u team). He pitched, the boys were terrific and we won comfortably. I am not too great as a head coach (we’ll get to that in a minute), but the players on this team are as talented as they are beautiful souls, so that means they make me look ok.

As a player, I looked for my value in wins and losses, just as my dad always did. We were competitive – it made him great and it made him awful. It just made me moody, with a fragile identity that hung solely on performance.

So I’m a coach that isn’t awesome. In fact, I’m so not awesome that last year the president of the league walked up and down the line of both sides of spectating parents and spectators (including THE ANGEL!!!!!) detailing my many faults as a coach. He’s right. I have 3 great friends (Paul, Bryan, and Justin, not to name anyone) who coach circles around me, I’ve ridden their coattails to several championships. But how awesome (or not) doesn’t matter at all to me anymore. I’m a different sort of coach.

My dad taught me to be a ball player, and then in my 30’s, my Father taught me to be a human being, taught me to be a man. As that New Father (always there, present, always holding His arms open) loved me, as me, regardless of performance, separate from wins, losses, hits, or strikeouts, He re-wrote my identity. Of course, this process is taking years and years, but I notice it’s effect.

Sometimes I notice it more than others. Like game day. I want these kids to know I love them. They’ll make errors, sometimes soooo many errors, and I’ll yell at them, but they will know they are loved and that they have a group of men who would do anything for them. I want them to understand that baseball is like life in so many ways, that how they show up here is how they’ll show up everywhere. I want them to know they have a Father, too, whose love is bigger, deeper, wider, than all of us put together could ever dream of.

This Father gave me my dad, my boys, the lovely Angel, those friends, this team, every day, every moment, and you, and I am very full and very thankful. But today, I’m mostly thinking about how He opened my heart and gave me me.

Un/Aware

In Genesis, chapter 28, verses 10-22: 10 Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Harran. 11 When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. 12 He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. 13 There above it stood the Lord, and he said: “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. 14 Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. 15 I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

16 When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” 17 He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.”

18 Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. 19 He called that place Bethel, though the city used to be called Luz.

20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear 21 so that I return safely to my father’s household, then the Lord will be my God 22 and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.”

I know you’ve heard this story. I know you’ve heard me tell you why it’s so important. But it doesn’t hurt to hear it again. Some of us are moving to new homes in new towns. Some of us are welcoming new grandchildren. Some of us are struggling through transitions, celebrating transitions, probably struggling and celebrating at the same time. Some of us are graduating, and some of us are the parents of those graduating.

There is a joy in growth, but there is also a pain in the growing as well. We have been conditioned to eliminate (and if we can’t, ignore) that pain, but that pain is just as much a part of the growth as the joy. Most experiences, if we are engaged and authentic, are bittersweet, equally heartbreaking and euphoric. It’s the 2 hands theology; we hold everything with 2 hands. One hand is for the loss that is present in every change, the other is for the hope and wonder of those changes. In both hands is presence, beauty, depth, in both hands is boundless love.

It’s a short one today. Lean in, see that the LORD is surely in this place, shout “How awesome is this place!!!” And really live these amazing gifts He given of here, now, grace, peace, breath, this season, this day, and each other.

Answer

Former President Donald Trump pled not guilty to 34 felony counts, but as you can imagine, there’s no way that’s what we’re going to talk about here. Ha.

So, in the past few weeks, I’ve been asked several variations of the same question: “The world keeps getting worse and worse, people keep getting worse and worse, I’m feeling a crushing amount of despair and hopelessness, I’m sinking. What do you think/do about this?”

I understand the question, and I really understand the tears that usually travel with the words. We all see what’s going on, we all feel it. We’re sad, depressed, lonely, anxious, stressed, frustrated, angry, wondering how anything will ever get better, if anything will ever get better. I feel that, too. I’m not sure any of us are immune to those emotions, if we’re honest. A lot of the problem is that we’re hardly ever honest, and that ridiculous pretense (that we’re all ok, everything’s fine) is isolating us from each other, forced to face this darkness alone.

My answer to this question begins with the foundation that we’re not alone. We were never supposed to do any of this by ourselves. In Genesis, before the fall, one thing was “not good” – for the man to be alone – so He made him a companion. When the prophet Elijah was suicidal in a cave, God didn’t necessarily tell him things would be awesome, but did tell him where he could find some other people. 2 of the most powerful words ever uttered are “me too.” I’m scared. Me, too. Ok. Let’s be scared together. Things are always less scary together.

I see the same news, the same trends, the same division. I just might come to a different conclusion. We are certainly on a destructive path, I just don’t accept it’s inevitable we arrive. After all, it’s Easter and we’ll celebrate a resurrection. Death was the last word until it wasn’t, and if we actually believe that, nothing is impossible or hopeless.

So now what? A guy I follow on Instagram uses the phrase, “we do the things.” We get up and get outside, put our feet in the grass, take a walk, drink some water. We listen to our favorite playlist and lift heavy weights. Whatever the things are for us, we do them until we can breathe. Does it actually help to reverse the spiral? No, but it quiets the noise so we can remember what will: to Love God and to Love each other.

I no longer think it’s a top down solution (if there ever was a day I did). It’s you and me loving Jesus, each other, our neighbors, co-workers, enemies, and in-laws. We lean in, show up and forgive 70 x 7 times. We love our kids and all of the other kids, we relate with respect, have tough conversations, listen. We stop minding our own business and start walking together, hand in hand, carrying each other’s burdens.

Seriously, can you imagine how every single thing would change if, instead of entering every room from a place of inadequacy and fear, we stood on abundance and value? Instead of having to prove ourselves worthy, we just know we already are and there is nothing left to prove. If there was nothing to ‘win,’ we could listen with kindness and respect. Instead of operating out of the things we are not, we would rest in alllllll of the things we are. When we are no longer imprisoned inside a cell of the images we construct to ‘protect’ ourselves, we are free to run and fly.

We have been called to point to this reality, to live out of this beauty and joy and get it all over those we are blessed enough to meet. Can you believe there are some of us who don’t know and haven’t heard that we are loved? That we have been made on purpose, in/by/for love? Some of us don’t know the tomb is empty. I know! This is wholly unacceptable.

Here are some lyrics to a song by Andy Grammer, Naive:

*So call me naive. But I believe you’re gonna be okay. And call me naive. But tomorrow will be better than today. And if it’s stupid to see the good in everything. Lord, help me please, help me to be naive. See, I believe This life is something beautiful and sweet. I believe That love pulls me to you like gravity. And you could say I’m gullible. And I’m blind to all the lies and tragedies. I just think we focus all our time On poison and not the remedy. So call me naive. Say I’m living in a world of make-believe. And call me naive. But I don’t know another way to be.*

We get to choose, and as for me, I’ll choose to see a new Kingdom bursting through right in the middle of this one.

Maybe that’s naive, or maybe that’s the deepest level of realism. Either way, this is what we’re here for, individually and as the Bridge – to be naive. So, we’ll focus on the Remedy, whose name is Jesus, and the remedy, which is love. We’ll pray, we’ll do the things, we’ll love like crazy.

What could be a better time to take a sledgehammer to the cultural despair than Easter? (Actually, now that I think about it, I guess there is a better time: now;)

Lord, I hope I stay this kind of naive.

Eyes To See

I wrote this for my other blog, lovewithacapitall.com, and I think you might like it, too. Incidentally, the site that publishes our sites (now called Jetpack) gives a writing prompt every day. Today it’s, “What word best describes you?” and in light of the following, it’s clear I’d like to say grateful. And not so incidentally, today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 79 today. I miss him more some days than others, and today is one of those. Maybe that is why I feel this post so deeply. Or maybe I would feel this post so deeply everyday, because I’m the man he raised everyday. Yes, very very grateful.

I go to a local store for something called creamed pearl tapioca pudding on Tuesdays. Every Tuesday. And then I drop it off with the Angel at her office, along with a fountain soda as thanks. What I tell her is that it needs to be refrigerated and I’m unable to access our fridge. I don’t need to take it to her. I take it all through the winter, when my car is colder than any available appliance, mostly so I can see her for those 30 seconds.

Yesterday was Tuesday, and while I was there, I was overwhelmed, speechless and in awe of this woman. I sent her a text from the parking lot that read, “No kidding, I can not believe I get to be married to you. You are a KNOCKOUT,” and then I added 2 emoji faces with hearts for eyes. We’ll only talk about how she looks today, but as you probably already know, the beauty on the outside isn’t close to how lovely she is on the inside. She’s pretty far out of my league, but that’s her problem, not mine.

The point is that sometimes we can be so familiar with something that we take it for granted, easily and often. I live with this Angel, see her everyday, in pajamas and in heels, I know she’s gorgeous. I know her smile in my sleep, the way her eyes shine, how her laugh sounds, her skin feels. I know all of this, but there are surely lots of moments where I don’t truly appreciate all of this.

And there are so many things just like her (well, not just like her), but equally overlooked, or dismissed as common when they are anything but.

Pizza, Lord of the Rings, vinyl, this blanket, Catfish, creamed pearl tapioca. There are things we couldn’t wait to get, absolutely had to have, and changed our lives, that we don’t even give a second thought today. I’m not sure we need a change of scenery nearly as much as we need to open our eyes to the current scenery, because at some point that new scenery is going to be the current scenery we are looking to change.

I haven’t listened to The Queen Is Dead in months, and the last time I did, I skipped some tracks. It’s a perfect album, and I treat it so cavalierly that I skip tracks. We eat in front of the tv or in the car, concentrating and appreciating nothing. We see sunrises and sunsets everyday more perfect than the finest art. The Angel is so stunning she could stop clocks. 

How and when did we get so distracted and jaded that we miss all of this splendor? Somewhere we were sold the lie that there was anything in this fantastic world that is “ordinary.” Ordinary is for the blind and imagination-less. In the Bible, scales fall from the apostle Paul’s eyes and he can finally see things as they are, see reality as it is. Maybe our scales need to fall, as well. I don’t really want to take anything for granted anymore, and I certainly don’t want to take people for granted ever again. I don’t want to become so familiar with laying like spoons with the Angel that it loses it’s tender warmth and simply becomes something we do. It IS something we do, but it’s not simple at all, it’s also significant and perfect.

I wonder how many other things in our everyday lives are significant and perfect, if we only had eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to feel them.