Our household is embarking on another great adventure of sorts, or at least a pretty major undertaking. See, we've been living in this place for 10 years, and frankly it was high time to update things. The carpets, which weren't the highest quality to begin with, are in bad shape, with 10 years worth of kids and puppy. The countertops were rather pathetic to begin with. The appliances were wearing out - we'd already had to replace the fridge.
Frankly, we had planned on doing all of this about 4 years ago. We had purchased some beautiful hardwood flooring - enough to do the entire downstairs. Since the project was going to be starting soon, and we weren't supposed to store it outside or even in the garage, we stacked the boxes of flooring up in the living room. Then my business hit a lull, and we've been bumping along in existence mode ever since, only now reaching the point where we could afford to actually move ahead. So for 4 years there's been this pile of boxes sitting in the living room, staring at me accusatorially.
So the primary work so far has been preparing for the startup. I'm not going to pretend to be Mr. Handyman - we're hiring a contractor to do all of the actual work. But before they can come in to do the work, we've had to get the place ready. They'll move the major furniture around, but all of the rest of the stuff had to go. And OH MY! What a lot of stuff!
It's Sunday morning, they're coming to start in earnest tomorrow. During a conversation with my wife this morning, it began to dawn on me that the whole process is a pretty apt analogy to my relationship with God.
Before we can start to rip up the carpets and vinyl in preparation for the new hardwoods and tile, we had to clear all of the crap out of the way. This involved going through everything in the downstairs - everything - and asking the question: "Does it stay or does it go?" Knick knacks that we've purchased. Pictures. Things that have been given to us as gifts. Old computers, cords, and other technolgical flotsam and jetsam. Do we keep the dog's bed or chuck it and get a new one? For the stuff we're going to get rid of, does it go in the garbage, into the recycle bin, to the Goodwill, or what? And those decisions aren't always easy. What about the memento gift that was given by someone important? That person is still important, but is the gift? If I chuck the gift, am I dishonoring them? Am I going to hurt their feelings?
I had to go through all of the files in my office and decide which documents needed to be kept and which would go into the shredder. Credit card statements from 2001. Carbon copies of checks that we had written in 2004. Investment statements showing just how much our net worth plummeted in the stock market crash a couple of years ago. I really thought I was going to burn out the shredder! Since I've been on the road every week, I've been working on this process over the past 4 weekends. Some of the stuff brought brief smiles to my face before it got gobbled up by the machine. Much more frequently I was asking myself the question "Why the **** have I hung on to this for so long?"
And then I ran across a letter from a family member. It came in the mail about 7 years ago and frankly was a lightning bolt that severed some very important relationships. I'm not going to pretend that I don't share some of the responsibility for the whole situation, but this letter was the catalyst. I didn't even realize that I had kept it - it was folded up, sitting in some obscure folder in my desk drawer. As I looked at it and realized what it was, I felt frozen - not sure whether from fear, or anger, or a combination of many different things. I laid it on the desk, not knowing what to do with it. This discovery happened about 3 weeks ago, and the letter has been sitting there, staring back at me every weekend since.
This morning, I started to reflect on the whole process. The analogy came to me that this whole process is much like how God works in my life. Before He can make any major renovations in me, He first cleans out the crap. "Why are you holding onto something that hurt you, that was said to you years ago Dale? Why are you feeling guilt over something that you did as a child? Let's just put that in the shredder, shall we? I want to install new, beautiful floors, but first we have to rip out these stained, ugly old carpets. I know that the demolition process is hard work, but I promise you that the end result will be worth the effort."
We all have emotional "stuff" in our lives, don't we? Some of it would fall into the category of things we purchased long ago but never met our expectations. Like the child who steals some toy from a store, the initial joy of having the toy is fleeting while the shame and regret for the deed hangs on for a very long time. God wants me to just let go of that. Stuff can be hung on us by others as well - like a gift given that we really don't want but feel guilty throwing away. It can hang there, affecting our personality and relationships.
And sometimes He tells us to wait, right? We rashly go out and buy the new materials, only to have it sit there, waiting for the day when we can actually make the change.
And while cleaning out all of this stuff IS hard work, when the rebuilding process actually does start, it is truly joyful. This last week, the contractor came in to do some preliminary demolition on the countertops so that measurements could be made for the new ones. My wife emailed me (I was in California) and said "I wish you were here so we could jump up and down and dance together!"
There is one part where this analogy breaks down, however. Our contractor has given us a precise, gant chart project schedule, laying out what tasks will happen when. Unfortunately, God doesn't give me one of those for the project He's conducting on me. I suspect He plans on continuing that particular remodel forever.
The letter, by the way, went into the shredder this morning.
June 13, 2010
June 3, 2010
A Million Miles?
I read a lot. My wife often gets annoyed with me for having 3-4 different books that I’m perusing at any given moment, sitting on the end table, on the couch, etc. My career entails vast amounts of time sitting on airplanes, so that provides ample opportunity as well. My tastes vary – at any given time I can be in the middle of a mind candy novel, some current event book or magazine, an inspirational tome, and always a history book of some sort.
Back in my college days, I would frequently run across I was reading that would produce an epiphany – a “light bulb” moment where suddenly a whole series of thoughts and concepts would fall into place. The best example is when I was given a copy of Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. I had been resisting Christianity, resisting Christ for years, but Lewis’ small work managed to systematically break down that resistance and to deal a severe blow to my pride of intellectualism at the same time.
But I’ve aged. The college years are 25-30 years ago. Over time, sheer information overload and cynicism has taken me to a place where I’m usually thinking “there’s nothing new under the sun”. Oh, I still pick up a lot of factual information, still seek affirmations of my world view, but the searing light of revelatory insight comes much less frequently. Until a couple of months ago.
I was having coffee with a good friend, Lance. Lance was the young man that led our team on the trip to Uganda last summer, and I’ve found him to be wise beyond his years so I enjoy the opportunity to chat with him. He has been an enormous help in my efforts around Seeing Is Believing, and… well… I just like the young man a lot. So Lance shows up at Starbucks and hands me a book. “A Million Miles In A Thousand Years” by Donald Miller. He asked if I’d heard of it, and frankly, I hadn’t. Lance said that he found it to be quite profound, very impacting, and he had picked up several copies to give to friends.
I’m frequently given books by various people. “You’ll really like this!” or “This will change your life!” are the usual comments that accompany the gift. Depending on who gives it to me, I’ll eventually at least pick it up. Sometimes I’ll even read it. The thing about books, however, is that quite often something that is extremely impacting to one person elicits “Meh.” responses from another. I tend to give more credence to the recommendations of those who know me well than I do to those who only know the surface. While I think highly of Lance, I wasn’t too sure of how well he knew me. So the book sat on my desk at home for a few weeks. Finally, one weekend I found myself rather bored with the latest history book I was reading and figured I’d at least browse a bit of A Million Miles.
The further I got into it, the more fascinated I became. The general theme of the book, if I can put my own stamp on it, is “life as a story”. Everyone’s life is a story. But is my life a fascinating story or is it boring? Would it enthrall a reader or is it a cure for insomnia? Perhaps most importantly, what will God think of my story when I finally have the chance to sit down and discuss it with him. I finished the book up on my trip out to Eastern Canada that week, and promptly read it again on the trip back home 4 days later.
The life as a story analogy is very common. I’ve heard entertainers use it, I’ve heard pastors use it. What I found fascinating about AMM, however, was that Miller was actually working on a screenplay based on his previous book – Blue Like Jazz. And he began to question the plot line. What conflicts had his character overcome – the bigger the conflict, the more exciting the climax.
And I may be putting thoughts into his words, but it seemed that he genuinely began to wonder if his story was finished. Does a person’s story ever have to end, up to the time of their death? Personally I found that concept to be a new epiphany – is my story finished? When I sit down to have a conversation with God someday, is He going to tell me that my life was well lived, an exciting story? Or is he going to tell me it was snoozer, that my deeds really had not had an impact for good? What are the conflicts that I’ve overcome? Did I overcome them bravely, show perseverance, or did I simply go to the corner and cower?
Since I returned from Uganda, I’ve told the story of the trip many times. If I’m honest with myself, I often tell it for the shock value – a lot of people seem to think that I’m not what they picture when they think of someone who would go to Uganda on a mission trip. If you’ve read any of my older posts on this blog, you’ll know that I didn’t think I was either. So I suppose one of the big conflicts that I had to overcome was my resistance to making a trip like that. No, let’s be honest. My FEAR of making a trip like that. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of people who are different than me. I was afraid of getting sick or injured. But mostly I was afraid of what it would do to me – that maybe I’d find out that it was something valuable.
I went to Uganda in a mind set of “Okay Lord. You won this battle and have me on the plane. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to my pampered life.” But somewhere in that country – in Kampala, in Gulu, I misplaced a piece of my heart. And I wasn’t able to find it before we left. So I know that I have to go back to look for it, for me to be whole again.
Now the one thing that I have to keep telling myself is that I’ve had mountaintop experiences before. I remember going to a Promise Keepers event in Eugene, I think it was in 96 or 97. Standing with 50,000 other men praising God is definitely a “WOW!” event. And I happened to be in the Washington DC area when Promise Keepers had their big national event in 97, so I went to that as well. And I was disappointed. Honestly. It just wasn’t the same. So I’m skeptical about the desire to re-live an event. But my trip to Africa was different. When I came home I wasn’t all charged up, but I was changed. I knew that I had to make a return trip to a place that I had fought so ferociously going to in the first place.
As I’ve told anyone who would listen, however, before I can go back, I have to “earn” the right. Simply returning home, reveling in the memories of that trip and then planning to return would relegate the entire experience to the mountaintop heap. It would ring very hollow. What do I mean by earning the right? Well, when I was over there I witnessed needs that exceeded my worst fears. My mind and heart went into what seemed like an endless reset loop – everywhere I looked I saw needs. But I knew that I had to do something. The usual American response to problems is to throw money at them, and I suppose on the surface that appears to be what Seeing Is Believing is doing, but I’m quite comfortable that we’ve connected with a solid administrative organization that is ensuring the funds are spent properly.
My work level has held me back from putting as much effort into SIB as I would like, but I’m trying to rest in the comfort that it is all in God’s hands anyway.
But the entire experience – from the initial internal battle about going, through the trip and the organization of SIB has taught me something else about my story. I’ve come to the realization that I tend to spend entirely too much time dwelling on my own story. My “story” needs to focus outward. My relationships with others – with God, my family, my friends, the people I work with, and my brothers and sisters in Africa – are what makes my story rich and interesting.
At least in my mind.
Back in my college days, I would frequently run across I was reading that would produce an epiphany – a “light bulb” moment where suddenly a whole series of thoughts and concepts would fall into place. The best example is when I was given a copy of Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. I had been resisting Christianity, resisting Christ for years, but Lewis’ small work managed to systematically break down that resistance and to deal a severe blow to my pride of intellectualism at the same time.
But I’ve aged. The college years are 25-30 years ago. Over time, sheer information overload and cynicism has taken me to a place where I’m usually thinking “there’s nothing new under the sun”. Oh, I still pick up a lot of factual information, still seek affirmations of my world view, but the searing light of revelatory insight comes much less frequently. Until a couple of months ago.
I was having coffee with a good friend, Lance. Lance was the young man that led our team on the trip to Uganda last summer, and I’ve found him to be wise beyond his years so I enjoy the opportunity to chat with him. He has been an enormous help in my efforts around Seeing Is Believing, and… well… I just like the young man a lot. So Lance shows up at Starbucks and hands me a book. “A Million Miles In A Thousand Years” by Donald Miller. He asked if I’d heard of it, and frankly, I hadn’t. Lance said that he found it to be quite profound, very impacting, and he had picked up several copies to give to friends.
I’m frequently given books by various people. “You’ll really like this!” or “This will change your life!” are the usual comments that accompany the gift. Depending on who gives it to me, I’ll eventually at least pick it up. Sometimes I’ll even read it. The thing about books, however, is that quite often something that is extremely impacting to one person elicits “Meh.” responses from another. I tend to give more credence to the recommendations of those who know me well than I do to those who only know the surface. While I think highly of Lance, I wasn’t too sure of how well he knew me. So the book sat on my desk at home for a few weeks. Finally, one weekend I found myself rather bored with the latest history book I was reading and figured I’d at least browse a bit of A Million Miles.
The further I got into it, the more fascinated I became. The general theme of the book, if I can put my own stamp on it, is “life as a story”. Everyone’s life is a story. But is my life a fascinating story or is it boring? Would it enthrall a reader or is it a cure for insomnia? Perhaps most importantly, what will God think of my story when I finally have the chance to sit down and discuss it with him. I finished the book up on my trip out to Eastern Canada that week, and promptly read it again on the trip back home 4 days later.
The life as a story analogy is very common. I’ve heard entertainers use it, I’ve heard pastors use it. What I found fascinating about AMM, however, was that Miller was actually working on a screenplay based on his previous book – Blue Like Jazz. And he began to question the plot line. What conflicts had his character overcome – the bigger the conflict, the more exciting the climax.
And I may be putting thoughts into his words, but it seemed that he genuinely began to wonder if his story was finished. Does a person’s story ever have to end, up to the time of their death? Personally I found that concept to be a new epiphany – is my story finished? When I sit down to have a conversation with God someday, is He going to tell me that my life was well lived, an exciting story? Or is he going to tell me it was snoozer, that my deeds really had not had an impact for good? What are the conflicts that I’ve overcome? Did I overcome them bravely, show perseverance, or did I simply go to the corner and cower?
Since I returned from Uganda, I’ve told the story of the trip many times. If I’m honest with myself, I often tell it for the shock value – a lot of people seem to think that I’m not what they picture when they think of someone who would go to Uganda on a mission trip. If you’ve read any of my older posts on this blog, you’ll know that I didn’t think I was either. So I suppose one of the big conflicts that I had to overcome was my resistance to making a trip like that. No, let’s be honest. My FEAR of making a trip like that. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid of the unknown. I was afraid of people who are different than me. I was afraid of getting sick or injured. But mostly I was afraid of what it would do to me – that maybe I’d find out that it was something valuable.
I went to Uganda in a mind set of “Okay Lord. You won this battle and have me on the plane. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to my pampered life.” But somewhere in that country – in Kampala, in Gulu, I misplaced a piece of my heart. And I wasn’t able to find it before we left. So I know that I have to go back to look for it, for me to be whole again.
Now the one thing that I have to keep telling myself is that I’ve had mountaintop experiences before. I remember going to a Promise Keepers event in Eugene, I think it was in 96 or 97. Standing with 50,000 other men praising God is definitely a “WOW!” event. And I happened to be in the Washington DC area when Promise Keepers had their big national event in 97, so I went to that as well. And I was disappointed. Honestly. It just wasn’t the same. So I’m skeptical about the desire to re-live an event. But my trip to Africa was different. When I came home I wasn’t all charged up, but I was changed. I knew that I had to make a return trip to a place that I had fought so ferociously going to in the first place.
As I’ve told anyone who would listen, however, before I can go back, I have to “earn” the right. Simply returning home, reveling in the memories of that trip and then planning to return would relegate the entire experience to the mountaintop heap. It would ring very hollow. What do I mean by earning the right? Well, when I was over there I witnessed needs that exceeded my worst fears. My mind and heart went into what seemed like an endless reset loop – everywhere I looked I saw needs. But I knew that I had to do something. The usual American response to problems is to throw money at them, and I suppose on the surface that appears to be what Seeing Is Believing is doing, but I’m quite comfortable that we’ve connected with a solid administrative organization that is ensuring the funds are spent properly.
My work level has held me back from putting as much effort into SIB as I would like, but I’m trying to rest in the comfort that it is all in God’s hands anyway.
But the entire experience – from the initial internal battle about going, through the trip and the organization of SIB has taught me something else about my story. I’ve come to the realization that I tend to spend entirely too much time dwelling on my own story. My “story” needs to focus outward. My relationships with others – with God, my family, my friends, the people I work with, and my brothers and sisters in Africa – are what makes my story rich and interesting.
At least in my mind.
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